Caterwauling

I won $300 in Vegas (we won’t say how much I lost — we only concentrate on the *good* number!), so I went out today and bought a Rokr for me and a Razr for Mom. And here I’d thought it would be another dismal Christmas. 🙂

I had really wanted the V3i, but that isn’t out yet and I just wanted to do something to commemorate this very welcome streak of luck that I had while I was away. Because it’s no fun to take your winnings to actually, like, pay bills or something equally dreary, right?

What I said in my previous post — about how it blows goats to come home because that means life has to go back to its humdrum normal self — well, is definitely true to a point. But I’ve also got this motivation to make sure I’m twice as happy at this point next year.

Several of us had discussions on the trip about how Italian grandmothers and Jewish grandmothers are pretty much interchangeable — those of us who had them were all reared to be afraid of our own shadows. But, at least in my family, I get it now.

No one wanted me to be afraid for the sake of being scared — rather, they were afraid I’d have a taste of the good life and it would only end up being just a brief morsel before Cinderella is returned to the castle and shackled to the fireplace till the end of time. And while, sure, I’ll have fond memories of my party shoes (or, for as much running around as I did, I’ll remember taking off those shoes!), I’m that much more motivated to feel this good again. And soon.

Mais je n’aime pas venir à la maison des vacances parce que la vie doit retourner à la normale.

Zut alors.

Whee ninth-grade French.

Home again. But I’ll always have Paris. And, after a week in Las Vegas, I’ll probably have the bloodshot, dark-circled eyes for a long time to come. And I earned/loved every second of it. 😉

An article in the WaPo talks about a potential toll road system running alongside major interstates, like the Capital Beltway, as a way of alleviating traffic and raising revenue to build/repair our heavily traveled roads.

Meaning, two-hour commutes to go 10 miles? A thing of the past, if you’re willing to pay the price for your free time. And the older I get, the more I realize I can’t put a price on my free time — if my time ain’t generating revenue, then it should be spent parked on the couch or, at the very least, in front of the Mac, surfing porn sites reading blogs writing books.

From the article:

“But these dream scenarios come with a cost: a toll as high as a dollar a mile in heavily traveled areas during peak times. A 56-mile commute between the Fredericksburg area and Washington could cost as much as $30 if a driver chose the traffic-free route, according to one analysis.”

Considering that I cover slightly more miles in a day, um, yikes! Not to say that I’d take the lane every day, nor do I really drive during peak rush hours, but these new lanes aren’t exactly fo’ the po’. Thirty bucks? I’d better be speeding to a really hot date, for that kind of cashish!

I wonder, though, will there be toll booths like on the Pennsylvania Turnpike? Or will it be like the Dulles Toll Road, where you’re expected to hurl a quarter into a net like you’re at a bad carnival game on the boardwalk? Or can you exceed 80 mph and the automated toll booth doesn’t even register that you’ve dashed through it and therefore you don’t have to pay?

I mean, it’s hard to toss $30 at someone or some kind of receptacle. I’d be holding up traffic, clinging to the cash and sobbing hot, furious tears as I thought of a skirt at Old Navy that it could be buying instead. But then I’d rationalize that, by staying in the regular, pothole-infested Beltway lanes (with the squiggly lane lines, which my preoccupied ass always manages to follow. *sigh*), I’d miss that Old Navy sale by three hours, during which time someone might be taking home MY skirt.

Ah, the things I think about while I’m in the car. 😉

Anyway, I guess my flakes get frosted when I read comments that lawmakers cannot come up with another way to find the funding to fix the existing roads. You know, it’s so expensive to live here anyway that they can’t ream us for more taxes. But I can’t seem to figure out where the money’s going that we DO pour into Uncle Sam’s sieve of a wallet. (No, I’m not going to say Iraq. I’m only going to THINK it.)

In any event, apparently Virginia’s quite the hotspot, as Bennifer may be moving to Old Dominion. The hope seems to be that Bennifer will become Benator — as in, a Democratic Senator Ben.

You know what? That idea’s crazy enough to make me want to stay, what with a possible $30-a-day commute and all. Seriously, could he really do any worse than what we’ve already got?

*as we are not allowed to say “holiday” this year*

Attention: There’s a question for YOU at the end. We’re all interactive here at Chez Caterwauling!

Meme stolen from the ever-debonair and clever Pratt:

Year of the first Christmas you can remember.
1981. I so totally got my Sweet Thunder 2 bike that my family wouldn’t let me ride because my grandmother was convinced I’d die riding it. Because she knew somebody who died doing whatever life activity you wanted to do, as was convenient for the sake of the argument. So, in effect, my “Thunder Road” was really the driveway and no further away from the house than that.

