Caterwauling

What was I just saying about positioning onself in the mindset to attract people? Hell if I didn’t just get asked out. 🙂

Now, now — nothing to get excited about. Lord knows I am hardly booking the elopement trip to Hawaii or anything. I might, however, be changing the phone number. 😉

I am a few days late in posting my promised rant about making one’s wishes a wee bit more specific. And, I ain’t promisin’ that it’s worth the wait, but y’all love me anyway, right?

As a little girl, I had nothing but dreams, and believe me when I say I immersed myself in them. And I was specific.

I had made a promise to myself about my “when I grow up” time — I had decided that I didn’t care if I were poor, as long as I were living a life I loved. Mission accomplished. 😉

“14 today and you were dancing
Music mixed with laughter
And boys can be so insecure
They made you drink a bit too much
Everything’s a blur to feel and touch
Did he really like you
How can you be sure enough.”
— Dan Hill, “14 Today” —

When I dreamed of my “someone,” well — I was specific in that I had my heart set on Kip Winger or Jon Bon Jovi. (Shut up!) And while I would have either of them today, well, it just reminds me of how I wanted to find a scruffy, rocker-type boy who could make me feel. I think I get this one from my mom — she is always hot for the hippie-lookin’ hotties.

Well, I can safely say been there, done that (both Mom and me, actually). They make you feel, all right … and not always good.

What I should have done was concentrated less on such superficial things, but learning is a lifelong process. Throughout the years, I have uncovered one fundamental truth in choosing friends and partners: The first thing you should look for (and see) is their heart. Because that’s exactly what you want them to see in you, right? Sure, you can go to the park with your ta-tas popping out of your shirt (like I did yesterday — hence the date offer. heh), but you need more than just eye candy.

While we’re on the subject, let’s take yesterday’s date invitation. I had gone to my favorite spot in the whole world — a park with a little lake that’s near my place. I go there when I’m happy, sad, confused, indifferent. I also took my mom there and she loved it just as much as I did. So, it’s a special spot.

And, one where I cannot return for awhile.

I was smiling at everyone who walked by — I was curled up on a bench with my diary, kind of dreaming off into the distance. And the sunshine is such a glorious thing — it was 70 degrees, and I was HAPPY. Everyone was happy to be out walking their dogs or doing laps around the lake, feeling the warmth of the sun’s rays on our shoulders. Seriously, for the first time in a year, I truly felt lucky to not just be alive, but also to be me.

Anyway, everyone smiled back. It’s amazing how contagious contentment is.

But then, there was the one who, encouraged, turned around and parked himself next to me. I wasn’t opposed to this — at first, anyway.

I sat there quietly and watched the ducks splashing around, quacking away. It took him awhile to gather up enough nerve to speak, and when he did, I was disappointed. Not that there is anything wrong with people who don’t have a grasp on the English language, but here is my one “picky” thing in potential partners. I am a writer. I am a grammarian. I am a journalist. My one talent — no, love in this world is language. Sentences that are missing verbs and such are my equivalent of running nails along a chalkboard (or biting on tin foil. Ack. Hairball. Huz).

Not to say that I didn’t try to make conversation. But neither one of us understood a word the other one said. Well, he did say something to the effect of let’s go party. (I didn’t ask what that meant — I had acquired a headache and decided to leave.) I did give him my number when he asked — just not the number of the phone that’s actually in service or anything. LOL. I know — evil!

“Someone whispered you were 39 today
A face so young, eyes so old
You collapsed into a corner
Like some body of raw nerves
You near seduced me
With your verbs
As I reached out for you
You said over and over
Oh when you think
You’ve got your life so well-controlled
It slips away
And the years
Like raindrops falling from your life
Are washed away
You’re so brilliant
You’re so gifted
So sensitive
So strong
As you hide behind your barricade of words
But no one got close enough to you
To have ever heard.”

So, I guess when I was hoping for someone to be interested in me, I needed to be a twee bit more specific. I want someone who can not only hold up a conversation, but someone who will enrapture me with their voice, their words, their ability to become swept away in the memories or the dreams and take me along for that magic carpet ride. The truly fascinating individual can talk about nothing in particular and, still, I will leave the conversation with my head spinning a thousand miles an hour, remembering how enchanted I was just to be in their presence.

Specific enough? LOL

I can’t believe I’m even sitting here, writing about this. Or, that I’m even dreaming of something more than survival. I’ve hit some difficult patches that were agonizing at the time and, yet, I’m having an even harder time right now overcoming them. If I could offer you one piece of advice that I hope you take from me, it’s that you need to face things when they happen and grieve right away. Why? Because more shit is going to pile up on you, and the house of cards collapses, leaving you buried in the ruins. And guess who has to clear out the debris and start over again? You.

