Caterwauling

Go see “Freedom Writers.” Seriously, that’s all I have to say today. I cried through half the movie and ended up in the ladies’ room, chatting with the gal who sat next to me in the theater about how fucking fantastic it was.

I almost didn’t get to see it. I put in a few hours at work but then stuff started going wonky, so I gave up after I finished my immediate task and took off to my local megaplex. But the two 16-year-old brats at the box office pissed me off to the point of no return — literally.

There were two windows open, and I normally use the ticket machine and bypass human idiocy, but I felt like paying cash because all my bills are clearing and I don’t want to bounce them. Each worker was with someone when I got there, so I stood in the middle, waiting to go to the next available ticket monkey. The boy’s line opened up first, and he looked directly at me and slapped on his “closed” sign and continued to sit there. Prick. I moved into the girl’s line.

The girl served her customer and proceeded to ignore me when her person left. She and the boy started whispering and giggling and looking at me. I know I wasn’t wearing makeup, but jeez, I’m no freak of nature. The couple behind me in the matching burnt-orange sweaters, now they were scary, but me? Fairly normal in comparison to the pumpkin patch. (The woman was wearing GREEN PANTS, y’all. Stem-side down!)

Finally, the girl said, “Yeah, what movie?” And I was so horrified I said, “Not if I have to go through you to see it,” and I walked away. Which is what she wanted, I’m sure, but if we raised the minimum wage for her, it wasn’t worth it.

I jumped in the car and sped off to another theater across town and had the best experience there. Workers opened doors and asked how I was and were just impeccable in their service. The theater was a little less upscale than the other, but I got a matinee price (my theater doesn’t charge less than $10 at any time of day — the $7.50 I paid at the other theater offset the parking cost and it all came out the same in my book). Good service is worth the extra aggravation, in my estimation.

Anyway, LOVED the movie. I’m not a fan of Hillary Swank but seeing Patrick “McDreamy” Dempsey in high-def — even if it was in a petulant, emasculating role — was worth the ticket price alone. I needed a good-guys-win-sometimes story today, and this completely fit the bill. The ’80s hip-hop score didn’t hurt matters, either. 😉 And the “Freedom Writers Diary” is on my must-buy list, just as soon as I get that soundtrack. …

El Guapo’s posted a story that reminds of of why we need a day like today:

Seat Change

Whether you’ve got the day off (or you’re me and dragging your feet at going in!), take a moment to realize how much change one individual can effect by daring to be great. Understand why it’s not only proper, but necessary, to commemorate this man and millions like him whose names history has either forgotten or never known.

If we would all follow our hearts and our passions like Dr. King did, and fight for them with all our might, what a different world this would be. …

Stole this from Swirl:

If you had to pay for your sins, and the going rate was as stated, how much would you have to pay to pay for all your wrong doings??

Smoked pot — $10
Did acid — $5
Ever had sex at church — $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you — $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace — $25
Had sex for money — $100
Ever had sex with a Puerto Rican — $20
Vandalized something — $20
Had sex on your parents’ bed — $10
Beat up someone — $20
Been jumped — $10
Crossed dressed — $10
Given money to stripper — $25
Been in love with a stripper — $20
Kissed some one who’s name you didn’t know — $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work — $15
Ever drive drunk — $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk — $50
Used toys while having sex — $30
Got drunk, passed and don’t remember the night before — $20
Went skinny dipping — $5
Had sex in a pool — $20
Kissed someone of the same sex — $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex — $20
Cheated on your significant other — $10
Masturbated — $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend — $20
Done oral — $5
Got oral — $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving — $25
Stole something — $10
Had sex with someone in jail — $25
Made a nasty home video — $15
Had a threesome — $50
Had sex in the wild — $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex — $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars — $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older — $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 — $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time — $50
Said you love someone but didn’t mean it — $25
Went streaking — $5
Went streaking in broad daylight — $15
Been arrested — $5
Spent time in jail — $15
Peed in the pool — $0.50
Played spin the bottle — $5
Done something you regret — $20
Had sex with your best friend — $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work — $25
Had anal sex — $80
Lied to your mate — $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good — $25

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So far, my lone new year’s resolution to start smoking again is going swimmingly. Yes! I know, it was a shitty goal, but guess what? I’ve stuck to it! Damn $6-a-pack cherry-flavored cigarettes!

I tried very hard to stay awake last night to work, but I fell asleep in the chair next to my computer with cell phone in-hand, and didn’t open my eyes till 7 a.m. (I was at home, thank God!) There’s some rare strain of typhoid going around at work, and I haven’t caught it, but I sure feel run-down and icky.

