Caterwauling

Link courtesy of Milk and Cookies:

Dildo Song, sung to the Slinky theme song.

From a friend who knows how much I like to color-coordinate my “accessories” …

I-brator

Tonight I realized that I don’t drink to get drunk anymore. I love alcohol — whether it’s a pint o’ beer or a girly, fizzy drink or a classy martini or a cup of coffee spiked with a few tasty liquids — but since I bought my beloved Samantha Jones (my cherished indigo Sunfire), I can’t get looped. Damn. Not for lack of trying. Now that I’m my own designated driver, now that I’m on a strict budget again, now that I want to look out for my friends, I can’t get crocked to save my life. Shit. I hate being a grown-up.

Stalker for Hire 🙂

I will admit to being a bit warm ‘n’ fuzzy right now, ’cause I did something I haven’t done in years. Shan and I were at Benny’s for our usual Friday night, post-gym delight, and as usual, we closed the joint. And as usual, Renee conveniently forgot to ring up at least a half-dozen of our beers (although I wanted two “real” drinks tonight, and she had to charge for those. Oh well!). At any rate, Shan seems to find a virtual Camelot at Benny’s, as it is full of men who spark her interest. (I, on the other hand, have absolutely NO eye candy there.) At any rate, one in particular — I’ll call him DJ because, well, he IS a DJ — has caught her eye on a number of occasions. So we stalked him. lol.

He keeps hangin’ out with this scary group we call The Osbournes. We’ve decided the scariest of them all should be called Ozzy. She’s about 4’1″, 400 lbs. Not like I have any room to talk, but I digress. At any rate, Renee told us that DJ and his fiancee recently broke up, and we’re all convinced that Ozzy is trying to move on in. At any rate, he attempted to talk to me at the jukebox, but after he found out I was playing hard rock, he ran screaming (he’s more of the R&B variety). He and Shan talked briefly (she’d like to ride him up the Beltway!), and we decided, after we closed the bar, to follow them.

Turns out that DJ drove Ozzy to the apartment complex across the street, where they sat in his car and talked for what seemed like forever but maybe amounted to 20 minutes. Shan jumped in my car and we drove around the block several times, finally parking at the Veggie Patch and waiting. Finally, she decided that this was crazy, so she left. I decided to sit there and search for my John Cougar Mellencamp CD (which I have yet to locate), just because I felt like I’d see him leave. So, with my internal lights on, as I was parked very obviously in the Veggie Patch’s lot entrance, he pulled out. I hurriedly shoved my CDs, CD case, headphones, cell phone and whatever else into the glovebox and pulled out like a cat outta hell to follow him.

I stayed with him for a mile or so, down to the 395-N ramp. As it was 2 a.m. and we were the only cars on the road, I figured it would be even more painfully obvious if I followed him home. lol. But it was just funny as all hell. I was wishing Shan had stayed for literally three more minutes, so we could’ve taken a late-night road trip to wherever. I figured he probably recognized me in his rearview mirror, or else he thought I was some random psycho (well. … hee hee). So I left a VM for Shan from Little River Turnpike and eventually did a U-ie and headed home.

Hysterical. I haven’t done shit like that in forever. Loved it!!! Only for a friend would I do something like that … I didn’t even stalk Brat or CR or anyone else when I had the chance. 🙂

Ah, Shit — He’s on My Mind Again — Damn Booze 😉

Speaking of Brat, that’s why I was looking for the Mellencamp song. Every time we went to happy hour, he played “Pink Houses.” Always. My personal favorite is “Ain’t Even Done With the Night,” but it wasn’t on the jukebox. I played “Pink Houses” but it never did come on. Damn it. (Oooh, found the CD!)

Found myself missing him. Shit. That ain’t right.

For all the advice from dating books, guides, websites and friends with successful relationships that advise us to play hard-to-get and to act disinterested, I say fuck it. You know what … Shan and I are strong and determined and bold. And we approach men when they’re too shy to come to us. We don’t strike at random … we get the eye contact going and decide that we’ve found decent prey. So we go after these guys. And if it scares them off, so be it. We were discussing the fact that it’s pretty ludicrous for us to act like we’re demure in the beginning when we’re both steamrollers. We need guys who can handle us, not be scared off like little pansies when we do what comes naturally, which is to take the reins and yank these guys forward when they fall asleep at the wheel. If we wanted pussies, we’d go for women.

