Caterwauling

Subtitle: Adhesive-side up, day 2

Good GAWD.

OK, so I managed to get to the auto parts store for some antifreeze/coolant for the vehicle. I popped the hood (broke three nails on the hidden lever) and filled that bitch up. End of story, no?

No.

OK, I got the fixing-my-car stuff down, but flailed at the “being a girl” thing today.

All right, when hipster jeans became all the rage, I dutifully picked up five or six (OK, 12) pairs. And of course, I had to go find about 30 pairs of scandalous underwear to go under them as there’s nothing more horrifying to me than having one’s gutchies peeking above low-waisted jeans.

I love my gutchies. Really I do. I just don’t think sometimes and wear jeans-appropriate gutchies under suits.

Bad, bad Goddess. *spank*

So I’m standing in this crammed, tiny and obnoxious parking lot today, replenishing my fluids, and MY UNDERWEAR FELL OFF. I had sort of noticed that those silky lil numbers were sliding out of place a bit, as I didn’t have jeans to hold them in place, but God damn it my cooter was catching a breeze and I wasn’t enjoying it! I clamped my knees together and caught them.

I, of course, laughed my ass off and spilled coolant everywhere because of the irony that when I work under the hood, the girly pants fall to the wayside.

And yes, I did go home and change my gutchies, before you even ask. That’s all I’d need, to be in the elevator at work with someone important and lose my gutchies. Although, it would be a neat trick if anyone would happen to be in there who would be WORTH dropping one’s panties for!!!

My beloved Old Friend left a comment the other day that reminded me of something we used to say, years ago. When we’d encounter someone who was acting like someone had switched dynamite with their tampon, we used to say that it was an “adhesive-side up” day — i.e., that they’d put their pad on backward. Youch.

And it’s stuck (ha) with us, as there are some days when you just know you’re going to have to rip that glue off your skin and it ain’t gonna feel pretty. Kind of makes you want to get a pre-emptive Brazilian. (And not just a Brazilian housecleaner. 😉

In any event, getting back to my adhesive-side-up moment, my car? Has something wrong with it. I was about 55 minutes out of Northwest D.C. Sunday when something started stinkin’. My instrument panel lit up like a friggin’ pinball machine in the vehicle in scary redneck northern Maryland, much to my non-delight. Recall, I’d had the thing serviced on Saturday, so I was annoyed.

Today, I came home (on the rare occasion that it was still light outside, albeit barely). There I am in a suit and heels and iPod blaring out some Snow Patrol, with my car manual in-hand. And seriously, I cannot believe my luck, but a mechanic! walked by! Woo!

He offered to help, and he checked out the car and said I have zero coolant. (Which I had figured out with the manual, but he didn’t know that and it astounded me how easily it came to him when I’ve been wondering when the car’s going to go up in smoke so I can get out of this fucking loan and go get a new one.) 😉 I’m so sure I’m going to find time to get some before work tomorrow (not) or after it (ha), but at least I know what the problem is. My mom had been in the car and said it smelled like fish, and I was like, well, did ya wash your hoo-ha before I let you get in it? lol

That pisses me off because I was told all my fluids were topped off, so it’s possible that A) they lied or B) the thing’s cracked. And I just got my new insurance policy bill and let me tell you, it’s HIGH. Pfft. Good driver rates, my adhesive ASS!

In any event, I’m just happy that I got the hood open, but I’m even happier that God sent someone along today at the right time to give me that little bit of hope and encouragement that I’d been needing. Once in awhile, a day doesn’t end up sucking. Go figure. I guess a well-placed human interaction (read: a smile from a cute boy) can turn a day from sticky-side up to sunny-side up in the time it takes for a heart to beat.

Back in my old job-blogging days, this post on retaining top talent would have been reposted in its entirety on this site and commented on line-by-line.

