Caterwauling

What is it I always say about small victories still being victories nonetheless? I just got into my favorite jeans that I’d unfortunately, uh, “outgrown” before I’d even cut the tags off. They were hella on-sale when I got them a year ago, and I didn’t want to admit that my pudgy pork roast ass didn’t quite fit into them.

I could still stand to lose a few (OK, more than a few) but I’ve been resisting throwing these jeans away because I was absolutely in love with them from the moment I saw them. Maybe I’ll accept a date offer I’ve been avoiding after all — at least now I have something to wear!

I know it makes the baby Jesus cry to have denim in my workplace, but I at least have to wear them for the drive. Celebration and rebellion are sometimes interchangeable, and today is one of those days.

Squee!!!

Is it ghetto to uncork a bottle of wine and drink it straight from the bottle?

*glug*

Reader Poll Monday, the only thing I look forward to about this hideous, wretched excuse for a day.

1. Are you as sick as I am of being smacked in the face with 9/11 every 5 seconds? Yes, it was a big, awful tragedy, but why the need to devote so much time, energy and money to making us all re-live it over and over and over again?
Um, yeah, I’m over it. Did we avenge it? Did we get the bad guys? Why is it we’ve got the asshole with the (theoretically) biggest dick in charge of the free world but we haven’t found weiner-dick bin Laden? Christ, he’s like the goddamned gopher in “Caddyshack” and we’ve got Bill Murray trying to take him out. GAWD.

The conservative press yaps that the more the liberals question/criticize our country’s actions, the stronger the terrorists become. Or whatever the argument du jour is. What a crock of shit. The more we question, the more we learn, the more we can move forward. Maybe we don’t need to share everything with the public, but instead of Tweedledum gleefully playing war with his buddies, maybe he can invite some devil’s advocates into his playroom to supply a balance and we can all find a nice, rational middle ground and solve this shit once and for all.

2. What’s your favorite kind of cookie?
Icing cookies. There’s this bakery in Pittsburgh, Kribel’s, that makes the best cookies with awesome white frosting that’s always tipped in some season-appropriate color.

3. Do you wear a watch?
Nope. Have 20 of them. But the cell phone’s time is always updated, so that rules.

4. Coffee or tea?
Javaaaahhhhhh!!! Sweet and light, please.

5. Would you rather eat a roll of toilet paper or eat a kitchen sponge with a scrubby side?
Am I to assume that neither one has been used? TP, then. I can use the fiber. 😉

6. Do you regularly burn candles at home?
I wouldn’t be a good little witch without them. And I use my powers for good.

7. What is the last thing you did to treat yourself?
I am waiting for payday to have enough money to get my migraine prescription filled, although if people would just stop giving me headaches, I could save the money and get a manicure.

I treat myself inexpensively. I have to. Designer clearance racks are my weakness — got two pairs of dress pants a few weeks ago for $12.99 each that had retailed at $89 apiece. They’re a little long (or I’m a little short) but seriously, they were CHEAP! Nice things for sub-retail price bring me joy.

The little things have to make us happy because for most of us, the small things (to others) ARE the big things.

8. Would you rather be lied to by someone you love or forced to lie to someone you love?
I’m not a good liar but I will not withstand being lied to, so let me do the lying, thanks.

9. Have you attended any of your high school or college reunions?
Fuck no to high school. College, sort of. I liked college. I had a solid group of friends freshman year, and most of us are still in contact, even if by degrees of separation.

10. Ask me something.
Is it me, or does it seem like the joke is always on us?

By 9 a.m. today, I’d washed four loads of laundry, cleaned the kitchen and been hit on. Yay insomnia. What a day already!

