Caterwauling

I received the Christmas card today that ruined my makeup.

I’d sent my old friend Jill a card, because, well, I adored her to death and I missed her and her wonderful family. And I included a note to mention the fact that she and her husband were so inspirational to me over the years, and now that I (*supposedly*) do volunteer work, I think back to them and how selflessly they gave themselves to their many causes. While Jill is a fabulous contact to have, in all honesty, I miss chatting with her and giggling and hearing her voice every morning on the phone.

Anyway, when I addressed her card, I was confounded as to how to do it. I know the names of her husband (another buddy of mine) and their three gorgeous children, but I was nervous. You see, I hadn’t heard from Jill in abuot six months or so. And her oldest child has a terminal illness called Rett Syndrome, and she’s had it since she was 18 months old. It’s a degenerative illness, meaning that she unlearned the independence she had learned until that early age. Doctors say these kids have a life expectancy of about 10 years or so, although some have gone on a bit longer.

Anyway, Chandler is nearing 10 years old. I ran a few Internet searches on her, and I saw no recent news coverage (she’s been the poster child for several children’s charities). She is model-beautiful, and one shudders to wonder where that beauty could have gotten her in life, without this syndrome.

When I opened the card, I knew it was from Jill because it had a P.S. message on the back of the envelope. No return address, though. That’s my Jill, always in a hundred different directions, spinning a dozen plates every minute. 🙂 But even though the message inside was just lovely and it told me how very proud she and her husband have always been of me, well, it was the black-and-white photo of their beautiful children — all three of them — that made my day so special. Chandler is taller and has the same wisdom in her eyes that she’s always possessed, and her two younger brothers look like each other and are quite obviously free and happy souls.

I must’ve cried for a half hour. At least. But my tears were happy ones. Jill is well, her family is well, and I still have these wonderful people in my life, backing me up and encouraging me and loving me from afar. And I love every last one of them. People like Jill are so rare in this world — with her own daughter being so frail and having entirely too many demands on her own physical and emotional health, she remains positive and grateful for every last second with all of her precious children and her large extended family. And on top of it, she volunteers full-time for no fewer than five charities. Hell, she works more than the paid staff does, I can attest to that. I know I cry about money entirely too often, but here’s a woman who’s doing well financially, yet knows she can lose her daughter at any minute. But she turns her passion into hope for thousands of other children every year. I am not a religious woman, by any standards, but may God bless her and everyone she loves. And I meant what I wrote in her card — she and her husband have made a bigger impact on me than they can ever realize.

I also keep a photo of Tommy, my old buddy Lori’s son, in my jewelry box. He has Down syndrome and autism, but Lori is another one who gave me lots of time and energy at one of my old charities, despite the fact that she, too, had three kids (including Tommy with his special needs) and other full-time commitments. I should drop her an e-mail soon (I lost her address, unfortunately, so I didn’t send a card).

We give so many awards to stupid pop stars and movie queens, while it’s women like Jill and Lori who are really the ones truly making an impact that matters. Happy New Year, girls. Sending you lots of love from my little corner of the world. 🙂

I always called my family The Mansons. I don’t know why. It just seemed to fit. We don’t have swastikas or anything tattooed to our foreheads, but we’re a strange bunch, admittedly. So we’re the Manson Family.

Mom was whining that I spend soooo much time with my friends that I don’t spend any time making memories with her (uh, I only saw one friend during my five-day stay, but whatever). But there’s one memory that I just HAVE to share and record for posterity:

My grandfather was supposed to do dishes the other night. There were only four dishes and two glasses in the sink, but still, Mom’s all OCD and can’t have a speck of dirt or a filthy dish in the house (even though I had soaked the dishes, she’s militant about having her house be immaculate). I used to be that way, at my old apartment — she taught me well. But at any rate, she was very angry at him for letting the dishes sit for a few hours (I’d had to pick something up at Leslie’s house, and I’d invited Mom along for the ride to Fox Chapel, and I also took her to see Kaufmann’s windows). So, when he saw us coming in the house, he scurried to the sink to do dishes, but she was furious.

What did she do? She flung the plates, one by one, into the trash.

Her china is older than I am, BTW. But she’d had it, and this wasn’t the first time he’d slacked on his single household chore — She was so annoyed that those dishes were sitting in the sink in her clean house that she tossed them like frisbees across the room. I loved it. Poor Maddie was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for her hourly feeding (because she’s a little piggy when she goes to Grandma’s house), and she wasn’t sure whether to run or to see if there were any food left on those plates.