These days, we just share the link and reminisce not-so-fondly about days at Club Medicated. No. 7 just SCREAMS of Caterwauling v.1.0:

7. Top Talent likes other Top Talent. What are the rest of the people around your top talent like? Many organizations keep some people on the payroll that rationally shouldn’t be there. You’ll get a litany of rationales explaining why when you ask. “It’s too hard to find a replacement for him/her….” “Now’s not the time….” However, doing exit interviews with the best people leaving big companies you often hear how they were turned off by some of their former “team mates.” If you want to keep your best people, make sure they’re surrounded by other great people.

Funny how I exchanged that sinking ship of non-achievers for a speedboat of overachievers this time around. It’s a weird transition to not be the shining star anymore, but at least it motivates you to not sail the seas of mediocrity simply because you can.

I can really go nuts over several others, especially No. 10, when everybody’s leaving but the boss. Well, you know, I’m sure it’s hard to dispose of Satan’s Handmaiden (two jobs ago) when she’s the CEO, so you just have to hire dumber people who are less sensitive to having their hearts ripped out with a chainsaw several times daily. But I’ve digressed. Either that or conjured up some memories that will prevent me from getting to sleep tonight!

Link via Magic Pot of Jobs

Because it’s required by blog law that I link to Sherri on Mondays, I was inspired by her celebrity collage enough to make one of my own.

I hate this photo of myself, but that’s the first photo I found and, let’s face it, I hate all photos of myself. I do want to try it with another one — I mean, on what planet would I be confused with Tara Reid? (Minus the drinking problem!) 😉

Speaking of which, I just picked up a beautiful bottle of Belle Vallee — the ’04 Pinot Gris. Might as well crack that bitch open tonight. *glug*

I have oft waxed poetic about my love affair with designer colognes here. And it’s funny because, in addition to people always stopping me and swearing that they know me from somewhere, they also sniff me and say I remind them of somewhere or someone.

Last week, I was wearing my current favorite, Calvin Klein’s Euphoria, when someone swore I reminded them of someone they knew, years ago. Then I was at the mechanic’s on Saturday, wearing Obsession (more Calvin Klein), and the girl behind the counter came out, sniffed me and swore she knew that scent from somewhere. We had a great talk about how scents can transport us back in time 10 years and across state lines.

And then today I spritzed on some Japanese Cherry Blossom — a freaking $5 body splash I picked up from Bath & Body Works. And my neighbor, when I walked by her space, suddenly remembered her two favorite aunts — the one had traveled to Japan a lot and the scent reminded her of their living room.

But the funny part? When I gave her the bottle to examine/use, she said she didn’t get the same feeling of familiarity with just the bottle — that it was something within my own chemistry that amped it up.

That’s why I have so many different bottles. It’s kind of like vodka — you never know whether you’re going to want vanilla or raspberry or coconut or pineapple or even plain, so you just need one of each. 😉

It is interesting, though, how some things smell horrible or less-than-pleasing in the bottle, yet when they’re on someone, they’re completely different. With me, I suppose I have such a strong personality that I can carry off the bold scents. I hate fruity scents — give me spices and florals any day. I also notice that one spritz is enough for me — any more and it’s like I’m Pigpen but with a perfume cloud. I suppose it’s that I refuse to go unnoticed, and my perfumes tend to react accordingly and comply.

After not wearing heels for two days, man these pointy bitches are driving me up the fucking wall. 🙂 I managed to get a sunburn yesterday for the brief time I was above the Mason-Dixon line, so I’m a wee bit, oh, hot today too.

I know, bitch bitch bitch!!! 🙂

I hate it that I don’t hit my stride in the day till after 1 p.m. Seems like a waste, all the hours before it. I have never really worked less than an eight-hour workday in my life, but if I could just hit the *right* hours, I could take it from 12 hours to six and a half, and the productivity level would remain the same.

I remind myself of a not-skinny “Ally McBeal” — when someone asked her why her problems received so much drama and emphasis, she’d replied simply, “Because they’re mine.”

