Caterwauling

Today was designated as a “Worry-Free Day.” I did no work (not like I have much left, anyway. But still). But I did do housework.

My apartment has been barely inhabited since August. I went from a crazy-busy time to a three-week-plus getaway. And I have only been back one week, and I’ve been playing catch-up with e-mail and with one little project. Hence, I have clean laundry and suitcases and purchases and miscellaneous crap just kind of sitting around, waiting to be placed somewhere.

Well, today I cleaned for hours, and I swear, you can barely tell. 🙁

I rearranged my bedroom and broke a lot of new bedthings out of their packages. (Not plastic bedthings — those are in the mail!) And then, I went about overhauling the bathroom. The thing was, I bought two sets of shower curtains and acoutrements while I was away. One set is hot pink and silver — very “now.” Another set is Happy Bunny — a shower curtain and a matching rug that says “It’s all about me.”

I chose the latter.

I was just admiring my work, and I realized that I hope nobody passes the threshold of my abode anytime soon, because they will know I’ve done lost my mind with all the Happy Bunny not only in there, but also throughout the kitchen.

Oh well. I can’t help but smile when I see it, though. Besides, I don’t have any way of paying my November rent, so it’s not like it’s going to be up for much longer!

On iTunes: Melissa Ferrick, “For Once in My Life”

But it will be a short ride. 🙂

Tard Blog returns!!!

Sample entry:

When (Daria) ran by, she yelled, “Miss Pell! PWESENT!”

I called my assistant to come watch the kids while I picked corn and fecal matter from my face and hair for the next 30 minutes, pondered my life as a sped teacher, and decided which bar happy hour would be at that day.

Life is right again. 😉

Two events/conversations from yesterday. True stories!

The scene: four women testing out new vibrators (get those minds outta the gutter, people — it was a Passion Party demo!). I’m holding a vibrator with seven speeds and a handful of other functions (it lights up too as the speed increases. Way cool!).

Doorbell rings. Hostess: “It’s the pizza guy!”

Stunned looks from all of us. Someone: “Oh, this has the makings of a porno.” Someone else: “Turn that thing OFF!”

I didn’t know HOW to turn it off, so I clamped the vibrating part between my knees as I fumbled with the dials. It was finally off as the delivery guy left.

Bummer!
____________________________________

An IM conversation

My friend: I’m co-authoring a book, teaching five courses this semester, etc.

Me: I sold a vibrator today.

*sigh* All those years of college, and this is what it’s come to!

On iTunes: Sugarbabes, “Hole in the Head”

I love to fly. Really, I do. And recently, I did a ton of it, making my way between the coasts of this lovely country.

I do not love, however, layovers. I usually schedule layovers at Chicago O’Hare because it’s got an aesthetically pleasing area. Never do I go on people-movers till I get to O’Hare because it’s so worth it — kind of mellow chimey-type background music accompanies a gorgeous rainbow light sculpture running the length of the ceiling.

Had the layover from hell in San Francisco. Twice. Never saw a more fucked-up situation, and all I have to say is that I thank my lucky stars that I am able-bodied and healthy and capable of figuring out where to go, how to get there and how not to choke somebody out of sheer frustration.

Yeah, they know when an East Coaster is in the house. 😉

I landed in San Fran from Pittsburgh, and I switched airlines, from U.S. Airways to United. Now, I have to say that my arriving flight was great — the pilot pointed out all kinds of landmarks and told little historical tidbits as we crept westward. My only gripe about U.S. Airways at that point was that I had to purchase headphones to listen to the movie of the day. Bah. But I figured I’d get to use them on the return flight.

Anyway, San Fran was just your average airport. I stopped in the bathroom and realized that O’Hare scored even more points for having automatic everything — flushing, sinks AND a perenially new toilet seat cover for every new behind. But that’s not the worst of it.

It had taken me six million years to get off the plane because I was practically in the trunk of it. Seriously, the next-to-last row. I wanted to beat the people who said, “No reason to rush.” Yeah, they didn’t have a connecting flight.

