Caterwauling

Maddie took a big whopping shit on my issue of Cosmo and then pissed all over it for good measure. Damn — I never did get to read that article on “The Sex He’ll Die For.” Oh well — the loss ain’t mine! 😉

I wish she would have instead destroyed the copy of Apartment Guide that was lying on the floor next to it. I am more annoyed than anything by Place A’s rejection of me. I wrote to the property manager that apparently 14 years of paying rent/utilities on time doesn’t show up on one’s credit report. But then again, neither does being clean and quiet, either. Take your perfect-credit-score assholes and wipe your asses with them — and check out how many people they’re cramming into the place and how much food they leave rotting on countertops.

I ran into that with one of the places I looked at — a manager actually slipped and made a snarky comment about foreigners who leave food out and don’t use the fridge and BOY do they get bugs. Yeah. Splendid.

I was so put in the wrong social class. …

Place A rejected my application. I never in my life heard of a company denying shelter to a resident … especially not a resident who earns $20,000 a year more than their minimum income requirement. It’s frustrating because lesser people with better credit can live in a nice, clean, safe place but clearly I am denied that right because of some bad life circumstances. But that just means that something better has to come along. It’s cool. I really didn’t want to live in S.S., anyway. …

So I had one of my sex dreams this morning. And I mean, OMG holy orgasms, Batman! Who needs a real-live man when I can still drag myself into work late, all flushed and afterglow-y, without having to wash the sheets? 😉

One wonders whether said individual in the dream would be half as, ah, entertaining in real life. …

This year’s Super Bowl is rather anticlimactic for me — my boys (da Stillers) won last year, so really, what’s there to get excited about? In my house, the game’s on but nobody’s home (mentally). It’s just another game in my world.

Personally I was rooting for the Baltimore Ravens to become a contender for XLI, as they kicked Pittsburgh’s ass (and others’) hard enough to show that they had what it took to get to this year’s big game. And let’s face it, if you’re going to root for a D.C.-area team, it ain’t gonna be the Redskins!

Anyway, big social weekend here. Good times. I spent most of the weekend in Virginia, in Arlington/Alexandria. There was apartment-hunting involved, but not the focus. One foray was for a date (*faints*) and another trip was a different type of date, so to speak.

Yes, there is speed-dating to help you find friends, kids. And I had the most lovely lunch today at the Cheesecake Factory with three gals, and I just loved it. It was just the right balance of socializing and networking and consuming tiramisu cheesecake to make it a great day in my world. It was even worth paying the $8 to park at Market Common!

It’s interesting, talking to other women my age who have similar lines of work and interests. I feel so at-home with people “like me,” and yet I (now) feel so separated from them because my life is changing so much. We’re sitting around making plans and talking about taking shopping/theater trips to Manhattan and I’m trying not to think about my disposable income, well, being disposed of and not being able to really be able to treat myself anymore after this month.

I went into the Apple store and “visited” what was going to be my tax refund — the black MacBook pro. And I thought, well, maybe I should pick up an iPod instead as a small treat until I can get the computer. And even with that, it’s like, “With what? Is that new security deposit going to pay itself? Will movers show up for free?”

This is now my inner dialogue — in fact, I needed a new coffeepot and found one I just LOVED, but instead I picked up one on clearance. I know it’s smart, but it feels sucky. I wish I weren’t too old to sell my eggs .. lord knows I ain’t using them! 🙂

I don’t know. I guess I’m starting to realize what a HUGE thing it is that I’m undertaking, and I’m starting to get scared. And it’s not just the money. I know that life isn’t supposed to be easy, but must it always be such a challenge? God, I want to do good work for you, but I don’t know if I’m as strong as you think I am.

OK, so Prince is performing at halftime right now. And seriously, who the hell is doing the closed-captioning on this thing? Clearly it’s a kid who wasn’t even born when these songs were popular. Gah. I can understand if they don’t know “All Along the Watchtower,” but come on, “Let’s Go Crazy” — how hard is it? (All right, I guess it IS difficult if you weren’t someone who donned jelly bracelets for a reason and not as part of a Halloween costume. …)

Eek, “Purple Rain” is on — I still get a damn nipple hard-on when I hear him sing that song. ‘Scuse me while I go fire up my lighter and sway. … 😉

Go see the movie with the same title as this post. Because you will be witnessing what is sure to become the next year of my life! I cried not because it was funny and cute (which it was) but because I will probably be able to write my own variation of that script. Mom always tells me to find a man with a dad (for her), and I swear to God, someone made that movie about us.

