Caterwauling

Perhaps I’m still high, but today has been full of deja vu moments … everything is falling into place, and everything seems familiar. I have this ridiculous air of confidence and this secret understanding of the world that I hadn’t possessed until some time yesterday. I can’t really explain it, but I’m okay, and that’s saying a lot for me, given the content of my recent posts.

Featured song lyrics of the moment:

“Staring at the universe

Eyes upon the sky

Lost within a starry night

I stop and breathe it in

Empty is the open heart

Wishing on a star

Gazing at the full moonlight

I wonder where you are.

This night, I pray

You’re somewhere out there waiting

Waiting for me

And in love we’ll fall

Hopelessly romantic

When this true love comes along.”

–Seven and the Sun, “I Pray”–

Finally coming down off of this weekend’s indulgences. Cripes, I slept so much yesterday!!! It’s weird to be awake and alert again, although I could easily have another 10-hour nap right now.

While I was out of my senses briefly, I was happy. Nothing bothered me, and I had no desire to worry or to sort out my life … simply watching “Real World” reruns on MTV was plenty enough activity for my little brain.

But today, reality is back and, I expect, ready to kick me in the ass. Yippee.

Dreamed of Brat last night. I’ve been with people who barely pervade my thoughts during my waking hours, yet I can’t get this one out of my head, even at night. I haven’t thought of him in awhile, but I guess knowing that he’s still out there somewhere has recently seeped into my head and won’t leave. Dreamed that he told me he wanted to make it work but has a girlfriend now — I vaguely remember the name being Brenda. But I looked at the twinkling eyes and deep dimples, and even in the dream, it was impossible for me to hate him. Last September was filled with my own giddiness and satisfaction in chasing … and catching … him. This September brings so much remembrance of last year’s events at this time, along with understanding and forgiveness. I guess it wasn’t so crazy that I really believed that he’d be in my life forever, but I guess it was unrealistic to tell him that same hope and expect that he either felt the same way or was open to considering it.

An ode to Brat, something I haven’t done in this space in a long time:

“Somehow I’ve lost the plot along the way

Can’t find the words to say

But I know I’ll find you there tonight.

You ask me the question,

‘Are you superconnected

With me

And I’ll come running after you.'”

— Seven Channels, “Superconnected” —

The song has been in my head for two weeks, so forgive me, gentle reader. Reading it is MUCH better than listening to me sing it!!!

In watching “Real World” reruns, believe it or not, but I did get some reasoning accomplished. I watched Lori from the second New York cast as she chased men, caught them for 10 seconds, and watched as they ran screaming. That’s a familiar scenario in my world. I wonder if she sits and watches the episodes and thinks, “Damn it — I get burned every time I chase a man … perhaps I should let the next one chase me.” Or, like me, does she vow to play hard-to-get until the next man arrives in her life, whereupon she forgets what she’s learned and decides to run after these guys, who keep running, but in the wrong direction?

The thing I’ve learned with dating is to act like you could give a shit less, whether he wants you or not (then again, this has backfired on me on numerous occasions, as well). I don’t know, perhaps IKEA Boy is right … I need to stop sleeping with people on the first date (I can do this with a codicil that I can sleep with the ones I don’t like so that they, in fact, WILL quit calling! lol). But I’m a gay man in a woman’s body, no doubt about that. The fact that I think like a man has impressed nearly all of the straight men in my life … one would think that they would be happy to be guaranteed sex on the first date. Grrr. I realize that I probably have sex with them on the first date because I hate going for long periods of time without it myself. I mean, yikes, it’s been nearly two months for me … next guy I meet had better plan on being raped (especially if it’s after a gym visit — gawd damn, do I get horny when I’m there!!!), but I guess that means that I’d scare him away, like I’ve done with most of the rest of them. Humph.

Naptime! (oh, goodness, I’ve turned into Maddie!)

SM has this question she asks people, “If you had a million dollars, or whatever amount appeals to you — enough to take care of you for life — but you still had to work, what would you be doing?” It’s her way of getting inside their heads and learning their true passions, and she likes to help those folks move to doing the job that they would love doing more than anything else, if income were no longer a factor.