Although. …

Nah. I’m still holding out hope that a great man will enter my life at some point. 😉

Something cute did happen tonight. A guy who did attempt to talk to me, who was very sweet and shy, apparently was watching me all night. He finally got up the courage to tell Shan that he thought I was beautiful (was he nutz?) and wondered if I were married or had a boyfriend. As he was not my type (i.e., not ultra-white), she said I had a boyfriend. But she was enamored by him, and I thought that was adorable. Perhaps I am missing out on something. I don’t know. But I can’t change 30 years of preferences, either, not on the spot. And that’s the shame of it all … I told Shan that if I would just change my “type,” I’d probably never be single, but all the hotties I tend to eye up (and sometimes pursue) aren’t interested in me. Blah. Their loss.

LB said that CTL asks about me. A lot. How sweet and how sad. I think he’s a good guy. I really do. But the Bermuda Love Triangle had just wreaked too much havoc for there to ever be a solid ground for that. I guess I myself could be considered the storm, as I was the one in the middle. Even though my affair, as it were, with Brat was short-lived, it lasted for as long as we knew each other. I could never want anyone else as long as I wanted him, and I will die believing that it was mutual, the whole time. Only now, I’ll die without him, unless he gets his shit together and figures out a way to make me look back and want to take that chance again. I went after him with all of the energy and passion that I could possibly muster, and well, I went splat. I hurt for a long time. And I’m fine now. I really am. But as I sit here and drink my blackberry merlot and my mind gets fuzzier, I remember him more clearly than ever.

You know what I want? I want him to feel a minute of the heartache that I carried for him. Just 60 seconds of knowing what it’s like to soar and to crash and to burn. Especially that burning part. And I hope it’s a slow burn, one that simmers for years. I don’t want him to forget me; he had too large of a part of my heart for me to ever truly forget that he ever existed.

“We’ll fast forward to a few years later

And no one knows except the both of us

And I have honored your request for silence

And you’ve washed your hands clean of this.

— Alanis Morrissette, “Hands Clean” —

Perhaps I’m just sentimental or perhaps drunker than I originally believed, but I can still feel him. Shit. I’ve also been thinking about Melissa a lot, too. I need to find her, if for nothing else than to just know that she’s OK. I’ve had such an awful feeling that something happened to her, that maybe I’m too late to even reach her. But even if I did manage to locate her, what the hell would I even say? It’s amazing how, when we know we acted like dumbasses, we want to make things right — even if we don’t know how or if it could ever be possible. And maybe some wounds are better left covered, too.

I miss my mom. Even though she can’t make things “all better,” she can, however, make ME all better.

Mmmm. … Matchbox Twenty has a new CD. Must.Buy.Soon. Eventually. Or never. Whichever comes first.

Bon Jovi tickets went on presale this week. They’ll be in D.C. on March 9. I’m sure it’s cost prohibitive anyway, so I’m not going to think about it. (I only missed one of their concerts when they came to Pittsburgh — one! Some fan I am, missing the show in my new city. Argh.) I have to figure out how to buy gifts for all the upcoming occasions and holidays that I have to get up the gumption to attempt to care about. Argh. I used to love this season, but at this point, just making it to Jan. 1 without a nervous breakdown is all I’m asking Santa to bring me for Xmas.

Christ, this entry went downhill. It’s 3:30 a.m. Off to bed, damn it. 🙂

Not so much fun this time. Oh well. Something to do when avoiding work, right?

1. Did you vote in your last elections?

Of course I did. And my vote counted, because NOVA isn’t getting a sales tax increase. At least, not yet. 🙂

2. Do you know who your elected representatives are?

Hell no. I used to follow that stuff when I lived in Pittsburgh, and I still followed those elections. But not down here — ironic because of my location. 🙂

3. Have you ever contacted an elected representative? If so, what was it about?

Hmm. I remember writing to a newspaper because I was pissed off about the Hatch Act (early 1990s — I was 16) — it was published. Oh, wait, when I worked at my last job, I contacted our state and local representatives and senators to attend press conferences and to write letters of support for the agency for grants for which we applied. I DID write to Ronald Reagan when I was 10 years old, ranting about the effects of the steel mills closing down in Pittsburgh in 1984. I described the struggles of our families who now had a laid-off head of household. I somehow thought Reagan was responsible for it. I got a letter and a cool book about the Oval Office for my efforts. 🙂

4. Have you ever participated in a demonstration?

Yep. Mostly rallies though, for mental health and the Democratic party (I don’t have any political affiliation anymore). IKEA Boy and I attended a Ku Klux Klan meeting in Pittsburgh — actually, they were having a rally and we were with the protesters. Not that we were protesting it, actually. We were on the student newspaper at college and we simply went out to get the story. It was fucking scary inside the cage. We stayed outside and just observed, as we expected pandemonium to erupt at any moment. Pittsburgh is very much a black-vs.-white city, so everyone felt passionate about either the rights of the Klan to meet or the audacity of the Klan to exist. My opinions at the time fell somewhere in the middle of the extremes, so I was just an impartial observer.

