Caterwauling

The world isn’t right for me today. I have less than $3 to last till payday on Monday, Shan is out of town (so no Benny’s jaunts tonight, which is fine, ’cause I’s po’), and I have no Xmas spirit. At all. And it’s going to rain on Xmas, when I’m planning to drive to Pgh. Argh. Me + driving in rain + (probably) fog = not a happy Dawn. Argh. I was driving through Arlington in the fog last night, which was not pretty for me. But I have to say, I was damn lucky, ’cause when I was on Washington Boulevard, on the way to BN’s and PG’s place, we saw a Krispy Kreme truck all turned around and tilted, and there were like eight cop cars and just as many civilian cars — it looked like the truck had hit them all, just minutes before we drove past. Whew. While I am truly sorry for the people involved, I am just grateful that I wasn’t involved. I couldn’t have handled it. I was nervous on the roads yesterday, anyway, for some reason — perhaps the fact that BN and PG asked to stop at 7-11 for a minute before we took off for their place might have saved our lives. ::Whew::

Got to see MU last night, which was a good thing. It’s amazing how good he and IKEA Boy both look, now that they aren’t together. 🙂 There’s just something about both of them — probably that I’m-on-the-prowl aura — but sadly, I’ve never seen either one look happier. So much for relationships being the utopia that so many of us believe that they are supposed to be. Perhaps I will count among my blessings that I am single. lol.

Speaking of being single, I still never returned G3’s call. If he wants me, he can call back. And if he doesn’t call back, I can rest assured that my “hole mentality” was on the money. What I did not share with you, faithful readers, was that after talking with me, his roommate told me, “You’re the most intelligent one he’s brought home.” In and of itself, it wasn’t bad, but then the roomie asked if I had any aspirin, and I only had Vicodin (I forgot to take it out of my purse from the time I got cracked in the head with a glass serving platter during my Xmas decorating). I told him that I was apprehensive about sharing my prescription, and he said he still wanted it. Then he said, “That’s what I like about (G3) — he always finds the girls with the good drugs.” Argh.

I was thinkin’ about taking a road trip this weekend, but I have less than a half-tank of gas to last till payday. While I do love my job (it’s a no-brainer and definitely NOT a huge time commitment on my part), I’d gladly exchange the Club Med(icated) atmosphere in favor of a decent pay stub. And why the fuck do we have to get paid on the 7th and 22nd of each month? My bill collectors aren’t exactly amused by that, but they do love collecting the finance charges!

At least I’m in good company. Among IKEA Boy, BN, PG, MU and myself, we probably didn’t even have $8. I happened to have a free movie rental for Blockbuster, so last night, we rented “Unfaithful.” The boys weren’t thrilled with it, but I loved it. Although … I kinda had to explain to them the part where Diane Lane had to go take a ‘ho bath in the subway bathroom. 🙂 They need a woman to help them understand these things. lol.

I still have Xmas cards to write. I suppose I should take my $3 and go to Starbucks for awhile and finish those up. AND, I have a coupon for buy-one-get-one. Hmm. Would it be tacky to purchase two drinks at once and then sit there, writing my cards?

Also, I am going to take my ass to the gym today if it kills me, and for as poorly as I’ve been eating and for as frequently as I’ve been smoking, it just might. (*Note to self: put paramedics on speed dial.)

It took a gay man to put it all into perspective for me, but I get it now.

It starts with the whole theory that you’re either a “top” or a “bottom” — this has less to do with physical positioning but whether you are being entered or doing the entering. In this scenario, even though I like to ride my stallions like bucking broncos sometimes, let’s just assume that, as the recipient of the stud, I’m a bottom. 🙂

Now, what does that mean for me? It means I have to open myself up, to flower at the slightest touch, to have the center of my being penetrated, both physically as well as metaphorically. I take it all in and breathe it out. And I will admit to loving being on the bottom, because of that very fact. I love the domination, the warmth, the serving as the edible centerpiece of the event.

Let’s talk about the top for a moment, in the physical sense. This person is propped up on their arms, knees, whatever, trying not to kill me beneath their weight (as if that were possible. lol). They are arching and jerking their backs in order to give themselves as fully to me as humanly possible. They are the givers, the overlords, the Santa Claus with the proverbial sack full of joy. While both parties are in charge, it’s more like 60/40 or 70/30 for this person, as they are, really, running the show. And damn it, they get tired and achy after awhile. Like BN said, they’re more concentrated on bringing the event to a close than on actually enjoying the moment as-is, because their backs hurt, damn it.

