Caterwauling

And all through Chez Dawn
The Apple G4 hummed expectantly
Yet the author’s mental state was gone.

As she updated her profile
Panic set in
Because she has no fucking idea
How her novel will begin.

Bestow unto me, my beloved Muse, the opening line that will incite a torrent of brilliant (and even not-so-clever) literature.

The pressure’s on — the clock starts ticking tomorrow. I’ve been thinking about my characters for days. Hell, I’ve been thinking about them for years. I’ve fallen in love with a secondary character and damn near lost interest in a primary one.

I know in two weeks, I will hate them all. But right now, they are my babies, the many facets of my personality, my lovers and friends and enemies, all rolled into words.

And that’s what this is all about — words. Thoughts. Sentiments. Longing. Desire. Vitriol. Love. Passion. Anything but indifference. Losing myself in my fantasies and nightmares and the things I never daresay aloud.

Writing to process the past, ponder the present, plan the potential occurrences that I’d love to happen in my very own life. Allowing them to happen to my heroine. Letting her ache and triumph and live in ways I wish I could. Transferring my myriad fears and my strength into a character the pages can barely contain. Becoming her, living as her for 30 whole days.

Should be easy — I’ve done it for 30 whole years. This month, I get to be who I was meant to be.

Muse, give me strength.

More crap about me. Oh the joy you must be experiencing. 😉

1. What’s for breakfast today?
A cup of coffee and a cookie.

2. When is the last time you left your state/country?
I leave the state every day to go to work. Sounds more glamorous than it really is. lol. I’m actually going to traverse a few states this weekend. It’s weird — when you live in the metro D.C. area, you’re crossing state lines several times a day (*yawn*). But when I lived outside of this area, it was such a wondrous odyssey (i.e., a PRODUCTION) to leave your little hole in the world.

3. When is the last time you lied to someone?
I always lie and say I’m fine when I’m not. I squelch my emotions to the point of implosion. No wonder my blood pressure is a million over a thousand.

I don’t lie about anything else — I’m more than happy to share my verbal dysentery with anyone who will listen.

4. If you celebrate Christmas, what is the day typically like for you?
Cats ripping around the house, barfing up ribbons and shitting out bows.

5. Describe the last time you felt truly content.
I was watching some display of cinematic wonder with someone, with his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. I can’t even tell you what the movie was about. 😉

6. Would you rather stand upright for 7 days straight or lie flat on your back for 7 days?
Stand. Even at bars and restaurants and such, I prefer to stand than to sit. I’ve lain on my back for days at a time (after surgery) and it sucked.

7. What is your favorite fruit?
White peaches. They grill up beautifully on skewers full of chicken and peppers. 🙂

8. How many keys are on your keychain?
Six — two mailbox keys, two house keys, a car key and a key to the Club that I never use.

9. Brag about something.
I’m going to participate in NaNoWriMo tomorrow!

10. Ask me something.
What random act of beauty have you witnessed recently?

An old Friday Five that felt entirely too appropriate:

1. Who is your favorite superhero?
Wonderbra. She lifts and separates with a single credit card appearance!

2. If you could have any superpower what would it be?
Ah, a super-sexy tomcat has declared that I shall be “Whatever Woman.” And that my arch-nemesis is the Crimson Assclown.

My power is that when my nemesis (or anyone, for that matter) annoys me, my powers kick in and, with a dismissive flick of my wrist, I send the nitwit scurrying for relevance.

3. What would your super outfit look like?
I’m still going with the Wonderbra. 😉 Preferably in black, perhaps with some kind of tiny sparkle. I might even kick in the extra coupla bucks and buy the matching underwear. Oh, who are we kidding — of COURSE I need the matching scandalous underwear!

4. What would your super villain/nemesis be like?
See “Assclown, Crimson” above.

Anyone spreading insipidness, irrelevance and general idiocy to the world, causing stress and pain to the intelligent people who can’t get a word or an emotion in edgewise.

5. What would your catch phrase/calling card be?
Um, duh: “Whatever, OK?”

Also, I have a Happy Bunny sticker on my car that says “Eat Me.” I got it because that’s my favorite thing to say. 😉 Might need to add it for emphasis.

Why is it when I say that I am on meds, everyone automatically assumes it’s Prozac?

Sheesh — am I THAT tightly wound?!?! 😀

Then again, don’t answer that. 😉

Ah, the ever-quoteworthy “Grey’s Anatomy” rides again. …

There comes a time in one’s life when she realizes that she has spent so much time trying to save the world or, at least, the worlds of those around her. But, while she wasn’t looking, she forgot to take care of herself. And the wear-and-tear eventually starts to show.

