Caterwauling

Happy anniversary to me. I’ve gotten through one year on the job without killing anybody (or myself) or blogging about it. Whee! Celebration indeed!

I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I’ve seen more of the world than I ever dreamed possible. I’ve had hornets butterflies and I’ve seen victories. I’ve had days when I wondered what the hell I was doing with my life and others where I couldn’t for the life of me come up with a better place to be.

They say the journey of 1,000 miles begins with one step. Well, judging by my car, I’ve driven 21,000 miles, so I think it’s fair to say that I’ve logged more hours and done more commuting in a year than most do in three.

What a year it’s been. It was my “get back on my feet” year — there was a lot of convalescing done in my heart and in my head. But I got back to work, I got back into writing for myself, and I recovered my ambition to rejoin the human race.

This year is the “get back on my feet financially” one. As well as a continuation of rejoining the land of the living. There are certain life milestones that I assumed would never be for me. It’s not that I never wanted them — I just never figured they’d come to me. And it seemed that no matter how many hours I’ve ever worked or how many jobs I juggled at one time, I never felt like I caught up, let alone got ahead. And all of that came at the expense of not only being forced to start my career all over again, but also at passing up people who could have possibly been those with whom I could have been reaching those life milestones.

When I was leaving my old job, someone asked me why I felt compelled to blog so much of my life — in her (paraphrased) words, why couldn’t I just go out and find someone to date and just talk things out of my system and move on from them? I would have preferred to have a real, live human, of course. In response, I had inquired when I was supposed to find the time to meet someone when I had an ankle bracelet chaining me to the desk — I was too burned out to go be “on” for potential dates.

Those who’ve been with me through my many blog incarnations know that the format has changed, but not radically. I have gone from trying to teach lessons from my trials to just telling you, in the most roundabout way possible, what is happening in my world. But it occurs to me that by leaving out so much of the scary/sad/terrifying, I’m also depriving you of the evolution I’ve experienced to get to the other side of the moat.

I’ve met so many of you during the past year. And while we all aspire to be one thing online, it’s the offline characters who are truly captivating. I just wish there were a world in which we could all blog freely — because isn’t that the point? Growing together, learning from each other, enjoying who we are and having fun finding out exactly who that person is.

But we hide so much, and well, I guess that’s the way it goes and always will. I look at it as dating — you don’t want to know everything and then some about the person from the first minute. You want things to unfold, to incrementally get to know someone, to like the good points they show you before you get to the less-charming idiosyncrasies. And if there’s never another date, well, they get to remember you when you had your game-face on. It’s when the facade crumbles that we get into trouble, anyway. It’s when they decide they didn’t want you after all, or that they can’t live with the whole package.

Which is why I’m happy where I am for now. I can be me. It’s like you were previously in a relationship where someone tried valiantly to mold you into their version of perfect, and then you find someone who not only tolerates, but maybe even enjoys, you.

Imagine all the wondrous things we would be able to achieve if our heads weren’t so jam-packed with the sandbags of constant worry weighing us down. To take all the stressors and replace them with dreams, achievement, unwinding, pampering.

The world is missing out on so much — we deprive the universe of our talents and capabilities and creations when we’re fretting about dumb shit that won’t even matter when we’re dead.

I face today, and every day thereafter, knowing how far I’ve come (and knowing that I’ve traveled these roads twice before). So I’m not where I’d planned to be. But apparently the universe had a different plan for me than I did, and it’s in motion. And I can’t wait to see where I am next year at this time. …

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Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I *~*heart*~* photoblogging — I get to keep my whiny, widdle feelings to myself and you get to go, “Ooh, shiny! Pretty!” when you look at my photo albums.

I tossed up some photos from Las Vegas and Aspen, Colo., today. Mostly all are day shots — I have a psychotic addiction to nighttime landscapes, and not a blasted one of them turned out well, unfortunately. But, alas, that just means I’ll need to get back and try again. 😉

Most of these were taken with a 35mm camera or my camera phone. And after I took three measly rolls and one disposable camera to CVS, I wasn’t allowed out for less than $70. The hell?!?! No wonder the world’s gone digital — it’s EXPENSIVE to get “real” photos, half of which didn’t even turn out. Gah.

