Caterwauling

This “apology hotline” is entertaining. Apparently, people call this number at Vassar late at night to admit to some scumbag shit they might have done or are doing.

One can only hope the callers are way more articulate (and, for my money, honest) than the tard droppings over at the trainwreck otherwise known as Group Hug.

I can’t help but wonder, though if anyone who ever did me wrong would ever A.) admit to it, or B.) be nuts enough to post it somewhere. Wouldn’t that be awesome if you found that someone, somewhere wanted your forgiveness for some boneheaded thing they did to you?

Play Bash the Boss! And picture Demure!TM approaching you, saying, “Weellllllll, we need to meet. …” You’ll knock The Boss into next Tuesday!

June 12 near Union Station. Bev is spinning. Money will be raised to oust Shurb from office.

Be there!

1. Memorial Day marks the unofficial start of summer, grilling, and a steady parade of frat boys jamming the Bay Bridge to get to Dewey Beach because, you know, sometimes there just aren’t enough shitty cover bands playing at Whitlows and the Clarendon Grille. But the writers of the Friday Five (who really need some new pictures) know that Memorial Day is really supposed to be a day of remembrance, or so this says. Have you ever

participated in a bona fide commemoration activity on Memorial Day? If so, what was it?

Let’s see, when I was a kid, we were forced to learn patriotic songs on our recorders (cheap, dollar store-type plastic flutes) and march up and down Lincoln Way in good old White Oak, Pa., with the rest of our classmates. I always envied the kids who conveniently “forgot” to tell their parents about said obligation, and they always waved oh-so-cattily to us as they sat on the ground, watching the parade and catching the Jolly Ranchers that adults were throwing at them from the parade route. Of course, I always mentally cheered when the Jolly candies would magically bean one of the little fuckers in the head. Served them right for not being humiliated with the rest of us, who tromped down to the American Legion for crappy chipped ham sandwiches on egg buns in reward for sweating our asses off as we played out of tune for the masses. 🙂

2. Just this week the Bush Administration announced a near-definite terrorist attack on U.S. soil, between now and, oh, coincidentally, election day, just after polls showed his lowest approval rating ever. Concern surrounding Memorial Day activities is abuzz. What do you think? Are

people just being pansies, or is there real cause for concern? Would you, or do you, plan to attend any of these activities?

I thought the announcement was a little bit convenient, given the plummeting approval rating. Here’s the thing: we are always vulnerable to a terrorist attack. Sure, holiday gatherings are especially plum targets for the turban mafia, but if Sept. 11, 2001, taught us anything, it’s that any random Tuesday in any random overpopulated locale is a prime target. Memorial Day is the American equivalent of a Holy Day in other parts of the world, so I don’t expect any attacks this weekend.

That said, my ass is avoiding any form of public gatherings this weekend. But that’s more of a hatred of my fellow man than it is an attempt to cover this wide load of an ass from a SCUD missile.

3. What’s your favorite war-themed movie? War hero? War song?

Oooh, “Low Rider.” Yeah, baby!

Movie? Enh, not a big fan of the war movie genre. I might swing a halfhearted vote for “Independence Day,” in honor of the ever-glorious Will Smith.

4. In the last installment of the Friday Five, we discussed swimming — or not swimming — in public pools. What are your thoughts on swimming at the beach, given that it could realistically be described as the world’s largest ashtray, connected to the world’s largest urinal?

Ah, the beach. I remember when syringes were found in the sand at Lake Erie when I was a wee lass who loved said lake. This, of course, sucked because I didn’t know how to swim (still don’t) and therefore, the fun of sitting/walking on the sand decreased exponentially. In any event, feel free to pee in the ocean. Who’s gonna stop you? Amid all the fish poop, I’m sure no one will notice!

5. Fashionistas everywhere (or at least at H&M) know that Memorial Weekend

lifts a major clothing ban – we can all start wearing white, until Labor Day, when the ban resumes. What specific clothing style would you like to see banned year-round?