So, I know I have to change airlines. I wander around, looking for signs. I finally see a sign for United. I went to a girl behind a desk and said I needed to get to United, and how could I do that? She said my name to my face. My name. I was floored — was she psychic? No, she wasn’t psychic — they had tried to hold a shuttle for me, but because it took so damn long for me to deplane, well, it had to go. That’s what she told me. She could have, like, mentioned that they run shuttles every 15 to 20 minutes. But as my layover time was rapidly diminishing, she’s lucky she didn’t. 🙂

So, what had to happen was that I had to walk down a big ole flight of stairs to get to the ground level. No big deal — I’m healthy. But I didn’t see an elevator if I might have wanted to NOT lug my two carry-on on my back down the steps.

Anyway, I was literally outside. Construction everywhere. No signage whatsoever. Felt like I stepped into a twilight zone and I was about to be taken to Alcatraz for execution.

A bus showed up 15 minutes later. It promptly dumped me at the United terminal, but again, no signage. At this point I’m waiting for terrorists to just kidnap me and put me out of my misery. I get to the door and just about get run over by a stampede trying to get on the shuttle. Disoriented and completely disgusted, I had to show my ticket and ID to someone, who let me go through the black, unmarked metal door.

And, oh goody, I got to walk UP two flights of steps. Again, I am perfectly capable and willing to run steps, but come the hell on already — what if I weren’t in passable physical shape and/or getting around without any assistance?

At the top, I pant and wheeze and sort of get lost. But my inner genius kicked in, and I found my gate. Never mind that I had to sit on the floor and the knees of my jeans got muddy because the wing is a shithole, but I got the glorious surprise that the tiny, crap-ass plane would NOT be pulling up to the terminal but, rather, we had to go down even MORE steps to get to the tarmac, where we climbed UP a rickety staircase to board the plane.

Fucking joy.

My “big” carry-on fit perfectly into the overhead bin on the grown-up plane I’d been on earlier. But did it fit in the little ValuJet? Not really. I had a line of people going down the steps, waiting for me to figure out how to wedge that mid-sized bag (full of breakables like my glasses and sunglasses) into that bin. I don’t know how, but I shoved it in pretty well. And thus began an OK flight.

I sat next to this darling elderly woman, who had actually also come from Pittsburgh and was also headed to Oregon. And I wondered how she had managed to get through the obstacle course in one piece — I was incensed at the prospect. But I didn’t ask. I just hoped there was some sort of courtesy shown to our elders.

But, alas, I landed where I was supposed to land. I had window seats each trip, and I marveled at how blue the water and skies were in the West … how green and lush the foliage was. No layer of perpetual pollution like there is above the Eastern cities I haunt. I saw my friend in the airport to come and pick me up, and I knew the hell was overwith.

For the time being.

So, I flew back to San Fran — got there at 9:30 p.m. PST and got my connection at 11:30 p.m. (I was wise to have scheduled a longer layover than the first!). Well, by this time, I was old hat at the odyssey, and, all told, the pilgrimage took a mere 25 minutes to make. The initial flight to San Fran was good, despite being crammed into the little jet and having to shove my fucking carry-on into the bin again (and it was even more stuffed with goodies I’d picked up during my journey). Alas, I was in the third row and again had people coming out of my ass, waiting to get to their seats. Whee.

Oh, but wait. There’s more.

I had looked forward to an empty flight during which I could get a restful sleep. Hah.

OK, I busted out my headphones on the plane. But guess what? They didn’t turn on the radio or show any TV or anything like that. So yay, those $5 headphones only got one use.

I was pleased, though, that all the lights in the cabin were turned out so we could just sleep. Hurrah, right?

Nope. First of all, the flight was full. Body to fucking stinking body. But I’ll get to that later.

I was pissed off that there were not enough pillows for everyone. What the hell? It’s a goddamned red-eye flight. Provide, people! But whatever. I had bigger problems. To start, the two women beside me opted to turn on their reading lights and read for hours. Because I loved having the light in my eyes.

