Caterwauling

I always say Karma pulls on the shit-stompers in due time, and I have one of those stories that will warm our hearts of that actually happening.

There was some miserable whore who got my friend’s husband fired from a job in her company. Gossipy wretch of a woman who no doubt didn’t want anyone else to succeed. He got the boot because the bitch’s seniority might have counted for something, and the family was left in dire straits for awhile.

But then my friend gets a call recently from the wench (did I mention they used to be friends? I stress USED to be) and she was all hysterical because after all her years with the company, she just got FIRED.

HAH!

I don’t understand how “people” (I use the word loosely) who do their damndest to screw others over can have the audacity to call them for a shoulder to cry on when clearly they lost the privilege for a reason — do they think people don’t KNOW about their dastardly deeds?

Did she think she was going to get sympathy? I mean, really. Doesn’t she know that while no one would ever *wish* misfortune on her directly, she certainly won’t get any tears cried over her predicament by anyone but herself?

That’s the thing — you can’t even be happy at someone’s misfortune, no matter how much they might deserve it. If you just don’t care, however, that’s the best reaction of all.

Yeah, I know, I hate snow. But shit, if the fluffy white crap is going to disrupt my world, can’t we just get 10 feet of it? I already know it would take a nuclear bomb going off in D.C. (if that!) to impede a workday, but I’m fine with working from home just so long as I don’t have to take my happy ass out in the cold. I wish we could just wear jeans already — my skirts and dress pants just aren’t made for warmth, and I can’t wear wool suits (allergic to the fabric).

In any event, I’m disappointed that the federal government is open today, because that means we all have to go in as scheduled. Bah.

It’s funny, I remember not having a car and having to take two buses to work, and I was always in miniskirts, tights and fashion (i.e., not snow) boots. (So, I fell on my ass A LOT.) And much as it sucked to go earn $4 an hour for all that aggravation, it never really bothered me to freeze my hoo-ha off. And now, waaah, I have to drive 15 whole miles in a warm car — boo hoo! From one shoveled walkway to another, I might add. Luxurious in comparison to 10 years ago, and yet, I whine more now.

Incidentally, I decided which apartment I’m going to go with. I’m picking the one that lets me keep one toe inside D.C. proper — there’s something about having “Washington, D.C. 200**” on your mailing address that feels right, and the thought of transferring my car registration to another state is enough to make me fall ill, so it makes the most sense. And a snow day would have been a lovely reason to start packing for this next adventure!

To apartment-hunters everywhere, here are two things to keep in mind when you’re looking at potential new places in January:

1. You will likely get a rent special offered because nobody is moving in the fucking snow.

2. Speaking of the fucking snow? They reserve the right to REFUSE to give you a tour because they don’t want your slushy paws tromping through their pristine model units.

3. After doing said tour of nothingness, I lost control of the car on an unfamiliar road as I was sitting there bitching about how SLOW everyone else was going. Heh. Awesome. The vehicle’s fine, I’m fine, but yeah, I HATE SNOW.

That said, I found a great place today. Not cheap, but spacious. And “convenient enough” to the things I want to be close to. I didn’t see the model, of course, but the management office was set up similarly, so I got to use my imagination and it works fine.

This one is definitely a possibility, although I’m thinking the real “dream” apartment is one in Hawaii right about now, as two inches of snow expected for tonight and there’s a good half-inch of it already on the ground. … 🙁

Because so many apartments here in the land of corruption, greed and brown-paper-bag handshake agreements have what’s known as revolving security deposits (i.e., if you have good credit, you pay X amount. But with a questionable credit history, you might be asked to pay up to two months’ rent — money that you might never see again, as you know how these rental companies will nickel-and-dime you to death on supposed “damages”), I decided to get my credit report today.

And then, I decided I didn’t need to pay for someone to tell me I have shitty credit. See? Am wise at money management after all!

I wish I could go back to my 18-year-old self and just say no to all those creditors who liberally handed me cards with no limits. What, did they think my $3.80-per-hour minimum-wage jobs while I was a college student were going to go solely to credit-card debt? Did I?

