Caterwauling

I decided to chronicle a day at the Veggie Patch for Shan and me at Strip Creator. It’s not meant to be funny, just as painful as it feels. …

I didn’t do shit for work this weekend. And that’s OK. What are they doing for me? My thoughts, my being, my SLEEP is consumed by them. Last night, I dreamed about my tete-a-tete with Pussy Demure. Eeek! It’s like a dream out of Wes Craven’s head. Not pretty. Not one bit.

Had a lovely brunch at the Boulevard Woodgrill in Clarendon today with Bryan and Paul. We ate lots of good food and had wonderful drinks and good conversation. Then we went back to their place and I got to see all of their photos of Niagra Falls from their recent vacation (they were postcard-quality, I insist!), and they took me on a grand tour of all of their paintings and even B’s new sculptures in the apartment. Wow! And then, as if I weren’t feeling inspired enough from all the brilliant artsy works around the house, then they started reading their poetry to me. I even shared three of my poems that are posted online somewhere, and I have libraries more that they say they want to see.

It was quite an intellectual day. Most enjoyable. Those two are not only creatively brilliant, but also socially and emotionally intelligent. I was sad to leave, but I wanted to give them some alone time — they don’t seem to get enough of it, and I really wanted to call my Mom anyway. But the thing with Bryan and Paul and me, we don’t dwell on the negative (well, except for Bryan’s and my poetry!). We discuss, we process, we dream. And then we get back to what is really important, which is what’s going on in our lives right now as well as the possibilites that we have yet to encounter.

An unexpected visitor nearly threw me for a loop, but I had nothing to say, good or bad. It’s a new feeling, this void. Again, not good or bad, just different. The distance has been welcome, however, during this time, because I am the important one for me to focus on. While I can certainly appreciate his disgust that was the catalyst to his erratic and impulsive actions, well, I’m the one left in the ruins. And the only person I can feel sorry for right now is myself. I have no backup generator of energy right now to afford to anyone else. My heart is presently closed for repairs, and I’m eternally grateful to those near and far who are keeping theirs open for business for me during this trying time.

When I was making the commute from Alexandria to Arlington this morning, I did some hard thinking as I trekked 395-N. I have always, always pondered the meaning of life, and today, it’s as if the answer were written in the sunlight-illuminated clouds above. The answer, my friends, is to grow. We cannot regress, we cannot stagnate — we need to grow, in order to reach our full potential. And in the end, our growth process and progress is all we will have, after material possessions and friends and careers have come and gone. We will always have what we learned, who we loved and what we contributed to the world. He who dies with the most toys is not the winner — he (or she) who dies with the knowledge and satisfaction of having rolled with the punches and conquered life’s challenges in rapid succession and loved and gave love to those who mattered, to me, is the real hero.

On that note, I am in dire need of beauty rest for this incredibly, uh, challenging week ahead of me. Among the weeds, bees and beetles, Shan and I need to spray on the insect repellent and try to grow, despite the lack of nurturing sunlight that we desperately need in order to thrive. Like we keep saying, our endpoint is in late March. Here’s to hoping we don’t die on the vine until then. …

But one last thing —

GOOD LUCK ON YOUR INTERVIEW TOMORROW, BRYAN!!!!

Michelle over at A Small Victory has brought some ever-growing attention on her site to the problem of bullies in schools. The thing with bullies is that they destroy and devastate young, impressionable and fragile youth with their ridiculous mind games and physical threats. And those who are bullied, well, go one of three ways. They can ignore it and just have the scars for the rest of their lives, they can defend themselves or they can go and shoot up their schools.

I went into work tonight just to catch up with my massive amount of e-mails, and I got a letter from two high school students in Minneosta who did a paper on school bullies and thought it might be of interest to me. Granted, it had little to do with my job (they found me on my workplace’s website), but the irony is that I am a volunteer for Ribbon of Promise, the National Campaign to Prevent School Violence, founded in part by Shan’s dad after the deadly high school shooting spree in Springfield, Ore., a number of years ago. We have so many ideas how to promote it, but time is such a challenge for us. We figure that figuring out how to solve the bully issue in schools would be a good way to renew the public’s interest in the cause. Any thoughts? 🙂