But this was heavenly compared to the Flatulator.

Yes, when you’re in coach, you have to put up with a lot of shit. Literally.

I had brought a comfy shawl that I intended to double as a blanket, and that was ingenious of me. The shawl smelled like sea air and salt water, much like my hair and clothes did when we went to the coast. I was cozy and happy, smelling those happy scents.

Until. …

Every five minutes, on the dot, someone left a silent, deadly one. And it would waft straight at me. Gah.

I was so angry. I wanted to kill. I mean, I couldn’t even sleep because, when I’d start to snooze, I’d smell it and jolt awake. At some point, I dropped my cell phone, and when I bent over to retrieve it, I realized that Dry Roasted Ass was RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!! Gaaah!

Here’s what really sucked — I was sick. I was having sinus attacks for days before the flight. So my friend recommended I buy some Afrin and squirt the hell out of my sinuses; otherwise, she said the cabin pressure would make me want to jump out of the plane. I dutifully bought the $10 nasal spray and was thrilled to have clear sinuses.

Hah.

Should’a left ’em plugged.

Anyway, as if my eight hours behind Dog Ass wasn’t enough, I ran into her funky butt again. Yes, it was a she — probably a 40-year-old female, skinny as all hell (good lord, woman — what the hell are you EATING?!?!) and miserable looking. Anyway, unlike San Francisco’s ghetto bus ride, Pittsburgh has a lovely metro system that takes you to your next terminal.

So, lucky me, I get on with Stinkalicious and her HUSBAND. How the hell did SHE get a man with an ass like THAT?!?! He looked perfectly miserable, though. I wonder if his olfactory nerves went defunct after sharing a bed with that dry roasted ass stench. *gag*

Anyway, yes, she stunk up the light rail car. I honestly just wanted to die.

But, alas, I got my bags and off I went. Mom was gracious enough to pick me up, after having a cop chase her away from the pickup area six times. But as we dumped my luggage into her trunk, we watched a guy give MONEY to the cop, who promptly stopped bothering him to move his car. What the HELL?!?! Since when is THAT ethical? Bah.

Anyway, I’m sure this was too much information, but these are the moments that make a “vacation” anything but!!!

On iTunes: Finger Eleven, “Sad Exchange (Living Torture)”

I promised myself this new blog wouldn’t become a personal ranting ground. A professional one, sure, insofar as talking about being un self-employed and NOT about any employers per se.

But …

I’ve been feeling lost without blogging about what’s happening in my heart. And for all the hard knocks the ole ticker has taken, it’s got a story to tell that isn’t being told.

So today, I change that. All growing processes interconnect. And it needs to be preserved in living history when I have a moment of reckoning!

What has been going unsaid is that I’ve been kind of schizo and depressed about my situation right now. But no matter how bleak things get, something happens to give me hope. Like I mused to myself today, “Whenever a door closes, a window opens that you want to jump out of.” 🙂

But, alas, something always stops me from jumping. It’s like the universe hears me and sends me something to hold onto — to jump toward, if you will.

In summary, something truly wonderful that has been happening lately is that I’ve been attracting better and better people into my realm. I always say that my friends are few, but their real estate in my heart is expansive. I am revelling in everyone and truly learning who I am through their eyes. And, accordingly, I hope I am able to give something back or, at least, pay it forward to others who need me as much as I’ve needed those before them.

In any event, I did a lot of soul-searching today. Not a new activity, of course, but this one was done with someone who cared. Yes, I made a friend. And maybe we were always friends, but today, it became clear that we keep crossing paths for a reason.

And I don’t know if he’s reading this (I actually hope not — he’s had more than sufficient exposure to my neuroses for one evening!), but he did something that so few have cared enough to do — he broke me open. I mean, really, took my bullshit and fed it straight back to me. Asked questions and listened to the answers, then asked the questions again until I was brave enough to give the real answers.

