Caterwauling

Chinese New Year came and went on Thursday, and I didn’t post my resolutions. So here they are, and I encourage my loyal and incredible readers to hold me to them.

1. Talk less, say more.

I tend to be quiet most of the time, but when I talk, I babble. And it’s usually random and incoherent. I actually do have a good vocabulary, and I’d like to start sounding more intelligent. That, and I tend to fall silent when I’m annoyed — I’ve cut off so many people in my life by just assuming they knew why I was mad instead of telling them that they’ve burned my butter. Also, I’m not always direct (too many years of playing workplace politics is to thank for that). I’m sick of wasting words, and that stops here.

2. Get off my ass and go to the gym.

Fuck, I’m going to be paying my monthly membership fee to the evil overlords at Bally’s for another two years — might as well take advantage of it. I always felt good when I was going regularly — it’s time to get back into a shape that isn’t round or oblong. 🙂

3. Eat better. And yes, that means sticking to a diet.

Tiff had an awesome dinner party last night, complete with a various sampling of low- to no-carb foods. The food (and the company) were immensely enjoyable. Dude, all I have to say is “whole wheat pizza crust.” If Dr. Atkins weren’t already dead, he would’ve keeled over, knowing we were eating such tasty (yet minimal!) carbs.

Tiff is raving about the South Beach Diet, and I’d like to learn it. Till I do, I am going to make my refrigerator more Atkins-friendly, starting today. I had to buy groceries anyway, so I loaded up on some meats, cheeses and green veggies at Giant. And I just made a terrific shrimp salad for dinner. If I can continue eating good stuff like that, I know I won’t (really) miss the ice cream, caramel popcorn, cookies and other crap that usually serve as meals as opposed to after-meal treats.

My lifelong idea of dieting has been eating all the bad stuff in the house so that it isn’t around later on, when I actually plan to start a diet. Unfortunately, you know what that means — I buy more junk to replace the crap I already ate. 😉

In good news, I’ve been forcing myself to take Olay vitamins (the stress defense/skin improving variety). And maybe it’s just my imagination, but I’ve been handling my stress remarkably well ever since I’ve gotten into the habit of swallowing those big yellow pills every morning.

4. Write more.

At this point, I’ve already started updating some old writings. I had applied to get into a graduate poetry program more than two years ago, but I didn’t get in. That killed me in such a way that I didn’t write a poem for two years. But I started back up with it (poetry was always my way of keeping at writing, even if it wasn’t the stuff I wanted to be writing — at least it kept my brain from falling too dormant). And writing is way cheaper than going to therapy.

5. Say “no” more often.

Ask me a favor. I’ll say yes (usually) even if I’d rather masturbate with a chainsaw. (‘Cause I’m just a girl who “cain’t say no.”) When I attempt to resist, I feel like I get bullied into spending my time catering to other people (i.e., when people ask me to host parties like for, say, cosmetics companies), no matter how sweet and genuine I know they are. And then I get mad that I wasn’t able to say, “Um. Not interested. Never will be. I know you need the sales, but I need my company to stop furloughing my salary when the mood strikes.” Or that I said it but it still wasn’t a good enough excuse. (See Resolution #1.) I don’t owe anybody anything, and believe me, it’s way easier to get me to do you a favor if it’s my idea or suggestion.

But that’s not to say that I don’t enjoy lending people a hand when I really want to and they really need me — and when I CAN help without sacrificing my very vital “me” time, although I’ve gotten better at preserving that time during the last year. It’s just the approach — be courteous, be grateful and be sincere. I rarely ask favors of anyone else, but the courteous/grateful/sincere approach charms the pants off them every time. 😉

6. Stop being afraid.

No, I’m not afraid of killing bugs and spiders (or fixing shit around the house), nor do I really fear meeting a knife-wielding asylum escapee in my parking lot after midnight. But I am afraid of disappointing (at least some) people. It comes from a lifetime of being unhappy with how I look (let me tell you someday about my high school bout with anorexia, and then my subsequent don’t-give-a-shit attitude that has me tipping scales today). I think it’s this neurosis that led me to be a people-pleaser (see Resolution #5). I admit, I get into these moods where I just don’t feel like being seen in public, which leads to — you guessed it — depression eating (see Resolution # 3).

7. Stop smoking. Again.

Turning 29 again in May is my milestone. And I plan to smoke like a chimney till that time comes. 🙂 But this smoking habit has really aged me, and I simply cannot be lying about my age when my skin has been ravaged by stress and smoke in my “actual” 20s. I don’t necessarily have a burning desire to live to be 100, but if I do, I’d like to have people think, “She was 100? But she didn’t look a day over 60!” 😉

*updated*

Finally, an OutKast video that doesn’t annoy me (other than the music): Hey Ya, Charlie Brown. (via Tiff)

Forget that prissy bitch “Dear Abby,” who has one foot in reality and her head up her ass. Jane answers Dear Abby’s mail. (Note: you’ll need to register to view this. Thank the fucktards of the troll underworld for this.)