Personally, I’m not sure if Mom ever removed the dishes from the trash, as she took the garbage out to the curb 15 minutes later, and I was too afraid to ask. But that’s a technique to consider adopting — if you hate seeing dirty dishes in the sink, pitch them. 🙂 Then there are no more dishes to worry about. lol. She’s such a creative problem solver! And I’ll bet that by the time I go back for Easter, there will be nothing but paper plates and plastic sporks in the house. Stay tuned for THAT update. … 😉

It’s impossible to love fully. For me, anyway. Everyone seems to have a hidden agenda, even if their only item on their “to-do” list is, well, me. 🙂

I long for a time when I feel like I can give myself completely, without fear of attachment, abandonment or pregnancy/disease, to be blunt about it. I find that no matter how I try to lose myself in the sexual act, one or all of these emotions are written on the ceilings or headboards within my line of vision. I want to close my eyes and fall into the illusion, only, I don’t want it to be an illusion anymore. I want to feel what it’s like to make love, and I want there to be love left over in the morning, not just a shattered slipper next to the cum-stained sheets.

I think the last time I attempted to fully immerse myself in the act was with Brat. I’d wanted him so badly, and when I learned that the desire was mutual, well, Cinderella couldn’t throw her rags to the floor fast enough. 🙂 I never for a moment stopped to think that both parties weren’t in the same place emotionally. And even after that went kaput, whatever magic had drawn us together, well, never really went away. When we saw each other 10 times a day, every day, I still felt like Cinderella, awaiting the return of her precious glass slipper. Unfortunately, this Cinderella got tired of running around barefoot, and she hit the next shoe sale at Payless and was finally on her merry way.

But I want to feel weightless and ecstatic and hopeful again, now that I know it’s possible. I want the unity of body and soul, smiles during kisses, feeling during penetration, happiness during shared breaths. I don’t want to withhold my heart, pretend it’s OK for everyone to walk away, feign that nothing happened. Or, on the other hand, I don’t want to pretend that I care when I really don’t.

I still believe in love at first sight, in magic, in karma, in kindred spirits. I would just love to bump into these souls, have both parties acknowledge the cosmic attraction, and go with it — wholly and voraciously.

But until such a day could ever arrive, I’ll continue either being or pretending to be uninterested, which keeps them interested. I’ll keep playin gthe games, including being unavailable and vague, which will intensify the chase. And hopefully, when I stop running away, the right person will catch me.

Song of the moment: “No Regrets” by Jodi Sheeler

From the places you’ve forgotten to the ones you never left

from all the things you said to all the things you really meant

from everything you might have been to everything you are instead

here’s to no regrets

from everything you might have been to everything you are instead

here’s to no regrets, here’s to no regrets.”

Well, congratulations are in order, because I have recently become the mother of four. 🙂

Most of you know that my very first Blogchild was Shawn, who pushed his way into the Blogworld this past summer. Then, after a lot of moaning and shoving, I gave life to IKEA Boy just last week. And shortly after IKEA Boy came kicking and screaming into the world, the next child of mine to get a slap on the ass as he entered the light is Andrew.

And, I just learned, Scott has become my youngest. Woo hoo! All boys!!! I’m such a proud mommy!

Please give a warm welcome to my progeny, and update your links and bookmarks accordingly!!!

I returned to Virginia on a high — I swear, time spent in Pittsburgh does wonders for my ego. When I go there, I’m the hot-shot (har har) from D.C., returning to the Little Town That Couldn’t. When I return to the nation’s capital, I’m still a little person who can’t balance her checkbook, which is surprising, given the meager amount left with which to balance.

I had fun in the ‘Burgh, doing meals and picking up (small but perfect) gifts for my loved ones as well as some awesome items for myself that were on major markdown (except my trip to the liquor store. hee hee). Unfortunately, while I only have a handful of items to show for my supposed extravagance, I found that I don’t even have enough money to pay the rent. Oh goody. Not to mention the past-due bills, but I’ll spare my readers that living joy. I s’pose I’ll just pay my half of the rent late, with the late fee attached, next pay, but unfortunately, I have to take a LOT of bills out of next pay. I’ll bet I only really pissed away $200 out of the current pay, which is small potatoes compared to how much disposable income I had last year, but I digress. Argh. Back to life, back to reality.