My answer, during our marathon five-hour business/chatting session yesterday at Mickey D’s, was, “The job I have now.” (This should make IKEA Boy happy.) It’s the truth … I love interviewing people and coming up with story ideas and angles, and while it’s a frustrating process to pull together the interviews into coherent articles, it’s an activity that I enjoy. I know I have several sleepless nights ahead of me this week (as it’s deadline week), but I’m okay with that — it’s great to have some easy workdays tempered with some really crazy ones, whereas at Two Strikes, it was havoc every single day. My workdays are no longer filled with terror, and I no longer struggle to apologize for decisions I made to a CEO who had empowered me to make those very decisions. Yeah, I’ve jumped out of the fast lane and into an environment where I pretty much set my own schedule and am generally rewarded and even complimented on some of that work.

At any rate, living on $16K less per year hurts and is nearly impossible, but I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a temporary financial mess, one that will improve only if I make efforts to improve it (i.e., getting promoted, taking on additional responsibilities, writing books and maybe even teaching classes or doing freelance work). And I’ve been so much luckier in life than a lot of other folks in the world, so really, while I’m not where I wanted to be at age 28, perhaps in the next few years, I will have made so many strides toward those goals that I will “catch up” to where I hope to be at menopause! heh heh.

IKEA Boy took me out for a night on the town last night. I didn’t get home till after 6 a.m., and I didn’t get out of bed till about 4:30 p.m. (Before arriving at home, my dumb ass was entirely too messed up to take a ride, which I did, and I got lost in Fairfax County somewhere.) And I’m still incredibly tired and reeling from the incredible mixture of drinkey and smokey activities. Although IKEA Boy and I talk every day, we don’t really “talk” talk, not like we did last night. I got to see yet another of the many sides of his dynamic personality, and I learned so much about him and the horrors and sadness that he’s seen in his young lifetime. A part of me feels terrible that I wasn’t there for some of it, but moreover, I am glad that I can be there for him now and for a long time to come. We will probably be siblings in our next lives, because that’s what we have become in this one. I’m glad to see all that he has done and is doing to set his life on the right track and overcome the various obstacles in his path … I am inspired by the person into which he has evolved. Now, all I need to do is kick myself in my own ass, so I can be proud of myself, as well.

1. What was/is your favorite subject in school? Why?

Assuming this is taking us back to high school, I’ll say English and literature. I was an avid reader and when books were assigned to us, I had already read most of them at least once, for fun, so I would read them again and really understand them when it came time to be graded. Of course, I never did get through “Moby Dick,” but Cliff’s Notes saved my ass on that one!!!

2. Who was your favorite teacher? Why?

Marianne Popovich, 9th grade English, McKeesport High School in McKeesport, Pa. That woman loved me and took absolutely no shit from me. She pushed all her students very hard, but she always told me that she saw something special in me, which made her push me 10 times harder. She put me up on a pedestal and knocked me off my high horse — whatever she felt I needed at the given time. I ran into her years later, when I was working retail, and she greeted me warmly with, “My poet.” I didn’t realize that she would even remember me, seven years later, but she did. Loved that woman. She angered me and enamored me, but the important thing was that she brought out the passion in me. Some days, I wish she were still in my life, pushing me to do my best because nothing less than that would please her. 🙂

3. What is your favorite memory of school?

Um, leaving it. I’m not kidding — I remember at graduation, sitting across the aisle from Pinhead, after months of us not speaking to each other, and as the ceremony ended and everyone else was bawling, we shared a secret smile. We didn’t have to speak … we knew that whereas all of our dumbass classmates were heartbroken at what they perceived to be an ending, we were thrilled to glimpse a time to make a new beginning. Opportunities for escape lay upon the not-so-distant horizon, and we possessed the incredible optimism that only accompanies youth that we were going to leave Kiddie Land behind and go on to make a difference in the world. It was the first time I felt truly free.

4. What was your favorite recess game?

Socializing with the brain-dead girls who attended White Oak Elementary School was not my favorite activity — I much preferred to stay in the library and read a book, which I always did in the winter. But when the weather was warm and inviting, I played hopscotch, jumped rope and brought my Strawberry Shortcake dolls for amusement. I had the whole collection — Strawberry Shortcake, Purple Pie Man, Huckleberry Pie, Orange Marmelade, Lemon Meringue and the others and even a dog, if I remember correctly. Us girls sat on the benches on the playground and just laughed forever, playing with our dolls.