In any event, enjoy!

You don’t see me

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I so totally want to be a cat when I grow up. One of my cats, preferably — spoiled little shits that they are.

Here’s Kadi taking a break from terrorizing her older sister. I can’t believe I caught her in a peaceful moment — I didn’t think she had any! Lord knows she never lets me have one. 😉

Shopping bender weekend.

This is one of the hardest months for me financially in quite awhile, so how do I deal with my outright depression over winter and being back in my routine and feeling just outright “blah” in general about life’s incessant inanities? By taking the remaining “emergency” money from my moving fund and going to IKEA and a whole bunch of other places. Because, seriously. Winter clearance. w00t!

I got this pair of jeans that make my ass look great. And nothing makes THAT bejunked trunk look remotely bearable, so I bought them. Problem is that they just squish all the rolls elsewhere. LOL. I know I should’ve looked for a size bigger, but this is my motivation! To get off my ass and to eat better! Or to just stop eating altogether and save money for more shopping!

Ahem.

I have this problem that I’m between sizes, so shit either is snug as a bug in a rug (and I look like a fucking pretzel dog in it) or it hangs off of me.

Like what I’m wearing today, who the hell ever thought hipster jeans would look good on me? (That would have been me. But they were on sale last week for $11, and who could pass up a deal like that?) I bought a size too big, and good thing, because the legs were too short for me before, but as the jeans are hanging halfway down my ass, they reach my ankles. woo hoo! Shopping success!

In any event, I’ve cleaned out Old Navy, Hecht’s and J.C. Penney and a few other places I can’t remember right now. I won’t have money left over this month for groceries, but that’s fine, ’cause I have those new jeans I need to figure out how to squeeze myself into so I can wear them out in public!

Next payday, car repairs and a new cologne, although I should REALLY start saving up to move and for this exquisite wonder. … *drool*

It’s What’s for Dinner

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

You know how you can’t resist opening up the fridge and cabinets when you’re hungry, even though you just KNOW you have no food? Well, this is what I see when I open up my freezer.

I kid you not, there’s two regular Skyy vodkas, a Citrus Skyy, Irish Mist, Kahlua, Tangueray, Absolut Peppar, Creme de Menthe, Bacardi Rum, Captain Morgan spiced rum, Sour Apple schnapps, Hazlenut schnapps, Wilderberry schnapps, Cuervo, Grand Mariner, Amaretto, two little things of Chambord, Goldschlager and raspberry vodka and vanilla vodka. YUMMY!

I’ve had my new phone for about a month now, and I have yet to transfer over all my old address book entries from the previous phone. (I was with AT&T Wireless for years and was switched over to the Cingular network two years ago. Last month, I finally got myself fully upgraded to Cingular. Which means my previous SIM card is useless.)

So anyway, I’ve had sort of a problem with my stored phone numbers, because not everyone is listed by their proper name.

You might have seen the commercial with the chick who’s giddy over deleting her ex from her phone. She says how she gets rid of stuff from him or that reminds her of him, and the last step is to delete him from the phone, and it’s like he never existed. She’s downright delirious after finishing this ritual. Zap! He’s gone from her life.

Me? I don’t do that. What I do is change their names. So, I have a lot of “Assclown,” “Dipshit,” “Momma’s Boy,” “Psycho” and “Satan’s Spawn” types of address book entries.

And while it’s not that I want people like THAT to contaminate my new phone, but I feel like I should transfer them over anyway just in case they call so I know not to pick up EVER. But there’s so damn MANY of these crazy-ass monikers in there that I can’t exactly remember which one was which!!!

Would it be tacky to just contact all of them and ask who they are and then hang up on them? LOL. That way I can save the numbers while I’m at it. 😉 But can I trust myself to not exclaim, “Oh, that’s right, YOU’RE the assclown! And here I’d thought you were more of the motherfucker variety”?