This domination mentality is what separates the sexes (even in gay relationships, not that one has to be the “man” or the “woman,” but because, let’s face it, at any given time, somebody is doing more work than the other person). When you’re the top, while you are probably enjoying the fact that you have taken the reins and that your partner is (hopefully) writhing in pleasure because of you, well, you rule. But when you say your turn ends (or when your turn, uh, *cums* to an end, well, you can very well end everything right there, at least until ya get your juices flowing again), well, that’s it. And many people might have that synapse in sense at that moment, not realizing that just because the ride needs a quarter, well, sometimes you’ve got to put in another 50 cents for your partner, ’cause you’re just nice like that.

And for the bottom, well, you’re kinda dependent on your partner springing for another quarter or half-dollar. It’s just courtesy on their part, but you have the right to expect it as well. And if the horsey doesn’t want to go ’round the merry-go-round again, that’s fine, but at least give your bottom friend a consolation prize. Otherwise, you shouldn’t have entered the amusement park in the first place.

On that final note, I just want to say that I love John Mayer’s song, “Your Body is a Wonderland.” But some days, I would liken mine more to a funhouse. Or at least, a roller coaster capital. hee hee.

Forgot to record this one, from IKEA Boy’s birthday last weekend.

I had ordered a cake from a place that, surprise, hires illiterate foreigners (no! Not in D.C.! :smile:) After fighting with this person for a half hour about the fact that I wanted white cake batter and icing done in pastel colors (only to be asked what pastel means, and after I explained it, the dumb shit said, “Oh, off white!!!” Argh). Whatever.

So when I went with Shan to pick up the cake, it was all of two inches tall, decorated in shades of chocolate (it was kinda pretty, although NOT what I had in mind), and I was debating about getting some birthday candles that were shaped like men, wearing blue and red Speedos. That’s when the gal behind the counter said, “Twenty-five dolla.”

I almost fell on the floor. “Huh?!?! You did not just say $25, did you?” I thought it was a joke — given the size of the cake, I would’ve thought it was eight bucks, tops.

She said yes. So I said, “For $25, that cake had better fucking eat me!!!”

I told the party gang that they’d better act like it was the best thing they’d ever put in their mouths (imagine the irony of saying that to four gay men. lol). But it was a really good cake. hee hee.

After a three-hour lunch break with IKEA Boy, I need a nap. We hit Wally’s and Petsmart and CVS. I bought Maddie some small Xmas gifts — a Garfield placemat that says “My mat,” and “Feed me,” some Garfield chew toys (which she will probably eat, like she eats all of her other toys — although one of the toys is hard plastic — heh heh) and a new porcelain food dish that has Garfield inside of it, and on the outside, it says “My bowl,” to match the placemat. Unfortunately, I ran out of money, because I had also wanted to get her one of those catnip-treated mats that warms up with her body heat, and I also wanted to get her one of those automatically filling water dishes — as she loves the bathroom sink so much, I thought it would be a good simulation when I’m not around. Maybe I’ll get those after I get paid, or maybe Mom will get them for Maddie (her only grandchild). Next time I scrub the kitchen floor, I’ll give her the new stuff right then — I’d hate to drag all this shit to Pittsburgh and have her lose it there. 🙂

Bleah. While I’m not looking forward to making the pilgrimage to da ‘Burgh, I look forward to seeing Mom, Susan, Lori and now Leslie (yay! Ireland comes home!!!) I’ll probably stay four nights, so I’ll have to cram a lot of activity in. Mom is disappointed that I won’t be there to go Xmas shopping with her, but I promised her we’d hit the after-holiday clearance sales. She really wants to get me something special for Xmas, but I know she doesn’t have cash to spare, so I told her she can take me out to the mall and let me pick out a couple of outfits (I think she was aiming for a digital camera or a new cell phone for me, but those are purchases I’d rather make with her or by myself). Maybe I can consider the digital camera, if I find one at a good enough price, but I’ll insist on paying at least half of it (what the hell — I’ll catch up on car payments by NEXT Xmas. lol)

IKEA Boy and I are talking about attending Xmas eve mass at the National Cathedral and then seeing the National Tree. The church’ll probably cave in, when the two of us go in there together. lol. A digital camera would sure be cool to have, to record the holy site sinking into the earth and brimstone flying like fireworks.

