Caterwauling

*updated*

Banner day. w00t! Haven’t had one of these in a looong time, so bear with. 🙂

Heard from someone today whom I’ve been missing. As usual, he built me up and said everything I needed to hear — and, considering how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, it amazed me how in-tune we still are with each other. I actually cried … big, warm, happy tears. I wish I could have hugged him, for as happy as his words made me.

Have had a couple of really good, busy, triumphant days at work. Cool Boss said that another team member was praising me to him. That felt ridiculously good, and I was appreciative that he passed the compliments along. Fuck, a past boss only told me when she determined that I was an “embarrassment” or a “disappointment.” (Reason #450 to hate female bosses.)

I have an e-mail from someone who offered me a BIG freelance assignment. I went into hiding because, even though I REALLY need the money and I think the assignment would totally rock socks, I don’t know where I will find the energy at this time to take on this project. It’s kind of interesting — I just spent the last few months interviewing like a fiend for the right job, and after all the assholes who didn’t have the courtesy to call me back, it’s now my turn to decide whether or not to return the messages. That’s an awesome position to be in.

Speaking of interviewing, I keep debating about posting what a hellish crusade that was. Because, of course, I want to name names and let people know what I really thought of their pathetic jobs/personalities/offers and how glad I am that I either turned them down or that they weren’t smart enough to snag me.

UPDATE

If you want to read the rants, I can make them available again, but those have been live long enough and the vitriol is out of my system. I was frustrated from having applied for 120 jobs over the course of five months and was getting sick of being talked down to, sized up and otherwise made to jump when they said so. The bottom line is that I got a lot of experience with interviewing and even more familiarity with the D.C. Metro area — not to mention a whole new intimate knowledge of myself and insight into my previous actions — and those are the plusses that I am taking with me after all is said and done.

I am, however, leaving the following part of the post intact, because I mean it wholeheartedly:

Dear Everyone Else in D.C., Virginia and Maryland,

Thank you for not making me an offer. Also, thank you for not PISSING me off like the aforementioned. But, most of all, thank you for ensuring I was available when Cool Boss called and said he wanted to hire me right away before someone else was smart enough to get me first.

On iTunes: Staind, “It’s Been Awhile”

In honor of blogstalkers who are out there hiding in the bushes (*waves, with one finger*), I submit to you the following post. If they want to read, then fine, I’ll make it interesting!

I’m used to working with women. And I hate women, especially those in authority positions. Now, remember, I am a female with authority and always have been, but I’ve surprised my charges by being cool and not making their lives miserable — I don’t punish people for who they are, especially when they have aching ovaries every month that provide pain enough!

These days, I work with men. It was very important for me to enter a male-dominated environment this time around. I am the only chick on the immediate team, and one of three in the grander scheme of things. And, I adore it. I adore them.

You know why? Because I always bumped heads with women in charge of me. I’ve never had a pleasant experience with female supervisors or others in charge of something or other. It’s this unspoken competition — on their part and, reactively, on mine — to be Alpha Bitch. When I was fresh out of college and brand-new to this surreal place called an office, my supervisor and I used to go 10 rounds over whose ideas were better. Because hers sucked, from my view, and because I was too young to have anything constructive to contribute, from her view.

Fast-forward a few years later, and the situation is intensified — I worked with someone who just always had to be right. You could have made the exact same decision in a given situation that she would have, but she somehow managed to find fault with it because she wasn’t the one who got to make the call. She was also hard on the men on her team, but we women were the ones who really got pounded with frustration and anxiety attacks. Luckily, I ended up getting out of harm’s way and reported to the coolest guy on the team, who acted as the “dry-weave” shield between me and Psycho Bitch. I love him, and we are still buddies to this day. 🙂

Without pointing fingers (figure out WHICH finger!), I can easily say that women in the rank-and-file have a tough time in the workplace, in general. I cannot name ONE job (save for this one) where I was not harassed or ridiculed for the length of my skirts or the fit of a shirt or how much cleavage they thought was too much or, in the case of the last crown jewel, for my hairstyle. Yes, I had to change my hair to please THEM. My hair, of course, being a sore subject for me my whole life, but that’s a subject for another day. But, did any of these armchair judges ever cough up extra wages or a bonus to PAY for having to accommodate their requests? Hardly.

