Caterwauling

Good lord, I have to take out trash today. I swear, it’s always a bag of cat poop and another bag of discarded bottles. Yup, that’s me, clanging to the curb. Lord knows there’s no food in the house, but alcohol? Always plenty. Well, always plenty of remnants of it anyway!

I’ve had a tension headache for more than a week now. I haven’t had one in five years, but boy do these bitches render me ineffective. I lost my healthcare card in my move in April, but apparently praying to St. Anthony does work, as I asked for it and walked straight to it. Well, it was under my coatrack exercise equipment. Now if I could just find the sewing kit to patch up the hole in my sleeve caused by our shitty washers here!

No wonder my head is exploding. Tension headaches are fun — they don’t hurt, instead just really, really irritating you. Light is a killer, so I guess I should be grateful I don’t see much of it. It just feels like my eyeballs and my brain are simmering on a stove. The good news? I’ve lost five pounds, because I can only be bothered to eat once a day and that’s only so I have energy to get through it. I’m not sure whether I want to cure these things just yet — maybe in another week or two so I can get back into some clothes that I’ve been missing? 😉 (Ow, it burns to wink. Gah!)

Apparently just not outside the bedroom, kitchen, dining room or wherever you are riding your own personal stallion to glory, as they’ll expect they’re just the one that’s lucky enough to be let out of the stable. Grr.

Bug up ass explained: I’d had the pleasure of reading the Forbes article (that’s since been pulled from the site) advising men “Don’t Marry a Career Woman” today at work, of all places.

I just hopped over to Sabre’s and saw she has posted the highlights. I knew we could count on her to capture it, and with her razor-sharp wit to boot. Because, you know, we’re all a bunch of selfish, insatiable whores, so it must be true!

Another blogger did get the whole story, posted here.

From the article:

According to a wide-ranging review of the published literature, highly educated people are more likely to have had extra-marital sex (those with graduate degrees are 1.75 more likely to have cheated than those with high school diplomas). Additionally, individuals who earn more than $30,000 a year are more likely to cheat.

Maybe because more educated people are smarter at covering their tracks and are less likely to be dragged on some “Jerry Springer Show” or “Maury Povich” “Who’s the Baby Daddy, Part 10” reunion special?

I dunno. Just feels like the data is demonstrated what people have tried to tell girls for generations — you really CAN’T have it all. I’m not arguing (for the time being) … it’s hard to meet people when you’re at work all the time and/or stressed out over it. I’ve blown a lot of personal plans and alienated more than a handful of people because of work.

But have I found someone that I’m willing to prioritize? No. Not yet. Maybe. Again, I dunno. I’d rather be fostering a fulfilling personal relationship than advancing my eye strain from continually giving the hairy eyeball to my work PC. Meaning, the career is a necessary evil. And while I wouldn’t give it up in a heartbeat, I don’t expect for it to be the same one in 40 years. But for the same person in 40 years? I’d think the investment (and any professional sacrifices, like to squirt out a munchkin or *gasp* keep to a reasaonable schedule) would yield immeasurable amounts of dividends. But then again, what do I know? 😉

Come on ladies, especially those of us of the liberal stripe, The Wall Street Journal opines that liberals need to get cracking on multiplyin’ because our party and its support of birth control has limited our numbers! Hey, if our offspring are gonna determine the outcome in a swing state, it’s our civic duty to get down to bidness! 😉

It’s 1:15 p.m. and I haven’t even bothered to put on makeup. My eyes are so sore, I just want to throw them in a bucket of ice water and go about my day. Lord knows I type so much that I have worn most of the letters off of my keyboard.

I’m good, mentally, just exahusted in every aspect. And I think I’m catching a cold. And my butt itches. Damn it. Lights are off today, and ain’t nobody home!

Two years ago today, I put in my resignation at the job from hell thanks to the blog being found. I was scared, sad and strangely excited at the freefall I was taking. Spent five months peniless and angry and suicidal. Found God again and promised Him I’d bust my ass if he’d just help me find a job that didn’t completely suck.

It’s Tuesday night and I’ve already put in 24 hours of work. Haven’t accomplished SHIT this week and still have outstanding items that I’ve owed for two weeks now. But yeah, I kept my promise, all right. Next time, God, can I put in a request to be paid hourly? 😉

It’s the title of my autobiography. Watch for it. And yes, there IS a connection between the two!

Reader Poll Monday: Wedding Edition:

1. Where and when was the last wedding you attended?
June 11, 2006 — Tiff and Tom’s special day

2. What’s the furthest you’ve ever traveled for a wedding?
Probably 20 miles. I’ve never seen fit to buy gifts and also pay for transportation/hotel at some remote location. Send a check and have a free day, I say.

3. What’s your general opinion of weddings?
I used to be opposed to marriage in general, having never seen one work out in real life. But then I realized how many people don’t have that right, so I’ve come to regard it much more highly.

That said, most of the weddings I’ve been to have been pretty much low-fuss, low-key events, and I like that. The rare events in which the folks getting married are actually the ones in the driver’s seat for the event have been the best ones. It’s when parents and cousins and others start getting involved that things go haywire.