Scott and I have a variety of clothing pet peeves (surely, ones which we would never commit ourselves!), most of which have been observed at the Dupont Circle-area bars, most notably (and recently) Cobalt. To protect the innocent, I shall not reveal THAT conversation, but suffice it to say that the 1980s happened, well, 20 years ago, and some folks missed the memo (and “The Love Boat,” for that matter). All in all, keep it in your pants, keep your pants on and for god’s sakes, if you are a gay man with no fashion sense, get some friends — who will be MORE than happy to do a makeover on you … without you even asking. 😉

1. Remember the birthday dress I was raving about? Here it is:

2. It’s a furlough day at work, and the very first in which I am NOT there for it. Hurrah!

3. Having a car in desperate need of repair has kept me in the house (or, local, as far as getting to work and out for groceries). I’ve been watching bad daytime TV, cooking and hanging with the kittens. And I am loving every second of it!

4. A special thank-you to everyone for the wonderful birthday wishes and/or gifts. You’ve made my passage into my 30th year (there! I said it!) incredibly memorable and special. I anticipated this would be a lonely voyage, but several of you went out of your way and then some to celebrate with me. You know who you are, even if you’ll never read this tribute. 🙂

5. Shan gave me the best advice on turning the big 3-0: “Admitting you’re 30 isn’t easy — it takes courage, confidence, a positive attitude … and at least five or six years.” (She should know — she’s 36!)

6. While we’re on memorable quotes, Angie would be upset if I didn’t record yesterday’s quote of the day: “I could stick a pen in my twat and gyrate over a notebook, and I’d still write something better than most of my columnists!” (I said this with all seriousness — I wasn’t trying to be funny at all, but she was in hysterics. So here it is.)

7. The universe is working as it should be. Really, turning 30 is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time — it put my world into an entirely new perspective. This is the decade of no more excuses, procrastination or wishing. This is the time to make it happen. I feel like I have always done “the right thing,” but my motivation sometimes came from a sense of guilt or false indebtedness. No more. My motivation will always come from serving my best interests first. This is the year I start my business(es) — the year I preserve, protect and promote myself like I never have. Expect big things from me, friends. And I will expect the same of you when you are ready. 🙂

8. I’d be remiss if I didn’t wish you a wonderful, healthy and safe Memorial Day weekend. I personally will be avoiding D.C. like the plague, but I do have trips to the WWII Memorial and Arlington Cemetery scheduled for June. I appeciate that I live in the heart of the nation, and I don’t want to see all the sights I’ve been missing when lost among a throng of cars and pedestrians. But I still want to see everything. So I’m going to make a concerted effort to do just that. I want to experience it all, and there’s no reason why I can’t. Carpe diem, friends. 🙂

Well, Crybaby Ghettofied won “American Idol.”

I do not look forward to hearing her doing even more interviews. God. Let’s hope she sings them.

I’m going to bed.

But the job still sucks.

OK, it’s bad enough that four furlough days could’ve paid for the brakes and tires that I desperately need (more furloughs coming June 11 and 25), but after one day away, it’s like I walked right back into the trap of idiocy.

As soon as I walked in, I was accosted by Cruise Director’s Bitch about some stuff, and somebody else for some other stuff. I had even been contacted on my freakin’ birthday (my lone day off in months!) about this shit, and I hadn’t even had coffee yet when I saw their shining faces. Ugh.

But then, I was treated to assholes to whom I haven’t responded going above my head to Cruise Director and to Demure!TM, asking why they hadn’t heard from me. Um, the paper went to press, and there were problems goddamn galore all fucking weekend with the files. I did not see fit to answer whiny-ass people who were harassing me about non-related items. And why do I have to explain myself?

