Caterwauling

I don’t know what’s in the water, but the usual spectacular level of storytelling on the Internet (in my realm, anyway — I make no claims outside of the people in my newsfeed) has been off-the-charts lately. Looking for some seriously can’t-miss entries? Then I urge you to check out this sampling:

My hands-down favorite story is Tiff’s true tale about sharing Nationals tickets with a colleague and his amazing friend who went to unparalleled lengths to pay back the kindness that is just in her nature. I want to marry that guy!

I was a first-time visitor to this blog, and this is what I found. And wow. It contains not only an observation that the Web has become the new backyard fence over which we share ourselves with our neighbors, but also how we are shifting the culture ourselves and defining our place in our generation, our community. Via Mom’s Daily Dose.

Valbee’s post on running into her beloved and, sadly, belated husband’s hospice nurse has been stuck in my head since the day she posted it. I don’t comment on people’s blogs very often (I’m lazy) and I didn’t in this case, but I wanted to extend a virtual bushel of hugs to her.

Sabre experiences the pain of “Cell Phone Induced Stupidity.” To read it is to hear her telling the story. OMG, I’m surprised she let the woman live. My mom just got a big ol’ dent in her car too thanks to some asshole not knowing how to operate his vehicle. What’s in the water these days? Toxins we can live with. It’s the big swig of idiocy that people are taking that makes the rest of us wonder why we’re the ones getting the tickets and the bad luck instead of THEM!!!

On the lighter side, I’ve gotta send some lovin’ to Trouble, with her occasional — but always glamorous, tasteful and just downright appreciated — Happy HNT series (Half-Nekkid Thursdays, for the uninitiated). HAWTTTTT!!!

“Someone Who,” by EJ Takes Life is a wonderful toast to finding an amazing friend in this lonely city. Her first line, “Hard as it is to get a boyfriend in Washington, it may be harder to get a girlfriend,” is the most universal thing I’ve heard in forever. Via D.C. Blogs.

And in just, well, DUH news, the WaPo posits that “In Today’s Rat Race, the Most Overworked Win.”

OK, so that last one wasn’t found on a blog. But I would gander that it’s shown up in some non-typed conversations! 😉

My favorite comedienne is going to be at GWU Friday night. What I wouldn’t give to have the cash ($30 is hard to come by at this time of the month) and certainty that I’d actually make it there on time. …

I was just looking at my work calendar when I realized that I scheduled my vacation on a day that I’m supposed to be in training. GDI GDI GDI!!!!

I took the vacay prior to a work trip, as I couldn’t take it after the trip because I have to be back for training. But genius me forgot about the five-week training in general.

I really, really hate myself right now.

I’ll figure it out. Meaning, I have now two flights to fucking shuffle. Gee, like money grows on trees around here. I don’t mean to imply I am not paid well for my efforts. I am — when you look at the gross pay. It’s just when the gubmint gets their share, I’m down almost a fucking comma. I am seriously considering killing off the healthcare and/or the 401(k) so I can make ends meet, although ponder the irony of paying into Social Security when it’s not going to be there for me yet not paying into my own retirement fund. Brilliant, Goddess. Seriously.

Look, if the government wants to hijack a third of the income that I work hard for, the least it can do is give armor to the troops fighting the war I don’t agree with and not waste money fighting useless battles (like against gay marriage and abortion). Is that so much to ask?

I hate state troopers. I have filed more police reports and PFAs than a girl has a right to, and I’ve been laughed out of the precinct almost every time. But go five miles above the speed limit, and suddenly they think they’ve found a use for themselves. Twirl your dicks around elsewhere, bastards. I ain’t impressed.

You know, it takes a REALLY long time to get anywhere in D.C. when you’re driving the speed limit. You might get clipped or wiped off the road or KILLED if you’re not speeding, but shit, you can’t try to live AND manage to avoid an altercation with the po-po.

Even though I live in the city, I run all my errands in the ‘burbs. So I was in the land of horrible drivers, Maryland, and headed back to D.C., going south on the 270-Spur — a road I’ve traveled THOUSANDS of times and can drive in a comatose state — and I was in the far-right lane when a cop on the far-LEFT shoulder jumps out in the middle of the fucking freeway and waves at me to come over.

(Not the first time I’ve had that happen. They have a death wish.)

