Caterwauling

Big epiphany day. Had long talks with Scot and Shan about how I am pretending to be something I’m not and doing things that run contrary to the person/worker I am.

I am always the peacemaker, the do-er. This is not my comfort zone. I am supposed to be making waves, following my own beat and spouting ideas and dreams. I do none of this — at least, I do not make it a point to do these things. If they happen, it’s usually inadvertent. I suppress my frustration at my role and just contninue doing things to keep the life and job afloat, regardless of what I feel about them.

Shan invited me to move to Oregon with her. I have yet to say no. And maybe that’s because it’s not the worst idea I’ve heard in a long time. I don’t view it as giving up on my current life so much as taking an opportunity to find out how to live the life I’ve always known was meant for me.

I’ve always wondered what would happen if I just started screaming and smashing everything in sight. Today, the passion threatens to override logic and self-control. And it’s been a long time in coming. …

Oh, but I don’t sing that lyric fondly. God, no. Tiff and I used to live RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET at this time last year from where a teen’s hands were chopped off with a machete during some sort of gang attack.

I’ve never been so happy to be out of Bren Mar! *shudder*

Subtitle: Oops, my politics are showing

I’ve been eating entirely too well lately (take a look at my bank account — rather, the lack of anything in it!). However, for a gal with $10 in her pocket,Tiff introduced me tonight to the fabulous Pho … hurrah for cheap, filling and tasty Vietnamese beef noodle soup! Good lord, I told her “I could have sex with Pho!” and I ain’t kidding. Like Tiff said, it comes in two sizes: huge and really huge. The small was enough to feed a moderate-sized village. Mmmm, Pho. *slurp*

Ten times more expensive but oh-so-worth-it was the Circle Bistro, where we celebrated Shawn’s brand-spanking new master’s degree on Sunday. My advice: do not go there hungry, but go there for an elegant meal on a payday. We went for the fondue, but note that if you’re in the dining area, you can’t get the cheese fondue (that’s only at the bar). We ordered platters of meat and fish, and well, we weren’t quite expecting it to be raw. We got fondue pots full of au jus or whatever the hell it was, and it takes two minutes to cook a sliver of seafood and four minutes for a hunka beef, lamb or pork. To curb our hunger, we ordered like four dozen appetizers of chicken fingers (served in paper cones, as were the cheese fries), steak, pork , eggs, apple fritters and whatever else looked good, which was everything. 🙂

The service wasn’t exactly flawless at either place, but at Pho, what do you expect? You’re sitting at formica tables in what looks like a mess hall, but the place is clean and your food arrives within five minutes, so bitching simply doesn’t occur to you as an option. At the Circle Bistro, the bartender was amazing and when Shawn and I snuck over there for one of many smokes, we told her to make us something tasty, and she whipped up one of her special concoctions that got me nice and tipsy. I had another smoke out there with wait staff who hadn’t signed in for the day yet, and they were just divinely friendly and chatty. Our waiter was a little bit perturbed with us, but I’m sure the tip on a $200 meal made him like us a little bit better. 🙂

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the graduation. Judy Woodruff was the keynote, and she rocked. Addressing the graduating journalists (and speaking directly to me, as a practicing “journalist” if you can call it that!), she said how we as a profession really screwed up during the whole Iraq War mess — how we collectively decided to stand behind our country and not question the war. We were so patriotic and so eager to see Sept. 11, 2001, avenged that we effectively enabled our administration to lead our soldiers (and now civilians like Nic Berg) into utter disaster, and at what cost? It was a lesson to be learned for not only the master’s and bachelor’s candidates at American University, but also those graduating with their MBAs and other fields that hold us accountable. I was applauding her every statement, much to the chagrin of the people behind me who were muttering under their breath while she spoke.

Oh, the Nic Berg travesty broke my heart. I e-mailed one of the local news stations about how devastating it is to even be sharing this information with the masses — it’s not that I want to be in the dark about the horrors that the war has brought, but I wonder if we’re thrwarting military operations by publicizing these things, not to mention effectively unraveling the mental health of our audiences who simply can’t wrap their minds around this kind of tragedy.

I mean, yes, our country’s military shamed a few Iraqi hostages. I neither condone nor support their actions, because America is — and should be — better than that. We handle our power with grace, and our military has a reputation for treating our POWs respectfully and fairly. Now, we go and fuck up once, and look what happens in retaliation! Not to mention, but a news report mentioned that more photos are forthcoming of the Iraqis abusing and torturing women and a variety of other Americans. Not to mention all the corpses and near-dead soldiers whom they burned and hanged and dragged around on car bumpers for their citizens to admire.