An early Christmas memory?
Same year as above. Was dragged to evil ex-stepfather’s house where his father was dressed as Santa Claus (his mother was Satan Claus). I had to refrain from telling the younger kids that it wasn’t the *real* Santa. They all got loads fantastic gifts for being his biological granddaughters. I got one thing, and it was something stupid that Mom let me throw away the next day. No wonder I got the damn bike. 😉

Next, let’s visit Thanksgiving memories, when the alcoholic stepfather threw the beautiful cooked (read: not consumed yet) turkey against a wall in a drunken fit. Whee dysfunction.

Ever in a holiday play? When?
Nope. I wasn’t exactly a “joiner.”

Did you play a role? What was it?
I was the kid in the audience who mocked the actors for weeks.

Favorite holiday ornament (Past and present)
Past: Anything Garfield. I was upset when Hallmark stopped making Garfield ornaments, but I have yet to pick up any of the ones in the American Greetings collection. Because I always say I’ll get it at half-price after the holiday, and then the thought of being around vicious bargain-shoppers squicks me out.

Present: I designed an ornament when I worked in fund-raising years ago, which was sold in a major department store chain. It was the only year in that charity’s history that they sold out of all 25,000 ornaments that we produced. It was a gold filigree, three-layered scene of Pittsburgh, and I put it in a black velvet box and wrote a little narrative on how Pittsburgh is the only city that outfits all of its major sports teams in identical colors — black and gold.

Decoration you dread seeing every year?
I got home late last night and I realized how nobody decorates outside anymore (damn energy bills). Honestly, I love lights — especially blue and/or white. I just hate big, air-inflated Santas and reindeer in the stores and on lawns — who ever thought THAT was attractive?

That said, here’s my absolute favorite holiday site for this sort of thing.

Classic Christmas song you never get tired of:
I rarely hear it, and it will surprise those of you who’ve known me as an atheist-turned-pagan-turned-agnostic-turned-believer, but I love “The Jesus Gift.”

Classic Christmas song you loathe:
“The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” — I spent one season working in the Trim-a-Home shop at Kaufmanns, and if I heard that song One More Time, I was ready to impale customers with candy canes.

Modern Christmas song you never get tired of:
Pratt suggested “Christmas Wrapping” by The Waitresses, which is a great one. Although I must bow before “Mr. Hankey’s Christmas Classics” CD. “Christmastime in Hell” warms my cold little heart. 😉

Modern Christmas song you loathe:
I HATE HATE HATE “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.” Was that Paul McCartney? Shoot him. That was cruel of him to release into the world. Auditory rape, I say. ARGH.

Naughty or Nice?
Nice is boring. And I loathe boring. Peace on earth, and a piece of ass. It’s all I really want for Christmas. Or any day, really.

If you have a Christmas tree, real or artificial?
None, although the artificial one’s in the basement, waiting for me to one day bring it upstairs. But I’ll be gone for most of the rest of this month, and evil kittehs would take it down and snack on it in my absence were it available to them.

Any holiday traditions unique to your family you’d like to share?
That we’d want to share. Hah. Priceless!

When my grandmother died six years ago, we let Christmas go with her, because she was the one who loved that holiday and made it exquisite.

These days, we always have a cozy little dinner — just my mom, grandfather and me. Presents are scarce because we’re always so broke, although we try to do little things for each other. Mom always does a tiny tree for my grandfather — she changes the theme every year but did patriotic last year (sparkly red, white and blue) because he’s a World War II vet and is very proud of that.

I remember having huge, sparkly sugar plum trees as a kid, with glittery lights and candies, and that remains my favorite theme. When it came time to do my own trees, I went for simple glittery crystal ornaments and blue lights — somehow, the sugar plum tree only seems to have magic when Mom is the one putting it together. I went for elegant and totally not-cat-friendly. Hence why my stuff has been packed away since before I got my hellcat Kadi in 2003!

If you were an elf what would your elf name be?
According to this elf name generator, it’s Peppy Angel-Pants.

Favorite Christmas Movie:
I loved “Bad Santa” in a really unnatural way. 😉

Best Scrooge Ever:
Bill Murray (in “Scrooged”)

Favorite Christmas Special:
“A Charlie Brown Christmas” — I have the DVD.

Favorite Misfit Toy:
The polka-dotted elephant. I always had a soft spot for toys with character.

Have you ever re-gifted?
You know, I don’t think I have. I cannot consciously give a shitty gift.

