Caterwauling

1. What were your favorite childhood stories?

I loved any kind of story. I had so many books — I vaguely remember having two encyclopedia-type sets of Peanuts and Sesame Street books. I don’t remember having stories read to me at night, but I loved to read from an early age and would oftentimes hide under the covers with a flashlight just because I loved learning about what was going on outside of my world.

2. What books from your childhood would you like to share with [your] children?

Up until I moved to D.C. last summer, I had kept four or five boxes of my childhood favorites. But I had to part with sentimentality in favor of furniture. But I kept two of those books — “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” by Judy Blume and “The Trouble With Thirteen” by Betty Miles — two coming-of-age stories that got me through my pre-teens.

If ever I have a little girl, I am marching straight out and re-purchasing the Ramona Quimby series. And “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing,” “Superfudge,” “Deenie” and “Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great.” Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary and the authors in the Wildfire book series had such a wonderful influence on me, and I will make sure that my kids are readers — these books taught me so much about families and friends and what the world outside my bedroom was really like.

Oh, and how could I possibly forget the neverending stream of “Sweet Valley High” books, by Francine Pascal? I loved the adventures of twins Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield. Pascal was probably my No. 1 influence as far as writing style and plotline development.

3. Have you re-read any of those childhood stories and been surprised by anything?

When I was moving last year, I picked up and read through all of my books. And I realized how mature the subject matter was, only it was presented in a way grade-school kids could understand and appreciate. Judy Blume went on to write books aimed for an older audience, and I kept every last one of those. I always felt like my favorite writers understood me at a time when no grown-ups did.

4. How old were you when you first learned to read?

I remember being 3 years old and sitting on my canopy bed, reading to myself, although the family argues that I was reading when I was 2.

5. Do you remember the first ‘grown-up’ book you read? How old were you?

My cousin Val had given my mom a shitload of trashy romance novels to read when I was 10. My mom kept them in my closet in a tied-up bag. So I untied the bag and read them all, over and over again. My first and favorite was “Notorious” by Ann Miller. The book is out of print, and I’d kill to get my hands on a copy. And I wrote my own trashy romance novels since the time I was 14, along with a teen-friendly series that I since lost. So, reading has literally shaped the writer I since became.

Not for me, you pervs, but for Shawn.

OK, so I am kind of drunk right now (yes, it’s 6 p.m., but I had a hideous workday), and Shawn asked me to shave his head for him. So I did. I am covered in Shawn-hairs, and he’s in the shower, ridding himself of whatever fell from the Flowbee-type system he bought. At least I didn’t draw blood or anything. He looks good, save for one tiny patch above his ear where I might have gone too close (I did that part left-handed, proving that I can only masturbate with that hand, and that’s about it!), but he ain’t Van Gogh (all ears are intact), so I consider this an accomplishment.

So I found myself straddling him on the back porch. This is an activity better left to people who will fuck afterward — there was nothing erotic about shaving a gay man’s head. But if there are any straight men in need of a trim (in ANY area), I handled those clippers pretty darned beautiully. Thank you, Bacardi 151!

Y’know, if it weren’t a holiday weekend, I would sincerely pick up an Uzi and clean the workplace out. Thanks to the saving grace of tomorrow being a federal holiday, there is hope indeed for my sanity. This place makes me want to eat carbs. Or kill myself. Whichever weapon is handier. 😉

Two hours with Demure today, total. Yes, when I came back from the doctor, she plopped in my office for an hour, with more of King Kumquat’s unrealistic expectations. And I said look, I tried what he wants, but he didn’t respond to that either. He assured her that this time, he’ll respond. Yeah, whatever. He also wants the paper to be done a week in advance. Um, sure. Demure and I had this convo a week ago, at which time I told her to tell him to sit and spin. I said it’s not impossible, but it’s going to take a few months to make the evolution. So he told her he wants it a week early next month, and she promised it. I told her I refuse to kill myself like that, especially when I told her that it will be a process, not an immediate change. Further, I told her that if I have to bust my balls to meet his deadlines, the least he can do is to not hand in his shit to me five or six days after my submission deadline — that he has cultivated such an environment of apathy and turn-it-in-whenever-you-feel-like-it among himself and his staff and associates that nobody feels that they have to adhere to anything you tell them.

Oh, and here’s the latest: if I haven’t received Kumquat’s corrections to the paper, I have to delay its publication until I get those corrections and input them. I made it very clear that it’s not like we get delayed by a day — the publishing house can’t book runs in fewer than seven days from the day that you ask. Kumquat and Demure are OK with this — just as long as he gets his stupid 10 suggestions bowed down to. Fuck around.

Oh god, I can’t take it anymore. I’m ready to croak. I am sincerely walking out at 2 p.m. today and I’ll come in during the weekend, but I’ve GOT to get away from Demure.