AIN’T NO HOLLABACK GIRL

I’d had to leave to refill my laundry card, as I had two bucks left on it and two more loads to dry. I happened to have five bucks on me because I’d hit Coinstar so that I wouldn’t be completely broke till payday. Some dude in a car started following me, slowing down to holla out the window. Seriously. I’d just gotten out of the shower and thrown on a tank top and a short denim skirt. No makeup, skin a veritable wreck, mosquito bites all over my legs from an outdoor party last week. (Try shaving over it. Ouch and oh yeah, scars for sure. Wondrous.) He was cute, but as a rule I don’t go out with people who don’t at least get out of the car to catch up with me. 🙂

PEACE, SORT OF

After yesterday’s rant about thinking about going back to Pittsburgh, I feel strangely better. Still no decisions, but the weight that’s been on my chest crumbled a bit. It’s not what I really want, but I think I’ve been caught up in thinking that this is it — this is all there is. And it’s not bad but it’s really not good.

I know exactly what it is that I need to get out of this time in my life, and I’m tired of just hoping for it. I need to grab life by the balls and quit letting it happen. The universe needs a copilot. It’s time to step up and start directing this voyage and quit whining that it’s been in cruise control.

That said, I’m going to ask if I can take that vacation after all. It’s only two days and I’m going to start losing my vacation time because I don’t take it. I need some joy.

SPEAKING OF JOY

I’m not sure how fully I can participate in NaNoWriMo this year, but I’ve started outlining my next book. Read: I got drunk last night and started typing and it just so happened to make sense.

One day I might finish the other books that I started in previous WriMo competitions, but whatever. I’ll fill in the plot holes later once I know how I want everyone to turn out. I’m struggling already with the new one, though. I need to go on tour with a rock band or something, as I can tell I will be pulling this story out of my ass. I wonder if I can get a leave of absence from work for this.

I hear about dipshit Lindsay Lohan and other stars getting to drop out of life due to “exhaustion.” Why can’t I do that? I’m exhausted with not being a published novelist yet!

PLAN B

It’s birth control, people. Not cyanide. All the conservatives who are against it, well, just because you can afford to feed a family of 40 doesn’t mean the rest of the world should have to find themselves knocked up because of whatever circumstance brings it on. Take it as a chance to educate the public about a bigger danger, STDs. Plan B ain’t gonna prevent those.

And here’s a big tip for ya: I bought some Plan Bs back in the day. It used to be five or 10 bucks a pill, and it was a nice insurance policy. And guess what? Never used any of them. They expired and I threw them away. Not due to inactivity (at that time, anyway!) but due to the fact that those who are smart enough to have backup on-hand are the ones least likely to need it.

9/11

Am I the only one who’s a little bit resentful at all the pomp and circumstance and ceremony at what should be a private event? It belongs to all of us, even those of us who weren’t personally affected, but seriously. I have always thought it was a government conspiracy to build “brand loyalty,” as it were, to our country.

I think it was orchestrated beautifully to make it appear to be a terrorist attack. I think in the grand scheme of things, 3,000 lives lost was a small price to pay on the government’s behalf for the ability to go swing their dicks around the world in the name of retribution and peace and whatever else.

Failing it being an in-house job, I suspect that intel really was discovered and just not hindered and possibly even helped. (Shut up, I’m a conspiracy theorist. Research not required. Tin foil hat is the only tool I need!) So we can sit around and sing Kumbaya all we fucking want to, but it’s not going to bring those lives back and it’s not going to restore the faith we once had that we were untouchable in that respect.

Anyway, I remember on the one-year anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001, my company staged a love-in. All 50 of us sat in a circle while the CEO fished candles out of his pockets, lint and all, to light. Gross. Much like on the day of 9/11, I wasn’t sure I would have minded the building being bombed. Death wishes are fun — you just cease to care about how the pain stops, just so long as it does.

I know, I know, blah. But to see all these widows getting remarried and having more kids within five years annoys me. I don’t think I’ve managed to have a significant relationship in the past five years. Insignificant ones, sure. 😉 Now, I’m not going all Ann Coulter here (*shudder*) but damn, if these women can get on with their lives, what the hell am I waiting for?!?!