Seriously, bumper to goddamned bumper traffic. I was going 65 in a 55 — exemplary behavior on my part. I was going with traffic and was careful not to floor it because I got a ticket there the last time, only going north instead.

I started to try to merge left, but that looked to be a death wish as I had someone in my blind spot.

So I kept going.

About a half-mile up the road, I saw a hole I could have pulled into, but come the fuck on, was I going to BACK UP a half-mile in the shoulder? I think not. I wasn’t gonna jam on my brakes when there were 40 cars behind me. Oh HELL no.

I could see the cop staring at me as I hightailed it away. Um, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, to my knowledge. And you can checkpoint us all you want, but telling someone to merge from the far right to the far left? A recipe for a fucking 10-car pileup.

You know, we have cameras everywhere. And if you use your radar gun to prove I’m speeding, for god’s sakes, mail me the fucking ticket — don’t make me wreck my poor little car and end up in traction so you can humiliate me roadside. You know, that’s a dangerous stretch of road, as it’s where Democracy Boulevard traffic dumps in and then the whole kit ‘n’ kaboodle merges into the Capital Beltway.

I hope to God that he was pointing at someone else, but I doubt it. But I definitely want my day in court, if so. He did grab the guy beside me, but he was a LOT closer to the shoulder than I was. The po-po was like a fucking umpire, pointing everywhere and shouting. I’d assumed there was an accident when I saw him directing traffic. By the time I actually realized that, no, he’s walking out in the middle of the highway for kicks, I was long gone.

I know they want to catch speeders, but buddy, you can’t pull over every car on 495. And pulling out every third car from any lane? Not such a bright fucking idea, either. Especially those in the right (or, SLOW) lane. Why not pull over the idiot who was killing himself to prove he could pass me by damn near clipping my front end in a grand gesture of “Look, I was just behind you and now I’ve cut you off!”?

If you’re not going to protect me, then for God’s sake, don’t piss me off. And do NOT put me in a situation in which I have to choose between jeopardizing myself and/or getting a bigger ticket for failure to comply.

Fuck you, dumbass. See you in court.

Went to see “Invincible” last night. Couple of thoughts:

• It’s the first time I have EVER rooted for the Iggles Philly Eagles!
• Best. Soundtrack. EVER.
• The theater was pretty full, and I was one of maybe four or five women in attendance.
• I didn’t cry at the love story. Instead, I cried every time “Vince Papale” experienced a win for himself and, ultimately, for the team.
• The movie hurts to watch at times, it’s so painfully spot-on about inching toward a dream and always waiting for the plug to be pulled. But it’s so, so worth it!

The movie might have been able to have been set in any city, anywhere. It’s why we Pittsburghers (expats, too) love our Stillers — when the steel mills were shut down in the mid-’80s, we were all affected.

Day after miserable day, our parents and grandparents had no reason to wake up and keep going, only to be faced with more strife and defeat. We had nothing, yet without fail, everyone busted out the black-and-gold on game day. And for a couple of hours, we could just forget that the next morning would be filled with want ads and unemployment lines and bill collectors. At times like that it was a mixed blessing to have your phone shut off — your lifeline to the world was gone, but on the plus side, so was their line to you. But when our boys lost, we all were hurting together. And when they won, it was just a shining example that, hell, if they could feel some glory, maybe our own brighter days would come, too.

But back to the movie, even though I didn’t work at the Westinghouse factory, like Papale’s friends and dad did (and they were trying to survive a strike), my first “real” job was at Westinghouse in 1997, right before it folded. I got choked up at probably some of the dumbest times in the show, but man, to watch a football game in a movie theater? Spectacular. 😉

I’ve got to go paint my nails now (gotta be a girl again!) — but I’m gonna be wearing my Steelers shirt till it’s time to leave the house tonight!

Subtitle: A waste of shimmery, iridescent purple gutchies.

Holy shit, I’ve found something that makes shopping at Wal-Mart seem like a high-class experience.

It’s called Bottom Dollar, and it’s really just the new-and-unimproved version of Food Lion. I’d been out running errands, given that the power had gone off in the hacienda, probably due to non-payment but whatever. So a name like Bottom Dollar catches my attention, as in it’s “something I’m always down to.”

Talk about truth in advertising.

So I’d had intentions on catching a movie, but this useless voyage was THAT BAD that I had to come home and blog about it.