And matching bridesmaid dresses? Just cruel. We’re all shaped differently and we all look best in different colors. My one friend is a perennial bridesmaid and has about four dozen hideous dresses in her closet. But for one wedding, the bride’s mom custom-made sundresses for all the girls, and they were all encouraged to find simple, elegant black sandals. Read: an outfit and shoes you can wear again and again. And cheap! No paying $300 for some taffeta poufy mess you’ll hate for the rest of your life.

I was a bridesmaid in a commitment ceremony a couple of years ago. I got to pick my dress and shoes and everyone was happy I showed up and had a good time. I love that dress — I have no reason to wear it (or the stiletto sandals that matched) again, but I got both on sale and felt like a princess that day. It was like the grooms were the hosts and everyone else was an honored guest. That was a very happy day in my memory.

Weddings are supposed to be a celebration of the happy couple, but instead they can turn (in other instances than I’ve mentioned) into days that siphon too much money and effort from guests. Between shower gifts, bachelor/bachelorette parties, wedding gifts and new clothes, whether you’re in the wedding or not, it’s a wonder everyone doesn’t just send a check and wish them well without ever having to leave the house.

4. What’s your favorite wedding tradition?
Enjoying the open bar.

5. Least favorite?
Money dances. Gah. It goes back to “let’s milk the guests for each individual dollar they might still have on them.” We did lots of these in Pittsburgh, although I have yet to deal with one in D.C. You “get” the pleasure of dancing with the bride or the groom (your choice) but for a tip. It’s goofy, it’s tacky and it’s a ripoff. 😉

6. What do you usually give as a gift?
Cash. It’s not that I don’t have gift ideas in mind, because I used to always give Wedding Capsules (full of scrapbooking shit so they can record their milestones) and wineglasses and a halfway decent bottle of wine, but at this age, everyone has stemware and everything else household-related. Besides, cards are so much less cumbersome.

7. What’s the best thing you ever eaten at a wedding?
Any reception not held in a fire hall usually means decent food. I’ve had enough fried chicken and ravioli and homemade cookies at weddings to choke a horse. Tiff and Tom’s wedding featured the cuisine of the beloved Boulevard Woodgrill and cupcakes (in lieu of wedding cake) from Cake Love, and that’s the best combination I can think of!

8. What’s the most bizarre thing you’ve seen at a wedding?
Line dancing. Chicken dancing. Cake-smashing. I hate it when couples pummel each other with cake. It’s tacky. I also hate it when people show up underdressed (it’s not hard to find something other than jeans), and I hate it even worse when all the drunken uncles get drunk(er) and act simple.

9. Have you ever dated someone you met at a wedding?
I’ve met people at weddings but no one I ever ended up in a relationship with.

10. Would you rather have a big wedding or just elope?
I’ve always been an elopement fan, but it would really depend on the person I’d be with. I have a very small family and an equally tiny, but rock-solid, group of friends. I don’t need a lavish affair. But if having family and friends present is important to Mr. Someday, then I’d reconsider, but I’d insist on keeping frills and drama to an absolute minimum.

Last week, I got a fucking farmer’s sunburn — i.e., fried from the wrists to almost the shoulders. So yesterday, I had the bright idea that we should go to the Montgomery County Agricultural Fair because, well, I wanted to get my shoulders sunburned. A brilliant reason, no?

It worked in theory, but then again, this site pretty much chronicles my warped logic and the twisted results. 😉 My shoulders did get a bit of a burn. (I dared leave the house in a tank top. I know, Halloween came early! Sca-ry! But it looked so cute with my little denim cheerleader-type skirt that I couldn’t pass it up.)

But here’s the “of course that’s my luck” part. This morning, my shoulders are tan, and I am still tan from last week’s burn. The problem? They don’t meet!!! On each shoulder, I have a two-inch white stripe from where the respective burns did not even come close to meeting. Argh! My arms look like some designer’s bizarre gradient nightmare.

I guess life could be worse — I could have instead gone to the fair to blend in with the animal stink. Honestly, we were standing downwind of someone who had his/her/god-only-knows hands on their hips, and *barf* — it’s pretty bad when you can’t decide whether the manure smell is emanating from the four-legged or the two-legged attendees!

I finally got some sleep last night. Not much, but it was solid thanks to a lot of Yuengling and a fun night out with Sabre in Fairfax. (Yes, it’s possible to have fun in Fairfax. It just depends who you’re with!)

It was great to switch (however briefly) out of stress-puppy mode and into drooling-fangirl status, as we went to see our boy Jimi and his band Supine at P.J. Skidoos.

I met the nicest group of people there, Brad, Lois and Ray. Brad and Lois are married, and I just fell in love with them. Lois and I had this ridiculously existential discussion about finding one’s path in life and escaping the crap-catching that seems to plague our early careers. We discussed books and gave each other a reading list and other advice, and wow. I loved it.