IKEA Boy and I have been planning a trip to the Big Apple on Jan. 8, but I think I should stay home, unless I want to sit in the hotel all day. And that’s another thing — I signed up for the trip figuring that he was paying the cost of the hotel and travel, as I am just going along with him for the ride (he’s taking a tour of some major media outlets as part of his graduate school studies). Hmm. I will have to think more about this one. I hate my life right now. On the bright side, I took those vacation days, which means that if nothing else, I get to miss the Veggie Patch holiday fiesta on Jan. 10. 🙂 That alone makes me happy!

IKEA Boy gave me the most beautiful silver bracelet with stones that I am struggling to identify (it’s either malachite or some variation thereof — I will have to find that out post-haste). I love it. Thanks, IKEA Boy!

At any rate, I was figuring on NOT going out for New Year’s, as I’m super-po’, but fuck it. I’ll pay the late fee for the rent, pay some other bills in the interim, and catch up next time. Of course, I say that every month with other bills, and all I seem to do is plunge deeper and deeper into debt, but I am NOT going to ring in the New Year on a sour note. My grandmother always used to say that what you are doing at midnight on New Year’s Eve is what you’ll be doing all year — and that includes how you’re feeling. And true to form, I’ve been drunk every New Year’s, and I’ve spent the whole year drunk! lol. So why should THIS year be any exception?!?!

Sipping yummy coffee at the Ruddy Duck at the Ramada in Pittsburgh. Also squinting at my notebook, as I left my glasses in my room. Five good-looking men just walked in — total Pittsburgh redneck types, but still young enough to be stripped down and cleaned up. (Men are the ULTIMATE artsy-craftsy fixer-upper creative projects!)

Just ordered a Ruddy Croissant with Sausage.

It’s quiet in here — the tourism industry truly is nothing like it was before Sept. 11, 2001 — the Ruddy Duck used to do a fabulous business on its own, not even factoring in the hotel guests who wandered down for a bite. Now, though, you can tell that the six of us who are here right now rolled down from our rooms, and there seems to be no hope of anyone else wandering in anytime soon.

It’s funny how, now that I live in D.C., I don’t bat an eye when I see outrageously priced food items. My breakfast will come to $10, and while it’s appalling, given the quality and quantity (when I can get an equal-sized and tastier breakfast at Mickey D’s for $3.21), now I just accept the fact that shit costs too much and I am grateful that it doesn’t cost any more.

My Ruddy Croissant is more like a Cruddy Croissant. Yeeeaaaccchhhh. The potatoes are dry (where’s the damn Heinz Ketchup? It’s only manufactured across the fucking street!!!!!!!), the croissant’s OK but the sausage on it is simply two links sliced in half to look like four pieces, which doesn’t even cover the fucking bread. And I could really use some more coffee, before I choke to death on this crappy breakfast. Shit. I should’ve gone to Starbucks for a cranberry bliss bar. Or I could’ve had another grease fiesta at Ritters — the good thing about Ritter’s is that for $5, your digestive tract gets opened for the whole day.

Damn it, I am going to go to Fathead’s when it opens for some garlic-parm wings. I know this breakfast is going to join yesterday’s breakfast in the river very soon. … I’ll take the wings to Mom’s — they are her favorite, and she never goes to the South Side without me.

I love Samantha, my car. At least she can’t be repo’d by GMAC ‘cuz they don’t know where I am right now. Woo hoo! I’ve put on 550 miles so far since my oil change — it’ll be at least 800 by the time I get home to the land of warmer weather and cheaper cigarettes. hee hee. I keep threatening Mom that I’m going to kidnap her and take her back with me. She laughs but I know she’s intrigued. But really, once my grandfather is gone (and unfortunately, that day is probaby going to come sooner than we would like to believe), there is no reason for her to stay in Pittsburgh — she can go anywhere, and I know she’d love to live closer to me. I have no doubt that she will end up down here. I think she’d love that, although she’d have to share my closet with Maddie. But then again, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart, curled among the boxes of shoes with their similarly colored hair. 🙂

It has GOT to be at least 10 degrees colder in Pittsburgh than in Northern Virginia. But it’s nice and cozy here in the hotel. The suite is PERFECT! Dishes, microwave oven, silverware, fridge, oven, etc. are in the kitchen, and the living room has a couch, lamps, tables and a recliner! Yay recliner!!! I love it, and I totally need one for myself. I love curling up and writing on my knees. This rules.