Of course, I feel like I’ve spent my whole life either grieving or running from something. When shit gets tough, I deal with it and move on — often before I’m ready. That’s the way I cope — I acknowledge that something happened and then I diligently try to act like it no longer bothers me. It’s like bereavement policies — you are entitled to your one to three days, but then everyone expects you to be your sunny, happy self right away. But what kind of leave policy do you get when YOU die (inside, anyway)?

“23 today and all your friends are getting married
You say they’re so scared of being alone
So self-righteously you marched through teacher’s college
Still so much in life you’ve got to get to know
Seems like everybody’s so content to move so slow.”

You don’t get anything. You just try to juggle responsibilities with healing time. If you’re like me, you might take on too many projects, just to not have to deal with yourself. But, also if you’re like me, you learn to admit when enough is enough — you realize that YOU are as much a priority as anything you have to do. You have to give that inner child of yours a chance to run and cry and laugh and play in a world without boundaries.

Amy’s comment hit home for me, about how her inner child tries desperately to be the center of attention and then hides. OMG, if I didn’t think we were separated at birth befire, well then this did it for me. I was thinking about how, for as much as I try to be brilliant and seen and appreciated and even wanted, well, there’s that other part of me that plays blonde and says, “Who, me?” when someone is finally smart enough to take notice. I guess I’ve just had so many people NOT see or appreciate me that I tend to be suspicious of anyone who wants to hear what I have to say or who is brave enough to call bullshit on me when I deserve it.

And I guess that’s what I want most of all — someone who looks at me and SEES me. Someone who sees the lady that I try to present and someone who engages the inner child who doesn’t know how to play with others because she’s spent so much time in her contained little world with her grown-up neuroses. Someone who gives the inner child a lollipop and dries her tears and deftly extracts the scissors from her hands. Someone who takes her hand and helps her to climb out from behind the castle walls and shows her that she’s allowed to be happy for more than five consecutive minutes without anything bad happening to take it all away. Someone who can be strong when she is not so that she can regain everything she’s lost or never had in the first place. Someone who loves her for all that she already is and who helps her to become what she hasn’t quite managed to attain yet.

Imagine what we could all be if we weren’t submerged in everyday and/or superhuman concerns. When did all these grown-up responsibilities and worries take over our lives? When did we forget that we have more to contribute to — and extract — from this world than just being able to say we got by?

“Go to bed go to sleep don’t think don`t feel
That the nighttime holds a prayer
That maybe somewhere deep inside
There’s some meaning aching to be shared.”

On iTunes: Dan Hill, “14 Today”

I mentioned last night that “I throw back my shoulders and carry myself like I have confidence (which I usually do). And people can spot that from a mile away … and they want to bask in your essence so that it rubs off on them.”

Well, I must have been radiant yesterday, because I swear, I never had more strangers smiling at me. (UPDATE: Could it be because I wear short skirts in which to wash/vacuum the car? LOL) I almost wished that people who only get to see the neurotic side of me could have hung out with me for awhile (minus the ass-over-teacups view) — I was like a brand-new person.

In any event, I wanted to tell a story. I was sick of paying $2.35 (oh, EXCUSE ME, $2.3499) for gas in Alexandria, so I crossed the Fairfax County line to fuel up yesterday. I had a TOTAL blonde moment and pulled into the overcrowded lot (apparently everyone knows where the “cheap” gas is) … only, I pulled into the WRONG FUCKING SIDE. Seriously, my gas tank is on the passenger side, and I had the pumps on MY side. IDIOT.

Anyway, I maneuvered myself around. (Read: I went to the gas station across the street. LOL) There, I got situated and saw a guy who did the SAME EXACT THING that I had done. I felt bad for him and let him trade spots with me (i.e., he turned the whole car around and had to face the other direction), and unlike everyone else in the lot, I sympathized and didn’t get impatient. In fact, I grinned at him through the credit card I held in my teeth.

And he was hot. Seriously.

I fueled up and enjoyed smiling back and forth. But did he approach me? Hell no. Damn it. I tried to fuss with the car but it’s not like I could even wash the windows (seeing as though I’d just left the CAR WASH). I kind of trudged to the driver’s seat and pealed out at my usual 100 mph, just trying to feel good that at least I had managed to catch the attention of someone attractive. 😉

It’s weird when you have somewhat of a psychic gift (or a mother with the gift) — you find yourself in one of two situations: noticing everything or trying not to notice anything. Mom has been kind of tormenting me lately because she got the vibe that I am on the cusp of finding my next great love (or, as I like to say, my next ex. LOL). I guess I was thinking about what she’d said when I was smiling at this guy. (And, for clarification, I have asked Mom whether I’ve crossed paths with the guy yet or if he’s about to arrive, and she doesn’t know yet — isn’t it weird when your Mom knows so much about your life? The woman is rarely wrong — spooky!)

In any event, I’m trying to return to not overthinking things (all hail the blissful oblivion) and just take it for what it’s worth — a wonderful moment for one’s confidence. And the proverbial “they” always say that when you stop looking, what you wanted finds you. Then again, I can call bullshit on that one — if I don’t go after what I want, or at least prepare for its arrival, then it may never come to pass.