I remember when I started fudging on payments. I was living with someone who was, for lack of a better word, a pig. The pretty boy who spent more time in front of the makeup mirror than I did, the one who made friends with half the homeless population of the city and let them sleep on the floor while I was away at my two (minimum wage) jobs each day. Then he bought a dog and let the dog poop everywhere. He wasn’t good about cleaning it up. He was a good kid and I miss him from time to time, but he was just that — a kid playing house but with no idea of how to upkeep one.

We’d only lived together three months at the time, and that was enough. Despite the financial/emotional cost, I had to move elsewhere. And the downward financial spiral began — hell, I had to drop out of school because I couldn’t afford the tuition that the student loan wouldn’t cover. And I learned the bad lesson that nothing really happened if you missed your bills. Sure, the interest rate on my car is astronomical, but enh. Details.

At that point back then, I was just angry — angry that I had to bust my ass on my feet 12-14 hours a day, selling people shit they didn’t need and working around the clock because my employers told me I had to and not because the stores were actually busy at 11 p.m. I put my safety in jeopardy every single night that I had to walk four blocks to catch a bus at midnight — well, I had to run, most nights, because the last bus left at 12:30 a.m. I couldn’t afford a car. Shit, I had to work 15 hours just to afford the monthly bus pass.

I blame no one — those were just my dues and hard knocks. A life filled with furniture and clothing bills to reward myself for all the struggling to get through school and all its myriad assignments, plus being on the school newspaper/magazine staffs and then working every other available hour in the week and busting my ass (in heels!) for not even four bucks.

Today I have a “real” job (i.e., an office job, but the hours haven’t changed much since leaving retail hell) but it’s still challenging to get by sometimes. D.C. real estate is a joke if you’re trying to save money. It’s impossible. And when so much of your income goes to housing, why not just spend the extra couple hundred bucks and get a gorgeous place instead of a blah one?

I guess that’s why, when I was looking at apartments yesterday and found the “dream” one, I reverted back to my 4-year-old self and wanted to stomp and scream, “WANT!!!”

The people who work in the management offices of the better places are so much nicer to you — they require so little as a security deposit because they expect that if you can afford to live there, then you must be a good, responsible person. You are willing to pay for luxury and safety and stature, so you’re OK in their book. Come and play with the other people who can’t afford to put food in that gorgeous stainless-steel fridge!

Surprisingly, I have the gross income they are looking for, which felt odd that people like me can live like that. But then I got Suze Orman’s voice in my head, telling me, “You CANNOT afford it!” and she would be SO right.

I was talking to a friend recently in another state, and their monthly net income is what I spend on a 1BR apartment in the city in a month. It’s weird how one area can have such a higher value than another, at least in realtors’ eyes.

I don’t know — I just wish I could find that ever-elusive combination of price, convenience and even, how shall we say, interestingness. The thing I hate about moving back to suburbia from the city proper is the loss of character in the apartment world. Every building and unit looks the same, from the bland wall color (“apartment eggshell”) to neutral carpet to the boring plastered walls. Bah. After looking at the same thing all day in an office, it would be nice to go home to something a little more special and maybe even luxurious, if at all possible.

Oh well, time to go scrub my butt and go look at more cookie-cutter places. Mmm, cookies. … :9

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m
Ever gonna make it home
again.
It’s so far and out of sight.
I really
need someone to talk to
And nobody else
Knows how to
comfort me tonight.”

— Carole King, “Home Again”

So I found my dream apartment this morning, although it is only feasible in a dream world, financially.

This morning was marathon apartment-hunting fun, and it makes tomorrow’s mere handful of appointments seem like a picnic.

Today I am debating among:

1. The spacious and pretty place that’s way the hell out in bumfuck Egypt that’s ass-cheap but with the shady security deposit scam and the inept management office employees. Decent size and rent, two full baths and I LOVE the master bedroom’s layout. Basic cable is paid for by them. (Heat/hot water is electric, which I’d pay.)

2. The place where I’ve rented with the management before, like the layout and the location, but I wouldn’t have a washer and dryer in the unit. (But it does have a good rent special.) OK size, 1.5 baths and only pay electric, which is basically just air-conditioning. (Heat, hot water and cooking gas are included.)