It’s funny — I’ve stayed in practically every upscale hotel in Pittsburgh, and I’ve usually crashed on the bed while watching TV. Now that I have my TV in my bedroom at home, I am curled up in the living-room area of the suite, enjoying Comedy Central and not even worrying about when I will finally drag my beer-soaked psyche into the bedroom. 🙂

This suite is about the size of my old apartment. I love the hotel life — it’s so clean, and it gets cleaned even more while I’m out. Shan and I joke, too, that after being with our clean families over Xmas, it pains us to go back to our filthy apartments in Virginia. 🙂 At any rate, the beauty of staying at a hotel is that maintenance is on-call 24/7. The heater malfunctioned last night, and not only did I see a serviceman within 10 minutes of my call, he replaced the whole damn unit, before our eyes. Immediate, efficient, friendly, tidy — whatta joy to behold!

The green-on-green decor is a bit odd (oh, I’m going into my Hemmingway-esque descriptions now), but the solitude is fantastic. I love living in the middle of downtown, amid the skyscrapers and the traffic and the businesses. I am high above the hustle-and-bustle, yet it’s only an elevator ride away, when I’m ready to drown myself in it.

I’ve often wished to have enough money to move into a hotel for a night or two (or 10) just to escape it all. I enjoy being alone with my thoughts. Just sittin’ around in my jammies, drinkin’ beer, smokin’ and scribblin’ my notes. Like this. 🙂 No worrying about having my hair done, or wearing a shirt that covers all the areas that need to be covered. Ain’t nobody looking at me, judging me, gathering info to tell their friends about what a freak I can be. If I want to walk around with my ass hanging out, damn it, I can. (Actually, I’m in lavender-and-blue sleep pants with a lavender T-Shirt, but still, if I wanted to sit here naked, I could. And I like the thought that I can do it, if the mood should strike. 🙂 No cats or roommates around to scare, if I DO do that!!!

But, moving on to a BETTER view to behold. …

The view from my suite is fantastic, but given the hotel’s location, sandwiched between downtown and uptown, that’s not a surprise. I have the drapes open, even though there is no activity worth watching at this point in the evening.

I’m located at Sixth at Bigelow (i.e., One Bigelow Square), across from the back entrance to the Steel Plaza “T” Station (Pittsburgh’s trolley system, for the unfamiliar. It has four stops downtown, unlike the D.C. Metro, which has a million). Immediately in front of me is One Mellon Center, which is designed like a towering cock with one big round testicle on its side. I am not kidding about this. It’s the cock-and-balls building.

I also see Mellon’s brand-new Client Service Center, all black-and-clear glass, with its neatly manicured green grass and newly planted bare, spindly trees, all of which have been dusted with snow. It’s a welcome addition to the city, having cropped up within the last year or two. That area used to be a steel-and-brick eyesore, coated with dirt and more dirt. Mellon Bank may have some of the highest fees in the land, but at least they spent some of their surplus money appropriately by plopping this new building into that formerly dusty pit.

To my right is the Omni William Penn Hotel, where I spent many nights, working gala charity events. The old Alcoa building is next to it, and I can see part of the massive USX Tower, another of my old haunts (I’ve worked in most of the major Downtown skyscrapers). I can see its outdoor plaza, where the trees are festively adorned with white lights, and I can see the back of its traditional, larger-than-life manger scene. This has received national recognition, and although I’m not the least bit religious (other than screaming to god in the throes of orgasm), I do find it — and the ethereal organ musical accomaniment — awe-inspiring. There’s a Steelers flag, an American flag, and a County flag flying in the blasting winds in the plaza, as well.

I love downtown Pittsburgh. Can you tell? 🙂

I don’t feel like calling or seeing anyone else during this trip, even though it’s the longest stay in the city that I’ve had in months. Shan’s always bugging me to tune out the world, to get lost in myself, to quit being “on call” for everyone for a few hours or days, to not lose myself amid everyone else’s drama when I have plenty of my own that I don’t even focus on.

I don’t know. I do love being away from technology, from demands, from energy-draining crises. I get so tired of trying to kiss everyone else’s boo-boos, when I have my own sores that are festering from neglect. I am a caretaker and a caregiver to a fault. Perhaps I like being needed. Perhaps I prefer to avoid my own dilemmas. I just feel like I can solve everyone else’s problems but my own. I’m fabulous in a crisis. … It is my nature to gain control of a situation and to regain the peace when chaos erupts. To have nothing to do — save but writing in my notebook and reflecting on my life and my surroundings — well, is just beautiful, but it’s also ephemeral. I’ll re-enter the “real world” tomorrow, but for tonight, I will sleep well, as I am in love with my “right now.”