Like I wrote in my journal yesterday:

“Maybe positioning myself in the mindset of wanting to be loved will attract someone to me who wants someone to love. (*cue the Jefferson Airplane song!*) … If I don’t have some kind of dream or maybe even expectation (then no one will see all that is special within me).”

On iTunes: Dido, “Sand in My Shoes”

It’s no secret that I would rather be alone than wish I were. And, that means I spend a LOT of time alone. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who knows herself as well as I do, and as a Gemini, I at least have two personalities to keep each other company, so it’s all good. 😉

I had a rough week — and it was totally self-imposed. I decided to give up BIG FANTASTIC FREELANCE PROJECT(TM), which sucks because I have a BIG FUCKING RETAINER TO REFUND(TM) and I already spent it on car repairs. Yay.

My goal with Big Project was to earn enough money to buy a PowerBook (or, at least, an iBook with a ton of good software). But I can’t find the time to work on said project without having a fucking laptop, so bully for me.

Anyway, while I am upset, I also feel free. This has been hanging on me for awhile, and even though I LOVED the people for whom I was working and I loved the assignment just as much, I cannot fucking do it. I get up early, I spend no fewer than two to three hours in traffic each day and I have a full day at a job I love. And when I come home, I do not want to go near the computer. And on the weekends, I have shit like laundry and litterbox and errand-running and trying to make a dent in my piles of e-mails. I half-joke (but only half) that I keep a blog so that I don’t have to write to people and tell them how I’m doing.

In any event, I am a disaster at time management, so I’ve thrown all the balls up in the air and race to keep them afloat. Or, like Shan says (and she’s just like me), “We consider it a good day when we don’t have balls — of any kind — hitting us in the face.”

LOL. Atta girl, Shan!

Oh, and don’t even remind me of how long it’s been since we talked. *heavy sigh* I wish she were awake when I’m sitting in traffic — that would be the perfect time to catch up, and I’ve taken to spending my time on the Beltway talking to my mom.

But, I digress.

What I wanted to talk about was that I spent some mad cash last night and today by going on the shopping spree from hell. Discount shopping. God damn, my ass hurts, my calves hurt, my feet hurt and my debit card hurts, but I have never been happier.

Most of you who know me in person are to be pitied know I talk to myself. What you may not know is that I speak to inanimate objects like clothes.

Anyway, I was having a perfectly lovely discussion with a gray vest about how cute he was but how I couldn’t think of anything with which to wear him when two girls stopped and picked up the vest I had discarded. (Women do this, you know — we watch what others are buying and MUST HAVE IT BECAUSE THEY MIGHT HAVE A GOOD FASHION SENSE AND WE NEED TO BE TRENDY. Actually, I don’t do it so much, but I am always uber-trendy when I go shopping because I can’t wear my cute shit to work.)

So the second I put the vest down, the one girl picked it up. She seconded that it was way cute. She also seconded that she had no idea what it would match. She also announced the price and said it was way too much to grab when there was nothing that goes with it.

I was also talking to a lovely black shirt her friend off and on during our shopping journey, as we kept running into each other within the store. We both joked that we’d been shopping all day and that we’d both bought a bunch of black shirts and jeanskirts to go with the seven million we already have at home. I liked her — she’s as maniacal as I am about sticking to one’s favorite items and just buying variations on a theme.

At another store, I helped a woman to put together an outfit for work. I don’t know if I have a flashing sign that says “Fashion Goddess” (when did that word “Fashion” pop up in front of the original sign? LOL) or what, but I never go to a store without getting into deep discussions about the importance of coordinating, not matching (yes, there is a difference). Even in shoe stores, I always have an opinion.

Here’s the deal: I am a girly girl. I like expensive pretty-smelling perfumes and feminine jewelry. I know that pantyhose can turn pasty skin into glamorous gams. I like to have my toenails painted and I like to wear strappy sandals to show ’em off. I love sparkly makeup and hair accessories. I have an amazing eye for color and can put together a wardrobe for you that will knock your socks off. I throw back my shoulders and carry myself like I have confidence (which I usually do, although there are always those off days wherein I need to be more conscious of my body language — it’s like telling a white lie, but with body parts). And people can spot that from a mile away … and they want to bask in your essence so that it rubs off on them.

The thing is, I am alone a lot, but I’m not lonely. I choose to be a hermit, sure, but I crave social interaction as much as the next girl. And when I shop, I get the best of both worlds. While I’m happier than a pig in poop to be quietly talking to discounted designer duds and asking them if they want to go home with me, I love it that people magically gravitate toward me and seek my approval and advice. I love having in-depth discussions about “the new black” (which I knew a year before anyone else did that it was going to be pink, and I’m holding on for green and then purple to have their turns).

What I love best? Leaving the conversation and then the store and not being the slightest bit obligated to keep in touch.