Speaking of ick, I saw some apartments today. I have a lot to think about, as in whether to leave D.C. proper and go back to Virginia or up to Maryland to get a better price on more space. And I found out that my own apartment management, which has been useless insofar as helping me to upgrade to a different unit (they have no clue about tenant retention), charged me some not only unnecessary, but also illegal, fees. Besides that, they threatened to take away my rent special to move within the building before the lease is up. Huh!?! I am so leaving this place. But damn, it really is the prettiest apartment I’ve ever lived in. 🙁

I liked one place I saw, but the only downside is that it’s in Silver Spring, which isn’t sitting right with me at this moment for various reasons. I walked in and loved almost everything and saw three signs that in a normal world would have convinced me that this is the place for me. But maybe it was that the apartment was too small for the price, as my thought was a big fat “Enh” as I walked away with application papers not submitted.

I loved the property manager, though, and we were having a fine discussion about planning events for residents, which I would LOVE to do to meet people in a new neighborhood. Then again, I had hit it off with my accounts manager here, and she can’t even have the decency to call me back whenever I leave a message.

I’m looking at what’s called “roommate-style” 2BRs, with a bedroom and bathroom on each end and a common area in the middle. That makes for tiny living rooms, unfortunately, but I would bet that this type of setup would have helped me to actually be a better roommate to others with whom I’ve shared quarters in the past. I’m too set in my ways to deal with someone I’m not sleeping with, and even then, I’m still pretty hard to get along with!

The manager had said the privacy factor to that setup is perfect — that I can have guests and Mom wouldn’t be asking who I have in my room. 😉 Hell, I told her I’m more worried about walking into her room and seeing someone strange instead!!!

Alternate title: Catty whore or the only person in the world with a lick of sense?

Today is one of those days in which I am struggling to not only be a good person, but to act like one too.

When I turn against someone, I am through with them. Done. Dead. Fini. Fuck off. Don’t talk to me, don’t breathe my air, don’t think you can even come near me. You were given your chance and you blew it. I’ve given more second chances than Paris Hilton gives blowjobs.

Sometimes this way of thinking is irrational, I admit. But I can tell when I’ve met someone in a past life — even someone I’ve barely exchanged two words with — and I know right away whether we’re going to be best friends or sworn enemies. My soul is uneasy around people in stores or on Metro cars, and I can’t explain why it just feels wrong to be near them. Whether it’s the psychic or the schizophrenic in me, I just know.

And sometimes, I force the choice either way when I know it’s wrong. All that does is remind me how spot-on my intuition is. I’ve gritted my teeth and kissed the ass of some, while embracing others with my arms and my whole heart and never looked back. I’ve been to job interviews and even took jobs I knew would be horrid; I picked the one I have now because it just FELT right.

Have I ever been wrong before? Not really. But would I ever admit it otherwise? 😉

I called my best friend the other day to thank her, because without her, my life would have been SO different. And not in a good way. Or maybe it would have turned out the same, with one less amazing person in it. But I doubt that — she kicked me in the ass and loved me unconditionally, and the balance did wonders for my inner, and outer, strength.

It was one of those friendships in which we just “knew” — I guess kind of like when people fall in love, they just KNOW that this is their soulmate. I’ve always believed in multiple soulmates, as I believe you can have many loves of your life — just different degrees and forms that are as diverse as the people who are worthy of it.

Then there are the people who it feels like they’re bruising your soul whenever you hear their voice.

I tend to pride myself that, throughout life, I’ve rarely allowed myself to be influenced by anyone. Sure, I’ve grudgingly cooperated with people like in past instances of “Workplace Survivor” and formed alliances that were meant to ensure my safety. There’s a lot to be said for keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.

To my credit, I question myself with everything. I don’t make a single decision that hasn’t been exhaustively weighed. I’ve supervised people who cried in my presence when I disciplined them and never felt an iota of sympathy. Empathy, maybe — we all hate to be told that we did something wrong — but if I don’t think highly of you, I will never shed a tear for you. But if I love you, then we need to go buy stock in Kimberly-Clark because we will be sobbing together!

A friend of mine put it well when she threw away a food gift for Christmas from someone she abhors — you just don’t break bread with the enemy.

I don’t know. I type all of this to try to reason through some genuine perplexity at a physical reaction I seem to have to a couple of people. One causes a nervous eye tic — my right eye twitches when I so much as hear the name. The funny part is that when my right eye twitches, a friend’s left eye twitches when that person’s name enters the discussion. Too funny!

The other, the mere voice rakes over my soul. I don’t know how else to put it. I am wondering whether I’m the only one with any sense or the only one WITHOUT any. In the long run, my opinion doesn’t matter and I don’t want to make it public, anyway. But the part of me that is so fiercely protective of my cubs wants to growl and swipe and threaten.