J-Ho, the ex-staff writer, got my ass in trouble today. She has been calling/e-mailing because Cruise Director wants her to write a story for me, and I don’t want it. I don’t even understand how it relates to my magazine (well, I could understand, but it sounds eerily similar to an article we ran three months ago). So I finally just had Angie call her and talk to her voice mail about deadlines and stuff. (She used to write for us — what the hell more could we tell her?) Well, she now e-mailed Cruise Director and cc:’d me to say that she desperately needs to talk to me because I am so creative and I can get her people to interview (um, I thought she was supposed to find those, as I did not commission this story), and that I haven’t called her. She did make the mistake (on her part) of saying that I had had Angie contact her because I was slammed with deadlines and couldn’t talk, but she said that simply wasn’t enough information, so she was appealing to him.

I want to fucking kill. I work my ASS off with no compensation for furlough and weekend days worked, and I get in trouble because Teacher’s Pet is hurt that I haven’t called her to tell her how to do the job she used to do?

I have another dipshit who is a subscriber. I interviewed him for an obituary. I had asked him to write down some thoughts after our talk (because I had also delivered the news of his buddy’s death — he was shaken up) if he felt the need. I thought they were great, and I used them. Dipshit re-sent the file four more times (with revisions), even after the paper was printed. I had responded to the first set to say those were great and that I would love it if he could provide a photo of the deceased. He of course replies by revising his text and sending a headshot of HIMSELF!!!

So he was angry that I didn’t reply back to that, so he called my supervisor and complained that he really needed to know the status. I don’t understand why I owe any explanations to anyone about what I do — I had told him the initial submission was great, and because I was three days’ behind in writing the story, I was going to take it and run with it and go hide from the world in the midst of deadline hell so I could get the paper done.

I hate fuckers who cause problems. Really fucking hate them. I mean, this is the shit that appears on my performance evaluations — nobody cares that I work with Angie to train her on my job, nobody cares that we do readings on good business management or that we work so well together or that I solve every fucking crisis that crosses my desk. No, I get chastised for not being able to outright prevent every crisis and I get burned for the fact that I need to vent before going on with my day. They fail to understand that I am a walking pressure cooker while I am here, and that yeah, I may bitch here and there, but I put on a smile and deal with these idiot readers and leaders and other staff.

Speaking of crises, I have a production here — the postage check didn’t arrive at the post office for my papers to be mailed today. Turns out the check went out yesterday (I had asked for it to be AT the post office on the 21st). The post office called, and the check did arrive late today, but it was $400 short (I need to look into this, because I’d sent more than I thought was necessary). So I put in a requisition to have $500 wired to the post office immediately. But, of course, my boss and her secretary are AWOL, so no one has approved my request. A lovely gal in Finance just came to ask for the requisition, but as it has not been approved, she agreed to get the money ready and just hold onto it till the Demure!TM signature arrives to her. It’s nice to know that SOME people are efficient and care about their fellow man — I of course wasn’t prepared to walk into such a shitstorm after taking one lousy day off. This is why I don’t ever take time for myself — one, I can never schedule it, and two, it’s like everything collapses when I’m not here to hold it together.

Rejected title: Birthday, party of one

I had absolutely no plans to do much of anything today, other than avoiding work at all costs (read: no Tuesdays with Demure!TM) — I’ll officially do anything to avoid that weekly torturous meeting!

I ended up spending too much money at Old Navy, having a lovely hot pastrami lunch from Togo’s, cleaning up at the Crate & Barrel Outlet in Old Town, getting a slice of triple chocolate mousse cake from the Alexandria Pastry Shop and a sugar-free vanilla latte from S’bucks.

Alas, that was only my morning. 😉

You see, there was this dress I have been coveting since yesterday. It’s black and knee-length, with hot-pink rosettes at the top and a few at the bottom. There’s a hot-pink layer of crinoline beneath the dress, and it’s just freakin’ cute. I’d seen it at Hecht’s (retail price: $120) yesterday when I dropped off my car for service at the Goodyear across the parking lot. What was weird was that, when I walked in, I had a vision that I would see the dress that would’ve been perfect for last weekend’s wedding. And sure enough, I walked up to this fabulous dress immediately.