The thing is, when you start a job, you’re nervous because you don’t know how the system works, nor do you know who is eyeballing you in search of reasons to talk about you (or give you a talking-to). You don’t know the best driving routes or parking places or where to go for lunch. And, certainly, you don’t have any fluency in the job that you so eagerly wanted because you just haven’t had time to get into your groove yet. But when you work with women, those issues are the least of your worries.

Luckily, for me, where I am now, I am starting to get comfortable with the environment and the tasks, and I know enough about it to figure out more things when they arise. I still have a long ways to go, but when you feel good about yourself and know that others are happy to have you there, well, that’s the best feeling ever. That’s all I have to worry about, and I know that everything that seems so confounding right now won’t always be. And, I am pleased to not have the pressure anymore of having people looking down their noses at me — nobody’s scrutinizing my outfits, nobody’s commenting on whatever shade of eye shadow I wear, nobody’s said word one about my hair (hell, nobody even noticed that I dyed it! If I were dating any of these men, I might have been offended, but if they don’t notice such an obvious detail, hell, I’m happy!). And, I love it. Love it to death, I say.

What I will say, though, is that if I were working for a woman, then I’d have an extra layer of nervousness. A thick layer — one that would require constant primping to keep in check, at least on the surface. In the traditional workplace, presentation is often more important than substance. You are required to “look the part” and always be smiling and always be pleasing in case a guest should drop by. Work is secondary.

I’ve never subscribed to that theory. I bust my ass and do so quite happily. If my hair looks like hell (and I’ve given up and tied it in a knot) or if my skirt is three inches above my knees instead of one inch above it, well guess what — it doesn’t compromise my abilities one stinking bit. If I speak in a manner that is, um, creative or stand firm on my beliefs and opinions to the point of having to defend myself when called to do so, then I expect people to get over their sense of decorum of what they think is “ladylike” and treat me like the equal I am. My bullshit tolerance is at zero — maybe at two on a nice day. 🙂

From the beginning, I liked Cool Boss and therefore knew I would like Dream Job. There is a certain realness in the supervisory relationship that I haven’t experienced since the last time I was supervised by a male. And, maybe my thoughts set the feminist movement back a few steps, but until women with power choose to stop strangling their sense of humanity with their pantyhose, I will continue to keep it so that most of my colleagues as well as my friends are of the gender that can’t tell you what color the suit was that I wore yesterday. 😉

On iTunes: Sarah McLachlan, “Perfect Girl”

Why is it that when you don’t much give a rat’s ass about someone or something, you end up being dazzlingly impressive? Yet, when you have something you really want to do well or someone you absolutely must impress, you get some kind of mental bug up your ass that keeps you from performing at a level that you are confident you can reach? I just don’t get it — I’m smart (sometimes too much so for my own good) but it’s like I just cannot cram any more information into the old noggin sometimes. However, I seem to have plenty of room for the neuroses that I’d be more than happy to part with! Has anyone figured out a way to nuke ‘n’ pave the psyche?

On iTunes: Minnie Driver, “Everything I’ve Got in My Pocket”

I’ve been experiencing a lot of emotions of late, and no, I’m not hormonal or anything. 😉 I just find it funny that a woman with such intense feelings can even function in this world — it’s amazing I accomplish anything!

Nostalgia
On Friday, I saw someone pop up on my buddy list (we use AIM at work, so I actually have it on nowadays!) whom I haven’t talked to in forever. This person doesn’t know the *new* screenname, as I transferred the buddy list but didn’t actually alert anyone to the change because, well, I am a working girl now. 🙂 In any event, I was debating about saying hello to said person if I ever caught him online when I was at home. At the same time, I was contacted out of the blue from the past. I believe that was a sign to not contact the person who was on my mind.