Bill offers to read my novel before it’s published. Being that he is responsible for this website finally working correctly, I know he’s a great editor. And don’t worry Ted, you’re on the distribution list, too. 🙂

It’s male PMS time over at Random Thoughts.

John posts the magnet that I have on my fridge. She’s almost as cute as Roxette Bunny!

Sounds like Tricia’s colleagues went to the same school of mismanagement as mine did.

Erica posts a link to a Backstreet Boys parody, I Want a Fat Babe. Personal aside, I had an ex send me that link (was he trying to tell me something?), and the only reason I wasn’t offended was because he had a big belly covering his wittle pee-pee.

Over at Up Yours, Dawn’s doctor says she can finally have sex again, now that her new little bundle of joy has been out in the real world for a few weeks. Lady, find some time and have at it!!!

So it ain’t the blogosphere, but real life:

Quote of the day: “I’d rather douche with gasoline, and light my fart.” — by the always-eloquent Shawn. This totally trumps my personal expression for trying to convey that I don’t want to do something, which is, “I’d rather masturbate with a chainsaw.”

And one last thing. …

See you there!!!

UPDATE

Everybody give a warm Caterwauling welcome to Chuck, who was Visitor Number 306,306!!!

It goes on and on my friends. …

(Sing along, damn it!)

OK, just got off the phone with the print shop (12:07 a.m.). I think we have finally, finally resolved all the issues that cropped up to make this the craziest week ever.

And today’s joy started with a call from said print shop around 9 a.m., as I was in a fucking coma from last night (I was too wired to get to sleep until 2:30 a.m. or so). So I had to drag my butt into the office to fix some shit and to resolve a handful of problems (or, rather, attempt to resolve ’em). I was immediately accosted by the Popcorn Bandit, who had to visit the candy jar in Angie’s office, where I was fighting with our Quark document from hell (that document wasn’t behaving well on my own computer and not too much better on hers). I had NO patience whatsoever — why the fuck don’t people notice my “Emergencies Only” sign?!?!

A few minutes ago, I had to fix a problem of my own making, what with asking the printer to shoot an ad from our January issue when I should have realized that I needed to shoot it from the December issue instead. *growl* At least, though, the thought occurred to me before pre-press staff left (at midnight!) for the weekend. *whew* I have notes written from my elbow to my fingertips (couldn’t find paper — fuck it all anyway). I hope this shit washes off!

I was actually in the midst of writing some crappy poetry when tonight’s fun festival went down. I hope the muse returns and maybe helps me to improve upon the verbal diarrhea that I’ve already dumped into my Word doc. 🙂

In any event, I was trying to be alcohol-free this evening, but look over there in the kitchen — there’s a big vat of Chardonnay with my name on it. … *clink* To the end of another workweek! Woo hoo!!!

Ah, the reason I awaken every Friday morning. Not.

At this moment, what is your favorite…

1. …song?

I hate only picking one. But I’ll go with Beth Hart’s “Leave the Light On,” although I have a strange fondness for Black-Eyed Peas’ “Shut Up.”

2. …food?

I can dig any Italian food, although I prefer pesto sauce over marinara. I suddenly started craving chicken & eggplant pesto from a little restaurant I used to frequent in Pittsburgh. Of course, a good filet mignon trumps any food, and I could totally go for that right now, too. Mmmm, steak.

3. …tv show?

I was about to say “American Idol,” but I’d have to specify that it is the auditon portion. Who didn’t laugh when the guy was singing Elvis’ “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You” and sounding exactly like the Chinese restaurant waiters in “A Christmas Story”?

4. …scent?

Favorite scent to wear? Ralph Lauren Romance. Favorite scent overall? Pretty much any kind of men’s cologne. And my lovely Nag Champa incense.

5. …quote?

Oh, that’s easy. I adore Anais Nin, and I actually have the following quote framed in my bathroom. I believe I saw it in “Cities of the Interior,” but I’m too lazy to go check. 🙂

“There were always in me, two women at least — one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.” — Anais Nin

After yet another long, unfulfilling day at the Veggie Patch (and yes, I just got home), there was not a single parking spot to be found in the entire fucking apartment complex. I filled up the rental company’s voice mail with vitriol and made plenty sure to bitch that the library parking lot around the corner has signs up that forbid overnight parking. So where do I park? Bumfuck Egypt. I told them I’m tired, it’s fucking freezing and I’d really like to know if they tow at midnight, like they claim to, ’cause there sure ain’t enough parking for me. And that’s the shit of it all — some families have up to four cars, and I can’t even get one lousy little fucking space for just me.

Spent half an hour wandering around the print shop — seems I arrived after the pre-press night shift went home, and not a goddamn person seemed to know what to do with my print order and film negs. Finally, a kind soul offered to take it to post-press. And of course, he and another woman had to wander with us to get us through the uber-secure building. I think I am going to ask Customer Care to get me a goddamn security card so I can roam freely and drop my shit off when I get there.

Yeah, I get really fucking cranky when I’m tired. 🙂

And thanks for the e-mails/comments asking me if Gandhi at the Payless in Springfield Mall got any kind of reprimand for sexually harassing me. I haven’t heard a word from that company. They have lost a customer for life — I will return to buying my shoes at Marshall’s or on sale at the *finer* shoe retail establishments. Or, maybe I’ll just go in my closet and wear one of the 150 pairs I already own!!!