I had even tried it on, and it was perfect. I rarely try things on that I’m going to buy, let alone things I know I am not going to take out of the store. I grudgingly left the dress, citing financial distress and also having nowhere to wear it.

Shan and I met up for dinner tonight, and the table was full of balloons and gifts and a lovely ice cream cake. After we ate and put all the goodies in my car, we were off to the shops at Landmark Mall for some window-shopping to fill up our evening before the grand “American Idol” finale (I’ve sent 30 votes to Diana already!). And Shan asked to see the dress I have been talking about nonstop.

Let me put in some background. I bought some silver earrings with hot-pink crystals today, and I managed to pass up a tiny hot-pink handbag, figuring I really didn’t have anything to wear with it other than that damn dress that I couldn’t afford. And Shan was wearing hot-pink and black, ironically — the same colors in my beloved dress.

And if you believe in signs, when we went to Hecht’s, there was one dress (in my size!) on the racks, and it was the one I had tried on yesterday, because there were two Maddie hairs on it that hadn’t quite fallen off since my little fashion show for myself. Shan fell in love with the dress and said I had to find a way to have it.

Well, as if divine intervention struck, I suddenly noticed a sign above my head that all dresses and pantsuits were 30 percent off! So I said, fuck it, I don’t need any more signs than this, so I took the dress to the register. Where, of course, I was promptly told that this particular dress wasn’t on sale yet.

Bah. The sale didn’t start till tomorrow, and I was told that said dress shouldn’t have been on that display in the first place.

Shan was having none of it and had them call a manager. I was crushed to watch the salesperson toss my gorgeous dress into a crumpled heap on her desk. Shan scooped the damn thing up and refused to put it down till she argued with the manager that the sale sign didn’t belong over a dress if it wasn’t on sale. She told me we were not leaving the store without it and that I would not pay full price.

Sure enough, the manager let the salesperson ring it up (with tax, it was just under $90). And I already have the earrings to match! (That’s a story for another day — let’s just say that I ended up stepping on the earrings in Claire’s earlier, and I couldn’t find another pair like them, but I hadn’t damaged them and simply had to buy them because they had found me!) Soon, the lovely dress was all wrapped up (on the hanger, of course) and in my hands within minutes. I was so fucking pleased. 🙂

On my last birthday, Shan and I were hoofing around the mall when I saw, fell in love with and bought my emerald ring. I swear, she’s my good luck charm! The ring had been on sale, and I had just been saying earlier that very day how much I had wanted to own something with my birthstone but in a silver setting. The ring sits in a white gold band. How perfect!

I had bemoaned briefly the fact that the dress hadn’t been available when I was shopping for my bridesmaid dress, but she said fuck it, that wedding wasn’t my event and the dress I got tonight was for me to wear to any event of my choosing. I had a minor epiphany — there’s someone in whom I’ve had a passing romantic interest, but I realized this person might never take me to the Kennedy Center or somewhere else fabulous where this dress would belong, so I need to find someone who will take me to the places where I am destined to go. Not that I’d rule someone out for the mere fact that formal attire isn’t part of their vocabulary, but if I want to be a party coordinator (and indeed I do), then I need to not only look the part, but also be the part. And this dress is me and the person I want to be, all at the same time. It’s fun and flirty and formal and funky, all told — like 1964 meets 2004. (Or, in my case, 1974 meets 2004!)

I can’t wait to have somewhere to wear it, but I am truly the type of girl who has the clothes and just needs an occasion, instead of having an occasion and searching high and low for the right thing to wear, like I did for the wedding. And while that dress was a smashing success, it took more effort to find it than I needed at that point in my life. In any event, with the new dress, it’s nice to know that, if a fabulous invitation just happens to crop up, I’ll be ready to accept and be divine on cue. 🙂

All right, so who wants to take me out? 😉

Everything just tastes better when you’re drinking through a penis straw.

Just sayin’. 😉