Oh, gawd, in fourth grade, “Grease 2” was all the rage … we were all singing and dancing like fools, re-enacting the movie. lol … I’d forgotten about that!!! Oh, and “Flashdance,” too, even though none of us were allowed to see it, we kinda picked up on the commercials, and many of us were taking jazz dance lessons at The Dance Company in North Versailles, so we had a ball.

But come to think of it, I actually enjoyed hanging out with the boys at recess, whenever possible. I was always the “cool chick” with them — I wasn’t grossed out too much by their worm-digging activities, and we would climb to the tops of the jungle gyms and talk about what we learned that day in class. And boys were just funny back then … so many of them had older sisters and had questions about “girlie” things, and I guess I was the one who clued them in on stuff like that. ha ha. Yep, there’s always one of us who spills the secrets!

5. What did you hate most about school?

What does everyone hate about school? Teasing and general stupidity on the part of their insensitive classmates. People pretty much left me alone for years just because I had (smartly) befriended nearly everyone in my class and in the older and younger classes, so I had allies. But there were these two little rotten twats in 9th grade who made it their mission to “take me down,” because I was acing my classes and they were stupid as dog shit. They wanted to copy my test papers and homework, and I remember hiding my work and telling them that it was pointless for me to carry them through the class (it was Business Development) because it would be my grade on their report cards. So I was treated to gum in the hair, merciless teasing and them turning all of their illiterate friends against me. I hated school then. Luckily, the next year I entered advanced classes and pretty much didn’t cross paths with them — and then one dropped out because she got her ugly ass knocked up, and the other was too busy fucking the football team to notice anyone but herself. I did end up in one class with them in 10th grade, but the teacher was hot for my mother and I quit attending his class because all the bullshit (it was last period, so I went to the library to work on the student newspaper), and he gave me straight 100 percents on my report card so that he could impress my mom. Hah.

The area surrounding the District was so quiet today — everyone was somber and somewhat afraid of every step we were about to take. If there was any sound at all, it was of distant fighter jets, as we were only a few miles from the remembrance activities. The airspace had not been closed, but numbers of flights were reduced drastically simply because American citizens were loath to travel by air.

I arrived at work a tiny bit late today so that I could be at home for the national moment of silence at 8:46 a.m. We had a silent moment at work around 9:35 a.m. in our conference room, under the auspices of remembering the time the Pentagon was hit, but it seems that all we really talked about geographically was the World Trade Center. The remembrance ceremony was necessary yet stressful — we were encouraged to talk and to read aloud, and it killed me how illiterate some of my native-born colleagues are. 🙂

Spoke with Mom last night — we wanted to hear each other’s voices just in case it would be the last time we could hear each other say, “I love you,” in this lifetime. Mom said, “I wish you could feel my arms around you,” and I said, “I always do, Mom. I always do.”

In preparation for the worst, a number of us had filled our gas tanks last night and researched alternate routes out of the city (other than the obvious interstates near our homes), and several had considered where they would flee, assuming the District would be targeted for violence again — many of us had overnight bags in our trunks. But as today draws to a close, we can breathe a brief sigh of relief — the anniversary has passed without incident. But I’ll admit, I fear we’re in the eye of the tornado, rather than at the end of the storm.

I was absolutely useless at work. My concentration was shot, and I hadn’t slept a wink last night anyway, so I was a mess. All I know is that when my alarm went off this morning, I said aloud, “They didn’t get us. We’re alive another day.” Of course, the question remained: for how long would we be alive? I emailed Lori, F/OM and Emily jointly to drop a note that all was well in the District and to send my observations as well as my wishes for their own safety (I chose that group because we all suffered through that horrible meeting that I detailed in my last post). Lori emailed with thoughts and love. It was nice to know that people were thinking of me.

SM and I went to the gym tonight, because we still believed that attending a candlelight vigil or one of the dozens of area remembrance events still left us vulnerable. But I watched the vigils on the many TVs at Bally’s, and I came home to watch the President’s address from Ellis Island, from the safety of my living room. Goodness only knows what tomorrow will bring, but for tonight, we are safe.