The thing is, right now, I find myself missing people. I’ve gotten a brand-new start on life, and whether I’ve wiped the slate clean or it was cleared for me, the fact remains that little from my past is in my present. But I barely have time for the ones who are still around — what compels me to consider reaching out to those who haven’t been around in awhile?

One in particular, I was debating about contacting. I mean, nothing was bad about what once was. I think my only fault in the entire situation is that I cared too much. I’d reached out once or twice, with no response, which killed me at first, but the pain eventually abates somewhat. Long ago, I had asked him what would become of our friendship if our lives took us down separate paths, and he’d assured me that we’d always be connected. And I’ve been bummed because that promise was not kept. On the other hand, perhaps the connection was made long ago and it truly is still there, even if we no longer do anything to nurture it. In any event, I am grateful for the time we had and for the opportunities for me to grow and to have someone so strong to be my safety net for such a long time. And maybe someone else needs him more than I do right now. And so, I wish him well, and I hope he knows he will always occupy a significant piece of real estate within my heart.

Insecurity
Even though my Inner Bitch is burning brightly, it’s such a cover sometimes. I feel like I try to entertain to cover up the fact that I don’t know where the fuck I’m going or what I’m doing. I mean, I worked very hard to sell myself to the “right” people, and I sold myself based on the person I used to be and the person who is still trapped within there somewhere. But the person I am right this second refuses to vacate the premises, and I don’t want her here. She’s unsure of herself and continually screws up everything she touches because she’s nervous that maybe she might not be able to get her specialness back and, damn it all anyway, maybe she should think about succumbing to mediocrity. What the hell? How do you exorcise such a demon? I tend to forget all that I’ve done right and, more importantly, all I’ve overcome and continue to surmount.

When you see me, you see someone who is confident. Scratch that veneer a bit, and you see a frightened little girl. But don’t handle me with the proverbial kid gloves — take my hand and lead me somewhere, anywhere and keep your expectations of me as high as possible. I will rise to them — I promise! It’s just hard to walk a tightrope when you’re not quite comfortable in your shoes, but once they’re broken in, I’ll be sailing along without the faintest memory of when I was afraid of heights.

Longing
It’s been awhile since I had any kind of, ahem, stirring in my loins. But I’ve been meeting some people (platonically, thanks!), and it occurs to me that maybe I’m not totally dead inside. This whole schtick I’ve been spewing about Valentine’s Day, well, I’m serious about it. In “The Wedding Date,” Dermot Mulroney’s character says that women have the exact love life they want. And while it sounds ludicrous on the surface — I mean, do we want to be lonely and miserable or with someone who makes us miserable? — I can relate in that I’d rather be alone than wish I were. I’d rather not have my heart broken, so I’ve kept it intact by not letting anyone even see that I have one. But it’s there. And it needs some good-old fashioned CPR to get it going again. And I am finally willing to consider giving it away to a good home. In the meantime, I guarantee it’s got to be somebody who kickstarts my imagination, because I’ve been terrified to close my eyes and dream. Help me to feel safe enough to close my eyes again, my someone, wherever you are.

I believe opportunities will present themselves, and I need to expand my vision to be able to appreciate them. In this case, please handle me with kid gloves at first. On the other hand, don’t give up on me. I will kick and scream and fight and run away. But I will be watching you in my peripheral vision. If you run away, I will say “Go figure.” If you come back, I will likely be yours — I’ve spent years pushing people out of my life (and some, granted, with good reason), and sometimes, you’ve got to tie my hands behind my head (rowr!) and take over. Make me not want to run away. To keep quoting my beloved Dermot in the aforementioned movie, “I’d miss you even if I’d never met you.” Believe me, I feel your absence. Please close that void and present yourself.