It’s kind of timely — I was blogging recently how I have a moat around me, and I need to start convincing people that there aren’t sharks in the waters. 😉 I realized — and admitted — that I am a genius at pushing people away and/or holding them at arm’s length. The thing is, I always wanted for us to be better friends, but circumstances dictated that I put my guard up. And unfortunately, that guard is still up. I don’t want to be wary. I just felt like it was in my best interest to limit interactions and information. But all signs point toward needing to be less wary than receptive.

But maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. No, I wasn’t wrong. I am entitled to use caution. I mean, I have so many ex-friends and such who are brilliant at extracting every piece of data on me, only to try to use it to hurt me down the road. Was it their intent from the outset to hurt me, or was that just like a benefit to them? No matter, but it did leave me raw and untrusting. And that’s a damn shame that I gave people and entities the power to take away what has always been rightfully mine — my strength — but really, I doubt anyone can blame me. But I’ve got to treat it as the temporary insanity that it is and believe in the people who know me better than that and believe in meunfalteringly.

And for some reason, he seems to think the world of me. Is he nuts? LOL. I got the message loud and clear that I was worth the time and effort to invest in — this in and of itself makes him worth my own emotional investment as well. And that he knows there’s so much more beneath the polished surface that I offer. And there is — I just have a really hard time, given the recent (seemingly neverending) series of ass-kicking life events, believing in myself and my worth.

It’s life-alteringly amazing to run into people who have so much faith in you that you can borrow some of that faith and use it to regrow what has all but died inside of you. Strength needs to come from within, naturally, but sometimes it’s OK to run out of steam when you’ve managed to ignite others so much so that they can lend you some of that fuel until you can make it to the gas station to replenish your own supply. And once I’ve got the tank off “empty,” I can resume helping to give others a jump when they’re the ones in need — it’s just great to know that I can get a jump when I really need one, too.

* These titles refer to the Ani DiFranco box set of the same name. 🙂

On iTunes: Vertical Horizon, “Inside You”

Like any singleton, I’ve had some rotten dates in my life. But never ever was I asked to reimburse the date for my half of dinner. It’s genius, though — the dude sent the gal an invoice because he claims he paid for their first date because she agreed to a second date that never happened.

Ladies, I’m sure you’d agree with me that we should be reimbursed for all the dates for which WE paid (or at least went Dutch) because we didn’t want anyone to have any, um, expectations of us (like, seeing us again!). And how many times did you feel like you should be entitled to punitive damages or at least burial costs for being bored to death? 😉

Found via the incomparable Ms. Funky.

On iTunes: Switchfoot, “The Beautiful Letdown”

Some scenes from the Pacific coast, taken in Florence, Ore., last week. I never felt more alive as I did on that deserted beach, with the wind whipping my hair in a thousand directions and the cool water from the waves dancing around my ankles. *wistful sigh* Good times!

We climbed sand dunes to get to this part of the ocean. The Oregon Coast is worth climbing uphill in sand!

I have a bunch of photos like this — I’ve never seen cleaner skies or water!

I swear this isn’t a postcard! We were inside the Sea Lion Caves, the world’s largest sea cave. Way off in the distance is the Heceta Head Lighthouse.

After more than a year and a half away from it, I went to the gym yesterday afternoon. I am stressed the hell out over money — my situation is worse than I’d imagined. In any event, you KNOW I had to be at my wits’ end to drag my ass to work out! 🙂

The only good thing that happened was that I stepped on a scale that’s clearly malfunctioning, because it said I’m 15 pounds lighter than I really am. Hah! And I didn’t even have to deduct for my sneakers!

Anyway, the gym odyssey was a minor fiasco. The machines are too close together, and I tripped over one, trying to get to another. Gracious. LOL. I totally went ass over teacups, although, admittedly, I fall so often that I have perfected my landing so as not to injure myself at all. But the grand voyage downward made me realize why I shouldn’t set foot outside the house. 🙂

Actually, that brings me to what was running through my head throughout my time there — nobody even noticed me fall. This is a good thing, of course, but the thing is, nobody noticed me in general (well, except the skeevy dude who kept following me around. Whee). That’s the thing when you’re carrying around some extra junk in the trunk (and other places) — you learn to become invisible. You fade into the background on purpose. It becomes second nature to not want to be seen.