3. The chi-chi place with the gorgeous layout, all upgraded appliances/countertops, two full bathrooms and the rent alone is (just above) one net paycheck. Fabulous location — a place I’d love to say, “Oh, I live at the (frou-frou locale).” One where I wouldn’t be able to afford to go out or buy groceries, but it wouldn’t matter because I’d be too busy loving the apartment.

*sigh*

I shouldn’t have seen that third one. Although, it is something to eventually aspire to.

Funny, I thought I lived in a midscale place, but everytime someone asks me the building, it’s like, “Oh” accompanied by a funny face. Of course, every place is tenement housing in comparison to the place I should be in!

If I had comments enabled (ha!), I’d ask your advice on whether it’s best to choose on the basis of space, location/convenience or price. Basically, I know I need to go for biggest-place-at-cheapest-price at this point, which is Option 1, but I didn’t feel at home until I saw the third place today.

Option 2 is across the street from the place I love, so I can be in the “right” area, just sort of in the ghetto looking at the place I’d rather be in. 😉 It’s nice enough, although a little too “apartment community-ish” (read: 200 apartments in a small patch of land, on a block that is one complex after another) for my tastes.

So basically, everything’s got equal perks; it’s just the price (time or money) I’m willing to pay for them.

I just wish it would come to me already, y’know? My intuition is telling me to hold off but to my knowledge, I’ve seen my preliminary “favorites” and I’m not sure I still believe in miracles that the “perfect” place is going to present itself.

Tomorrow’s batch are in yet another part of town, so all I can say at this point is that we shall see.

The head is too full and heavy to raise it above a pillow, but too active to be exhausted. Fridays are too long in my world, and facing them without any sleep? ARGH.

I dream about my grandfather from time to time. For those just joining us, the incompetent twats at the Veterans Administration Hospital in Pittsburgh killed him for no good reason. My biggest regret, other than taking him there, was that I didn’t just kidnap him and take him to a real hospital. The tragedy haunts me and will continue to haunt me forever.

In every dream, I see him getting up out of that bed and being fine. The night we buried him, I dreamed we’d held the funeral in Bethesda, Md., and he jumped out of the coffin. He was trying so hard to tell us something and to ask what the hell happened to him, but his mouth was sewn shut. And in every single dream, I am frozen, terrified, immobile. Because while I want so badly for him to be alive and fine and back here on this earth, I somehow know that I am dreaming and can’t be anything but skeptical.

I know he’s trying to send the message to me that he didn’t want to leave, that he fought so hard and still wants to be with Mom and me. And we want him back. If I could wish for anything on this earth right now, it’d be to have him walking it again.

Last night’s dream was no different — only this time, the prayers worked. We got him to a real hospital and he lived. And seeing his blue eyes — seriously, cerulean is the color; I’ve never seen a shade like it and never will again — was so comforting. The world was OK again for a few seconds.

I hate it that I can’t immerse myself in a dream. Instead it’s like I’m always taking notes so that I can sort out the images and meanings later on. Or maybe it’s that I know I’m going to wake up with my heart broken all over again.

On the subject of loss, I surprisingly didn’t bawl (too much) during “Grey’s Anatomy” last night when George’s father died. There’s this part of me that wants everyone to be as miserable as I am, in that regard, and I’m glad they didn’t let the character live. I did cry, though, when Cristina grimly welcomed George to the “Dead Dads Club.” I hate the word “dead” now — it’s not fair to use it and my beloved grandfather, who raised me as a daughter, in the same sentence.

On “Grey’s,” I loved the Addison/Sloan storyline. It speaks to how we keep certain dates in our heads forever that are better left forgotten yet can never truly be. You justify every decision a million different ways but in the dark corners of your mind, you just wonder. And it’s not a huge deal and it was probably for the best anyway, but then there’s that date that you were either looking forward to or dreading, and even though you don’t commemorate it and maybe don’t even remember it on time, but it’s there. I just found it funny that Sloan, the one who doesn’t remember occasions, couldn’t forget that one.

And goofy, lovestruck Callie. Is that what we look like, so exhilarated and excited and thrilled to be alive when that gay boy loves us back? I like her better when she’s ballsy and no-bullshit, but you have to admit, she’s never looked prettier as when her character is thinking about nerdy, sweet little George.