E-mail and unlimited long distance have been glorious advents of the age of technology. Nobody writes letters anymore. Here in Alexandria, card stores are closing at a rate of one a month — who fucking sends a Hallmark card when we can totally forget about someone’s special day and make up for it with an eCard? And USPS wants to raise postage rates again — another two cents. Here, you fuckers, get a clue — let us use all the stamps we already have cluttering up our junk drawers and THEN AND ONLY THEN will we buy your new stamps.

Ahem.

What I was trying to say is this: We can and do keep in touch with people who would normally have dropped out of our lives after awhile because of distance separating us, we manage to stay in touch, even if it’s only sporadically. This is a wonderful thing.

But, on the other hand, we are in a lonely fucking society. Seriously. My best friend lives in Oregon. My family, in Pennsylvania. My other friends — pretty much fucking everywhere. I have friends I have never MET. I’ve spilled my guts to John in Atlanta when I do not even know what the man looks like — he knows more about me than people who see me every day of my life.

So, what sucks is that when I’m tired and could not give a shit about sitting in front of my beloved Mac, I am missing out on Pratt in Philly, Bill in California, Kukini in Chicago, Erica in Minnesota, and a whole bunch of others who have been my cheering section (and I have of course been in theirs).

But, what I want? Someone to join me on a coffee run. Someone to join me for a bloody mary. Someone to just give me the human touch that I find myself craving right now. I don’t feel like firing up one of my many instant messenger programs or screennames — typed pleasantries aren’t going to cut it for me right now. The problem with having human interactions — even in sporadic doses like today — means that I crave more. It’s like I’m all dressed up and have not a goddamned place to go.

Ah, all dressed up. How many clothes are too many? 40 denim skirts (of varying dye lots, mind you), 36 black T-shirts (maybe more — I have some untapped storage tubs) — I own more cotton than a fucking field, I tell you.

I get mad at myself that I have neither a pot to piss in nor a window out of which to throw it. I own nothing great — I don’t have the new technology and it frosts my flakes that, when I do have a couple of bucks, I waste it on little luxuries like something new to wear. But when you think about it, maybe it’s not so stupid. I will never own a Coach purse nor a Jones New York suit unless somebody buys it for me. Well, I’d never own those at full price — I have plenty of Jones and Donna Karan but, believe me, I won’t buy it unless it’s 60 percent off AND I have an additional discount coupon. I may read the fashion magazines and serve as a volunteer personal shopper to wayward women, but I am hardly an elitist — I will get the knockoff or I will get the real thing but just later in the season than everyone else. And I will tell it how pretty it is and how fabulous it makes me look. 😉

And when the clothes start talking back, I swear, I will get some help. 😉

On iTunes: Jane Siberry, “The Sea”

1. What is the one book that you re-read over and over again?
I used to buy ever V.C. Andrews book ever written, and even after she died, I bought the ghostwritten books. But I guess I finally outgrew them, although I must have read “Petals on the Wind” at least 20 times since I bought it as a pre-teen.

As a kid, I never really had playmates — what with being an only child and living in an apartment with no other kids. And I never asked for anything but books — I had the whole Sweet Valley High and Wildfire series, along with a whole bunch more (the Ramona Quimby series, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing/Superfudge/Harriet the Spy, etcetera). I read and re-read those dozens of times until I was 14, when I started writing my own. You can totally see the influence of V.C. Andrews and Sweet Valley High in those horrid early works.

I’d kept all my books in pristine condition (under the auspices of “In case I ever have a little girl”), but I pitched them when I moved to D.C. in 2002. Sad, because I had a lot of first-edition books that might have been worth money someday.

2. What is your favourite genre?
Romance, but not the Fabio-on-the-dust-jacket types of hokey romance crap. Give me Nicholas Sparks and Anais Nin any day. I love drama and I love happy endings, although admittedly, I often root for the villain and I don’t mind it when somebody dies at the end. Kind of refreshing when authors acknowledge that life does, indeed, suck sometimes.

One of my favorite Anais (pronounced Ah-Na-EES — nobody ever says it correctly!) quotes sums me up in a nutshell:

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

3. Do you usually buy your books or visit the library?
After living at the University of Pittsburgh’s library when I was in college (because the library at my school sucked before it merged with the Carnegie Library, which happened the month I graduated), I never go back. I buy my books and I’m even selling a bunch — that’s how I managed to freelance for a few months, by selling my volumes. And yes, it hurt to get rid of books I cherished, but I also cherished my apartment.

4. Who is your favourite author?
I am all about the “beach reading” genre right now — anything that’s a page-turner works for me because I do NOT have time to think and savor the language the way I used to when I was a kid. (By the way, I am convinced that my reading was the reason why I didn’t grow up with a “Pittsburgh accent” — I am from a family of yinzers, but I always spoke British English because that was what I read. Oh yeah, and I used to read the dictionary. I was such a dork.) Anyway, I am into Jane Green right now.