Sitting here wasted and wounded

At this old piano

Trying hard to capture the moment, but

This morning I don’t know

‘Cause a bottle of vodka’s still lodged in my head

And some blonde gave me nightmares

I think that she’s still in my bed

As I dream about movies

They won’t make of me

When I’m dead.”

— Bon Jovi, “Bed of Roses” —

Much like Jon Bon Jovi wrote the above lyrics during a hungover morning in a hotel room, here I sit, enjoying the silence during my second and final night at the Ramada, on a discounted stay won through being the highest bidder during a charity auction last year. Aaaah, hotels are so totally the way to go. I spent my first night in the ‘Burgh on Mom’s couch, and I’ll spend the next two nights there as well, but crashing at the hotel has been my dream vacation. Eatin’ Starbucks Java Chip ice cream, drinkin’ beer, scribblin’ in my notebook — this, my friends, is living.

This freedom came at a price, however. Although I love my mother and my grandfather dearly, well, they can be suffocating, sometimes. Shit, I felt guilty leaving to come to the hotel — that’s how good at inflicting guilt trips they can be (the Carnival Cruises of guilt trips, I assure you). Mom asked me to call her tonight (trust me, she’ll beat me to it — I work a lot slower than she does on the phone thing), but of anyone, I want to call Shan the most. I miss her — it’s like we have become such a unit that I feel like, now that we’re on separate coasts, that there’s a part of me somewhere that I can’t reach.

The drive here was TREACHEROUS. I decided, after I finished my last blog entry, to throw the cat in the car and brave Mother Nature, who was obviously, like me, PMSing like a madwoman. I told the family that I WASN’T going to attempt the commute, but that gave me time to do the drive slowly but surely, without them worrying where the hell I was. And sure enough, when I showed up on their doorstep, they were floored. I did NOT tell them about all the accidents, icy patches and blustery winds that damn near knocked the car off course. All I told them is that it took a full tank of gas to give the car enough power to make it one way (it usually takes no more than a quarter-tank, if that).

Ironically, they had just sat down to dinner, and well, I had called Mom from Breezewood to tell her to throw the turkey in the oven. She chose not to tell my grandfather, so when he was starting to eat his beautiful Xmas dinner, he said that the only thing that could possibly make the meal better would be if I were there. Awwww. So, ironically, on cue, I parked the car and ran in with the cat in her cage, and he looked so bloody thrilled to see me — it’s like he didn’t believe it were really me. Shit, I have always had perfect timing, and this was no exception. 🙂 And dinner rocked. Thanks, Mom!!!

At any rate, I crashed there, and did my thing for awhile. Mom and I ran around the next morning, hitting the so-called after-Xmas sales, but many stores were overstocked and unfortunately NOT lowering their prices enough to impress us. So I decided to check into the hotel, call Leslie (see previous entry) and go out, as we say, to play.

I invited Mom to spend tonight with me at the hotel, but as much as she wanted to come, I think she knew I needed a night alone. I am one of those people who is meant to live alone, and if I ever get married, I would likely want my own bedroom eventually. I felt guilty, though, because she seemed so bloody sad when I left, even though I assured her that I’d be back the next day. She had tears in her eyes, and I told her to save the tears for when I left the state (although I wasn’t looking forward to that watershed, either!). She fed me a yummy homemade lasagna dinner, and sent me on my way with my little shred of guilt packed with my ice cream. 🙂

Guilt aside, I figured, how often do I get a full night to myself? I am set on enjoying this, and pretending once again that I live in a fabulous one-bedroom apartment in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh. It’s clean and cozy, and all I need is Maddie to make it complete, but she’s staying at Mom’s and probably planning to wreak havoc once they have gone to bed. 🙂 I wonder if Maddie has trouble sleeping when I’m not around, much like what happens to me when I am without that loveable bag of fur.

Went to see Kaufmann’s windows this evening — as usual, Jack did a fantastic job on bringing a brilliant series of animated figurines to life in a festive setting. I was particularly impressed with the replica of Christmas 1856, when President Franklin Pierce commanded the first tree for the Blue Room in the White House. Brilliant, as always. Nice work, Jack!