Hope
I’ve spent a lot of time faking it. Not orgasms, silly, but “it” — that special spark that people come to expect from me. I’ve always been a proponent of “fake it till you make it” or “speak it into existence.” And maybe there is some truth or magic to it, but today was the first day I felt “right” in a very long time. I’m settling into a routine again, I’ve got things to learn and do and enjoy. I’ve got people to get to know and stories and insights to share with them. And they have a lot to teach me. I look forward to all of us learning and growing together. And, with that, I look forward to finally hermetically sealing the void left by the past and learning to live with expectation, with acceptance, with accomplishment. And while I’ve had each of those things in the past, I never had them in tandem. I finally, finally think that the time has come wherein I can, in fact, have all of that and more. Much more.

2005 is my year, friends. Strap on your seatbelts and come along for the ride, because I assure you, I don’t know exactly what lies in store, but I can tell you that I’m gathering my strength to go on the ride of my life.

On iTunes: The Flys, “Got You Where I Want You”

Subtitle: ‘You. Ignorant. BITCH!’

Who hates laundry day? Nobody hates it more than my inner bitch. I swear, I am going to take a stroke one of these times when I am forced to wash my scandalous undies in public. Honestly.

I can’t tell you the last time I did laundry. Note that I have hundreds of outfits and that I only really do laundry every few months unless there’s some item I just have to have. I ran out of white shirts, which propagated this fiesta from hell.

OK, so I go to the one laundromat I can stand, over on Pickett Street. It’s packed, but I manage to get three washers (double and triple load). I don’t dry most of my clothes, but I figured I would need one or two dryers max. Anyway, this evil (rhymes with Bundt) who has Shit For Brains ends up claiming nine of the 17 dryers. NINE!!! She took two of them out from under me. The first one, I was making my way over to it with one of my wet loads, and she threw one single pair of shorts into it so as to claim it. I almost killed her, but alas, she was only warming up. She ran to her washer to get more clothes to throw into that dryer she claimed.

Oh, but wait, this Fish Stick on Legs gets worse. She ends up putting a piece of tape over the coin slot of each dryer she claimed. That’s how I know Shit for Brains took nine dryers.

OK, so 15 minutes later, another dryer opened up. I dashed to it with my whites. I was just about to touch the door when she YANKED it out of my hand and threw something into it. SHE BROKE MY NAIL — THIS MEANS WAR!!!

While sweet, demure (gag) Dawn had an out-of-body experience from the fury, the Inner Bitch stepped in and hissed, “You. Ignorant. Bitch!!!!” right in her face.

Her inner bitch stood there smugly, gloating that she had more than half of the dryers. Personally, I didn’t want my delicates to ever be in a machine after clothes that her ass had touched, so I knew there was no way I was going to wait around for one of HER dryers. Fuck, I ended up taking two wet loads to my car, figuring I’d just go to the bigger (yet more ghetto) laundromat over on Duke Street to use the dryers.

But my inner bitch wasn’t done yet. She knew that she was going to get her revenge and warned me to be patient.

My inner bitch rocks!

I finally got two dryers. I was very happy and went about returning my blood pressure to normal. I took my “good” clothes out to the car so that I could hang them to dry at home, and it was a sunny day and my inner bitch was positively radiant.

It occurred to me that my previous outburst didn’t affect her because she might not have had a grasp on the language. So, I set about making her life as difficult as possible, as my shit was in alternating dryers from hers. Hell, I even split a load and took a third dryer just so I could be in her way even more. Oh, and I was. Part of her language barrier clearly excluded the phrase “excuse me,” so I took great pleasure in parking my ass in the aisle and singing to myself and rummaging through each of my dryers, trying to see if maybe one single item might have been dry enough to remove before I set the next cycle in motion. She stood there huffing and puffing, trying to run over my foot with a wheeled basket, but my ass is bigger and I just jutted it out into the aisle that much more and stuck my leg out even farther. HAH! I also managed to open the dryer door and smack her husband in the head with it. And that one was pure accident!!!