I had planned all day yesterday to write a shiny happy post about how ma Stillers whooped the collective fins offa the Miami Dolphins Thursday night. 😀 But alas, an 11-hour workday called and that ended that dream.

Lachlan popped up and made my day just by simply existing. She’s one of those few people who asks how you’re doing really, and if my IMs weren’t monitored and logged, there would have been a real answer other than the brief but honest, “Sick of not having something to look forward to.”

Not only do I have nothing to look forward to, other than paying a lot of fucking fees for the canceled vacation I never should have scheduled because it interfered with work, but I have some old wounds reopening and I don’t know how I’m going to survive them.

Those of you who’ve known me forever know that I met my best friend at Club Med, that horrible wretched waste of prime real estate that I joined in 2002. We started there the same week, and it is the only positive thing either of us has to say about the place. Had we not gone there, we would never have met and formed the most amazing friendship either of us has ever known.

She left this coast in ’04, a month before I was run out of town on a rail. I died inside, having lost absolutely everything. It’s when I just stopped having faith in life actually working out. It’s not a happy time in my memory.

So when my best buddy at work — we started on the same day, our offices are two doors down from each other — took me aside before he told the masses that he was leaving, the part of me that had become OK again fell apart.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s such a treasure that I want the world for him. In another lifetime, he would have been “my type,” but surprisingly for as funny, smart and attractive he is, I was never attracted to him. Instead, I came to love him as my brother. I’ve told him oftentimes that I should pay him for all the therapy he provides.

Our team is a great one, but there is a special bond between the two of us that I am heartbroken that it has to go away in its present form. We all look out for each other, but it’s even more so with us. I never thought I’d find another friend at work like the one who’s 3,000 miles away, but this came close. And I don’t even want to tell you how many times tears have sprung to my eyes, just knowing that time is fading.

The nature of the beast is long hours and no escapes. And even though “they” tell you that’s not right, the example has been set and so has the expectation that you be ready to spring into action on a second’s notice. I tried taking a semi-annual lunch hour a week ago only to have that foiled (I have a password-protected entry somewhere around here on that) so you just stop trying. The only real change we get is when we crawl out of our windowless, airless ofices for a quick five-minute visit. We stay close enough to our phones/computers that we can hear them if urgent work rolls in, and we get a bright spot in the day. And somehow, it’s enough.

I am going to miss our daily banter and the professional support we give each other. I am the town gossip, no question. Well, rather, I am always the one in-the-know. And if it’s benign or juicy enough, I’ll visit and say, “I’ve got gossip!” So his way of telling me he was leaving? Came in and asked, “Heard any good gossip lately?” So there I was, in-the-know, and wishing I could die on the spot.

I kept it to myself, of course. Till this blog entry. 😉 (Our beloved boss already knew; I was second in line, which I appreciated, because you don’t leave this department! You stay there forever! If you leave, we make you leave the state, and he’s headed back to Pennsylvania (where we’re both from). Gah! Too far away!!!)

I chastised him for breaking our boss, telling him to fix him by staying. But I’m broken, too. I have so very few friends outside of work. I don’t get out much anymore, and I love the few who are good enough to miss me and include me when they can anyway. I always joke with my buddy that I am the reason everyone goes home to their wives and girlfriends, so happy that they’ve seen the trainwrecks out there (i.e., me) and can appreciate their women so much more.

Anyway, I have a million more wonderful things to say about him, but alas, it’s not a eulogy. He’s moving down the street from Chris and Pratt, so I literally have no excuse not to wander up to see all my boys. 🙂

I know life and the long evenings will go on, and I’m damn lucky to have met a dynamic individual who has helped me more than he can ever realize or that I can ever articulate. But that’s not stopping my heart from breaking anew and feeling like I’ve lost my best friend all over again.