My participation in demonstrations has, of late, been limited to voting and to signing petitions. (That reminds me, I need to renew my NOW membership and make a donation to NARAL and the ACLU when I get a raise, hopefully in January.)

5. Have you ever volunteered in an election? What was the result?

No. I did have friends who campaigned for local leaders when I was in high school, but I didn’t participate. I wish I had, though.

The Pub Club converged last night at Ruby Tuesday. Everyone was happy with the level of service except me. I don’t care how hot the bartender was, I still thought he was a dumbass. I mean, Christ, he kept removing my empty glasses and not bothering to refill them or even ask me if I wanted something else. And while I do demand service on a normal occasion, I was in no mood to beg him to let me spend money. The way I see it, he’s dependent upon tips, and if he keeps serving me drinks, that ups the bar bill. Further, the happier (and let’s face it, drunker) I am, the better the tips. We were there five hours, and I had four drinks, and that’s only because Shan and O were begging the guy to serve me. He did fine by them, but again, they were not shy about calling attention to their empty glasses. And Ed (the bartender) is damn lucky that Shan and O paid the tabs and tips, because I am a lot less forgiving, considering that nobody else was in the fucking bar but us and IKEA Boy.

At any rate, the night ended badly. IKEA Boy offered to drive O home, which pissed her off. He had to leave, so Shan and I decided that if he thought she wasn’t in good enough shape to drive, then perhaps we should pick up on his lead and make the same offer. She was FURIOUS!!! She began ranting that she’s a grown woman and that we don’t know her and that we need to just back the fuck off. It got ugly. Very, very ugly. She started crying and raging and essentially, making a fool out of herself — which only served to prove that she was entirely too toasted to get behind a wheel.

I’ll be perfectly honest — I love O, I’d do anything for her, but my concern was just as much for innocent pedestrians and drivers on the road as it was for her own personal safety. I’ve been in a car that was smashed by a drunk driver. I’m lucky to have lived. I drive when I’m tipsy, but it’s probably no worse than when I’m sober, because I am an erratic, hyper driver by nature. And we learned the hard way that O is one belligerent drunk, and when you’re trying to take the keys away from someone in that state and they aren’t letting you, you feel the beginnings of survivor’s guilt — not to be a fatalist, but you know to start preparing yourself in the event that bad news involving that person comes your way.

At any rate, O said she’s had it with the Pub Club, we’re all assholes, fuck us, and don’t think that she will ever be a part of any drinking activities with us again. Whatever. Perhaps the Pub Club, as it is, needs to change. I go drinking with Shan, and I go drinking with IKEA Boy, and no drama like this ever occurs. Maybe the three of us should keep the club going. Like Shan says, we all have too fucking much drama in our personal and work lives to deal with anybody else’s drama.

I don’t mean to sound like a bad friend or even a callous ass, but I’ve got better (or at least, more pressing) things to worry about. But I do hope she got home OK. I haven’t wandered down the hall yet to see if she bothered showing up today. I hope she did, because, I’ll admit, I’ll be thinking about her all weekend.

And my back, and my shoulders, and my head, and my ass. Oh, wait … did I mention that already?

Had a good workout last night. I need to do that a bit more often, so that my body gets used to the level of torture that I choose to inflict on it. I was going to come back to the office, but I just couldn’t face it. Besides, I didn’t want to miss “West Wing.” The process of writing Rob Lowe off the show has begun. Whatta bummer. But if they keep Christian Slater on as a regular, I might just forgive them for not paying Rob his asking price!

I think I have become a vegetable … at work, anyway. Although I love when our finished product is published every month, I hate attempting to get up the gumption to conduct interviews. I’m tired of being clever, witty and interested. I’m tired of seeing my paltry paycheck and picking which two or three bills can be paid with it. Luckily, we’re off on Monday, but I’m coming in anyway … it will be nice to not hear the phone ring for one day.

Shan’s live-in has built up a great friendship with a major basketball icon, and it may just result in a hefty sum of money being donated to the organization with which we are occasional volunteers. This could be the major kick in the ass that all of us need to get cracking on this project. I have oodles of info that I need to compile into a common grant application (my contribution to the project), and it would be cool as all hell to list this person as a contributor.