As for the last “random survey” entry, I’m going to wait another day or so to see if I feel like calling G3 back. I had no problem with him personally … the disappointment occurred with the, um, lack of fireworks for me. When I don’t have raccoon eyes, bedhead and I’m not hanging from the ceiling fan at the end of it, I get a lil disappointed. IKEA Boy says to wait and maybe let him redeem himself. 🙂 We’ll see. But I’m not going to put all my eggs into that basket — I’m still hoping for someone *else* to ask me out, and believe me, I’m trying to meet other people, too. Shan says that having five guys in your life is perfect — one to fit your emotional needs (that would be IKEA Boy), one for your sexual needs (OK, still searching), one who will take you out and make a nice bit of man jewelry on your arm (that could be G3), one who is handy around the house (um, that would be me. Damn) and one more for going out and having sidebursting, silly fun with. RK claims to be all of the above, but I’m still miffed from hearing (from him) that he had a date two weeks ago. However, he crawled out of the shadows yesterday to chat, so we may give him another chance if we’re so inclined — after all, I’d like to see if that claim can stand up in court (or in cunt, whichever cums first!). 😉

For those who know me:

Is my mom Sharon Osbourne or what?!?! Okay, so my mom doesn’t have the Beverly Hills mansion, the cool husband or the 800 dogs, but come on — after watching The Osbournes tonight, a mom who will talk about cock is fairly rare, even by today’s standards. 🙂

For the faithful Blog readers:

G3 called and left a nice little message (I admit to not picking up the phone when it rang. Even though it’s nearly midnight, I was making dinner). Should I call him back? (See the Dec. 14 entry for background.)

The comment box is there for a reason. 🙂

So we’ve all been posting over at Up Yours about racism and related topics. Unfortunately, I dredged up my old Two Strikes days, and it just made me bitter for a moment.

I will never forget when HRP once told me to go easier on Incoherent Twit because “you have had more opportunities in life than she has.” Yeah, I believe that was the quote. I remember falling off of the couch in a rage. She was mad because she hired Twit to write propsals (which I constantly edited), when dumb shit couldn’t write a fucking declarative sentence without omitting something crucial, like the subject or the verb. And I spent more than half of each day re-writing everything and making it sound like it wasn’t written in crayon on a refrigerator door. But what really frosted my flakes was the reality that I had had fewer opportunities than Twit, when you got down to it. She came from money. She had a kid at age 16, which her mom reared for 8 years so she could send Twit to college (although to hear her talk and see her write, her college should be damn ashamed to list her as an alumna). They had designer clothes and endless amounts of money for vacations and booze and pretty homes. I did not. I will admit to having been born in the projects and even having accepted welfare for a couple of years (the way the system was intended to be, lending a temporary hand during adversity), after my mom divorced my evil stepfather. I paid for college myself, even having to drop out for awhile to earn enough money to go back. And I still owe $25K that I can’t afford, but I’ll digress on that. 🙂

And what also burns my toast is that the agency, while doing a good thing in the community, was so anti-whitey that it was frightening — or maybe that was just the executive director’s influence and not representative of the rest of the (dis)organization. Then again, she had relatives and friends and churchmates smattered throughout the ranks, and so many were little walking-and-talking minions of hate, the disciples of the anti-Caucasianism that permeated the hallways. It killed me to give up my executive position to take a massive salary slash at another association, where I am now, but for as much as I bitch about the Veggie Patch, nobody here calls me out based on my color (here, they just pray that you have no ambition to succeed in life, but that’s another random rant for another random day. heh). Constantly, under HRP’s domain, I felt like I should have been obligated to apologize for my glow-in-the-dark skin and my light eyes, eyes that couldn’t mask my own resentment toward her for her ridiculous ways.

And the bitch probably didn’t *get* it when the pale-faced friends Doug, Tiff, Lindsay, Valerie and I (and there was another person, but I’m hard-pressed to remember the name. Tiff — who was it?) jumped ship in May. And then Andy resigned (he’s Asian, but we “claimed” him for our team), but he reversed it and from what I hear, he’s as miserable as can be. The unspoken rule at Two Strikes seemed to be that if you had a blood or spritual connection to the queen, you were set for life. The rest of us, well, picked up the slack, worked like dogs, were shat upon constantly, and were expected to smile like nothing was wrong. My friends and family even noticed that I could smile on demand, but that I “unlearned” my ability to smile genuinely.