It was a pleasant shopping experience, in and of itself. Clean and surprisingly true to its name — good shit at prices they SHOULD be at in the first place. I’d mentally patted myself on the back.

Then came the checkout adventure.

Let’s forget about the woman with the brat behind me who kept bouncing himself into my cart. (I stand beside my cart as a rule. If it goes flying, I ain’t the one getting hit.) I was on the phone with my Mom and was mentally bemoaning the fact that the woman in front of me was writing a check (gah!) when the cashier saw me holding my check card in my hand.

He says to me, “We only take cash or check.”

I was dumbfounded. “You mean in this lane?” I looked at my bounty o’ shit on the conveyor belt.

“In the whole store, ma’am.”

*blink*

“Well, then we have a problem, don’t we?” I said.

My mom is laughing the whole time.

I realize that’s why the woman in front of me is writing a check. I laugh. That’s all I can do.

The next cashier offers helpfully that the credit card terminal that’s sitting RIGHT IN FRONT OF EVERY FUCKING REGISTER! GAH! worked for her last customer, so maybe his would work too. The girl in front of me tore up her check and swiped a card. Go figure, it worked.

So I’m engrossed in my conversation as I swipe my card and wait for Helpful Horvath to do his thing. I’m standing there when he starts laying my groceries in the bottom of the cart, one by one … WITH NO BAG.

This was one of those “You had to be there” moments. If my mom weren’t bearing witness to this, honestly, I would think I were making this up.

So I ask the guy, “Um, don’t you have — oh, I don’t know — BAGS?”

“Yes ma’am.” He stands there waiting.

*blink* “What do I have to do to get one?”

“Those are five cents each.”

*blink.” At this point, my total has gone through — $50 even — and I’d have to charge at least 25 cents. I’d used my card as debit (i.e., typed in my PIN and approved the transaction) so that was that. My head reeled.

“Did you want a bag?” he asked ever-so-helpfully. I was trying to figure out how to kick him.

Mom volunteered, “No, you’re going to eat everything there. What the fuck does he THINK?”

I laughed demonically. “No, I don’t want a bag. Carry on.”

He looked incredulous and started ringing up the next customer. The remainder of my shit sat next to him where a bag should have gone. I waited. I know (now) that the whole idea is for customers to bag their own groceries, but fuck it, there were no signs, no nothing to indicate A) no credit/debit card acceptance or B) you do this yourself.

He had to throw the rest of the shit in my buggy so he could finish ringing up the woman with the kid from hell behind me. But he handed me the pack of gum I’d picked up. I found this hilarious, and giggled so hard I couldn’t breathe. Everyone was staring at me. My mom was howling.

It would be fine if this were the end of the story. Maybe.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

Because I hadn’t been tweaked just enough, the story was only half over. I declared I would never shop there again and took my 30 items out to the car.

I tried to shove the buggy through the metal poles surrounding the walkway outside the store, but it wouldn’t fit. I was parked about nine lanes over to the right. And it’s pouring thanks to Hurricane Ernesto emigrating to the D.C. area.

I kept laughing. Mom wondered how I was so cool, but really, this is me. This is an EASY day in my life!

So I now have to figure out how to trot all these items, one by one, in the rain, with cell phone in-hand, to car parked a good 150 feet away.

Fun!

I turned around and asked someone how to get the buggy out to the car. They looked at me like “Cheap Bitch!” as I hadn’t paid for the bags. I couldn’t pay on principle, people. Get used to it.

But they did tell me I had to go back in the store and out the other side to be able to get the buggy on the road. (There’s no sidewalk, how sweet.)

So I trotted back through the store and felt like I should be doing the goddamned Miss America wave, as I took my unbagged groceries in the cart out to the side of the store where I hadn’t parked. And I had to “drive” the cart down the roadway amid midday traffic. Good times!

I had a bag in the car for groceries, if you were wondering. It’s an all-purpose huge black carry-all that held almost everything I’d bought. It’s a trunk organizer, one that I usually put bags IN, but it served me just fine. I just stood there in the rain, putting one item at a time in the trunk and still chattin’ with Mom. Because, really, I needed a debriefing!

But insofar as the movie I’d planned to go see? (“Invincible,” BTW). Fuck it, I had Netflix waiting for me when I got home. I just want to go pull the covers up over my head and not come out for another month. Must EVERYTHING be a fucking PRODUCTION?!?!