In any event, all that (s)mothering brings me to today’s rant.

Editor’s note: I was going to password-protect this entry, as those who should have better things to do than drive up my hits and see what I’m up to really don’t need to be privy to it. But then I remembered how that same person used to say how he LOVED to see me miserable, although I’ve never been happier since I realized there was no law obligating me to put up with HIS miserable ass. Just wanted to make that clear — thinking and typing doesn’t constitute anything other than coming to terms with situations. That’s what grown-ups do — reason things out. So, please navigate away from this page — maturity is required to frequent this joint. 🙂

Now, are we left with just grown-ups in the room?

Good.

That said, I went apartment-hunting today. Part 20, it seems, of the saga. I was so annoyed. I seriously didn’t see anything worth reviewing positively. I hate townhouses but I ended up touring one because I was so through with the apartment manager and her girlfriend who was hangin’ out with her (they were calling people on their cell phones and planning their weekend while I was fucking standing there) that she said we’d have to drive to see the apartments but could walk to the THs, so I said fine, show me the (what I knew was going to be ghetto) townhouse.

(CRACK) DEN MOTHER

Look, don’t tell me the floors are hardwood when they’re laminate. I can tell the difference. Nothing against laminate floors, when they’re in great shape. But scratched-up and fucked-up floors deserve to be covered. They beg for it, actually. That crack-den mother wanted $1,500 a month for that mess. Puh-leeze!

I hated it. I hated her. I hated the community and I felt sick in the car before I even got out.

The neat thing about it being icy is that you can see how these buildings/complexes take care of their residents. And if I’m there at NOON and I’m barely able to walk upright on your sidewalks, something’s amiss.

SO I APPLIED AT ‘PLACE A’ TODAY

In any event, I put in my application with an apartment company today (the one I liked best). I’ve heard they’re miserable about iffy credit and only take those with the best of the best. I also learned that their deposit is anywhere from $300 to $1,300 depending on said credit. Wondrous. Here’s to hoping the student loan company doesn’t seize my tax refund AGAIN this year, as that’s where it’s going.

Late tonight, I drove around said new complex, just hoping to get a sign. I didn’t get one. I was also looking for any kind of unusual activity and general upkeep, and at least that was fruitful.

The grounds were meticulous. It’s a very, uh, *populated* community (i.e., apartments on top of each other, all over the place), but attractive, if not a bit on the close-quarters side.

I walked to where the management indicated my unit could be. And it was a HIKE. Over the river, through the woods, up (and down) about a billion sets of stairs. I didn’t mind it, although I don’t know who I’m going to pay to lift my brick-shithouse of an entertainment center or the 32″ TV that sits in it. Then again, if I do all the “light” moving myself (boxes, textiles, et al), I can just pay a handful of people for the aggravation of heavy-lifting.

The problem with all the sidewalks and steps is wondering whether the furniture will survive it, as some of those corners are tight. But that’s not my main concern.

I’m wondering whether it would be too much for Mom.

A GODDESS ATOP HER EMPIRE

I’m going for a top-floor unit for the fireplace and for the fact that no rugrats will be tap-dancing on the floorboards (i.e., our ceilings). My ass can use the exercise, but I don’t know that she can hang to do all of that exertion.

Damn it. I hadn’t thought of that before. As I raced to the top floor of one of the buildings, I was pooped. But just for the smell of burning firewood alone, it was worth it.

Here’s the deal. I applied for the pricier place because, really, there ain’t nothin’ cheap in D.C. proper or in the surrounding areas. Finding a 2BR unit below $1,750/month is a gift from God, I kid you not. Nowhere is “cheap.” Nowhere is “perfect.” I just want something warm and safe and something that I would be happy to call home for a little while. I CANNOT move three springs in a row — this second one is going to kill me, no doubt.