Susan and F/OM are still there, but like me, I think they just got used to the fact that they get ripped to shreds on a regular basis because, well, they stand out. They’ve accepted it, I suppose. I don’t know. F/OM really does love his work, and I always loved him for busting his ass, keeping to himself and keeping the smiles genuine, no matter what truckload of cow manure the queen was dumping on his lap at any given time. He taught me well, though — just smile and say you’re sorry and get the hell out of the way. Stand your ground but pick your battles — save your energy for the war.

My sources from within tell me that HRP continues to badger her management, telling them that they don’t know what they’re doing (and with rare exception, I suppose she’s right, but even the strongest among them can’t survive with her thumb over their heads 24/7). I learned all of my leadership skills from F/OM, and if HRP taught me anything at all about being a leader, it was how to NOT be one. The day after I quit, I returned to perform some volunteer work for them at a community event, and even then, as she gave me a fake hug and one last snarl, I thanked her for the opportunity she gave me. I did not thank her for being a pleasure to work with. I did not tell her I would miss her. I did not claim that I was getting a better job. I simply expressed appreciation for my invitation to the dance, and I omitted the fact that I did more falling on my ass than I did dancing. I am just damn lucky there’s a lot of padding on this ass, or I probably would’ve been hurtin’ a lot more than I did then. 🙂

I realize that HRP had issues with “white folk,” as she called us, but I walked out of there (actually, skulked down the back steps just so I could avoid her one last time) on my last working day, I carried a scrap of dignity and a Santa’s sack-full of hatred down those stairs. And it is a daily struggle for me to remind myself that all people who look like her aren’t Satan incarnate — just her, and a handful of others. Now that I’m down here in the rainbow world of D.C. — where, at T.C. Williams High School, 63 nationalities are represented (compared to my high school’s paltry three nationalities) — I realize that I wish I had grown up here, just for the diversity. Granted, we have our trash down in Southeast, and I would never drive through Anacostia without body armor, but that’s no different than when I worked in the ghetto and had my car attacked when she was only two months old. But I wish HRP hadn’t tainted me toward her race, because I always find myself wondering if everyone of different races despises “white folk” as much as she and her extended family does.

“I’m here, the party’s all around me

You’re there, indifference has found me

Now I know it’s not in fashion,

Wearing heartache on your sleeeve,

But I’m here and you’re there

So who cares what I wear

On New Year’s Eve. …”

— Nina Gordon, “New Year’s Eve —

TBS rules — they alternately showed “Sleepless in Seattle” and “When Harry Met Sally” all night. I had a restless, brief sleep, and I kept tuning in to these two classics. All they needed was to throw in “You’ve Got Mail” and maybe “Prince of Tides” and “Reality Bites,” and I would have been in Dawn heaven.

Shan and I are thinking about having a big soiree at Bennigan’s on South Whiting Street in Alexandria (exit 3A off I-395!) this New Year’s. We wanted to rent out the upstairs party room, but it’s cost prohibitive; however, our friend “DJ Jazzy Jeff” is thinking about biting the cost and setting up his equipment and providing some sounds. At any rate, Shan and I are both tired of nondescript, nonmemorable New Year’s Eves, and we thought it would be nice to ring it the new year on a fun note at our favorite hangout, and we think we’ve got a good mix of people on board to join us.

So, if you’re in the Alex/D.C. area, come on out! It’s cheaper than a hotel package, and if you’re lucky, well, I’m still lookin’ for someone to kiss at midnight. … 😉

If my interviewee today weren’t all the way down in Charlotte, N.C., I would have patted her on the head. With a brick.

After a few e-mail exchanges, followed by me making like a dozen phone calls to nail her down on an interview time, I randomly called today to see if she had five minutes to spare (she was the one who had told me that we needed to do this over the phone instead of e-mail — it’s for a friggin’ memorial tribute). So, when I started asking questions, she said, and I QUOTE, “I don’t want to give you any quotes.”

Had the coffin not been closed, I would’ve loved to have shoved this one in next to the dearly departed. Oy vey. I of course did get my quotes, but they didn’t invent the phrase “pulling teeth” for nothing. 🙂 I need more challenge than this, although attempting to take a photo of Frosty the Snow-Cow without standing at Chi Chi’s next door to get the whole ass in the shot, well, was challenge enough.

Random offensive thought: When you’re fucking a Hispanic boy, and he removes the filled condom, can he preserve it and sell it as a hot sauce packet to Taco Bell? 😉 I mean, haven’t you wondered how they get those sauces into those tiny little packets?!?!