5. What book have you read that you absolutely hated?
“Things Fall Apart” by Richard Achebe. Shitty yams. Goddamned yams. Motherfucking yams. The word “yam” appeared 10 times on every page.

I guess I can tell the story now — it’s been 13 years. I was in my beloved room 1723 with my beloved roommate Janna and our next-door neighbor and friend Jody (although I always called her Gro-di. Not sure why. Rhymes with Grow-Die — it made sense at the time, although Janna and I kind of had our own vernacular like twins and we had names for everybody and words for everything. By the way, the plural of fetus is fetii. Nipple is pronounced Nipp-ile (remember him, J? LOL. God, I was hot for him and his protruding nipp-iles).

Anyway, I was cramming for an exam, and I was reading that stupid book in one sitting. BAD IDEA. I had 30 pages to go when I started laughing deliriously. I mean it — I had my first nervous breakdown that night. Janna and Gro-di were sitting on Janna’s bed, chatting quietly and trying not to disturb me. But, so the cliche goes, I was disturbed enough for all three of us. I laughed and laughed so hard that I cried and cried. I went from funny laugh to evil laugh to witchy laugh to cries-of-the-damned laugh. I believe I fell on the floor at some point, and I could only talk in tongues. From what I heard from them, I could only say the words “God” “Damn” “Fuck” and “Yams.”

This went on for two hours. Or maybe three. I don’t remember. But I think the girls were terrified that they were going to call Western Psych and have me carted away in a pretty white jacket. And for all the commotion I caused, I don’t think anyone else in our hallway even noticed. I can safely say that all of us were sufficiently scarred for life by that one, crappy book.

Do yourself a BIG favor — do not EVER use the word yam in my presence. They are sweet potatoes, and they are one of my favorite foods. But only if they are called sweet potatoes. Call ’em yams in front of me, and you might have a situation on your hands. 😉

On iTunes: Usher f/Jadakiss, “Throwback (remix)”

Combine Blogger not having enough juice to power all of its blogs lately with Comcast not being able to provide continuous Internet service for its immediately south-of-D.C. subscribers, well, I’ve not been able to post. Not that I had much to say anyway. 😉

Add that to being busy and, well, I’m tired. But I’m overdue for a blog-gasm — check back late tonight for another rant from hell. Because I’m due for one. 😉

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the topic will be along the lines of “Maybe I should have been a little more specific when I was making wishes as a little girl.” Reveal your inner child in the comments and give me some ideas, mmmkay? 😉 I appreciate it! I’m thinking my Muse got off at the wrong exit last night and I’ve got to go find her!

And I’m going to go get a Caramel Mocha. Because I’m worth it!

On iTunes: Frou Frou, “Let Go”

I’ve been challenged by the dynamic Lachlan to perpetuate this meme. For lack of brain cells to give you a better post, I gladly accept. I think she picked me because I like to randomly share songs. 😉

Total number of music files on your computer:
11 gigs, baby. Upward of 2,100 songs.

The last CD you bought was:
Minnie Driver, “Everything I’ve Got in My Pocket” (But I’ll give you another song than the title track because we can ALL identify with a lyric like “Your temple’s the downtown bar,” right? LOL)

What is the song you last listened to before reading this message?
Abigail, “Could It Be Magic”

The 5(ish) albums that mean the most to you. (Not the 5 albums you would take to a desert island.)

Disclaimer: I’ve listened to them to DEATH and therefore yanked ’em from heavy rotation.

1. Tara MacLean’s “Passenger” or “Silence”

2. Sarah McLachlan’s “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” or “Solace”

3. Melissa Etheridge’s “Breakdown”

4. Bon Jovi’s “These Days”

5. “Anywhere But Here” — music from the motion picture

The 5 songs you’re listening to the most right now:

1. Ashlee Simpson, “La La” (Shut up! LOL)

2. Madonna, “What It Feels Like For a Girl (Above & Beyond 12″ Club Mix)”

3. Hooverphonic, “Renaissance Affair”

4. Cyndi Lauper, “Eventually”

5. Alicia Keys, “Karma (Karmastition remix)”

The first 5 best lyrics that come into my head:

1. BT, “Force of Gravity” — “Do you cry your eyes asleep? Is it peace you seek at night when your body’s weak?”

2. Janice Ian, “At Seventeen” — “To those of us who know the pain / Of valentines that never came / And those whose names were never called / When choosing sides for basketball / It was long ago and far away / The world was younger than today And dreams were all they gave for free / To ugly duckling girls like me.”

3. Jodi Sheeler, “No Regrets” — “From the places you’ve forgotten / to the ones you never left / from all the things you said to all the things you really meant / from everything you might have been / to everything you are instead / here’s to no regrets.”

4. Bruce Springsteen, “The River” — “At night on them banks I’d lie awake / And pull her close just to feel each breath she’d take / Now those memories come back to haunt me / they haunt me like a curse / Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true / Or is it something worse.”