I talk to my grandfather, a veteran from WWII, and he’s not surprised in the least by anything he sees. There was almost a certain comfort in wars NOT being televised (pre-1991) — you knew shit was getting ugly overseas, but you really didn’t know a fraction of what was happening. How did all those men return home and resume living “normal” lives? Sometimes my grandfather will tell absolutely horrific stories about the images that have never really managed to leave his memory, and I commend him and everyone who fought for world peace for knowingly going in and staying in until the war was done.

What bugs me the most (and it’s a wide array to choose from) is that in the case of Nic Berg and of course Daniel Pearl is that they were civilians just trying to earn a living when they were slaughtered. I mean, it’s real fuckin’ easy for a merry band of terrorists to capture someone who isn’t wielding an M-16. Not to say that capturing a soldier is any better, because it’s still rotten, but aren’t they in violation of the Geneva Convention? How do we avenge this? Or is it just a neverending, vicious cycle of avenging something the other has done or supposedly done?

God. When is this nightmare going to end? Or can it?

They’re blurry. They suck. I don’t have Photoshop at home. 🙂 But what the hell — here’s the gang out at Marrakesh. And for some reason, my boobs were considered to be guests in their own right. …

E-mail has been down at work all day — pretty fuckin’ rotten when you’re waiting for interviews and articles to arrive, especially when tomorrow is deadline day and I haven’t even started my stories!

I’ll have some photos to post soon. The photos from Marrakesh didn’t turn out too well, and they require much Photoshopping. Bah.

I need my bed. Now. It’s another horrendous newspaper cycle — this is now the third month in a row when I won’t be able to catch up on blogreading and e-mails. Weep for me.

Queen of the Underworld called me today. She won’t be able to produce a column this month. I am fine with it because I hate reading her incoherent drivel, but you know, how hard is it to write a column every month? It’s not like deadlines are a surprise. Asshat.

Subtitle: Dicks and drag queens

I’ll hopefully have some pix up on Monday of the ever-fabulous party to celebrate Bryan’s last night out as a bachelorette last night. Shawn, Bryan and I started out at the D.C. Eagle for cocktails so that Bryan wouldn’t realize that we were waiting for other guests to convene at the restaurant where we were headed. He was surprised and thrilled that we were NOT in fact treating him to dinner from the dollar menu at McDonald’s, but, rather, to an elegant experience at Marrakesh, surrounded by friends.

I’ve never been to Marrakesh, but I loved it. Lots of plate-sharing of fine Moroccan foods, curling up on comfy couches and running to the back hallway to smoke because we couldn’t light up at the tables. We met some new people and hung out with old friends, and it was like we’ve all known each other for years. Life has been stressing the fuck out of all of us for the past few months, but it was truly a time for celebrating friendships, our respective abilities to survive all the crazy shit life has been throwing at us lately and, most importantly, the good things in the present and the lovely future that lies at our feet.

In any event, I haven’t laughed like I did last night in a long time. My favorite moment of the evening came when Shawn and I snuck off to the smoking hallway, and we were giggling and gossiping and jumping up and down, shrieking at some infinitesimal-yet-oh-so-huge news I shared. Really, the news I shared (and I ain’t telling it here — sorry, kids!) was quite monumental when it happened, yet sharing it with Shawn — who for all intents in purposes is my brother … my family — made for just as special a moment as the one that prompted the discussion about it in the first place.

After the three-hour dinner, complete with belly-dancing (not by us, natch!), we headed on over to Zigfelds/Secrets for a drag show and naked dancing boys. Of course, the porn was the real highlight of the experience.

All in all, the best $150 night out I’ve ever had! 😉

And tomorrow — Shawn’s graduation with his master’s degree in journalism! Now let’s all hope I will be awake and in the car at 6 a.m. as scheduled!!!

Long, rambling questions as always! But at least we have questions to quench our thirst for the knowledge of the mundane, trivial yet surreal thoughts that actually we shouldn’t even admit to have crossing our minds. …

1. The lame, mundane original Friday Five has officially shut down, due to the obvious burden suffered by Heather, who simply can no longer go on coming up with such brain-teasers as “What is your job?”. But she made sure to thank those in the blog community for sending her “notes of support and encouragement,” as if she were sequestered in a laboratory somewhere, frantically working 24/7 sans nourishment to develop a cure for cancer. But the writers of the Friday Five will give credit where credit is due to Heather for the “five questions each Friday” idea, and dedicate this question to her. It’s about quitting. What is the habit you’d most like to give up? How long have you been doing it, and have you tried to quit in the past? The writers of the Friday Five want you to know that you have our support and encouragement.