AWWWW, TOO BAD — SO SAD!!!!

And if I ever see her there again, bitch is going down! Her time was NO MORE imporant than mine was — she could have given up one fucking dryer since she already had eight for her crotch-rotted underpants. *twitch*

Dear Higher Power: thank you for the great job. Now if you could just bring me some entertaining dates and an apartment with a washer, I will be a very good girl. Love, Dawn. 🙂

On iTunes: Lisa Stansfield, “Never Gonna Give You Up”

All the stars seem to be dyeing their hair dark, so I hopped on the bandwagon and, as of this afternoon, I am now a brunette, too. Yay $3 package of hair color!

I don’t love it, but alas, the usual red tends to shine through after a coupla weeks, so all will be normal. At which time, of course, I will have decided I loved the hue after all.

My brand-new bathroom rug was a casualty during the mess. Ugh. It WAS hot pink, but it’s got two lovely brown stains on it that will NOT come out. It looks like Maddie wiped her ass on it!

I also lopped off a few inches of length. I read somewhere that cutting one’s hair symbolizes letting go of the past and embracing new beginnings. I’m all for that! The sooner I can forget “the life before,” the happier I will be.

On iTunes: Eagles, “Witchy Woman”

Pilfered from the incredible GrooveBunny:

1. Song that sounds like happy feels:
That’s a tough one. I might rephrase it to note that my “functional” songs (e.g., the songs I can listen to and turn my thought process around) are “Maybe it was Memphis” by Pam Tillis and “Elsewhere” by Sarah McLachlan.

I know a happy song (for me). “Let Go” by Frou Frou (from the “Garden State” soundtrack).

2. Earliest memory:
I remember listening to the Steve Miller band when I was a wee lass. My mom and evil stepfather and I were coming back from a trip to Virginia Beach (I might’ve been 5 or 6), and I was rocking out in the backseat to “The Joker.”

3. Last CD you bought:
Lindsay Lohan (*ducks*)

4. Reminds you of school:

Elementary School
Oh good lord. Between the entire “Grease 2” soundtrack that my friends and I would sit on the playground and sing at the top of our lungs, I had the pleasure of listening to what is now called classic rock (which I still love) and country/R&B. Sing it with me: “You can eat crackers in my bed anytime, baby!” (Barbara Mandrell. Oh the shame of it all. And I still love it!)

I took dance classes then, and we always danced to Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” album. My first albums were Prince’s “Purple Rain” and whatever Blondie released that year. Heh. And was Pat Benatar big back then? I totally dug “Love is a Battlefield” and “We Belong.”

I still listen to “The Rainbow Connection” by my pal Kermit the Frog — I sing that song to my friend’s little girl all the time.

Middle School
Ah, the birth of hair metal. BON JOVI, BABY!!!! And Motley Crue and a whole slew of others. This phase carried on into high school. Middle school also brought Madonna — I think the defining song of my middle school experience was probably “Borderline.”

High School
More hair metal. But, alas, I did discover Ani DiFranco, k.d. lang, Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge. I remember “Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover” by Sophie B. Hawkins being one of my all-time favorites — it had seemed so scandalous and sexy at the time.

College
I seem to remember playing on a loop “Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad” by Def Leppard. (Remember that, J? The entire 18th floor of Point Park College hated me!) Alas, the alternative rock movement broke out and hair metal died during my first semester. Although I clung tightly to Bon Jovi CDs (having traded in my cassettes for CDs), I did eventually buy into alternative rock (grudgingly) and still love it today.

This is going to sound weird, but Paul Simon’s “Slip Sliding Away” reminds me of college. I met a guy at a bar one night, and we made out in his car to that song. Heh. I miss those days!

I also have to bring the Indigo Girls back into this one — my friend Lisa and I used to sit up for days at a time, drinking tea and listening to the “Rites of Passage” CD.