Ray was sweet — he was funny and interesting and just plain cool. But he was also there to hang out with the pretty girls, and he loved Sabre and me. In fact, I think it’s pretty safe to say that he wanted for me to be his friend in a big way. 😉

The neat thing about Brad and Lois is that they had met at that very bar, and she was sitting on the same barstool that I was. Brad had joked to Ray, “That’s where Lois and I met five years ago, and this could be you two in five years!” I laughed and ordered another beer. Ray had said, “That’ll be us in five hours.”

My reply? “And it’ll be overwith in five MINUTES!”

When the band was ready to start, Sabre got us priority seating in what I was mentally calling the “hen house” (If you saw “Rock Star,” you’ll get it), as it was a bunch of braindead bimbos and us. They looked at us like, who the hell are we, and it was pretty obvious that they were sort of disturbed because we brought up the median IQ by triple-digits.

Well, I’m sure they weren’t that bad — the gal next to me seemed cool. But man, what a change in the air from the previous group of people I’d been talking to!

The band sounded great. They’re some good-lookin’ boys, I say. The bar didn’t exactly attract hotties otherwise, so I guess we just have to import them from Baltimore. 😉 (Come to think of it, I rarely met attractive men in Virginia, but I do have a thing for Maryland boys. Even if people in Maryland cannot DRIVE to save their lives!)

Sabre got trapped by Ray later on (to talk about me. AWWW), and I did catch him staring at me through the show. I wasn’t interested, but it’s always nice to have a man appreciate me. Wish more of them did! (*pointed look at one in particular*)

After the show, Sabre and I chugged a last round (woo!) and Jimi joined us. He’s just awesome. I mean, I have MP3s of him singing with Jimmie’s Chicken Shack, and I love a duet he did with the singer from Staind. And what I really like about him is that he’s been everywhere and done all kinds of things, and he’s tickled to death to be playing D.C. area bars because he’s doing what he absolutely loves for a living. He’s down-to-earth and appreciative that we give him the time of day, and that’s why I’m a fan. That, and Sabre bought me their shiny new CD, and the music’s damn good, too!

I used to be a groupie back in the day for a Pittsburgh band, really for my friend the drummer, who is now playing in an Annapolis-area band. I need to get my ass out of my comfort zone and go see him, as I was always the girl who was closing down the bar with the other band friends. Lord, the rounds of Kamikazes we’d consumed back then. Our Friday nights at the bar were the highlights of our lives, and I feel at home in that environment. I should invite him to Supine’s next show in B’more.

Oh, god, I really am a groupie at heart. Maybe that’s the career path that’s been eluding me for so long?!?! 😉

So it’s 4:20 a.m. and I haven’t slept in days. DAYS. I left work after 10 p.m. (with shit still undone) and grabbed a small sandwich from crap-ass Mickey D’s that’s given me heartburn ever since. (I love getting old.)

I’d thought about taking a sleeping pill (or 20) but when I have to be functioning at 7 a.m., it seems pointless to do it on a weeknight. So I’ve been pacing the house for six hours. Joy.

I did something stupid today and it’s part of what’s been on my mind tonight. I have business on the West Coast, so I booked that trip and smashed a trip to visit my best friend in-between. I’d thought I’d done soooo well with arriving in the city of business at 3 p.m. and taking off from the same airport at 5 p.m. to my other destination. But haaaaa, funny. Now that I’ve spent $800 in airfare, it occurs to me that I will have to pick up my luggage from the first flight, only to turn around and go check it into another fucking airline (at this major, international hub) and go through security again. And how big was the crack rock I was sucking on to give me hallucinations that this miracle could occur within two hours??!!

I know all I have to do is suck it up and pony up the extra money to change a flight somewhere, but I’m just so pissed off at that thought, I could die. Every penny counts around here. Lord knows I’ve had a pile of bills sitting on the computer that I haven’t been able to attend to for financial or time reasons (enh, a little of both). I just hate it when the best-laid plans are anything but.

And let’s not even talk about what I’m going to do with the fucking cats for six days. Christ, every night I come home to vomit and/or shit landmines in my pretty carpet, as they don’t like being alone for as long as I leave them and show their rebellion wherever possible. I could always leave them with hot neighbor boy, but whether I’d be able to get the key back is a question that I’m not willing to risk asking.

Oh good lord, I see someone I know on TV right now. I can’t escape them! AAAAHHHH!!!! Yay public access!

The good news is that if I can escape my world at a reasonable hour tonight, Sabre and I are going to go catch our favorite local rock star in concert. Pass the No-Doz, kids, as this late-night endeavor will mean no sleep again so that I can be up for 7 a.m. Friday. Call the waaah-mbulance; I’m too bleary-eyed to drive to be the designated driver to this pity party!

The to-do pile looms large on my desk, as tomorrow’s going to be another fustercluck and what did I do? I booked a fucking trip to Oregon tonight, that’s what I did. Damn it. It was sort of work-related. Well, in that mental-health-day capacity!

It’s the only thing I’ve done for me in a million and a half years, and I can’t wait to be in the same room with my best friend again. Even if there are two toddlers involved.

Next paycheck, I’m buying us some football tickets. I might even invite her husband, but seriously? Duck-watching is a girls’ sport. 😉

I guess I need to go find my pink Ducks’ T-shirt.

Um, *squee*!!!

*counting down the days till October. …*