I talked to my best friend, incidentally, last night for three hours till both of our phones died. She complimented me, reminding me that she knows how hard it is to be single and broke and working a lot and losing friends left and right in a too-expensive, not-compassionate city. She praised me for “making it.” I told her this isn’t making it — this is getting by. And it’s days like this when you see one of your friend’s lives falling into place because they’re exiting Dodge at high speed.

I was watching the Steelers win the other night, and just seeing the city, the buildings, the bridges and the river and the beloved fireworks displays. And, well, I missed it. I didn’t want to go back to Pittsburgh when I wasn’t working because that spelled defeat in a big way for me. But to go back on my own terms? I wonder. I really wonder.

The real draw is not the city itself, which I love to visit but only that, but my family is all I have and they’re too far away. Every day, I wonder if the phone is going to ring and it’s going to be the day that my grandfather’s aneurysm bursts, or this is the day my mom just can’t take another day. I feel like I am wasting so much time just trying to scrape and claw my way to somewhere I’m just not getting, when they at least need me.

I’m not making any decisions on that yet. It’s just something I need to come to terms with, one way or another. It’s a time of transition; I think it should also be a time of change, and right now, miracles are OK, too.

In any event, I lit some candles for my friend last night. And I did something I rarely do — I asked the stars for a vision, just to tell me that everything will work out OK for him. And the vision I got back was so much bigger than I expected. He will be fine. He will thrive, even. And I saw him coming back to D.C. (that’s where I was) to watch me get married. Wow. 🙂

Wishful thinking? Sure. Let’s go with that. But in my little vision, I was at an altar, and I happened to catch his eye somewhere far away, and he smiled at me like he always does. And that alone is probably what got me to sleep last night. Not only that I convinced someone’s fool ass to marry me 😉 but that it’s a real friendship that doesn’t end here.

And for once, the tears? Became happy ones.

Fourth quarter. Steelers down 3 points. Me drunk on the body of Swirl. (Metaphorically, kids.) Woo!

I don’t know if my intoxicated ass will be awake to watch my boys win. But damn, hot pants. *fans self* God save the queen and hail that bitch for spandex. I *~*heart*~* watching boys from behind. I honestly admit, I don’t know shit about the game, but I do adore watching it nonetheless. I shall have sweet dreams tonight! *hiccup*

In strange news, here it is two years to the day that I left Club Med, and I got a call from a constituent who happened to be a big fan of mine. Good tidings, blah blah blah do I want to do some work for them? *thunk* I’d let it go to voicemail and I need to call back tomorrow, but uh. Wow.

The person went to great lengths to find me (i.e., letting the people who hate me that they wanted to get in touch with me), so happy happy joy joy. I love being a perennial thorn in their asses. 🙂 It especially entertains me that they have no use for the current staff there, that I stuck out in their minds that much. Well, duh! Talk about a way to get my attention. 😉

I hope it’s freelance work. Goddess knows that the super-ball consistency of the checkbook right now will be rather difficult to recover from. Full-time work would require daily butt (or other girly bit) smooches. I’d do anything for those!!! 😀

All right, first of all, GO STILLERS!!!

That said, who the hell thought that Rascal Flatts and, god love her, Martina McBride are appropriate song acts for Pittsburgh? Bruce Springsteen or Bon Jovi weren’t available? The Clarks? Seriously. Classic rock, people.

Awww, Franco Harris looks good! I haven’t seen him in person since 1997. And Lynn Swann! Met him in ’98. Martina was great. Of course. And I felt a weird wave o’ nostalgia, watching fireworks over the city I couldn’t get away from fast enough. Everything looks better when you look over your shoulder. *sniffle*

I’m just pissed off that I can’t find my Terrible Towel. I’ve found reams of old purses and porn as I’ve set about destroying the house, looking for it. If I find said towel, I should use it to clean up the Terrible MESS I’ve created!!!