And, although I try to forget it, the early- to mid-’90s dance revolution still makes me nostalgic. “Plastic Dreams” by Jaydee, anyone? 🙂

5. Total music files on your computer:
My beloved Mac has loads of memory, and upward of 10 gigs are sound files. This comes after I’ve deleted a shitload, too!

6. For listening to repeatedly when depressed:
John Mellencamp and Bon Jovi — I love that blue-collar “every day is a struggle” kind of vibe. When I’m really depressed, I also go for Milk Inc. and A Girl Named Eddy. And Tara MacLean wins this round, hands down — my favorite is “Jericho.”

7. Sounds british, but isn’t:
NOT a fan of Brit rock. Would Madonna be an honorary mention? 😀

8. Tune you love, band you hate:
Dave Matthews Band makes me cringe. I swear he sounds like he’s gurgling a turd. But, alas, when I hear “Crash Into Me” or “Crush” or “The Space Between,” I often have to change my underwear, I love it so.

9. A favorite from the past that took ages to track down:
I recently tracked down a lot of songs from my youth for my mom. But for me, I was killing myself to get a copy of Melissa Etheridge’s cover of “The Weakness in Me.” I had the Joan Armatrading version (who didn’t?) but Melissa’s was limited-edition and I looked for it for two years. I finally got it a couple of months ago and listen to it religiously.

I also had to get “Freak Me” by Silk and “Let’s Get it On Tonight” by Montell Jordan. Sex-ay!

10. Bought the album for one good song:
Oh, I always do that. First one of about 10,000 that comes to mind is “Bother” from Stone Sour’s album. I ripped “Bother” to iTunes and shelved the CD, where it has collected dust for at least the last year and a half.

11. Worst Song to Get Stuck in your Head:
Ugh. Sheryl Crow, “All I Wanna Do.” GAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

On iTunes: Martina McBride, “Whatever You Say”

Treated myself to a showing of “The Wedding Date” this afternoon. Loved it. OMG, I want to see it about four thousand more times, but alas, I’ve blown the entertainment budget for the month. 😉

OK, when did Dermot Mulroney get so freaking hot? And I don’t know if that was, in fact, his backside that we gals in the packed audience were happily admiring or if it belonged to a stand-in, but whatever. Yum!

Anyway, I want to append to my earlier post on “what a girl wants.” This couple in front of me at the concession stand irritated the hell out of me because they were mauling each other (look, I’m a fan of PDA, but fucking pay for your shit so that the other 200 of us in line can have a chance of making it to our movie on time, mmmkay?). The guy bought one small drink and one hot dog for the two of them to share. And maybe she’s one of those girls who won’t eat in front of a date, but You. Cheap. Bastard. The movie rule is to get at least a large drink if you’re going to force her to share with you — after all, it’s only another 50 cents! And for cripes’ sake, buy her her own fucking hot dog. Judging from the fact that your tight pants revealed a camel toe (this on a guy!), give the girl a little bit of meat in any way you can, even if that means springing for the $5 hot dog. Sheesh. Once the new-boyfriend shine wears off (and, in your case, I suspect that will happen pretty quickly), she’s going to find somebody who can fill her up … in both ways. 😀

On iTunes: Three Doors Down, “Let Me Go”

What I need right now to liven up this lackluster existence of mine is a good, old-fashioned date. The type where you actually want to put on a cute outfit and take extra care with your cosmetics because you will be taken somewhere that has neither a bed nor a keg within its walls.

I want someone to pick me up in a nice, clean car where I don’t have to maneuver my sitting position to accommodate three weeks’ worth of junk mail and fast-food remnants and pray that my nice outfit doesn’t get some kind of random stain on it from the chaos upon which I am forced to sit. I want someone to open the car door for me and be genuinely excited to see me. And, even more importantly, I want someone to treat me to dinner … treat being the important word here.