5. Tom Waits, “I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You” — “I can see that you are lonesome just like me / And it being late, you’d like some some company / Well I turn around to look at you / And you look back at me / The guy you’re with has up and split / The chair next to you’s free / And I hope that you don’t fall in love with me. / Now it’s closing time, the music’s fading out / Last call for drinks, I’ll have another stout / Well I turn around to look at you /
You’re nowhere to be found / I search the place for your lost face / Guess I’ll have another round / And I think that I just fell in love with you.”

HONORABLE MENTION

Rob Thomas, “Lonely No More” — “What if I was good to you? What if you were good to me? What if I could hold you till I feel you move inside of me?” (Are any of you surprised by this one? LOL)

Who are you going to pass this stick to? (3 persons) and why?

I’m paying it forward to EVERYONE OUT THERE, with an extra nudge to Amy and blog newcomers Mopsie and House Butch. And I’d be really disappointed if Tiff didn’t join the meme-y revelry! 😉

On iTunes: Bloodhound Gang, “Fire Water Burn”

Swiped from the lovely Bayou and Lachlan.

Accent: Pittsburgh. And you may say either (eee-ther), but I say (eye-ther), but I don’t know if that’s an accent or just plain nonconformity. 🙂
Bra size: 38C
Chore I hate: Litterbox patrol. Especially when the fur-children like to shit on the carpet more than in the box.
Dad’s name: Loser piece of shit. Tom Burke of Pittsburgh (Brentwood), you missed out on a fabulous kid. I daresay I didn’t miss out on anything.
Essential make-up: Concealer, powder, eyeliner (black on bottom — pewter on top), blush (if I remember), eyeshadow (about six colors blended together) and jet black mascara.
Favorite perfume: Yohji Yamamoto, Ralph Lauren Romance, Ysatis (by Yves St. Laurent), Casmir (by Chopard)
Gold or Silver: Silver
Hometown: Pittsburgh, Pa.
Interesting fact: My name when I was born was NOT Dawn.
Job title: Goddess
Kids: Fur-kids Maddie and Kadi
Living arrangements: Lovely garden-style apartment with a balcony that I rarely use
Mom’s Birthplace: Pittsburgh, Pa.
Number of apples eaten in last week: Nada, although Mom had made a sweet potato casserole with pecans and pineapples for Easter. Does that count?
Overnight hospital stays: September 2003 — four miserable nights. Damn appendix and incompetent assholes.
Phobia: Failure. Seriously, I need counseling over this one. 🙂
Question you ask yourself a lot: What the hell did you say THAT for?!?!
Religious affiliation: Former atheist. Maybe still agnostic. Definitely believe in one “main” God but otherwise gravitate toward earth-based spirituality. I also own a spellbook.
Siblings: None. Best friend Shan is, in spirit
Time I wake up: Alarm at 5 a.m. Awaken at MAYBE 5:22 a.m. on a good day, although today it was 6:22 a.m. and I FLEW to get ready. Don’t ask me about tomorrow — I might not even bother going to sleep in the first place. Oh, I guess it bears mention that Kadi likes to climb on the dresser and belly-flop onto the bed, claws first, around 3 a.m. A real fucking treat, I say.
Unnatural hair color: I went purple for awhile by accident. Used to be a brunette. Now when I dye my hair dark, though, it insists on going red. Weird.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Waxed beans.
Worst habit: Worrying instead of DOING. Stress snacking.
X-rays: Every body part has been X-rayed. Had a concussion a number of years back. That explains a lot. 🙂
Yummy food I make: Believe it or not, I am an excellent cook. I just don’t have the damn time to make anything other than a trip to the local pizzeria.
Zodiac sign: Gemini

On iTunes: Madonna f/Jellybean, “Sidewalk Talk”

After years of life moving too slowly, now it’s slipping away from me. Ask me what I accomplished off my to-do list this weekend. *taps foot* Not a goddamned thing, but thanks for asking!

But alas, after the insomnia and losing an hour of my life, I know I’m that much closer to “American Idol” on Tuesday. I will not ban it this year like I did for awhile last year (when Jennifer and Latoya got voted off yet Ghetto Fabulous with her blue sneakers and visible birth control patch won the competition — pity). But I am sad that Jessica Sierra got voted off on Wednesday.

Then again, I didn’t vote for her this week. Wasn’t a remarkable performance. But I don’t think it was her turn to go this quickly. But she brought an element of fun to the show that I will miss — right now, we’ve got the golden children mixed in with the underdogs (who ended up dominating Season Two, so I’ll be curious to see how this year works out), and she was just outright no-strings-attached, country-flavored fun. I’ll miss you, Jessica.

Angie and I were talking about Carrie (for whom I vote every week, along with my rocker boys). And Angie digs her too, but we both noticed that this was the first week that Carrie did not cry when someone got voted off. The cameras panned to her, and she looked stoic, clapping a bit, and she almost looked a wee bit smug. Can’t say that I blame her — her direct competition has left the building.