Do you still rush out and shop on the 24th?
Only if I find myself invited somewhere and I need a hostess gift. I really don’t shop for the holidays — and when I do, I do it relatively early because I cannot STAND crowds.

Can you wrap presents well?
With hospital corners, my friends. I excel at wrapping, and I will only buy holographic paper. My grandmother taught me all about wrapping, down to making my own bows and curling ribbon. Although you can buy the latter items pre-made, not to mention the advent of the gift bag, so guess what I do instead?

What’s one thing you know will always be in your Christmas stocking?
In a word, nothing. 😉 But theoretically, the hope that maybe NEXT year will be the one that doesn’t suck.

Best Christmas present ever?
The job I currently have. Because at this time last year, it had been four long months without one.

Spill a holiday secret.
Mom will hate me for sharing this. But my grandmother was confined to a hospital bed in her final years, so she couldn’t do the cooking anymore. And my mom is a tremendously fabulous cook, but just to needle her, my grandmother would tell her everything was “lousy.” One year, Gram demanded a turkey TV dinner so that she wouldn’t have to eat Mom’s. Mom burst into tears and threw a box of bandages at her. I said something snarky, and Mom threw another box of bandages at my head.

It was the best Christmas ever!

Started on your Christmas Cards yet?
I bought them. Just like every year, I buy ’em with the best of intentions and then, after the holiday, I can’t send ’em because people will think I got them half-off which I really didn’t. 🙂 I might do them on the airplane when I’m traveling later this month.

If you want one, send me your mailing address. That might get me inspired to write ’em out before the holiday passes!

Do you bake Christmas cookies?
I haven’t in a coupla years, but if I can find a day to myself, I might do a few batches. My pretzel wreaths are the prettiest on the block.

Do you leave cookies out for Santa?
Santa can have oral sex if he actually shows up. I eat better than I bake. 😉

Can I refill your egg nog?
Yes, and when you’re done, you can stuff my stocking, too.

***QUESTION FOR YOU:*** You find yourself under the mistletoe with Goddess Dawn. What do you do?

I’ve been sort of couch potatoing today, and I was watching “Best Year Ever” on VH1 when people started talking about how Oprah rounded up her celebrity friends and took them to New Orleans to help out after Hurricane Katrina.

One of the people who was commenting on it, Doug Benson, said the funniest thing I’ve heard all day: “When Oprah says, ‘Jump,’ they say, ‘Which couch?'”

Nice segway from the earlier segment about that nutbag Tom Cruise making an ass of himself on her show. 😉

… Yeah, you, you dumb bitch. The one at the I-270/495 split. The cumb dunt with the SNOWDRIFT on your roof.

Here’s the deal: You’re too short to brush the snow off your big, honkin’, gas-guzzling monster of a vehicle? Then it is mandatory that you drive it off the American Legion Bridge. Seriously, Samantha is too tiny and lightweight to compete with a snowdrift hurling toward her at 72 mph — I almost lost control of her, you ignorant fuck, becauuse of your laziness.

Say hi to Hitler in hell for me. And Dubya, Saddam, Bin Laden and Bill O’Reilly, when they get there. *mwah!*

The end of “ER” tonight. Discuss.

My input? Eep!!!!

Anyone who knows me understands that my car is my temple. While I must live with the fact that my Samantha is dirty right now because of the snow, salt and sand on the roads (with more to come tonight. Whee), her insides are always immaculate. Even the trunk is organized!

However, after the past week of practically living in my car, a quick inventory revealed:

6 Coffee Containers (two from 7-11, one from Dunkin Donuts, two from Starbucks and one from home). Two have liquid in them. *squick*

10 acrylic nails (unceremoniously ripped from my fingers whilst sitting in traffic one night; they’re in one of the 7-11 cups)

3 pairs of high-heeled, sparkly Cinderella-type shoes for various events and some spares just in case I changed my mind

2 “spare” semi-formal outfits in case the others didn’t work out as planned for this week’s two holiday parties

2 sparkly headbands

6 barrettes

2 necklaces

3 pairs of earrings

1 bracelet

4 McDonald’s bags

2 Dunkin Donuts bags

1 Taco Bell bag

1 box of instant oatmeal — INSIDE a Godiva Chocolatier bag

2 tubes of lip gloss

1 menthol cough drop

1 abandoned cell phone

3 bags from Hecht’s (a May Company — er, Federated now)

94 napkins from varying food establishments

17 CDs, most of which are skipping and I’ve since thrown them into the abyss known as the backseat

and …

1 Post-It Note I wrote in traffic, saying: “Do we simply just get through this, or do we make it count? Which memory would we rather have?”