What a weird moment I’m having right now.

I think it all comes back to those I might have trusted who turned out to be a lot of adjectives, but not “trustworthy.” Or all those with whom I was forced to play nice, and for what? Where are they now, and was it even worth it?

I don’t want to be “that girl.” I don’t want to be catty, bitchy or two-faced. Hell, I WANT to be surprised. I don’t mind being proven wrong.

I guess it’s like in dating, where one person’s trash is another’s treasure. I’ve been both, I guess, and I’ve had both. But I don’t think I’ve ever walked away from a potential gem — I am the type to whittle away at that lump of coal until the thing is either destroyed or a diamond is formed. And I’ve also gotten to the bottom of the Tootsie pop to find that there was no chewy center after all — there was just a void.

I try hard to think what has, and/or what would have, happened when someone misjudged me. But I don’t need anyone to like me — respect, yes, but like, no. I like me just fine and anyone who’s dumb enough not to, well, isn’t worth my time.

It’s interesting how we come to feel the way we do about others, whether it’s based on logic, perception, experience, direct interaction, rumor or intuition. I always think I give more chances than are necessary, but when I don’t give but one, as I believe that’s all it should take, I feel guilty that I can’t bring myself to give more.

I guess I bring it back to dating again, when your guy’s (or gal’s!) best friend or brother is a complete and total moron. Are you the voice of reason or are you just “the bitch who never has anything nice to say”?

More importantly, can we live without saying, “I told you so,” if in fact we’re proven right, and can we say, “I was wrong” if we aren’t?

Damn it.

I think this is a good entry to hide behind the fold. …

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I watched the recent Barbara Walters special on “What is Heaven?” at work. (If that ain’t a paradox. …!) And it hasn’t been far from my mind ever since.

I was joking with one of my fellow editorial gods today that journalists don’t go to heaven. The establishment calls us the Fourth Estate, but I really think that’s foreshadowing of our destination: the Fourth Concentric Circle (of hell). And we debated whether or not to even capitalize it, but we know we’ll meet again there and be able to debate it for all eternity!

CALVIN AND CASH, TOGETHER ON TOUR AT LAST?

I miss my grandfather so much, and heaven is something I hope exists because I need to know that there is a reward for him for all the good he did while he was in this world. I don’t want “heaven” to be a concept someone created for heartbroken people like me, who need to cling to the hope that our loved ones can somehow live forever, even if it’s not right here with us.

But what if this is all there is? I think I may start living my life that way, if so. I don’t know that I expect my heaven to be a “reward” so much as a “reprieve” — a hiatus, if you will, between lives. (I’m a six — an old, old soul.) In my grandfather’s heaven, I hope he’s jamming with Johnny Cash and his hands don’t hurt anymore when he plays his electric guitar. I hope he’s writing songs and serenading my grandmother while he and Johnny are touring heaven and headlining all the best concert venues.

My heaven is to see my grandparents again. I don’t need much more than that. I do hope to have a glass of wine and a cigarette with Anais Nin and Henry Miller. I hope I can be a vigilante of sorts, too — I look forward to being someone’s spirit guide and sitting on their shoulder, helping them along the best course in life. I’ll have time for my friends and I’ll be able to dream to my heart’s content.

YOUR HEAVEN, MY HELL

After seeing my bully this weekend and knowing that glorious people like my grandfather are too good for this world, yet the assholes among us seem to never die, I wondered what the assholes’ idea of heaven is like. I mean, do they actually think they’re going to get in? Are they going to look God in the eye and declare that they are worthy because they’re good people? Are they fucking kidding themselves?

And what if they get in? Do they live in the Anacostia (or other bad area of town) section of heaven? Does the asshole who was rotten to me get access to me, when clearly I’ll be in a slightly better neighborhood? Is this where the idea of a caste system in heaven, as on earth, is actually a good idea?

My concept of heaven is to never, ever have to run into people whom I believe should be burning in hell. But if their idea of heaven is torturing me for all eternity because I was able to avoid them on earth, whose heaven wins out?

In the Babs special, some people seemed to convey their belief that you end up with the partner you choose, not necessarily the one you had in life. The married man might choose his mistress. So what happens to his wife who wants to be with him, or was there someone else on whom she’d had her heart set?

Would I have the balls to tell someone I loved them if we met again in heaven, if we didn’t have a chance to get that far on earth?