Angie and I were theorizing on why Mario Vasquez left the show of his own accord. She swears he got someone knocked up. Also from the “AI” gossip department, who knew Scott has a restraining order against him? I think he’s talented but I can see where he might have a temper. If what he said was true that his father never believed in him, I imagine that came with some abuse, and we all know the bullied can become the bullies. (See all the high school shootings during the past decade.)

In any event, the weekend is seeping away and I’m ready to go buy new clothes for the week because I haven’t gotten any laundry done. Seriously, where do people find the TIME to do things? I swear, I need to cut back on my sleep so that I can catch up with my life. Although, I did get a chance to get to the Apple store yesterday, and I was happy in that environment, although everybody was buying G5s and PowerBooks and I was oh-so-jealous. I need to start looking for a sugar daddy so I can keep up with the new technology! 😉

And speaking of Angie, I suppose I should go scrub my butt because I will be seeing her in a couple of hours. We have a shopping date — the second-best kind of date to have! 🙂

On iTunes: Queen Latifah, “Hello Stranger”

Thanks to ms7168 for pointing me toward the latest incarnation of the Friday Five!

1) What’s the one movie you’ve seen more times than any other?
“Prince of Tides” — I quote it all the time. It’s the one movie that I loved just as much as its book.

2) If you could turn one book, comic book or other print story into a feature-length movie, what story would you pick and why?
At this point, it feels like Hollywood is making the movies and THEN writing the books, so this is a tough one. What hasn’t been immortalized on film already? Although, I really loved Judy Blume’s “Summer Sisters” — I read it in one day whilst on jury duty. I could totally get down with that one. And I’m surprised as all hell that nobody’s ever touched “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret”, which is fresh in my mind because of something that someone said to me recently. 😉 I still have my copy of the latter from when I was 9 years old.

3) Who would you cast?
Hmm, Caitlin is vapid and intoxicating all at the same time. And Vix is the levelheaded, compassionate one. The formulaic juxtaposition that always works, eh? Let me think about that one, although I could totally see it as Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan (I am a fan of the latter). 🙂

4) What one movie would you like to see “updated for the year 2005”? (i.e., a remake)
Seriously, I would be happy to write my own. I do not know SQUAT about screenwriting, but I have the BEST idea — kind of like “Office Space” meets “The Incredibles.” And it would so totally have to be a cartoon. I have the sketches and everything!

5) What one movie are you most looking forward to this year?
I guess “In Her Shoes.” I’m a Jennifer Weiner fan — her writing style reminds me of my own.

On iTunes: Mario Winans, “Let Me Love You”

I’ve kind of had a rant brewing for awhile about how much fucking WORK it takes to make things look effortless.

But first, tunage! (It’s one of my favorite songs to blast while I’m driving — and it’s my heroine Melissa Etheridge.)

Anywho …

I have a low tolerance for martyrdom. We all have a cousin or a family member whom we absolutely avoid because they try to make everyone feel their pain. They cannot do someone a favor or complete a simple task without letting you know the excruciating agony they experienced and the great sacrifices they had to make to achieve something. And, worse, their flair for the dramatic extends to trying to make you feel like they did all of this for you and that you somehow owe them, even if you never asked for anything in the first place.

That said, I went to a school that’s world-famous for its performing arts programs. (I, however, learned how to dance in the local gay nightclubs, instead of in the conservatory. I’m sure I’m just as good. LOL) But, oftentimes, I would stand in the doorways of the dance classes and just watch. Not that I was a fan of emaciated, sweaty, smelly dancers (who would somehow pack 16 of their kind into our tiny elevators and make me fucking sick as I rode 18 floors with them to my dorm room, but I digress).

But watching them was fascinating. Not that I am any kind of critic, but you could tell who was going to end up in the Rockettes and who would end up working at a theater box office. Simply told, many people showed the effort behind the movements, while a select few others only showed grace.

And those, well, let me put it this way. Point Park has had some famous graduates. Those are the ones who only gave beautiful, effortless performances.

And that leads to today’s rant about how it takes twice as much work to appear that you are giving an effortless, well, effort.

“She wakes up in the morning
With a pain in her jet black head
A decaf coffee in her hand
And a marlboro red
She drives down to the office
In her Japanese car
With the radio blasting
She dreams of taking it too far
But today she’ll pay the bills
She won’t think about the thrills
That pass away.”

I’m going to toe the line of martyrdom for one minute to say that for all I tell people and for all that they see, they don’t know the half of it. Really. Not only do I work my ass off, but like many women (and many men, I’m sure), I am constantly overcoming something … even if it’s only in my own mind.

I was talking with one of my guy friends awhile back, and I was expressing some mild hysteria over a perceived professional screw-up. And sure, in hindsight, I was overthinking it and making myself crazy over what possibly turned out to be nothing much. But I had all these delusions and fears and grand schemes accumulating in my head of how to make things right. Seriously, my head was about to explode.