I know the 9/11 anniversary is tomorrow. I don’t have a lot to say about it, other than to say that I remember sitting in that godforsaken LRA meeting, with (Wh)ora Lee flapping her jaws and HRP acting like her usually snooty self — I believe I was wishing that a plane would hit our building, just to get me out of that hellish, three-hour debacle.

One of my colleagues had an all-out panic attack during that meeting (related to 9/11, not the content of the meeting, although I could certainly understand the latter cause! lol) — I was in with a bunch of religious kooks who were all praying for those who perished and praying for the woman who was gasping for breath amidst cries of “Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord.” I called the medics two or three times, as it took them close to an hour to respond to our call, in the haze of many Pittsburgh residents going nuts over the terrorist attacks. I was fighting with the dispatcher, who was asking me her medical history, and I barely knew her and was ordering them to come to the building and find out for themselves. It’s weird — I know I didn’t do much, but my ability and desire to take over in a crisis really kicked in. Everybody was staying the fuck out of my way — they knew I wasn’t going to let this woman’s condition get any worse, even if I had to carry her to the hospital on my back.

I remember sitting with my arm around this woman, bringing her paper towels soaked in cold water and basically not knowing which end was up. I remember the secretary Cora Lee (not to be confused with the infamous (Wh)ora Lee) interrupting the meeting to tell us about Flight 93 crashing in Somerset, and she popped in again to tell us to take our kids out of school, if we had school-age children. That’s when my colleague started her panic attack, and nobody noticed but me at first.

I remember HRP calling a moment of silence when Cora Lee first appeared. That would have been fine, but what the bitch did was say, “As the leader of this meeting, I will pause our discussion to have a moment of silence.” She had to throw in her authority, even in such a moment. I remember looking across the table at F/OM, and at Lori to my right — the utter disbelief of everything was registered on all of our faces. Maybe not disbelief, but dumbfoundedness. I remember wondering if these were the people with whom I would die, right then and there.

We had to work the full day, which sucked because everyone who had kids (which was nearly everyone) brought the little bastards back to work with them, per HRP’s orders. It was chaos. I vaguely remember checking in with Brat and CTL to make sure that they were hanging in there. I was able to get a phone line to call my mom, because she was on the verge of her own panic attack. She insisted on driving me home from work that day, as Downtown had been evacuated, and I had to go through town to get to my apartment on Mount Washington. So she and my grandfather came to get me and drop me off. That was it … that made them happy, to see me get home safely.

Life returned to business as usual, and I forgot about 9/11 until last month, when I interviewed several mental health experts for some stories I was working on. I had the hardest time writing my three articles (one on what they accomplished during the last year, one on burnout and another on what schools were planning to do to commemorate the anniversary) — I was vicariously traumatized for each and every one of them. Their stories were as fascinating as they were painful, and I am proud of my articles because I poured my fears and my tears into each and every word.

Now, every time I turn on the TV and flip the channels, at least half of the stations are airing something related to 9/11 — the same images are haunting me again, in one way, but in another way, it’s like watching an old movie — it’s like it didn’t happen, almost. Or maybe I’ve just successfully convinced myself that it didn’t happen, not the way I remember it, anyway.

I grew up in the generation when wars were fought on TV. The first televised conflict was the Gulf War back in 1991, which was amazing to watch and even more amazing to have to-the-minute coverage. I’d heard stories from the World Wars and Vietnam, where people waited forever to hear what was going on. Not today — you might not be fighting the war, but you’re as close to the front lines as the cameras can reach. It was kind of nice to be sheltered as a kid, to not know what was *really* happening in the world. Kids today have no opportunity to be idealists and dreamers — no matter how much their parents may attempt to protect them, the ugliness of the world infiltrates their lives at the strangest times and in the most subtle ways. But maybe it’s best they become disillusioned early on, and when you put it that way, I was 16 when I watched the Gulf War unfold — that was when I realized how infinitesimal I really am, in the grand scheme of things.