Yesterday I had the bright idea to go get an oil change at my friendly neighborhood mechanic’s. Turns out, I drove all the way out to BFE and they’re not even open on weekends. Gah.

So, I hauled ass all the way back to Alexandria to my old mechanic where I’ve taken my car for the past four years. And whee, that $30 oil change turned into $100 to include power steering service. Which, I learned now that I probably could have done it myself for $7, but don’t say that to someone who isn’t overly sure how to release the hood. (Damn latch; I always cut myself on it.)

My other goal for the weekend (other than getting to Pennsylvania, which I did today) was to go see “The Last Kiss.” Because Zach Braff? *fans self* Seeing his lips on a movie screen is enough to make me happy for a few hours. 😉

A REVIEW WITHOUT SPOILERS

Let’s say neither the film were the soundtrack were anywhere NEAR the magnificence of “Garden State,” but not bad, in any event. We got back Cary Brothers and Coldplay (thumbs-up and thumbs-down, IMHO), and Snow Patrol’s “Chocolate” was in there, but I doubt I’ll do anything more than grab a couple of MP3s and not the whole album. (I’m still annoyed that on the new “Grey’s Anatomy” soundtrack, you can only buy the acoustic version of “Chasing Cars” with the whole album.)

Oh well. It’s hard to live up to perfection when you achieved it the first time around, hence why I will never have the problem of wanting to return to any mythical “glory days” because they have yet to occur. 🙂

In any event, when the hell did theaters stop offering matinee prices? I mean, it’s highway robbery to charge us $9 or $10 plus whatever online fees we incur for the regular show, but at least getting off for $7 or $7.50 wasn’t too terrible in comparison. Some of my local theaters only offer “cheap” prices before noon, if at all.

LACK OF SELF-CHECKOUT SHOULD BE A CRIME

And damn it to hell, I raced from car odyssey to theater, only to miss the morning showing by 10 freaking minutes. I would have ducked in late, but the ticket agent was all chatty with the people in line and I wasn’t getting anywhere. I tried all six ticket kiosks but each one said to go to another kiosk to make the purchase. Argh! I did go back and got behind every fucking moron on their cell phone who had 9 million questions for the two box office people. Dimwit in front of me was calling his friends in the car, supposedly, and asking when the next showings were. (The whole day’s listings are on the fucking billboard, illiterate. Gah.)

In any event, “The Last Kiss.” I really liked it, only for the fact that it’s the way I write. (I know it’s a remake. Bear with me.) I could/would have written that film, given the time and budget. 🙂 I like those heart- and gut-wrenching moral dilemmas. I absolutely get Braff’s character, who’s wondering if there are any surprises left in life.

SOME DAYS, I THINK MARS SHOULD BE A DWARF PLANET

I kind of got mad at Eric Christian Olsen’s character (I got him, but his actions annoyed me as a chick). Now, I was just happy to drool over the long-haired hottie from “Rent,” but his overnight relationship with “Danielle” reminded me of someone from 100 (OK, five) years ago. It’s a Mars/Venus thing, of course. She asked him to drop by at 8 p.m., auspiciously for sex but actually to meet her parents. And he ran for the hills, never to return to her again.

Now, I’d never pull such a stunt — I have introduced exactly zero of the people I’ve dated to my family. Mostly because occasion never really arose, but also because I learned the hard way that it’s a Big Thing to meet the family. Which, I don’t get, but I suppose that I have to. I happen to like my family. Most of the time. 😉 So to me, introducing someone to them means exactly nothing insofar as getting serious. (Does meeting the parents imply a ring is coming? I don’t get it. Really.)

Hell, my family wishes they could meet someone who’s ever lucky enough to occupy cognitive real estate in my world. I highly doubt they’d hire a wedding planner (they can’t afford to, for one!) — instead, it would just secure it in their minds that I’m mostly straight. 😉 My family has one rule for my dating life: Don’t bring home any terrorists. Anyone else would just be accepted as someone I haven’t gotten too annoyed with yet!