I also went up to Mount Washington, where I loved living for two years, and took some photos of the spectacular view of the cityscape that used to greet me every morning and evening. I have missed that view. When/if I bother getting the photos developed (and they actually look OK), I’ll post one, so you can appreciate what I USED to see every day of my life. I could call that the “before” photo, and post the “after” photo, as now I have a panoramic view of a 7-11 and a Mobil station. Quite the change, and this view (and the apt.) costs triple the money as the skyline view. Ugh. If I could just plop my OLD apartment (at its price) down here in Alexandria, I’d be set. And I can live with my photos of the skyline — maybe I should just blow them up and plaster them on the inside of my windows. 🙂 (Oh, god, how ghetto would that be? lol)

I had a scary experience, though, on the Mount. Went to my old ATM at the intersection of Virginia Avenue and Shiloh Street, where I took out a paltry $25 to cover my hotel parking costs. A freaky guy stopped me as I went to my door — he was following me from the ATM to the car. I thought he was going to rob me (there were a lot of robberies/attacks in Pgh this season), but he told me that he wasn’t a robber or a beggar and wasn’t going to hurt me. Argh. But — he needed money because (insert bullshit story here). Something about freezing kids and a car with no gas. I deftly opened my door, but he kept sliming his way around car, inching closer to me, leaning on the vehicle. I figured he probably had a gun or a knife or something … why else was he creeping up to me, steadily bur surely? While I figured the story was a crock, I didn’t want to take any chances. I threw $5 at him and snapped, “Guess what? I’m poor too! But I hate Pittsburgh winters, and this is ONLY because you say your kids are cold. Hope this helps.”

As I jumped in the car, he came to my door, which I locked — he was yapping about Southern Avenue. Said something about wanting to “axe” me a question. (Insert random Dawn bitching here: Do NOT speak to me unless it’s in English, OK? Especially, when you’re a big scary guy of a different nationality, do NOT say the words “axe you” to me — unless you have one in your pocket and you’re trying to warn me!)

OK, commercial break over. 🙂

Anyway, he AXED me if I knew where Southern was — I figured he was gonna hijack me, if I did. So I said no, I’m from out-of-state. He said, “Don’t you be lyin’ — I know you know where it is.” I sped the hell off, at that point. I don’t even remember taking the emergency breake off — I just flew down the mountain as fast as the speed limit would allow.

That got me to thinking, all the way down McArdle Roadway as I admired the skyline one last time. I love the city and will cherish my time in it forever, but when a scary African-American man approaches you here, you pray for your life (and, in my case, run for it). Let me preface, my car was attacked in the ghetto, I’ve been followed and harassed on the streets, and I was also once jumped by a black man at the bus stop, although, ironically, an African-American teen-ager pulled him off of me). So I have earned my right to be nervous when somebody twice my size comes barreling toward me in the thickness of the night when no one else is around. And accordingly, I was terrified. Perhaps his story wasn’t bullshit, but he didn’t thank me for the money … he kept trying to keep me there longer. I was ready to key his eyeholes, if need be, but I knew in a fight, I would NOT win. So while it hurt me to part with that fiver that I could really use right now, well, if it saved my life by delaying him or if it prevented him from attacking my car, it was an investment, as far as I’m concerned.

But let’s assume the story was true (and that his approach was just really bad) — why SHOULD I care about him and his stupid kids? Would I go approaching strangers (especially those who would, demographically, be intimidated by me, in a city where race is a HUGE dividing line)? At any rate, I’m broke, too — and nobody gives a shit about MY money problems, so why should I care about his? He probably only used the line about the kids for sympathy — he was most likely alone. And if there WERE kids involved, well,it wasn’t their fault that Pappy was a dumbass and was running the car without fuel.

Ugh. I don’t know. I’m out a few bucks, but my car and my body are intact, yet I can’t shake the feeling of unfairness. He knew I’d be scared. He knew I wasn’t going to reach into my car for the single dollars in my purse. I wanted to keep his hands in full view the whole time. And I held my breath as I jumped into the car and veered into the middle of the road without looking for other cars. I have no doubt that he targeted me. And that pisses me off.