I don’t always adhere to that mindset, though. I like short skirts and revealing shirts, much to the chagrin of conservative superiors and maybe even friends who believe anyone above a size eight should wear potato sacks in public. I like to wear makeup and whatever’s trendy — there’s no reason to fully succumb to society’s expectation that big girls go curl up and die in a corner so nobody has to look at them.

The reality of my life is that I will have to get a *real* job — and soon. And the one thing I’ve hated about that is that no matter how much talent, experience and potential I have, I do not look like I belong in the corporate world. Or anywhere, for that matter.

I’ve been reading “He’s Just Not That Into You,” which was quite the eye-opener. I basically don’t need to read past the part where overweight women are essentially told that they aren’t the marrying kind. I could have told you that without spending the $15 on the book. No guy wants a girl who outweighs him. And I respect that. It’s just irritating that these same guys really aren’t prizes themselves. Don’t they know that big girls give the best head ’cause they’re hungry? 😉

In any event, I haven’t smoked in almost a month. I’m one cranky lady, can ya tell?

On iTunes: Howie Day, “Collide”

Had a lovely chat with one of my neighbors tonight — she said I look a million times better than I did when I left town more than three weeks ago. I wondered how I could look better, when Shan and I hit every buffet on the West Coast and mom and I hit every restaurant in Pittsburgh proper and then some. But Neighbor Lady said I looked relaxed, content, younger. 😉

And it was nice to hear all of it. And it made me understand that maybe I am indeed clever instead of lazy for putting off the worrying about my future that I should be doing right now. I’m not worried right now. I don’t have it in me. I just believe that everything will work to my advantage eventually.

Ages ago, my mom dated someone whom I admired because I felt like I was just like him. He did exactly what (and, unfortunately, who, which is why they aren’t together anymore) he wanted, when he wanted. He didn’t let logic and reason and responsibility hold him back. He lived each day as if it were his last. He feared nothing. He savored everything. He apologized to no one. He radiated mischief and glee. I idolized him — he could charm even the most stoic individuals. No matter what he did or how much he screwed up, he landed on his feet.

And so will I.

Life is a series of events that we have to live through. Really. That’s it. I have worked every day since I turned 18, and I had odd jobs up until that point since age 16. I’m tired. I know it sounds cliche, but I really gave every ounce of effort to anything I tried to accomplish. I don’t do anything half-assed — once I sign up for something, you can count on me to take it to the moon. Same with my friendships — I get out when I realize that they aren’t giving the same effort as I am; likewise, if I feel I’m unable to reciprocate as fully as I should, I bail out of courtesy. In any event, all this emotional investment in every aspect of my life, my friends, has left me exhausted.

I spent the last few weeks thinking (and thinking some more), partly about where I’ve gone wrong in my life, but more so about where I can go … and go right. And I realized that I am my own biggest obstacle — I can talk myself into or out of anything, and those are usually the wrong things. I can justify any shopping trip or moment of slackerdom, and while rewards are important, well, I overdo it sometimes because I am compensating for some moment of loneliness or nursing some hit to my confidence.

It’s ironic, really, to be growing up so much at 30, when I thought I’d finished maturing in my teens. I think that’s why I never lose steam completely — I realize that no matter how badly I mess up, I could have done a lot worse and I’ve got to save my energy for the millions of things I’m going to fuck up in the future. But I also know that I’ve gotten a lot right, and I’m going to get even more things right throughout the rest of my journeys.