Just saw J-HO in the hallway — she’s on her way to meet with Jackie, probably for an afternoon delight. 🙂 She has the life, though. Works when she wants to, gets paid tons of money for little effort, and is most likely making more as a freelancer for this joint than she did as an FTE (full-time equivalent — sorry, my days of doing budgets are haunting me). I’d love to write an article or two for here, and do media for someone else and fund-raising for yet another entity. THAT would be the life. I’d love to not be dependent upon an employer for health benefits (not like I use them, though) and for a regular (albeit infinitesimal) paycheck.

Today is a good day at the Veggie Patch, though. Did two phone interviews and got some leads for more folks to contact. In a normal month, I’d be right on schedule, but this month will be another tough one. Oh goody. 🙂 Poor IKEA Boy has been out on vacation and out sick (with a broken heart, unfortunately, which is definitely the worst malady I can identify), so he’s going to return to unbridled hell when he makes it back into the office. But he always pulls it together — perfectly and in a timely manner — so I am not overly worried about him work-wise.

Janna sent me a great joke e-mail today, with famous quotes from pop icons. Let me share my two faves:

“Oh, you hate your job? Why didn’t you say so? There’s a support group for that. It’s called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar.”

— Drew Carey

and

“Relationships are hard. It’s like a full time job, and we should treat it like one. If your boyfriend or girlfriend wants to leave you, they should give you two weeks’ notice. There should be severance pay, and before they leave you, they should have to find you a temp.”

— Bob Ettinger

Calling all of my exes — pay up, mofos!!! And send me those temps now, I tell you, NOW!!!!! Before I start straddling telephone poles, ok?

We had an all-staff meeting today. Waste of time as usual. Jackie showed the CNN and Headline News coverage that was generated from our press conference re: sniper/terror anxiety.

Not a word of gratitude, or even acknowledgment, for Shan and me. Everyone loved the HN coverage … because the reporter commented on how the association is across from a gas station and how we had FBI sharpshooters on top of the apartment complex next-door. Everyone laughed when our president responded, jokingly, about how staff had to cope by going to other gas stations that weren’t as easily accessible by the highway. lol.

People thought the reporter was just that good, but I knew, in my heart, that I had equipped the reporter with the appropriate facts and leads for potential questions. The CNN coverage sucked (that was the one that Jackie slipped off to, using Bill’s contacts, without inviting or even telling Bill), but the HN one was my baby, and it turned out more wonderfully than even I could have anticipated. I didn’t need recognition, but it sure would’ve been nice for Jackie to at least acknowledge that the press conference and subsequent media coverage didn’t just drop out of the fucking sky.

He did make me laugh, though, when he announced that “we are on a roll with the P.R. stuff.” What roll? We’ve slid into reverse mode, as far as I’m concerned. Since Yellow-Haired Bitch was so territorial about being the P.R. queen, what is she doing to prove her worth? Shan and I DID start the ball rolling, but we’ve been prevented from running with that ball and therefore, it has been dropped. Splat.

I am convinced there are cameras in my ceiling at work. Yesterday, I heard a sound four different times that sounds distinctly like a camera refocusing itself, like when you pan in and out with a decent Nikon. Finally, I got frustrated and started hurling packages of Ramen noodles at the ceiling. Shan was in my office, just shaking her head at me, and the vegetables in the cube farm outside of my office were peering in, deathly curious. Shan finally dragged me out of my office and forced me to eat soft tacos at Chi Chi’s, just to get me away from the cameras. Mmmm. Tacos. 🙂

And don’t think I ain’t comin’ in this weekend to rip the ceiling tiles apart. I am finding this camera.

At any rate, re: the above vegetable reference — it’s just too politically incorrect to continue calling this place a psych ward, so I’ve decided to call it the Veggie Patch. This came from a delirious moment last night, when I was trying to either say “Veggie Tales” or “Cabbage Patch,” in reference to this joint. Veggie Patch. How fucking appropriate!!! Everyone’s zoned out, beaten down, confused or otherwise unmotivated to do anything but sit and stare at the walls. And when we have visitors, it’s like we’re sitting on the shelf, looking longingly at them, wanting to scream, “Buy me! Hire me! Calgon, Take Me Away!!!”

Or, as Shan and I like to say, “Goodbye, Cruel World!!!”

Ahem.