I’ve been Friday Five-ing for at least two years. Ya gotta give credit to Heather and posse for introducing the masses to memes, and let’s face it, they hung in there a pretty long time. Sure, I’ve had my gripes about repeated questions from week to week, but I was never lacking in (albeit lame) blog content nearly every Friday. I never submitted any questions, so I suppose it is my fault entirely that the original Friday Five died a lonesome death this month. Nor, of course, did I go onto the message boards and squeal “Mine are up!” nor did I post the answers on the message boards.

That said, I keep trying to quit smoking. This month is supposed to be THE month, but like my friends say, I really DO quit smoking … every single night when I go to bed!

2. A wise man once said at a bar, “For $2 million, I’d endorse genocide.”

Actually, Scott said this, in reference to Rafael Palmiero’s Viagra ads. Well, the big ado in sports this week involves Major League Baseball first agreeing to sell ad space on bases for a lame summer movie, then changing its mind after fans threw a fit. What product would you most proudly

endorse across the back of your shirt, and conversely, what would take the most money for you to advertise (considering we’ve established that nothing is technically off-limits)?

I endorse abortion at any stage — especially if the blob is 50 years old, particularly if they are holding their positions hostage in the workplace and the rest of us will never ascend because they refuse to keel over and just admit they should’ve been put to pasture two decades ago.

What would take a lot of money for me to advertise? Hmm. I cannot conceive of wearing designer T-Shirts that cost $200 and have the name of the clothing company on them. Fuck it, for $200, the shirt better throw me on the kitchen counter and lick me till Niagra Falls starts gushing!

3. Lots of people are freaking out about the return of the cicadas, those freakin beetle-like things that come out of the ground every 17 years, live for two months, then die. What were you doing in 1987? And, if you spent 17 years underground, what would you first do upon crawling out of it?

In 1987, I was in middle school, so I was wearing neon tie-dyed shirts, white jeanskirts and frosted jeanjackets with fringe. Seventh grade was a rockin’ year. 😉

At my job, I feel like I’ve spent 17 years underground. Only thing is, I wish my coworkers would crawl back into the ground and just put themselves out of their misery. 🙂 But if I were to crawl out, I’d need a shower. No ands, ifs or buts about that — I’ve never been dirty like that in my life!

4. Billed as “America’s favorite sitcom,” the finale of the never-ending show Friends aired last night. NBC did not disappoint cynical media-watchers (like the writers of the Friday Five) by shamelessly promoting the episode as “historic.” Endless montages of highlight moments of the show marked its “decade of laughs.” Have you ever laughed with Friends, or just at it? If you could hit one cast member over the head with a tire iron – and only one, so choose wisely – who would it be and why?

Oh shut up. I watched the finale. I didn’t want Ross and Rachel together, but there would’a been a HUGE public outcry (similar to Jennifer Hudson getting the boot off “American Idol” two weeks ago).

And for that matter, I’ve seen nearly every episode of “Friends” in its decade-long run, although mostly in syndication.

Hit one cast member over the head with a tire iron … hmm. David Schwimmer’s “Ross” irritated the shit out of me, but that’s because I dated someone who reminds me of him. Now if I could hit THAT guy over the head with a blunt object. …

5. DC is tragically un-hip, as we are all aware, yet it makes paltry attempts to keep up with celebrity fanfare. Last week’s White House Correspondents’ dinner is a prime example — most celebrity invitees were no-shows, and lame local newscasters glowed with the privilege of being there. Should we continue this pathetic tradition, hoping one day it will revive and bring in more of the beautiful people, or just give up and announce to the world, “hey DC is not cool”? On a promising note, Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson are in town right now shooting a new film. If you could take them to one DC establishment for cocktails, which would it be and why?

D.C. is cool except for the fact that it’s raining like a motherfucker tonight and we are going out on the town. Which means that we will park 100 miles from our destination(s) and have to get soaked, so the perfect coiff and cosmetic job is going to look like shit the second I step out the door.