Look, I’m no gold-digger, but I’ve been on enough miserable dates where I had to pay for my share or, in the case of some cheap bastards, the whole bill. Until there truly is lame-date insurance, and until I am back on my feet financially (seeing as though the much-anticipated first paycheck has been divvied among as many creditors as I could manage), having someone truly want to treat me to a decent meal would show me that they care. Really, guys, it doesn’t take much. If we have subsequent dates, I will be happy to go Dutch, but if you don’t invest in a freaking salad for me at the outset, well, then you really don’t want fellatio when the time comes. Plain and simple. Got it?

Anyway, back to my simple wish. I want to have a tasty meal that neither involves ramen nor whatever I managed to scrape from the back of the cupboards. I want conversation and light flirtation. I don’t want to go home right away, because I have seen plenty of those walls to last me a lifetime. I’d love a movie or anything that involves just being near someone.

What I don’t want is the “How is this date going to end?” dread. I want touching and kissing and whatever other fun stuff feels right at the time, but I only need enough to help me get started in building my confidence back. I am too fragile right now to do a walk of shame — or, worse, have someone do one away from me — which, sadly, is always what it ends up being.

I’m going to give you guys a secret. Know how you’re always whining that we girls are never in the mood? It’s because we feel ashamed of something about ourselves — or, more likely, we’re ashamed about everything. We know you’re not as conscious of our bodies as we are, but we can’t get out of our own heads. And, trust me, we’re in the mood. We always are, and many times we’re more revved up than you. But between our own issues and fearing that you’re going to be jackhammering away without even realizing that we’re there, well, does a lot to kill our moods. Another point to remember: we know that guys fall in love before sex and girls fall in love afterward. We want to make sure you might actually give a crap about us before we let you inside (literally). And I’ll give you a personal secret: I used to be so displeased with myself that I’d “do” it just to prove to myself that I could get over myself. I remember being called the “One Night Stand Queen” on more than one occasion — it’s like I had a carnal crusade going on, trying to prove to myself and others that I wasn’t hung up on myself. And you know what that got me? Nothing. No relationships, no subsequent dates (in many cases) and, especially, no pride in my actions.

I don’t want that. I want to be dropped off at home with tingling lips (of both varieties, with any luck!) before I snuggle into bed, knowing that sweet dreams … and, maybe, even the promise of something even more … await.

I so very much want a date for Valentine’s Day weekend. I was never this ridiculously girly before — I’ve never cared either way about this particular greeting card holiday. But, this year, I want to be the center of someone’s attention and have it, for a few hours, not be an illusion. I need something to which I can look forward. So, do you know anybody who would be willing to — or, can — put up with me for an evening? 😉

On iTunes: Switchfoot, “Meant to Live”

To hijack a phrase from the lovely Amalah, who, in fact, has reasons to squee!

Anyway, after four days of fucking it up, I figured out the 8B exit off 395 this morning. Squee! Heh. Yesterday I ended up in Rosslyn. Today I actually ran out of other options and just HAD to go the right way.

I amused myself by raising my Dave & Buster’s travel coffee mug and clinking it in the rearview mirror. At which time I laughed and laughed at myself, so hard that I snarfed coffee out my nose and all over the steering wheel. Hah. Unbridled joy is a blessed thing, although perhaps as you are merging into traffic on the GW, it’s not appropriate to have emotional outbursts. I hope I remember the route again on Monday!

I left just before 8 a.m. and still got here at a reasonable time. Sure beats leaving the house by 7:14 a.m. and sitting in traffic. Admittedly, traffic was mildly stopped up, but it was the kind that could be rectified with a cup of coffee as opposed to the usual backup that requires a Fleet enema to flush out the unwanted cars.

In any event, I did find an outfit (mostly dressy) but opted for a white vinyl bracelet with gromets and black lace. A remnant of my blink-and-you’ve-missed-it goth phase, it at least livens me up a bit. Ugh. I’ve become a suit! I’m one of them! Gah! Heh. At least I didn’t succumb to the clutches of becoming a vegetable. 😉

On iTunes: Jimmy Eat World, “Serious”