Yeah, I’ve had WAY too much time to think about this. 😉 Now to do the early-a.m. workload and hopefully I’ll not fuck it up today!

I think it’s time to just go back to bed already.

So I got up this morning and put on a pot of coffee (chocolate-cherry beans. Mmmm, good), and that was about the only thing I managed to execute with any success. From there, I proceeded to:

1. Put on a pot of water to boil so I could make some pasta to take to work for lunch.

2. Put the pot of water on one of the three burners that I did NOT turn on.

3. Visited the stove to wonder WTF smelled funny and realized all the water had boiled out of the fucking saucepan.

4. Did my morning workload.

5. Just got off the phone with one of my editors to ask why I hadn’t pushed one of the things live.

6. Pushed it live.

7. Got another call asking why the wrong chart was in the right article.

8. Haaaaaaa.

9. Explained that I am an idiot and I had done all the legwork but that clearly I had experienced a lobotomy overnight. Made the fix within 12 seconds. Realized nobody noticed my mistakes for seven hours and fuck, I should have just slept in.

10. Realized that I forgot my lunch and it’s sitting on the stove where I left it. (Did I turn off that burner?)

Oh, but wait, there’s more. It’s called “Breakfast, or Lack Thereof.”

11. I accidentally grabbed the cat food box from the fridge instead of the cereal.

12. And I poured it into my bowl.

13. AND I poured milk over it.

14. The last of the milk, might I add.

15. It’s noon and I am very hungry right now, come to think of it — I guess that’s why!

BUT THE DAY ISN’T A TOTAL WASH

1. I got a very nice compliment from my boss first thing this morning.

2. I just got a very nice text message from a very nice young man.

And in that, the good always washes away the bad!

Something has seemed off about the “American Idol” auditions that aired Tuesday and Wednesday nights. I’d thought it was perhaps because I was watching them at work that they just didn’t have that same spark, but enh, that isn’t it. Then someone remarked that they seemed to feature too many of the bad singers, and that comment was spot-on.

In past years, “Idol” hopefuls have bitched that they didn’t get enough airtime during the audition phases — that we the people developed a love for our favorites because we saw them more and became more personally involved with their journeys. Whatever. I thought Fantasia sucked from the get-go and never exactly fell in love with her ghetto-fabulous ass. Hell, I voted for Jennifer Hudson that season till she got the boot (I think she, like Chris Daughtry last season, got voted out at No. 5, just going to show that we lose the best one of all during that particular week). I’m thrilled Ms. Hudson got the Golden Globe, and I have no doubt that Daughtry will go on to get a Grammy.

In any event, I don’t know if the folks at Fox listened to the whiny bitches who actually did get past Round One and decided not to show many (if any) good singers in this first week, or if there even WERE any good ones. The Minneapolis and Seattle auditions were tragically bad, judging by what we saw, and there seems to be hope for Memphis on next week’s show.

But yeah, I haven’t identified anyone with a shot of earning my vote this season. Hell, I think they put one screechy bitch through just so they could see her drive her fellow singers crazy in the Hollywood group auditions. Great reason, kids. Give Paula some more drugs, will ya? Fuck, pass them to ME … maybe it’ll help me to commit yet another season of my life to following this show and voting entirely too much for its contestants.

“Everything that I said I’d do
Like make the world brand new
And take the time for you
I just got lost and slept right through the dawn
And the world spins madly on.”

— The Weepies, “World Spins Madly On”

Today’s my two-year anniversary at my job. I call it my job, and not my work, and in my world? That’s what’s called progress.

Things have changed so much since that cold, rainy, scary day in 2005. I hadn’t had an official job in months, I was wondering whether this job would turn out as fucked-up as the prior five, and I was so very terrified that I was going to do something to screw this opportunity up.

It was literally my life preserver — I couldn’t do anything but cling for dear life until I got my sea legs back. And I did well, all told. I learned a profession in which I’d only had fairly limited exposure. I gave it my best, and their best was given back.