In any event, I’m not a huge fan of Vince nor Owen, so I would take them to Nation, get them high and watch them get butt-fucked in the rafters. 🙂

Oh, hell, while I’m working on the Veggie Patch Playset (and seeing as though I’ve already mentally checked out), I might as well give you a Queen of the Underworld update.

She e-mailed yesterday to tell me that she thinks having a cartoon on page 3 is tacky and that I essentially need to bury it in the back of each issue (um, where I bury her monthly column? heh). At our recent conference, she told me to my face that we should get rid of the cartoon and run Spanish articles in its place (and in 100 other places). She is supposedly honored for her commitment to promoting many cultures in our profession, but between us, she only gives a flying shit about the Hispanics and the other Spanish-speakers who refuses to assimilate to our country’s culture, language and other ways. In any event, we had a big ole brawl at the conference (witnessed by Cruise Director, Demure!TM and Pride Fag, with no intervention on any of their parts) for the fact that she wants the articles printed in Spanish and that it will be a hit. Yeah — tell that to the people in Podunk Iowa and Redneck Montana who don’t speak Spanish. It’s a national paper, people.

Cruise Director handled her for me … by blowing her off in the nicest way possible. But she is clear that she’s out for blood, and when I had asked her to show me hard numbers of the demand for Spanish translations, she couldn’t. So I want to do a survey on what language(s) our readers speak and read. So, of course, I can throw it in her face that only her ballot-stuffers want their monthly newspaper to be in a different language.

I had asked her way back when why I should go for Spanish. What about those who speak Arabic, Mandarin, French, German or Hebrew? Will I have to translate every article into every language? She talks about not excluding people — but, of course, only if they share her descent.

I hate that fucking cuntbag. I hope someone cuts her hair with a machete next time she strolls into a beauty salon. I hear she’s going to be in town on my birthday — weep for me.

Speaking of my birthday, I am entitled to the day off, but Frosty the H.R. queen scheduled a mandatory team-building session. I told my boss that I have no desire to ring in my 30th birthday with these assholes in a mandatory meeting. No response from her on that, of course! But for Christ’s sake, I hate most of these fuckhats and would never, ever want to acknowledge that we are on the same team — most times, it’s like we’re all working against each other. And a miserable day together won’t help.

According to Frosty, this session (to be conducted by her best friend, with whom I have had several negative run-ins because she’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t know the first thing about good working environments) is a REWARD for us putting up with the furlough days. How can it be a REWARD when it’s a MANDATORY WORK SESSION on my fucking BIRTHDAY?!?! Here’s a thought: give me back some of my money! I still haven’t paid rent, and now I owe a $50 late fee so that they will revoke the automatic eviction notice.

Will I ever get a moment’s peace? Clearly, not if I continue to stay here. But working here has brought me some gifts I wasn’t quite expecting, and I have maximized my opportunities and built connections with wonderful people whom I wouldn’t have met otherwise. But I feel like this trailer-with-the-wheels-shot-off is sinking into the Potomac, and all we have is a couple of crazy straws from 7-11 to bail ourselves out with.

I swear, you can’t win for losing around here.

I have been meeting with our new director about various ideas we both have. I also forward him professional inquiries that are beyond my scope of practice (and, for that matter, understanding). Recently, I sent him an inquiry that intrigued me, and I said that I would like to be copied on the answer because I think it would make for a really good story for a coming issue.

So what did dicknugget do? He answered the inquiry, then forwarded it to me and copied half of Creation, saying, “Dawn, I think this would make for a really good story in the Veggie Patch Gazette.” There is, of course, no hint of my original e-mail to him in which it was clearly MY IDEA!

Where’s my pencil? I think I need to perform a tracheotomy on him now.

Fine fucking way to start a weekend, eh?

I just got my claws sharpened, and what a bloodbath that was. 🙂 But my nails are pretty, so I feel pretty and witty and light. 🙂

For the first time, I got a lip wax. Holy friggin’ crap did that sting! For all the fun I poke at Pussy Demure!TM, I figured I’d better make sure I have my own girliness in check before I start in on her. The bad news is that I must be allergic to the wax, ’cause it’s been almost an hour and my face is still red. Gaah! I look like a fuckin’ freak of nature.

I had to get purty, though — tonight is Bryan’s bachelorette party, and we have Shawn’s long-awaited graduation on Sunday. Woo hoo! I’ve essentially cut myself off from the world for the past two months, and I had to be able to make my re-debut into socializing again. But damn, bein’ pretty hurts!