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Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

This is Dawn. This is Dawn after a two-hour commute last night and four hours of sleep before gettin’ up to do it all over again. This (the photo) is where I wish I were right at this very moment.

I’ve come to accept that in northern and central Maryland, the land of two-lane highways, idiots will always ride in tandem. Do not pass go, do not pass ANYONE for that matter — just tailgate one until you get pissed off and move aside to tailgate someone else.

I am not a tailgater by nature. I am known to slam on my brakes to antagonize someone who’s up my butt when I’m already breaking the sound barrier speed limit.

But then for the past two days, on the GW Parkway (through Virginia and D.C.), folks have been riding next to each other on this non-Beltway oasis. What the HELL?!?! I know the speed limit ranges from 40 to 50 — and NOBODY does less than 65 in the rain or snow (I rarely let the needle drop below 70 mph).

So why god WHY were people driving side-by-side, both at 50 mph during my ride today? (Answer: Both had Maryland plates. And Marylanders CANNOT DRIVE.)

I jumped behind a Lexus in the passing lane — those fuckers don’t know where their brakes (or TURN SIGNALS) are, but I know for a FACT that they know where the gas pedals are — but no luck. So I tried to pass in the RIGHT-HAND lane, of all things, yet no luck there either. I had people up MY butt that I was trying to LOSE, too.

Fucktards. Put DOWN the coffee and pick UP a driver’s manual. I know nobody wants to be the lead car in the pack, but for god’s sakes, you’re no less conspicuous when you’re afraid to pass. Get the FUCK out of my LANE and let ME be the lead car — I’ll take my chances with the cops. Believe me, they know me on sight and already have the ticket ready to hand to me as I sail by!!! And I’d STILL get to work faster, being pulled over, than I am riding the snail trail of dipshit drivers every day of my life.

… I was wearing a velvety robe, snuggled under a fleecy blanket on a leather chair in a darkened room with spa music being piped in as I stared into a crackling fire.

(And let’s not talk about the vivid fantasies one has in that kind of environment. Oh, no. Perhaps the only bad thing about traveling alone is that there is NOWHERE to release all those little scenarios. *sigh*)

In that room (which I had all to myself, thankfully), I was also hooked up to an oxygen machine, if you can believe it, and the O2 was orange-scented. I’d just had a facial and massage and was deliriously, stupidly happy and pampered. My skin was clear from the mountain air and from the expensive treatment I’d just had (and charged to someone else. Hah), and Life was Good.

I totally get why the wealthy are oftentimes, well, assholes when they’re not treated like royalty. As I’ve never been treated like a VIP before, I had no point of comparison. But when you’ve got people falling at your feet and delivering little snacks to your door and basically kissing your ass because they think you have money, well, it’s not the most horrible feeling in the world. 😉 And then when you return to reality, you wonder why nobody else thinks you’re as special as the people who are paid to.

But alas, you do realize that of course you should be worshipped when there’s money involved, and you know they’d be indifferent toward you otherwise and that they’re really worth their tips if they can truly allow you to believe that you’re the most important person in the world for that brief time that you have with your instant, minor celebrity status.

What that means to me is that I’ve got to work on pampering myself. So I bought the expensive body cream that they used on me and gave myself a lovely foot bath tonight and slathered it on. Just the scent takes me back to that heated massage bed, where nothing mattered save for the fact that I was happy.

I’ve decided that, when money becomes a little less tight, I want to pick up a paraffin wax machine and maybe even some sort of microdermabrasion set. And that’s just to start — I just want to give myself little treats from time to time that remind me that I’m special when no one else is around to assure me of it, because I do forget.

The thing is, doing nice things for yourself and investing in good beauty products (i.e., not the drugstore variety) not only does wonders for your skin, but it also seeps through to a much deeper level. It makes you radiant inside as well as out. And, as I’ve found, no matter how much work you do on yourself from the outside in, it’s twice as effective (and takes half the effort) when you take care of yourself the opposite way.

This year is off to an amazing start for me. And I’m not slowing the roll anytime soon — I’m not letting myself fall to the bottom of the priority list like I always do. Because it’s harder to regenerate your spirit when you’re running on empty. So we take life’s moments, big and small, and not let them become a distant memory before we remember that *we* need attention more than anything or anyone else.