Anyway, all of my thinking and my series of self-epiphanies have also exhausted me, but in a good way. I feel like I am being handed an opportunity to have a completely new life, in every respect. I’ve spent a lot of time not liking me, and that has to change. Being me hasn’t been so bad, really. It could have been better, and it still can be. These days, my smiles are more genuine and my heart is wide open. And that’s not a bad start to filling the self-imposed moat that I’ve typically chosen to construct around me. I just have to do some damage control and convince some people that there are not, in fact, sharks in the moat and that it’s safe to get close to me — I won’t bite anyone who reaches out to me, at least, not unless they’re into that sort of thing! 😉

On iTunes: Dave Matthews Band, “Crush”

Howdy folks.

Not much to say other than that I am home, and home is in fact Washington, D.C. Not for lack of other offers.

Shan asked me to stay in Oregon and be Alex’s nanny while working alongside her on a bunch of projects we’ve been discussing. And while I adored my two weeks with her and her family, well, that’s their life. Not to say that I won’t be out there in six months (I told her to give me six months to make my life work here, and if it doesn’t, I’ll sell my crap and be on the first flight I can obtain), but I’m really going to make a go of this self-employment thing. When I consider the alternative (getting another *real* job), I get the urge to drive my car into the nearest river.

I would’ve loved to have stayed there with her. I feel like a huge chunk of my heart is missing now that she’s not here in D.C. with me. And leaving her at the airport in Oregon wrecked me — we’re like pieces of a puzzle that are separated by 3,000 miles. Life isn’t right unless we’re brainstorming together. I know it’s possible to remain good friends, despite the distance, but it’s going to be a lot of hard work, what with our separate and immediate to-do lists that will take priority over our mutual business ventures. I do feel like any success I ever have will be owed in large part to her, though.

In any event, there are so many possibilities. I consider getting a full-time job the equivalent of driving into a dead-end street. Not to say I won’t have to do it eventually or even soon (read: no rent money or car payment for November on hand), but this is what I’ve been wanting to do forever, it seems. Time to put up or shut up. I’ve had a three-week vacation from reality, and I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I can’t come up with a reason NOT to live the life I’ve wanted.

Spent more than a week in Pittsburgh with my family. It’s weird — I drove around a lot, and there are truly memories on every corner. I love it there — I really do. But I am continually reminded of people and events that have long since been buried that seem to pop up during melancholy moments. I do a beautiful job in putting things behind me, but familiar scenery has a way of awakening the sleeping demons.

I realized that I’ve hurt a lot of people in my path. Not as many people as others have hurt, but my cruelty is almost poetic in its creativity. I am not bragging as I say this. The problem with being surrounded by memories — a lot of which are painful — is that I see exactly what I said or did that was wrong. However, I haven’t been compelled to make any apologies — everything happened in another time and place, and everything has made me a better person (or at least a smarter one). But I do ache that I had the capacity to hurt someone, even if I didn’t know it at the time. But I’ve been wounded, too. So the universe evens things out, I guess. I just don’t want to hurt or to BE hurt anymore. I’m really hoping I have something to come back to, now that I’m in D.C. again. Whatever comes my way, I just hope I don’t fuck it up or, more realistically, that there is a great margin for error. It would be boring to be perfect, but I’d like to not cringe or look back with regret once in awhile.

A friend told me a few months back that I hide behind my sarcasm. I mention this because I really, truly miss my old blog (the one I had for three years, and even the one I had for three weeks that also bit the dust). I miss saying whatever I want, whenever I want. But at what cost? In any event, I’ve pretty much shed the cloak of sarcasm and spent the past month really FEELING instead of reacting. And you know what? I cried bunches. I ached. But I laughed too. And I shared in wonderful moments with wonderful people — moments that I didn’t ruin with some ill-timed bit of humor that only I or a select few others would find humorous. Not to say I didn’t joke, but without the keyboard to hide behind, life felt different.

Anyway, had the drive from hell tonight (show me ONE person in Maryland who can drive. ONE!!!), so I’m going to go make myself one with the pillow I haven’t seen in weeks. I’ll be ’round to visit soon! 😉

On iTunes: Sinead Lohan, “Out of the Woods”