“SLOW DANCING ON THE BOULEVARD

IN THE QUIET MOMENTS WHILE THE CITY’S STILL DARK

SLEEPWALKING THROUGH THE SUMMER RAIN

IN THE TIRED SPACES

YOU COULD HEAR HER NAME

WHEN SHE WAS WARM AND TENDER AND YOU

PULLED HER ARMS AROUND YOU

THERE WAS NOTHING BUT HER

LOVE AND AFFECTION SHE WAS

CRAZY FOR YOU NOW SHE’S

PART OF SOMETHING THAT YOU LOST

AND FOR ALL YOU KNOW

THIS COULD BE

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WHAT YOU NEED

AND WHAT YOU WANT TO BE

NIGHT SWIMMING IN HER DIAMOND DRESS

MAKING SMALL CIRCLES MOVE ACROSS THE SURFACE

STAND WATCHING FROM THE STEADY SHORE

LAYING WIDE OPEN AND WAITING FOR

SOMETHING WARM AND TENDER WHILE SHE’S

MOVING FURTHER FROM YOU

THERE WAS NOTHING THAT COULD

MAKE IT EASY ON YOU

EVERY STEP YOU TAKE REMINDS YOU

THAT SHE’S WALKING ON

EVERY WORD YOU NEVER SAID

ECHOES DOWN YOUR EMPTY HALLWAY

EVERYTHING THAT WAS YOUR WORLD

JUST CAME DOWN

IT JUST CAME DOWN

DAY BREAKING ON THE BOULEVARD

FEEL THE SUN WARMING UP

YOUR SECONDHAND HEART

LIGHT SWIMMING RIGHT ACROSS YOUR FACE

YOU THINK

MAYBE SOMEDAY

MAYBE SOMEDAY.”

— Matchbox Twenty, “The Difference” —

Having a 4 a.m. craving for Primanti Bros. sandwiches (or sammiches, as we called them in Pittsburgh). While the Steelers’ loss to the Titans in today’s football match prevents them from entering the Super Bowl, the world’s best sandwiches live on in the hearts of our friends in Tennessee. And to thank us, you’d have thought they would’ve been gracious enough to have forfeited the game to us, right?

Now when is somebody gonna serve me a sammich with fries and coleslaw here in D.C.? I’m in withdrawal!!! *shudder, snarl, shake, growl — craving Mancini bread. …*

Do yourself a favor — if you ever find yourself in Pittsburgh, go there first. And then go back the next day. Have a pastrami, a roast beef, a ragin’-cajun chicken, whatever floats your boat. Skip the cheesesteak, but get fries in a gravy boat. Trust me. You will worship me for doing yourself this favor. Pittsburghers either throw things between two slices of bread, deep fry it or drown it in gravy. You’ve never seen a friendlier city — because everyone’s stuffed and happy.

Link and nostalgia inspired by Tiff.

Stopped by the Veggie Patch yesterday for a moment — thought I’d wade through some e-mails in-between errands and meeting Shan for dinner. Noticed that IKEA Boy’s old office carpet had been professionally cleaned — it smelled and looked really good. I’d been quizzed repeatedly over the “mustard incident,” as they liked to call it. I was vague about it when they asked — all I’d done was put in a request for the cleaning crew to take extra care with cleaning, the evening that he resigned. I was also interrogated about a few other events — again, I was vague and said I wasn’t completely present when shit went down. And I chose to omit the cigarette incident — seems that the Town Crier took good enough notes on everything else that she saw/heard/imagined.

The “mustard incident” has been a source of great amusement among my friends. The phrase “Colonel Mustard” popped out of my mouth at an opportune moment, and I believe it was Tiff, a dedicated “Clue” fan, noted, “IKEA Boy, in the office, with the mustard.” lol. Yes, humor has definitely been one of the few threads holding my sanity in check this past week.

Unrelated, Shan and I realized that, despite the inhumane torture that was the Veggie Patch Holiday Fiesta, well, we were really the only ones who had fun. It was a boring bunch — after dinner, everyone just sat in their chairs and stared at each other. Granted, a small number of folks got up on the dance floor, but the rest — including the few managers who showed up — looked like they were miserable. We, on the other hand, giggled maniacally for the two painful hours that we were there — we know how to make the best out of a bad situation. That, and we just decided to enjoy each other’s company. And to laugh at Town Crier’s expense. 🙂 It was bad enough that we didn’t have dates that night, but shit, to spend our unpaid time with that group? Looking at Town Crier and Co. was just not our idea of fun, but once again, we got each other through it, something we will continue to do for a long time to come. …