Actually, I took that last one into my office, so that’s one less thing I have to clean out of the car tonight!

Had the second of two work-related holiday parties last night. Got home at 1 a.m. (as opposed to only making it to Tuesday night’s event for a paltry 45 minutes before everyone jetted out at 7 p.m.), so I’d say last night’s was the better of the two. 😉

One of my buds used the phrase “wine shine” to describe how he was feeling at the time. And I loved it and had to use it as this entry title. 😉

As the handful of us who were still standing at the end of the night hung out and laughed and listened to stories, I realized that “wine shine” is indeed a perfect descriptor. Everyone looks prettier, everything is funnier, and there’s just a special level of genuineness that comes out when the world is turning through a slightly wine-tinted haze.

Even though I was sober, I realized I smiled a lot more than I usually do — I even laughed more and definitely hugged more people. Because I don’t do enough of that. I really don’t have people to talk to or to hug, and I wish I could remedy that somehow but really don’t know where to start.

The thing is, you come out of rare and wonderful gatherings like that, and you realize how much time you’ve wasted in your life. You reflect briefly on the people and places that siphoned too much of your energy in comparison with the people and places that now give you back your spirit.

You come to understand that feeling good really shouldn’t only be reserved for special occasions. And that while you’re lucky to get these glimpses of how life’s supposed to be, you rack your brain for ways to, if not always feel so good, then to find ways to make happy moments occur more frequently. So, of course, you don’t forget *how* to be happy, as so often happens.

And you wonder how to prolong the shine, but the least you can do is hope that, while you were busy being in awe of everything and everyone during those precious moments, they might have noticed that you were having the time of your life, too, just by being near them. Because you can’t wait till the next time, whenever it may be, to feel so alive again.

Every year around this time, Mom muses that men just get weird (well, more so than usual) around the holidays. She always says that they pull away or just plain act like shits — it’s genetic. Perhaps it has to do with the stress of the gift-buying season, but I hate to say it, neither of us ever really got anything from them — time or otherwise — during holidays past.

She said it again last night, just randomly, and I wondered if I am a man, baby, yeah! like that myself. I think there’s so much pressure to just get through the year — and the even bigger specter of all the things I *need* to accomplish in the new year — that I consciously try to simply keep it together for the remaining days of December.

And keeping it together is about all I am capable of achieving at this point in the year. Spreading joy is SO not possible right now. Perhaps instead of getting mad at those who seem to pull away for the holidays, we need to understand that there are definitely reasons (I should hope) and that we need to be respectful. I ask the same, although admittedly, I don’t know that I’d turn it away if someone, anyone just reached out to remind me that things will turn out OK.

I’m grumbling over a lot of little things that have bothered me for awhile but, at this time when everyone’s making resolutions to fix everything that’s wrong with their lives, the pressure’s truly on to start off the new year right. That means changing myself to stop obsessing about stuff and start figuring out what I can do to resolve that stuff — I need to obsess about the decisions and actions I need to take to finally get some peace of mind.

With my rent going up right now (and some bills sliding to the back of the priority pile because of it), I am really wondering about whether to suck it up and stay at my place for awhile or to just whore myself out as a fund-raising tool and just move already before the inevitable eviction notice arrives.

I was at a country club last night for a soiree, and during the drive there, I asked for some kind of sign about whether I should try to somehow save up for a move or whether I’d be better off paying more rent (and no moving fees) to stay where I am. Which means I need to hire a maid and get the carpets cleaned, but still.

My sign came at the coat check, when I went to claim my coat. My mind had wandered back to my wish for a sign about where to live. And when I looked at my claim check, my number was 703 — my current area code.

Not like I can’t take the phone with me, of course, but it was the sign I needed to fix what’s broken here before moving the mess elsewhere. My problem is that I don’t do well without deadlines and, at least with a pending four-month eviction notice, I knew I had four months to get my life on track.

Well, let’s consider this my six-month notice to myself to resolve all the junk I’ve been carrying for years as well as to find a new place that I’m not always scared to go home to on the first of the month, lest the eviction notice be lying under my door. I function well enough with uncertainty, but I’ve reached a point in my life where I need people, places and things upon which I can truly count.

“No Bullshit ’05” is drawing to a close. “No Bullshit — This Time I Really Mean It — ’06” (ha) is the real deal this time around. Even if I have to wiggle around on Santa’s lap for awhile to get my way, next year needs to rock socks. I need to rock socks. I am not giving myself another choice.