With the 9/11 anniversary coming up, I am not going to go to the memorial activities at the newly rebuilt Pentagon, although I probably should, just because I live a few miles from it now. I feel like I should do something, but perhaps the best thing I can do is to not dwell too much on it. I’ll have a moment of silence for the deceased, and I’ll light a candle or two and remember the past year’s events, both nationally and personally. Last year was such a bizarre time in my life — getting over my *procedure* and thinking I’d found a man who was going to make things all better … the guilt over what I’d done was tempered with the hope and excitement of getting to know him and thinking that maybe I was finally entitled to some happiness in my life. And then I had to get over that, too.

The world is not a fair place, but the powers-that-be haven’t blown it up yet, so here we are, carrying on, for better or worse. Perhaps I will light a final candle for the innocence we all lost and the hope that someday, somehow, we can return to a place where we aren’t always on high alert, braced for the next disaster or disappointment.

Had a really good interview on Friday, and two good ones today, for a story on a family where the dad “came out” when the kids were young (they’re close to my age now). I’ve spent the whole day on the story, with lots more work to go, unfortunately. But the dad is just a special guy, and I’m so glad he and his kids have a phenomenal relationship … talking with really cool people truly is one of the few perks to working at this job (other than having an awesome boss! lol).

I would kill to have a dad like the one I interviewed, instead of the (unfortunately) hetero deadbeat I left back in Pittsburgh. Not sure how or why I’ve become the eternal fag hag … perhaps I might as well just join the crowd and go gay myself? My guy from Philly used to tell me that I really didn’t spray myself with “heterosexual male repellent” (available only at Nordstrom! lol), although some days, I beg to differ. 😀 God knows there was a chick checking me out big time when SM and I were leaving the mall on Saturday. Problem was, I’ve dated men more fem than her. I figure, if I’m gonna go for a chick, she’s gotta be of the lipstick variety.

Oh, gawd, why has my mind even GONE here? Too many warm, fuzzy gay stories today. Damn it, off to the gym to look at sweaty men with the intelligence quotients of burnt toast! Woo hoo!!!

I think I need a quick gym visit today. SM and I are on for tomorrow, but I’m hoping to acquire enough energy to drag my lazy ass to Bally’s for an hour after work. Or maybe I’ll catch up on work instead. I don’t know. What I DO know is that all this physical activity is making me horny as hell, and being surrounded by heaving, glistening bodies isn’t doing anything to reduce this overwhelming sex drive. SM says she’s feeling the same way … glad to know it isn’t just me! Gawd, I could ride a tree stump at this point, I’m so desperate to mount something. 🙂

But when I’m not at the gym, this ridiculous combination of depression and boredom and listlessness is really kicking my ass. I’d love nothing better than to go to sleep for a week, or at least until payday, when I can wake up, pay a couple more bills, and return to bed for awhile.

My whole theory is that it sucks to be poor, but it sucks even worse when it’s summer and the days are long and languid and beautiful, making you just want to run from the house. I realize that even though my income is pitiful at best right now, my whole family survived on the very same amount of money and lived fairly well. Granted, we weren’t the richest family on the block (by no means), but we did okay. It’s just kinda sad how at one time, four people could live on my earnings, and today, not even one person can make ends come close to meeting.

After spending yesterday and most of today being really happy, I wrote out my renter’s insurance, student loan and car payments for the month. I put aside the old electric bill and cable bill from Pittsburgh for yet another paycheck, and I am hoping I have enough for the phone/cable/internet/electric that is coming due, which I highly doubt but I am attempting to retain some optimism. And don’t forget cat food, which luckily is cheap but really, every penny counts. Fuel for the car is in need too, along with gym dues, cell phone and funds for the two Visas and one Mastercard, all of which I’d die without, but here’s to hoping I can wait till next payday (on the 22nd) to take care of those (hello exorbitant late fees and more increases in APRs). Forget human food, though. Damn, car insurance payments are going to start again in September, too — where the hell am I going to get that money?!?! I never dreamed I’d be in this horrible of a financial situation — what did I do to myself? I wish I were dead.

Sent HRP a voodoo curse … courtesy of Pinstruck. My message to her: “Look What You Have Become.” She’ll see a little voodoo doll with pins in it, tailor-made to look like her. Muahahahahaha.