I read in one of Allison Dubois’ books that you look the way you want to in heaven. (Heh — it’s about time!) I picture my grandparents from 1950 when they got married. So young and bright and full of hope. She could have been a model, and he was a dashing young bachelor just back from the war and working to make a good life for them. Although they loved Mom and me more than anything in the world and I will always think of them as nurturing, I want to see them forever as carefree and happy and hopeful.

And I hope they somehow know that I’d give anything to have them back here with me, if I could have my way about it.

A quick aside: Thank you to my Secret Santa(s) for the gorgeous travel/overnight bag. I’ve made use of it three times so far. It’s perfect for a change of clothes and a handful of toiletries. Since I can’t send a thank-you note because none of y’all would admit to who you are, this is my thanks. *hugs*

I saw someone today I hated a million years ago. Some prick named Jerry (oh how I want to write the full name) with whom I attended middle/high school.

I had occasion to be near my old elementary school today, and fuckhead’s family lived by it. He was just such a mean little shit to me. Teased me mercilessly. I remember I had patented the blank, quizzical stare whenever he saw fit to direct remarks to me — drove him nuts. He wasn’t very smart and never cute in the least way, so he typically made an ass of himself because I refused to give him a reaction.

In any event, I remember that his father had died when we were leaving middle school. I remembered thinking how sad it was that he’d never have someone to learn from and look up to, to help him change his evil ways.

It’s been 20 years, but all the bile I’d choked back so many times came to my throat again. I drove past his house, on the way somewhere else, and saw it was in dire need of some TLC and a cable-show makeover team. And I saw his dumb ass on the porch.

He saw my plate first — I do admit, I like sporting D.C. tags in the ol’ hometown, as it is my quiet statement that I got out and am making a brand-new life for myself.

Then he saw me.

I doubt he knew who I was. That’s the thing with bullies — they go on with their miserable little lives and never look back. You see people going on talk shows — the bullied remember every hurtful action and the bullies look back at them incredulously, like, “Do I know you?”

I don’t remember the exact things he did to attempt to aggravate, infuriate or even intimidate me. I just knew I hated riding the schoolbus because I’d have to sacrifice my reading time to tune out his dumb shit. I knew he wanted so badly to hurt me and I remembered knowing that I was going to make it someday and his ass would be a sorry, fucked-up excuse of a failure.

I think I might have been right.

He apparently lives in his parents’ house, as he was standing on the porch, reading the mail. He looked right at me, as I was staring at him, trying to figure out if it was a taller version of that little asshole I remembered so well. And it was.

He’s even more homely than I remembered. And he looked dumber, too, if that were possible. I’m not necessarily one to judge, but in a word, he was “unremarkable.”

He might have been flattered that a lovely girl in a pretty sports car from out-of-town was looking at him. But I assure you, if there was any hint of a smile on my face, it was because he’s living a small life befitting of his small little mind.

If he had two brain cells to rub together, I wonder if he thinks his life sucks and whether he thinks back on what he could POSSIBLY have done to generate crappy karma. I wonder if I would ever come to mind.

Hell, I wonder if my own successes might be sweeter thanks to the likes of him and other rat bastards out there who thought (or still think) they were so much better than me.

Actually, I learned long ago that bullies are nothing — they are nobodies who come from nothing and who have nothing going for them. They define success by pulling others down to their level instead of elevating themselves.

My family used to tell me that non-special people like to cast stones at the budding stars because it might make them special instead. And as my family noted, “Don’t let those fools win.”

In any event, a part of me wanted to throw the car in park, run up the steps and punch him with all my might. But the part of me that did it in my mind was fulfilled enough. Because the other part of me with the “big job” in the “big city” with the “big life” in progress would never, ever allow myself to slither down to his level.

Besides, just knowing that there really is balance in the universe is good enough for me.

I decided I wanted to sit down and write a brilliant blog entry. But instead, all I have is this. 😉

I tried to write a private entry this morning. As in, not password-protected; just something for me. And I learned that even though you check “private” status, if you hit the “publish” button, guess what happens? Heh. My torrid insanity spilled forth live on the site for 30 seconds.

Yeah, I’m sure you all really needed to know what I dreamed about last night. (“Torrid” would be the right word, again!) But yeah, any of you other WP users, select “private” and then hit “save,” not “publish”, and you won’t digest yourself even before you’ve had coffee!

Anyway.

Today’s a better day than yesterday, albeit a more-yucky one. There’s rain and fog and 3 p.m. looks like 3 a.m. I just want to be in my bed with nowhere to go and nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and dream. Life’s sort of quiet right now and I’d like to enjoy it before it takes off into directions I didn’t expect and some that I had even hoped for.

Unrelated, girly stuff below the fold (hidden for those more-sensitive types or, at least, those more-averse to learning this crap!) …

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