Just in casual conversation, I wondered aloud whether anything would change. I see a lot that goes right, but a hard-to-ignore amount that’s broken. I also see opportunities to fix what’s broken. But the answer was probably not. I posited that broken is the new functional — we could choose to thrive or choose to survive. And by default, if survival wins, it’s still a victory, sadly enough. Even if we don’t have time to wash off the oozing wounds before the next battle begins.

Anyway.

Because Sabre is so goddamned smart and articulate (happy belated birthday, babe! The party was LEGENDARY! *mwah!*), her latest rant got me to thinking. For those of us who refuse to operate under any illusions, we don’t appreciate those who spin their lies so eloquently that even they are shocked when you call bullshit on them.

To wit:

As I’m looking through blogs, and yes, I stumbled upon some that are written by people I know, I’m almost stunned at the amount of disingenuous nonsense I’m reading. Hello? Why on earth would anyone do that?

Okay so we are here to meet new people, score a date, maybe even find love. Okay, cool, I’m getting that. But why on earth would anyone waste their time typing up blog entries about the type of person they are that is simply not true?

Is it possible that they think this is the way to find love? Oh my. Come here children, let Mistress Sabre impart some wisdom upon your fool asses. If you are just looking to score some easy action, rock on with your bad selves. Tell fantastical stories about the goodness of your soul and kindness of your nature. Ramble on about finding beauty in streams and rivers. Talk about your inner strength and independence as if the world relied upon it. Reinvent yourself as many times as it takes. Knock yourself out.

But…

If you are seeking something else, and I see that a lot of people are, then maybe the trick is to stop spending so much time trying to convince everyone how wonderful and noble and awesome you are, and start spending more time being real. Because here’s the trap you are getting ready to stumble right on into: after dating your new found someone for a couple of weeks, a couple of months, hell it may take a couple of years for the slower natured of us, your true self is going to come out. And that is not to say that there is anything wrong with your true self, it’s probably a fantastic self. But it’s not the person you advertised.

It’s funny, the way people want to be perceived. But just because you write that you are special and fabulous and original and caring and God’s freaking gift, believe me, you need to qualify that statement. What you think is God’s gift might, to us, be a bag of flaming dog poo on a doorstep. (Read: Explode elsewhere, please.)

There are those of us out there who really do want to believe that wonderful people are out there. But we’re also smart enough to know that anyone who sells themselves as perfect is someone who has already lied to us before we’ve even met them.

We all sell the “new and improved” versions of ourselves, which means most of us know that nobody’s perfect so don’t bullshit us that your shit doesn’t stink. The deepest and best relationships (friends, employment, etc.) have been the ones in which everyone was completely themselves in the beginning. I respect the person or the workplace that says look, these are our shortcomings. Maybe not in the first conversation, but I dig anyone who doesn’t claim that everyone sits around singing Kumbaya, holding hands and having a love-in, as standard practice.

I am sort of fired up because I know exactly where Sabre is coming from in that post. I had an ex who posted an ad in the City Paper back before Teh Internets saved us from many a lonely night. 😉 I remember his ad — I wanted to date the person who was advertised! Oh wait, already had. Hah.

But seriously, he sold himself as witty, intelligent and attractive. My girlfriends read it, and I’ll never forget my friend Becky, who looked appalled and said, “Somebody should sue him for libel!”

I don’t know. He did get a lot of responses. Nobody really stuck around, though. I guess where he and I differed is that he was quick to put himself “out there” and get a date, no matter how much he had to lie his ass off to do it. 😉 (Just kidding, he had to have more than a few redeeming qualities to get any attention from me!)

But I’m the opposite. I put my heart on Teh Internet every day of my life, but I never really actively seek the romantic affections of strangers. I do have a dating profile or two out there, and they’re sparse. I don’t tell you more than you need to know. I expect for you to know that there’s a lot more to learn than I could ever publish, and I refuse to sell you on something I can never be.