I had a few choices presented to me at once — a dearth turned into somewhat of a bounty, as I had some bad offers and then I had this one. It was the team that enticed me more so than the work, at the time. I’ve always taken jobs for the workload, not for the people whom I’d serve. Big mistake, then. Because a great team makes up for a lot of long, hard days. Trust me on this.

And in time, the work caught up with my expectations. I am better-trained than most, and definitely best-mentored. My success has not been serendipitous. My network is wide, encompassing people who’ve “been there” and who want to see me get to where they are.

The team is somewhat different. Bigger, with one player gone and a bunch more added. The absence of the one is felt every day, but it’s been replaced by stronger ties to the other original players. We’d worked so closely together, and the office in which I’d spent so much time is now a place I don’t have occasion to visit anymore. The structure has changed somewhat, and so has the vibe. Not in a bad way, just different.

I spend time in my old office, as I’ve sort of taken the new occupant under my wing. I see something, someone special there — not only someone who is an asset to the group and who will, in time, become even more of an asset to me, but also someone who’s got that “special” spark. I don’t know what it is — it’s just one of those times when you just know you have the chance to give someone the opportunities that were withheld from you at that age. I hope I do well with this one and others to come. I am able to build my own team, but for the most part, I’m ridiculously happy with the one that has taken care of me.

And of course my personal life has gone through the wringer in all that time. My family went from sacrificing everything to save my ass while I wasn’t working to, now, me being the one to take care of everything for the indefinite future.

Today’s Horoscope: You may be rather uncomfortable with the level of emotional intensity that is likely to seep into every aspect of your day, Goddess. … Your detachment can be a great asset, but on a day like this it may be your biggest enemy.

The horoscope doesn’t begin to cover my emotional scope today. Today I feel passion — good and bad and every level in between. I have spent the last couple of years trying to be cool, controlled, almost unnoticeable — anything to keep from rocking the proverbial boat. But I am not in the mood to fade into the background today. I want to be seen, heard, touched, felt.

The Weepies have a great song that I’m listening to right now, and the lyric is a very simple, “You turn me into somebody loved.”

So many people have done that for me. Some have come and gone, and some linger. Do I make them feel loved in return? I turn into such a sixth-grader when it comes to showing I care about someone. I do it, but then wonder whether I should have kept it to myself or whether I should have been more overt about it, because there’s the possibility that they don’t know how much they rock and they NEED TO KNOW. And I need to be the one to convey it!

I’ve spent a lifetime holding everyone at arm’s length. I’m not promising to throw my arms around everyone now and hold them close, but this year, if I can just bend my elbow a bit and not hold them so far away, it’s a good start for me.

But if I do reach out — and not with my palm out — I will do so with the expectation that I won’t be rejected. That’s been my biggest fear and possibly the reason why I turn away first. I’ve lost too many good people this way, and I don’t intend to further the habit. Even if it means reaching back to the ones I’ve walked past, I’m going to do it.

And if I touch you, know it’s just as much to comfort me as it is for you.

Although I quoted The Weepies today (because they are my new favorite band), the real song in my head as I close this entry is Don Henley’s “Everything is Different Now.”

“Yeah, I miss the old crowd sometimes
And the wild, wild nights of running
You know, a starving soul cant live like that for long
You go around in circles that just keep getting smaller
You wake up one morning and half your life is gone
I got so tired of that; I got so lonely
I dropped down and I called out to heaven
send me someone to love.
And heaven shot back, you get the love that you allow.
And everything is different now.”

— Don Henley, “Everything is Different Now”

So, is life better or worse than it was two years ago? I don’t know. If I still had my grandfather on this earth, it would be better, no question. Ultimately, I guess it’s overall one for the “win” column, but I say that with the expectation that it’s going to get even better as time goes on.

It has to. I will accept no less.

… than listen to “American Idol” hopefuls screech their ways through what I used to regard as songs. Gah.

And yet, six seasons in a row, I’ve tuned in to hear the worst of the worst. My shame at loving this shit is unparalleled, but damn, I admit, it makes me feel talented in comparison to hear these crazy-ass hacks!

TV season is back, y’all. And it’s about friggin’ time!

* I take exception if its horn is vibrating. 😉