In better news, Shan and I gave our friend RC a big box full of food and a grocery store gift certificate. RC burst into tears and hugged us tightly. She was grateful not only for our little gesture (we wanted her to have some snacks and food for her first weekend in her new place), but for the fact that she’s never experienced the benefits of friendship like that — that nobody has ever done anything like that for her.

We were surprised at her reaction — pleasantly, of course — but Shan and I lean on each other all the time, so much so that we’ve become accustomed to, whenever we need a helping hand, it’s always there. We look at it like we’re keeping each other afloat — to the point of taking turns with the ventilator and the I.V. tube — just to ensure that the other one will make it for awhile. And now RC is part of our circle … so, all in all, what started out to be a box full of pantry items turned out to be two friends throwing a life preserver to a new friend and helping her to have a good start to her weekend (after a truly shit-fuck week). RC and I will be neighbors come Aug. 1, and she’s already called to ask me if she can help me to plan Shan’s surprise baby shower, so I guess it’s true that karma always comes around to lend a hand when you’re going to be the one in need. 😉

All my best to all of you this holiday weekend. Here’s to hoping the poison of work courses out of your veins and that you can share some special time with the people you love and/or dote a little bit on the most important person in your life — YOU. 🙂

I had an unpleasant optometric experience today. Seems my contacts came in five weeks ago, only nobody bothered to call me. So I strolled in today, and before I could take them out of the building, I had to attend “Contact Lens Class.”

The short version: I left the contacts there and ran screaming to the car. The long version: I fought for an hour, getting those bastards in my eyes, only to not be able to get them out. My corneas ache, the whites of my eyes are red and my tear ducts are in overdrive. The good news is that my irises are this amazing emerald shade today, thanks to the tears and pain. The bad news is that I have a tension headache and will have to continue wearing my glasses for a long time to come.

I was already miserable from an hour-long, unnecessary meeting with Demure, which I walked out of so I could make my appointment time. I still don’t know what she does for a living, other than interrogate her two staff members. I really don’t. Perhaps half of my eye pain comes from rolling my eyes every five seconds. 🙂

I’ve opted to post some photos of myself on this page. It never fails to amaze me that, in four different photos, I look like four different people. I may whittle it down to only one shot — if you have a favorite, leave me a comment, and I will gladly remove the rest in due time. 😉 And if you don’t like any of them, come over and take some photos of me yourself! lol

And I’m messing around with the template, so pardon my appearance while I reconstruct the sidebar.

Went to see a sneak preview of “Terminator 3” with the boys last night — Shawn, Dave, Paul and Bryan. Although it was Dave’s idea to go, he was the only one who hated it. The rest of us loved the pic for both its silliness and its adventures. ‘Twas a fabulous way to spend a Tuesday evening. Oh, and did I mention how hot “John Connor” is? *drool*

And as far as I am concerned, how could I possibly have a bad time when I am surrounded by four sexy men? I love adorning a hot male harem as my accessory of choice … that, my friends, is the way life is supposed to be. 😉 I need to do it a lil more often!

Thanks for pimping me out!!! Any takers?

Those of you wandering over here from Bill’s site, he referred to the “Bad sex or no sex?” entry. Damn permalinks. 😉

Two things to kick off my day:

1. Cruise Director of Club Medicated left me a ripping VM during the weekend. He turned in his corrections to the paper on Friday morning, when the paper had gone to bed Thursday night (as it always does and always has for the entire duration of his employment here). I’d informed him that while I appreciated his time, his corrections didn’t make it in because it was past the deadline, so moving forward, I will start placing a “need by” date on the proofs. So his return VM to me said, “My corrections obviously mean absolutely nothing (to you).” He went on to say he needs more than 24 hours to do a proof (um, this was the first month I was able to give him a proof on a Tuesday morning, to turn in Thursday). I am not overly concerned — my review sucked when I was supposedly doing a great job. He’s the worst offender with turning things in five days past the deadline, so maybe this will send a message that everybody’s deadlines really do impact each other.

2. Town Crier’s mother died. And while I would also be devastated if my own mother were gone, I have not one sympathetic bone in my body for Town Crier. Can she ever realize that she has burned and pissed off so many people that the whole group of us can’t collectively come up with an ounce of compassion to throw her way? I’m continuing my pattern of avoiding her, and I’m also breaking my tradition of always buying a sympathy card for a grieving colleague. I would hate to be as bitter and nasty as her — Personally, it would devastate me that, even in my time of need, my colleagues harbored so much pent-up hatred toward me that they couldn’t offer me a simple, “I’m sorry about your loss.” It’s very difficult to care about such an uncaring person, and it saddens me that I am as cold-hearted toward her as she is toward everyone.

Is it Friday yet?