I ordered one lousy CD from Amazon — and it arrived today in a box so big I could pack my friggin G4 Tower in it. It’s just a shame how we get ripped for shipping — the box was full of airbags. If I wanted to see an airbag, I’d just go meet with my supervisor!

Go see my kids. They’re adorable. 🙂

Subtitle: Fucknuggets gone amok!

Oh, where do I even BEGIN to talk about the complete stupidity I have encountered today?

It started off with an e-mail from Cruise Director, asking me to please juggle the layout to run an important letter to the editor that just arrived last night. No big deal — all I have to do is cut a letter that already made it into the layout and just keep it till next month.

But then, an e-mail arrives from my idiot supervisor who has not a god damn thing better to do. It arrives with the big red priority flag on it, and it reads:

Dawn,

 

(Cruise Director) didn’t put the exclamation point next to this to let you know it is important.  See what you can do, please.

 

(Pussy Demure)

I must have laughed for a good 40 minutes. Really, it wasn’t funny — just pathetic how ridiculously seriously she took her role in this. I mean, shit, it’s not like I would ignore an e-mail from the head of our organization, for cripes’ sake. I mean, when you get an e-mail from him, you know it’s important. He doesn’t need a fucking exclamation point next to his name, does he now?

Of course, other things happened during the day to test our sense of humor, not limited to the fact that Town Crier, pissed off about the lack of access to the second-floor restrooms, sent a scathing memo to Cruise Director, who, in turn, went nuts on CFO, who went nuts on the gal here in charge. The gal here has been harassing the workers five times a day to get their asses in here and finish their damn job. In fact, she has promised us that she will go in tomorrow and clean it herself if the workers don’t come back. Y’know, it’s not like it’s say, the elevator, that’s inaccessible. Fuckmonkey.

But then even more stupidity occurred when the Queen Pooper (and High Priestess of Toilet Town) got mad at the 17 strips of masking tape barricading the door to the ladies’ room (it looks like a British flag), so she ripped them all down and went in there to take a shit. Like she couldn’t fucking walk up or down one motherfucking flight of steps — or take the elevator. Assnugget.

And this doesn’t even begin to cover all the dildos on ice who have been bugging me about the delicious-looking King Cake that our beloved Tricia sent my way. I was saving it for my first-ever full-staff meeting (my worker in Indianapolis was in today for production day). During the past few days, I have gotten at least a dozen and a half inquiries about when I planned to cut the cake and whether I’d give them a piece. I even had one fucktard yesterday ask if I’d cut it, and I said no, so he opened the goddamn UPS box just to check it out and make sure I wasn’t lying to him. I wanted to castrate him.

The cake was fabulous, BTW (nods to Tricia). My gal in from Indy got the baby in the cake, so she is happy to buy the cake again next year, so long as she doesn’t actually have to have a baby!

We’ve finally crowned the Mayor of Toilet Town at work.

And the winner is … Town Crier!!!

Despite having to limbo beneath layers of masking tape to get into our filthy restrooms that haven’t been worked on in at least a week, Town Crier decided to go in and do her thang. When she came out, she ran into Shan, who had to stifle a giggle when Town Crier said, “Damn — I almost had a strip of masking tape stuck to my head like someone running across a finish line!”

*roflmfao* Oh, the tears of laughter I cried when I heard that!!! Dumb bitch!

So I was at Sears this weekend, picking up some phenomenally cheap clothes during their awesome holiday sale, and I almost murdered a woman in line.

Well, that was the problem — she wasn’t in line. The way the desks are set up, there are two cashiers working. So the rest of us form a single line and go to the next available clerk. Rocket science, apparently, to the unwashed masses in Alexandria, Va.

I was in line for about 15 minutes, and finally, I was at the head of the line. Both cashiers were busy. Then some dumb bitch with frizzy hair decides to stand at the desk right behind the lady being rung up — three feet in front of me. I was debating how I would inflict death upon her if she actually thought she would get waited on before me.

Finally, that clerk was free, and I started to walk up to her. Frizzy-Haired Bitch looked mortified as I put my stuff down on the counter. “I was next!” she wailed. “Um, no you weren’t,” I informed her; meanwhile, she stood there debating her purchase — she had grabbed two sizes of the same thing and was clearly incapable of picking one. However, she did manage to wail, “I was SO! I was standing here and you WEREN’T!”

Nyah nyah — did this invoke fourth-grade recess lines, anyone? The cashier was too meek to help me out, but she was interested in what I was going to say. I said, “Look, bitch — the line’s back there. Get some fucking manners.” She said, “WHAT?!?!” and I handed my credit card to the cashier, as she rang up my two items quickly and efficiently. And when I left, Frizzy Bitch jumped out of line again and got the same cashier, and I could hear her STILL debating which item to purchase as I bolted out of there, as if the cashier could really tell her which one to pick. Fucktard.

Some days, I think the mental institutions let all of their patients out for the day. And usually, it’s the day I am at the mall.