So I kidnapped Leslie from her family last night. She needed it. 🙂 I haven’t seen her since Easter, when she last pilgrimaged from Dublin, Ireland, to our homeland of Pittsburgh. Goodness only knows when she’ll return again — it’s quite a commute for her, both financially and emotionally. She says these trips are getting harder to make, and she may only come back once in 2003, and that will most likely be when Chris and Shawn finally tie the knot, probably later in the year. We decided she should fly into Dulles Airport, where I can meet her and we can go to Minnesota together. With that settled, now we are planning to save some of our pennies (or Euros. lol) next year so that we can be sure to enjoy this long-awaited event!!!

Leslie — the wonderful lass — bought me dinner at Dingbat’s in Waterworks, one of our favorite old haunts. We had a lot of fun, catching up in person. It’s amazing, for as detailed as our e-mails can sometimes be, how much we really miss when we’re not talking in person several times a week, the way we used to. She has soooo many great stories to tell that I have encouraged her to get herself a Blog, but like she says, most people wouldn’t even believe the stories she has to tell. I just wish she could record all of her European adventures for posterity, and that way, I can keep better tabs on our free-spirited American wildwoman as she hops around Ireland, Scotland and god-only-knows-where she ends up. 🙂

After Dingbat’s, we were off to another old haunt, Tom & Tud’s in Aspinwall, to grab a couple of 40s of Coors Light (’cause we’re just ghetto like that — after all, we ARE from Pittsburgh!), and we cruised down to the Ramada, where I mercifully had a two-night stay booked and paid for in advance. Woo hoo!

I must admit that I almost got pulled over tonight. When we were leaving Aspinwall, I knew that I had to jump on Route 28, but we weren’t sure which of the two exits to take to go to the hotel (we’re kinda hopeless with the east-west thing). After I passed the correct exit, Leslie alerted me that we kinda needed that one, so I did a near U-Turn to get on the correct ramp. Unfortunately, I had some asshole on my tail, so I sped up like a maniac and flew like a bat outta hell to avoid getting rear-ended. Something told me to put on my turn signal mid-turn, and thankfully, I did. Because, well, the asshole began REALLY following me closely after that. Shit. I finally decided to go the speed limit (I think it was 45 in that stretch — I was well above 60) and then I dropped into the right-hand lane. Then the asshole passed me. And of course, as my luck would have it, the asshole was a cop! Whew. We figured, the only reason I did NOT get pulled over was because of the turn signal, because if I were a drunk driver, I would’ve conveniently forgotten that. Of course, here in Virginia, turn signals are optional on all car models, and no one would’ve batted an eye, had I not flipped the blinker on. 🙂

The beer was flat, but we drank it anyway (I needed it. Trust me). We got up today and went to breakfast (Leslie’s treat again — whatta great date! lol). She suggested we either go to Ritter’s or King’s, both of which make my tummy rumble at the thought of touching a plate of food, so I let her decide that one. We ended up at Ritter’s (it’s a Pittsburgh tradition, and trust me when I say it, you can only appreciate it if you’re hammered or if you’re 85 or older). But the place has the best damn coffee in the city, paralleled only by Eat ‘n Park (again, another place to go only when you’re completely shitfaced).

At any rate, we ordered our standard favorites — buckwheat pancakes for her, and a sausage and cheese omelet for me. And, of course, tons of java. And true to tradition (for me, anyway), I promptly returned the omelet (most likely, in its entirety) to the Monongahela River, from whence it probably came. IKEA Boy and I used to call that place “Shitters,” or, when we saw things with more than two legs dancing around the floors, “Critters.” Aaaah, memories. …

So I am stuck in Alexandria for Christmas this year. What joy. It’s not so bad, but I have no food in the house and, well, I hate being immobile because of inclement weather (meanwhile, Mom’s got a turkey and a ham sitting in HER fridge). I can deal with our sleet/snow/rain mix, but I’ve been tracking my usual route to Pennsylvania, and it looks kinda ugly. As soon as I saw the word “ice” on all my usual roads, well, forget it. I’m stayin’ put for another day. But come tomorrow, I’ll head up there. I am sure if I were a better driver — and had anything OTHER than a sports car — I’d be fine on the roads, but I’m a nervous Nelly and, well, Samantha goes airborne pretty easily.

Everyone down here is all happy and festive because they don’t usually see a White Christmas. Fuck that shit. I am kind of bitter because, if I’d left before the storm hit yesterday, I’d be with my family right now. I guess I just wanted to celebrate Christmas Eve in my new city, but IKEA Boy is depressed and didn’t want to do anything last night. So, I was disappointed but I figured I’d salvage my situation by going out alone. But the snow was kinda nasty and I didn’t want to traipse around D.C. (I’d wanted to see the National Tree) when I can’t even maneuver the city in the daylight, in perfect weather conditions.