For me, that day was yesterday.

And that time in one’s life? My 30s — the time when all of my friends have told me that your body changes so much that your mind needs to follow suit.

For me, years of overachieving and now oceans of guilt over not being as far ahead of the game as I planned to be or, hell, as I used to be have officially taken their toll.

I’m mad at myself for falling behind — and I’m weary at all the life events that I’ve missed out on as well. But I’m aware of all the steps that I skipped in the process, and maybe this is my time to go back and learn what I didn’t know then. And to make things right.

That said, it’s pretty bad when you’re in with your new physician for 10 minutes and you’re being shoved out the door with a purse full of meds and a list of workups they want to do because their diagnosis is that you’ve officially driven yourself nuts. Ha.

I’ll be fine soon enough. In the meantime, this is a grand opportunity to make a new beginning — time to delete all the 3,000 e-mails I had the best intentions of answering but never seem to get around to doing. Time to excavate/clean/pack the house, go on vacation, do that writing that always makes me happy, find my dream apartment, dust off the elliptical — and do it. Motion begets momentum.

Outstanding issues make me nervous and render me ineffective. I think that’s why I’ve become brilliant — nay, addicted — to multitasking. Because being super-busy is a wonderful distraction from noticing all that remains unresolved.

When you’re clinging to a life preserver, you wonder why you’ve held everyone in your life at arm’s length for so long — why you’ve been so afraid of really, truly being touched in every way possible. How you can offer up every single part of yourself to anyone to asks, just as long as they don’t stay the night. How you’re taken aback when someone wants to corrode those walls — how you’re even more stunned when you find yourself being anything but opposed to the idea.

I’ve spent my life being a book-smart overachiever. But whether it was my intention or not, I always wanted to fix the people and things around me — all the while letting myself collapse with nary a hint of wanting to preserve me.

For the first time in my life, I’m going to need help. I’m going to ask for it and even take it. And if all you can do is just love me, that could very well be what I’ve needed all along to help me to heal.

Hidden tunage at the end, loves. Enjoy!

I just picked up the soundtrack to my favorite TV show, “Grey’s Anatomy”, and I just want to profess my love of this series.

Seriously, I actually cry every freaking week as it’s ending — and it’s a comedy! I think it’s because I identify with every single female character. I mean, when Meredith looked at Dr. McDreamy this week and implored, “Pick *me.* Choose *me.* Love *me.*” — I was a weeping pile of Kleenex, nail polish and chai tea.

Mostly, though, I think I’m most like Cristina (and my life has followed quite a similar course) — although I was thrilled and shocked all at the same time when the renowned Ellis Gray herself, just before she sundowned, revealed that she’d had a torrid affair with Richard back in her glory day. Eep!

One of my greatest (irrational, I know) fears is that I will be climbing the walls of some nursing home, hemorrhaging the secrets I’ve so closely guarded for so long. Or, worse, everyone will discover that I wasn’t altogether that interesting in the first place. 😉

In any event, the soundtrack is missing some of the wonderful songs I’ve heard throughout the first two seasons, but it’s a great compilation overall. I mean, how can you help but groove (and maybe even flash back to the “Garden State” soundtrack) when you hear the show’s theme song?

Life isn’t horrible.

Stay with me — this is quite the revelation.

Things are just good, y’know? Not great, mind you — they could always be better. But allow me to bask in the complete non-suckage of my existence at this moment in time.

If I could just get my anxiety under control, then things would be great. But I’m grateful for the times when I actually can breathe and laugh and simply be. I’d nearly forgotten who I was for quite some time.

And the creativity? Flowing. Gushing. Oozing. May it last through — and beyond — NaNoWriMo.

At this late point in the day, should I even bother having lunch? I’ve had about six Midol, two Tylenol and a Benadryl. Oh, and two Reese’s cups — perhaps that shall tide me till o’late thirty when I get home. 😀

Oh, I did have two cups of coffee — my dumb ass left my travel mug o’java at home, though, before my long journey north today. Whereupon I was stuck between exits 7A and 8B for 25 minutes — freezing my ass off because I can’t turn on the heater in my little Sunfire without the windows steaming up. An auspicious start, to say the least.

Not to mention, I was sort of disoriented a few minutes ago — I absentmindedly took a pocketful of girly products into the restroom, and when I saw what I’d brought in with me, I was the asshole laughing to myself in the corner stall. Because instead of a feminine wipe (it’s important to keep onself tidy and fresh, particularly during times like these), I took in a Shout wipe — you know, the kind that treats stains on your CLOTHES.

At least I caught my mistake BEFORE it was too late.