Said friend had also experienced a similar screw-up around the same time. And while, sure, it bothered him, he didn’t lose his shit the way I did. I flat-out asked him if he rehearsed a thousand scenarios in his head the way I did. He smiled and said, “Nope. I’m pretty blank most of the time. Works for me.”

I swear, that was a turnaround point for me. Not that I changed my behavior, mind you, but maybe it’s why most of the men I know spend most of their lives unruffled, stoic, not passionate about much of anything other than sports and hooters.

I almost envy that ability to shut off one’s brain simply as if on command.

Years ago, I was diagnosed with tension headaches. I was working at a high-stress job with a staff that caused me even more stress. I was doing the work of four people and, unfortunately, getting the equivalent punishment from above if GOD FORBID a detail slipped. And I’m very detail-oriented. To a fault. Talk about your head exploding — holy shit.

Now, this may explain, in part, the song choice for today:

“Her eyes are black as leather
And her hair is killer red
How could she keep the baby
When she can barely keep her head.”

I will say nothing more other than that I had a huge personal situation going on amid all the other chaos. Nobody knew. I did not let on. Nor did I let on that the “why” was “the job.” I asked for no time off, nor did I even let anyone see me taking my tension headache pills. I smiled every minute of every day — I was “on” all the time … even as a part of me died, both literally and figuratively.

The same thing happened to the most braindead of my staff at the time. She expected preferential treatment and accommodations and sympathy. She shared with the world. I was quietly supportive and even went against all things holy and defended her to my superiors. The only thing I said was, “I’ve been there.” Little did they know that it had been only three months earlier.

But that’s what I mean about making things look effortless. There are some people like a cousin of mine who will, say, buy you a gift. Then they will tell you how fucking hard it was for them to get out of the house and brave being around people when you KNOW they’re agoraphobic and they have this hangnail on their toe that makes it hard for them to walk so they had to ask someone to drive them and then they needed one of those wheelchair shopping baskets but then their credit card was declined and so they had to call their bank and hold up the line at the store before finally getting the gift and then needing to go get it wrapped before getting it home so WHY CAN’T YOU AT LEAST CALL THEM ONCE IN AWHILE TO SAY HELLO, AFTER ALL THEY DO FOR YOU?!?!

In case it isn’t obvious, that’s a direct quote from a relative. But I digress. I will also not mention how they will bring up said gift in any conversation for the next five years to ask you how you are enjoying it — Jeebus Crisp, I thought we give gifts because we wanted to brighten people’s days, not to fish for a fucking pat on the back every five minutes. Sheesh.

I will also not bring up that, after they whine that you don’t call them and you finally do call them, they bitch at you for NOT CALLING THEM BECAUSE THEY COULD HAVE, LIKE, DIED OR SOMETHING FOR AS LONG AS YOU HAVE NEGLECTED THEM.

And we wonder why I am a hermit sometimes. 🙂

“Something’s gotta give somewhere
Forcing circles into squares
She keeps pushing on.”

But anyway, lately I feel like I’ve been working twice as much (in all areas of my life) and accomplishing just enough to get by. I guess I’m just exhausted. And what frightens the shit out of me is that my guise is slipping — I am starting to let people see the — well, not the “real” me, but the “me” I gave up so long ago. I talk about nothing, but I keep talking. I am so tired of being lonely from being camped out inside my head that I will do anything to start or revive a conversation, just to keep people near. Even when I can tell they are ready to dismiss me and get on with their lives — tough shit. 😉

Not only that, but when I’m tired, the language gets more colorful (than usual!). The snark pokes through like a broken underwire snaps through your bra and impales your armpit (yeah, had that happen this week, too. Hooray. First wearing of the bra, too). And when people don’t know you *that well* just yet, you just hope they laugh it off and forget about it instead of taking you too literally.

It’s weird to be around new people. I guess I always am, in a way — I’m always in different situations after I get bored or insanely frustrated with previous ones. And again with the effortlessness, I try to appear comfortable and jubilant and capable … because I AM. And I manage to make it happen despite the fact that my mind is in no fewer than 35 places at any given time. Why don’t I look at you when I’m talking to you? Either I’m immersed in the memory OR I’m planning what to say … or NOT say … next.

But I don’t want you to know this. I don’t need you to know that I’m multi-tasking every minute of the day. I don’t want you to know that I’d rather have a cup of coffee and a blog chat with you instead of either worrying about something or taking care of it so it’s no longer on the worry list.

And that is why I must go shower and prepare for my mani/pedi today — I am totally treating myself for the first time in FOREVER. I want to be as polished on the outside as I can possibly be, first of all so that you only see a cool, calm, collected exterior and, secondly, so that maybe my insides will behave similarly when they see how glossy and pretty the outside looks when it’s all dolled up and ready to be seen.

And maybe I won’t be so nuts when I have more things crossed off of my “to-do” list. But first, I have GOT to find the time to MAKE the list!!! 🙂

On iTunes: Melissa Etheridge, “All-American Girl”