If you’re brave enough to get close to me — and I will let you, if I think I should — this ride is not for the faint of heart. I will expose you. I will find your wounds and maybe even pour salt in them sometimes, but I have the power to heal them. I am trained to hear what people say and to pay even more attention to what they’re not articulating. I can call bullshit on you without breaking a sweat. I will not give you the time of day if I suspect anything artificial about you, especially if you’re handing that artifice to me on a pretty, shiny silver platter.

I’m not aiming this rant anywhere in particular as I am actually surprised to be “meeting” quality people online. I am the world’s greatest skeptic, so go figure. But I do so love when exes and otherwise-horrid people are putting themselves out there like they’re the “answer to your question” and “a good person who’s always had bad luck” and “a hidden treasure,” I think it’s necessary for them to list the phone numbers of their last two exes and/or enemies.

When someone tells you they like nature, it’s probably because they don’t have a job (and walks through the park are FREE) and they’re hiding in Mommy’s attic, hoping for women to find them pitifully cute. And they won’t be so cute when y’all go out to dinner and he makes you pay. 🙂 Doesn’t mean he’s not a great person, truly, but he sold you on someone else. And wouldn’t it be nice if, when you returned them back to their natural habitat, the refund policy also included a little bit of help for your battered heart after unnraveling all the stories that became built on the first mistruth that so easily seemed to roll off their typing fingers at 3 a.m. when they typed up their perfect little profile?

We don’t like for our guys to be pussies, but for God’s sake, don’t sell yourself as a knight when you’re a serf. In this day and age, we fair maidens would rather have something real than a glass slipper that’s going to shatter if we step down too hard on it. If you can’t trust us with who you really are, how on earth do you expect for us to love that person if we don’t get to meet him until we’ve fallen for the visage you instead presented to us?

I guess broken really is the new functional, in every life domain. We all want to feel like we can fill a gap for someone, to feel like we can add to their lives somehow. But by the time you reveal your true self, if you hadn’t presented it from the beginning, for us it’s the same as starting a relationship with someone new. Which, we would rather do, because we don’t want to be around if/when the next personality decides to come out.

First of all, happy birthday to my Mom! Not like she has a computer, but still. I suspect now that she’s reached 49, she will be clinging to it for dear life for the next decade.

I, on the other hand, am looking forward to that age because hopefully I will be so deliriously happy I won’t care how old I am. (I dream. A lot.)

I never know which mood is going to win out anymore — the one that I had all day yesterday told me that life feels right and brighter days are coming but these days have their highlights, too. The feeling that I’ve got great people and opportunities at my fingertips and that all the bullshit (i.e., money problems) aren’t going to last forever.

The mood that makes me feel like I’ve just been seatbelted into the amusement-park ride and I’m starting to hear the clicking noises that mean the ride is going to lurch forward and there’s no looking back — it’s all forward from here.

I love that feeling.

Of course, today brings the feeling that the ride got started and conked out partway up an incline and I either have to sit and wait for help or overcome my nausea and climb down and wait for the damn thing to be serviced.

Sure beats hanging upside-down and knowing you ain’t gettin’ offa that ride for the life of you, unless your harness breaks and *plunk* down you go.

I don’t know. I guess I am not sure where I fit in right now, anywhere. Erica posted something on her blog that made me rejoice and stop in my tracks all at the same time:

“I feel joy because I know who I am. I feel pain because I’m the only one who knows who I am.”

Reading this simple phrase was better than a year of therapy. Several people asked me yesterday how I was. And listened for the answer. And I said nothing. I talked, but said nothing real or true or significant. I wish I would have had those two sentences in my head, because that would have been my heartfelt reply.

At least people would accept that, instead of hearing my usual “Fine” or “Peachy” and knowing that there’s a landslide behind it and understanding that I won’t let the dam break because, really, there’s just not enough time in the world.

We had a “House” party last night, but the real entertainment is having a room full of Mac geeks cease all chatter in total reverence the moment the Mac ads come on TV.

I had somehow missed this, but now that I know about it, I must share this cute little MacBook spoof ad. 🙂