*closing door and weeping softly*

Saw this over at Joelle’s:

Ralph Waldo Emerson — May 25.

1803 for him, and *mumblemumble* for me.

It was on my. …

Oh, you mean where was I at?

Second grade, in a classroom during a stupid film about animals or some crap like that. I so totally got thrown out of the classroom. It was brilliant. 🙂

No, but I stood by and witnessed it once. I felt really bad, because no matter how much of a shit the victim was, I should have been above being a participant.

Only upon request. 😉

If I’m really comfortable with someone, I’ll touch or whack them playfully during conversation. It’s my weird way of connecting with them.

I don’t hit in anger, though. I don’t want it done to me and refuse to implement a double-standard.

That’s why the good lord invented karaoke, so assholes like me can be shown exactly why we weren’t meant to be rock stars.

I was in some middle-school productions as a member of the chorus. Frightening.

Their hands. I am big on grooming, and well-kept nails and skin make me tingle. Because there’s always that “next step” in one’s imagination about what those hands and fingers can do when taken to task. … 😉

Conversation. Laughter. Persistence. Brilliance. Depth. The element of surprise, particularly because I am always on guard.

Normally, just a grande or a venti regular. *snooze*

But around the holidays, I am addicted to the gingerbread lattes.

Jesus H, I have to pick only one?!?!

Screwing up my finances. That perm in fourth grade. Those late-night threesomes with Ben & Jerry — all of them. Giving up those freelance opportunities because I want my “me” time when I come home. Not going to Sarah Lawrence — not finding a way to afford it, rather.

Yes.

I’m shy. *bwahahaha*

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Subtitle: Spray, delay, walk run the hell away

In my earlier post about perfume shopping, “A rose by any other name,” I had mentioned that there was a fragrance I really, REALLY wanted.

Enough time has passed, and my coveting of this perfume has not ceased. So in my journeys today, I decided I had to have it.

Now, I know how to buy — and apply — perfume. But people do not exactly know how to SELL it.

I am the world’s best customer (when I want to be, of course). I do my research and know exactly what I want when I walk in. I do not fuck around — give me what I want and then I will leave.

I started by asking for a sample vial of this fragrance. Notice I said a VIAL, not a “please nuke me with this shit.” Alas, though, I live in an area where people do not speak great English; either that or common courtesy is simply severely lacking.

In any case, I was told there were no take-home samples. Fine, then. I said I wanted to buy the small bottle (for just shy of a Benjamin Franklin, egads — I have expensive taste).

Now, you’ve gotten the clue that I have made up my mind that I wish to purchase this item, no? I have decided that I deserve to treat myself to something that is going to make me feel good and is going to last for quite some time. My mind has been made up to live with it and to love it. I was going to take it home WITHOUT SNIFFING IT because I knew what it smelled like.

Until. …

Crazy Perfume Bitch decided to take the tester bottle from the counter, and she aimed it at me. Taken aback, the only thing I could croak out was, “Coat!” because my mom just sent me a brand-new leather coat on Wednesday (my younger cat annhilated my last one by jumping ON my coat rack at home and shredding it — I was heartbroken and am so thrilled to have a replacement).

So the bitch yanked the coat back and sprayed the shit SEVEN times. SEVEN. Onto my chest. Luckily, my little glittery brown tank top is low-cut enough that it didn’t get damaged in the nuking, but it sure stinks of this fragrance.

Here’s the deal — the perfume? Gorgeous. Has vanilla, patchouli and sandalwood undertones. I mean, if you come to my apartment, I am likely burning all of the above in the form of incense and/or candles.

After I paid for my once-coveted perfume, I shot to a restroom and furiously scrubbed my skin. I mean, who the FUCK sprays their chest, No. 1, and No. 2, SEVEN TIMES??!?!

Seriously, there are many ways to apply a fragrance. When you’re doing body splashes and lotions and oil mists and such, spritzing the chest is appropriate.

But with intense fragrances, you only want to hit your pulse points (wrists, an inch below your earlobes, perhaps the backs of your knees if you are going out for the evening). Sometimes you can hit the cleavage, but from a twee bit lower.

What you DON’T do is waste the equivalent of two months’ worth of perfume till you have a veritable RIVER running down to your navel.

My throat actually hurts right now from that supreme display of bullshit. And that bitch got COMMISSION?!?! I have half a mind to return it to another store — why reward assholitry with cash?

Even after I scrubbed myself raw, I had three Mexican dudes trailing me around the damn mall. I mean, I couldn’t get rid of them. Incidentally, I’d grabbed lunch at Taco Bell just before this debacle — perhaps they could smell that past the cloud o’perfume? 😉