It’s funny — after my spa treatment, I went outside and knew I had a little smile playing around my face. And a guy stopped dead in his tracks to watch me. He even turned around. I laughed — it’s been awhile since I’ve had that happen. I looked back and smiled and kept on going, and it was then that I realized that I’ve worked very hard to make people think I’m having fun. But instead of trying to fool follks into believing it, I’m just going to keep having a blast.

It’ll pay to make life more enjoyable — it just means I’ll be around longer to experience even better moments. I’m not content to only have them in memories. …

“I’m not going to say the name of the airline, but it rhymes with Northwest.” — Larry the Cable Guy, “Blue Collar Comedy Tour”

As I’ve probably flown about 4,000 miles with that particular airline in the last month, I’m not going to say I endorse Larry’s follow-up statement that its flight attendants look like “the Oak Ridge Boys with titties,” but I can certainly understand the sentiment. 😉

In any event, I am usually the poster child for preparedness. Whenever I travel, I always, ALWAYS have a bag full of toiletries and a change of clothes or, at least, an extra pair of undies.

Unfortunately, that was not the case three nights ago. As I mentioned earlier, my plane got to my layover stop in Minneapolis about two hours after the last plane for D.C. left, so I was Screwed. Although, in retrospect, at least my plane got me closer to the East Coast — lots of folks got stuck in Aspen and had to afford a hotel for yet another night — my paltry $70 for the Holiday Inn was nothing in comparison to their $300 “distressed passenger” rate in Colorado!

Talk about distress — my airline kept my big rolling garment bag (my only luggage) hostage for the night. And it was the one time in my LIFE that I decided to not bring a bag o’toiletries on the plane with me — all I had was a purse and a pillow. Within said purse was a credit card, a thing of hairspray and a travel-size bottle of powder. Yeah, I need about seven TIMES that in the way of beauty products in any given day..

Good thing I liked the outfit I was wearing — I had it on for two days, save for overnight when I hung everything up to give it a break. 🙂

What’s sad is that my hair? Never looked better than that day. I even captured it on the camera phone, but I’m not sharing it. Because the formerly glowing skin? Gone. Eek.

Believe it or not, the adventure wasn’t so bad. The Holiday Inn (oddly) served me the best antipasta salad of my life. Although, I hadn’t eaten since 8 a.m. Mountain time and it was 11 p.m. Central when I got to the restaurant (as it was closing, no less). I didn’t sleep because I went from 1,000 threadcount sheets in the St. Regis to threadBARE in the Holiday Inn (so spoiled, I am!). But alas, I got up and hit the gift shop, where I bought a whole new set o’toiletries, and thus I was presentable for my journey home.

I have a funny story about the powder. In college, I used to always antagonize/entertain people with daily “powdered foot dances.” I don’t know why — I always dumped powder in my shoes, and what I’d do is take off my shoes outside the dorm room and do a little dance to shake the powder loose.

I don’t do that anymore — it was stupid then and it is now. But when I had to pull on Sunday’s socks on Monday, I rejoiced that I had the powder and dumped a little into my boots. Yeah, great idea to do that a HALF-HOUR before getting to the security line at the airport. So, somewhere in Minneapolis/St. Paul, where I had to take off my boots, there was a little powdered foot dance done. Leave it to me to leave my mark wherever I go. 😉

But the moral to the story? Never, EVER use your emergency undies during the trip — I used mine at the hotel in Colorado (after spending a few hours in the spa, believe me, you will need a change of guchies. Those massages leave *quite* the impression on your imagination. LOL).

Anyway, I digress. But yeah, there’s a reason I usually pack as many suitcases as the airline will allow, even for an overnight trip. Just because YOU think you’re going to get home on a Sunday doesn’t mean the airline has to deliver you there till Monday. They’re only supposed to deliver you there in once piece. And that they did, with underwear washed in the sink at the Holiday Inn and dried overnight and all. … 😉