Anyway, I didn’t mean to call the show a “$9 nap.” It would be for men, though, minus some rather hot sex scenes. I didn’t really like Jacinda Barrett, not that I like Rachel Bilson either, but I identified in a big way with Rachel’s “Kim.” I loved the ending, not necessarily for where he ended up but literally for the way the movie closed.

That’s a very “me” type of ending. I’m satisfied with questions. I’m put off by resolution. It’s almost like I enjoy being in existential limbo — at least I know there’s still hope for better things, no matter what they might be. Because when you have to make a choice (and believe me, I know that fork in the road altogether too well), you just have to plunge ahead in one direction, but that doesn’t stop you from knowing in your heart that you have to leave something behind and hoping against hope that the road might bring you back around that cul-de-sac one last time to get it right if you didn’t already. …

Calling all MySpacers (come out of the closet of shame — we know you have an account), I need you to help my favorite Bostonian-turned-Pittsburgher-turned-Bostonian again.

Give Cope some linkluv — it’s a worthwhile cause. Who among us can’t identify with someone who left the soul-sucking world of journalism to pursue freelance work and entertaining, life-affirming projects?!?! (Oops, Freud, your slip is showing!)

Whored from the (mass! Gah! LOL) e-mail:

“[We] are trying to sell a television series concept we wrote based on our time at summer camp. The process is going better than we could have ever expected, but we still have a long way to go. A big part of the process now is a grass roots effort to create buzz….

“So if you use MySpace, please go to http://www.myspace.com/campmorewood
and add us as a friend (the page is still very much in the construction phase but it’s being written from the persona of one of our lead characters).”

Go on. Do it. It’s better than reading another vaginablog entry here. 🙂 And there’s a free T-shirt in it for the first 100 people who add this happy camper as a friend, so hop to it!

It occurs to me that people think I play games when the only thing I am ever trying to do is preserve what little of myself that I can. I just need to be handled with kid gloves right now. That’s all. Even if I’m the one who has to slide on the gloves and handle me with care.

It also occurs to me that I don’t just make the occasional questionable decision. When a choice I make turns out to be not the best one, it spirals into a 14-karat fuckup with seemingly unlimited waves of aftereffects. It’s what keeps me from taking even the smallest chances sometimes. Hence being fra-gee-lay at this particular moment.

I’ve been in a weird little depression lately, and I swear it would take a stick of dynamite to blow me out of this funk. And I only got to see the last half of “House” tonight, but it was that TNT enema that I needed. I identify with him so much — someone exceptional who is always getting frowned upon and, this week, deprived of a true victory that could have brought him out of his miserable mental state and helped him to save someone else.

That’s exactly what’s wrong with me — I have nothing left to give. I just get into my little hamster wheel and keep spinning until I can’t see straight. Forcing my heart to be present isn’t happening right now — my heart needs to go join my muse who’s off sipping margaritas in Tahiti while I watch the leaves die and fall and crumble beneath my feet. I asked myself if X or Y happened, would it help? And the answer was a big fat “I don’t give a shit either way.” I am House. I do not cease to give a shit until there’s a happy fucking ending in it for everyone and maybe even a feeling of, if not victory, then non-defeat.

Someone said something that stuck with me today, that why should I be different than others. I guess it meant I’m not unique — that when it comes down to it, I don’t stand out. Screw it — I am different in every possible way. I’m special, damn it, but you’ve got to dig for it. I’ve just spent a lot of time being punished for it, but that doesn’t stop the fact that I am not and never will be like everyone else. And I happen to LIKE who I am, so instead of apologizing for it, I just don’t always let it out there.

God, this blog has turned into a dark little place lately, no? I’m going to go finish drinking that bottle of Riesling that I uncorked last night. Still too lazy to reach up to that middle shelf for a wine glass, though. 😉

[audio:TheSecondDay.mp3]
Kendall Payne, “The Second Day”

No comments about my music choices. 😉