I miss Shan, but she’ll be arriving here just as I’m leaving, so we won’t cross paths. I have plans to see Leslie on Thursday, but I might switch that to Friday, so I can see the Manson Family on Thursday instead (as Mom postponed Xmas dinner till I can get up there). Everyone is snug in their homes, celebrating their holidays together. But I never WAS one who appreciated tradition. I figure, I’ve got the whole next week off from work — that’s plenty of time I can spend with my family. That, and I love having the house to myself. Maddie and I slept in front of the tree (and she barfed up the needles that I didn’t notice her eating, so I have to clean that up when I’m done blogging), which was always our Xmas eve tradition anyway (including cleaning up her festive Xmas barf). lol.

I was going to clean/redecorate the bathroom, but I’ll do that when I return from Pittsburgh. Normally, I insist on coming back to a sparkling apartment, but well, as long as the sink is free of dishes, that’s all I need this holiday. The dirt will still be there to welcome me with open arms, like it always does. 😉

When I come back, I intend to get my business license and I also intend to surf the job postings. I am sick of living on nothing, and until I live in a society where personal and cleaning products are free of cost, well, I’m always going to be spending my extra money on such incidentals. That, and I received more overdue bills than Xmas cards, and well, it’s depressing. And this is the last Xmas that I am going to feel this awful. I wrote in Shan’s Xmas card that 2003 is going to be our year, and I meant it.

I know most people celebrate this holiday for its religious aspects, but I am celebrating is as an end to what has been a shitty fucking year. My grandfather is getting religious on us, though, and started talking about praying and the bible last night. I think my holy-roller uncle has gotten to him. And I refuse to debate religion on this holiest-of-days, but I am more of a believer in the fact that we have to make our own miracles, because the deities are too darned busy to worry about our individual checkbook balances.

In strange news, I got a response to one of my personal ads, and well, it wasn’t a man who answered it. Is this a sign? She seems really nice. I wasn’t gender-specific in my ad — I only said I’m in search of adventure and happiness and someone to ride the roller coaster called life with me. I’ve learned over the years to not turn down someone who seems to care — perhaps now I should practice what I’ve been preaching. 🙂 We’ll see.

I sent the last of my Xmas cards out last night, and one was to MV. I’m sure it will be returned to me, as the address is an old one, but that’s fine. At least I’ll know. True to form, I remembered our Xmas eve together (was it 1996?), and I extracted the lesson that I learned from that time. I learned — the hard way — that telling someone how special they are to you is vital. You can’t sit around and wait to decide whether they’re special, and once you figure it out, you need to show it. Immediately. And say it as well. A major lesson in my life from that time and place was to not assume that people know what you’re thinking and feeling. Oftentimes, they don’t, and they are guessing and sometimes guessing wrong. And that is why today, I make sure that the people in my life know that they mean the world to me. I say it, show it, live it. People in my life always know where they stand with me, and I encourage them to ask, when I’m not clear enough.

As for the men in my life, I was happily pleased with both RK and Brat yesterday. Heard from both, and it was pleasant all around. And come what may in my entanglements with both of them, it made me glad to know that I was someone whom both were remembering fondly during this holiday season. And even if they both remain in my past, well, that’s OK too. But I am grateful for the time — however brief and/or complicated it was — I was able to have with them.

A lot of other people are on my mind today as well. I want to send lots of love out to Minnesota, to Chris and Shawn. They are spending their first Xmas together, in their new house, and trying to make a nice holiday for themselves. This is an emotional time for both of them, for varying reasons, and I wish I could be there to give them both a hug. Hopefully I’ll be able to see them during the new year, and Leslie will be coming back from Ireland for our reunion at their wedding celebration, and it will be wonderful to have the gang together. I am grateful every day for e-mail, because we’re almost as close as we always were, and I am the luckiest girl on earth to have friends like them.

There are so many others I can mention here, but I’m probably hitting my character limit, so I just want to wish them all the luck and love in the world. And until we can all have *real* in-person hugs, let me just send a virtual one to all of them now. 🙂 Merry Christmas, Happy Haunukkah, Happy New Year, etc. etc. To friendship, to love, to companionship. I am a better person today for knowing each and every one of you. 🙂