Shan and I did something that I expected would get us into a little bit of hot water … we met with Bill on Monday. We didn’t (intentionally) bash our employer, but we did tell him that we believe in him and his company, and frankly, we want to be him when we grow up. We offered to help him, on the side, in exchange for a reference or a “success story” when we finally get our own company launched. He’s totally game for it and realizes that it would be stupid to turn us down. We told him that in five years, we don’t want to be here, and that we’re boxed into our current positions — with no way up or out. And with all of our collective skills, we want to keep our minds active and our information current, so if the Veggie Patch isn’t our outlet, something has to be. He told us to generate some plans and we’ll make something happen. He recently went into business for himself, so he knows we want to learn from him. So, it’s a fair exchange for all of us, but it must be done in a way that doesn’t step on Jackie’s toes. Of course, when/if Jackie wants to utilize Shan and me again to supposedly keep the ball rolling (whatever), we’ll jump at the chance, but we aren’t going to die on the vine, waiting.

At any rate, I told Shan that if we work at the Veggie Patch, my position has to be — of course — “Hoe.” 😉

I am not politically oriented (much), but I am definitely going to find my polling place today because I want to vote AGAINST the proposed sales tax hike that is supposedly going to go toward preserving our roads. Yeah, whatever. What people need to understand is that the money goes to the STATE, and that Northern Virginia (NOVA) and the rest of the state are two different entitites. NOVA is a richer area and also pulls in more money (taxes) by income than the south, and tons of my money is going into the bowels of the state that I will never see. Do NOT raise my taxes. Do NOT. Do NOT. DO NOT!!! I can barely afford to live here, as it were.

Also, I must admit that I lost my political idealism shortly after the last presidential election. Shit, I’m not all that sore that Al Gore didn’t win; what pissed me off was the whole counting/re-counting saga that nearly left our country without a leader. By the time Dubya was finally given the electoral nod, I was glad to finally read something ELSE in the news headlines.

But really, elections, to me, serve as nothing more than an attempt by the voters to retain their current rights. I am through with hoping to change the country and to make the world a better place. It ain’t gonna happen. My bubble officially burst a few years ago. I don’t vote along party lines, but sometimes I find myself voting AGAINST a party rather than a particular candidate, which is the incorrect way to vote, but hell, it helps me to make a decision. I know a lot of women who vote for female candidates, and I know a lot of Dems who vote against Republicans.

As for me, here are my issues. Unfortunately, there are few candidates who stand with me, so I have to traverse party lines, go with my chosen party or simply play roulette in the voting booth.

1. Pro-choice all the way. Doesn’t mean I am a baby-killer myself or am in favor of randomly murdering the unborn. They don’t have souls till they’re born, and until 35th-trimester abortions become legal, I am standing up for my Roe v. Wade rights. Quit trying to take them away. This is an issue about which I am willing to fight to the death.

2. Sensible gun control. Despite the damage inflicted by insane snipers in my homeland, I am fine with letting people own guns. I do NOT own one because I would USE it on people who PISS ME OFF!!! And I will admit to being a Type A Personality who gets pissed when people slack. And I get depressed over my miserable existence sometimes, too, so personally, not owning a gun is like a community service. Unfortunately, not all other Type As out there are as conscientious as me, so we need to regulate who may legally purchase a gun, and we need to get rid of all the backyard gunsmiths who are supplying these fruit loops with illegal toys and ammo.

3. Economics — fix that fucking public welfare system, will ya? I hate those bitches who lie on their backs and pop out babies every nine months to different fathers every time. Fuck you, for using my hard-earned pennies to support their fat asses that sit around and watch, and frequently guest-star on, Jerry Springer and Jenny Jones. If you run a DNA test on a kid and none of the 10 daddies you brought to the set are a match, you deserve to work for a living, just like the rest of us. See the above pro-choice entry … I myself, and most of my friends, could be welfare mommies if not for that very painful operation, but no — we’re out supplementing the economy and taking care of ourselves, and we’re also funding the food stamp program so that welfare bay-bays can eat well while we miss meals ’cause we can’t afford ’em. Fuck it all. Further, look who’s cashing those checks — they all have expensive braids, bejeweled and disgustingly long manicured fingernails, designer clothes on themselves and their bay-bays and not a man in sight. Waaah. I have NO pity for them. NONE AT ALL.

4. Sensible drug control/Free meds for the elderly and disabled. I will admit to indulging in some illegal treats on occasion, but I use them responsibly. It kills me that Health and Human Services just invested $8 million in research and preventive use of Ecstasy, but come the fuck on. Leave the so-called “club drug” users alone and pay for prescription medication for senior citizens. Do you know how much money our parents/grandparents are dumping on their dozens of prescriptions to treat the maladies that accompany old age? Too fucking much. Take that $8 million — and some of those funds from the Temporary Aid to Needy Families Act — and give our retired, disabled and income-restricted elders a break. Please.

That’s my soapbox. Challenge me if you dare. Otherwise, go vote with or against me. But, for Christ’s sake, just vote, OK?