Why did I do it, truly? Why apply to basically give up my firstborn in exchange for a roof over my head instead of just having my mom move into my current 1BR unit and just make do for awhile?

Because I just don’t want to become resentful.

There, I said it.

WHY IS MY ‘NORMAL’ SO FUCKED-UP?

More people than not tell me I’m strong, brave, a saint, a martyr, a hero or someone who needs to have her head examined because I not only offered to take in my mom in her time of need, but also because I want to. Well, “want” may be overstating the case, but I’m definitely willing, if that’s a better word choice.

I can’t look at it as personal sacrifice on my part. I can only view it as doing the right thing. She’s scared, she’s sad and she’s freaking the fuck out because her whole world crashed to a halt and now she’s going to crash into mine. She doesn’t want to be a burden but she’s got nowhere else to go.

I’ll be honest with you. I wish I were trying to find a bigger place so I can move in with a man. I should be setting up a wedding registry or buying a crib or doing whatever it is that people my age do. Not that I’m overly interested in either concept, and certainly not (maybe yet) with the current candidate pool, but if I start to wonder where it is that my life *should* be right now, I fear I would become resentful. And that’s the last thing I want to do.

So that’s why I want a nice apartment in a nice area. That’s why I want the one that I like — I’m paying for it dearly, and not just with money. I could be doing OK (financially) after my review in March. I could be doing better than OK. But I can’t think about what all that “extra” money could have bought (i.e., a couch, a computer that doesn’t conk out), or else I will feel sorry for myself. And I don’t do the self-pity thing, and even if I did, now isn’t the time.

BOTTOM LINE

I can always be counted on to do the right thing. No questions asked. This is just another one of those times.

I just wonder what apartments I possibly HAVEN’T seen yet, because I really do have to make more reasonable accommodations. She told me she can do whatever I need her to do, but I don’t know. I have to think more about this. I’ll see how amicable Place A is with the security deposit before I go sniffing elsewhere. But damn, it really is my favorite. …

I don’t need to sell myself on this idea, of throwing my life into this cosmic spin for the indefinite future. A girl needs her mommy, plain and simple. Maybe not in the same house, but whatever. Details. When my Mr. Right does show up with a white-gold ring (not yellow gold. Ick), I’ll figure out the logistics from there.

And God help me, I’m never going to stop praying that Mom meets a multimillionaire in the meantime, maybe even one with a son. … 😉

I was inside my head when I came home from work last night. I usually am — I don’t clear my mind of the day’s events very easily, given that a lot of the work is creative in nature and inspiration usually strikes when I’m released from my little box.

I’d also had, for all intents and purposes, a great day and wasn’t about to ruin my little bubble.

And then, I got home.

I’ll forgive the fact that I needed pet food and didn’t get to the pet store till 9:06 p.m. (Aaaand, it closed at 9.) I picked up a pizza at the joint next door and went to another store closer to home for catty kibble — I don’t sweat details like this; I use them as opportunities.

But then, hell broke loose.

I had too much to carry, but I wasn’t going to make more than one trip. My stupid management company didn’t see fit to salt the non-city-owned walkways, which were a sheet of ice. I don’t do well on ice. I don’t own a single pair of non-fashion boots and I really didn’t want to fall on my ass with a bag full of groceries, a pizza, a box full of crap that I’d ordered and had delivered to work, two books to read this weekend, and a pile of paperwork.

I was juggling all this shit when my upstairs neighor pulled into the spot next to me. He’s nice enough. Creepy, sort of, but whatever. And I didn’t feel like talking. I know, it was an early night (trust me, getting home before 10 is a luxury), but I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to yesterday, and again, I wanted to be inside my head. We already established the fact long ago that we have NOTHING in common, and now that I’m moving? There’s no need for me to be social.

Anyway, I wanted to strangle him because I think I made it pretty clear when I jetted the fuck away from my car that I wanted to be alone. The ice, however, impeded my progress a bit, and fucker was RIGHT ON MY HEELS for the 100-yard walk. I was pissed. Seriously, pissed. I guess it’s wrong to expect someone to give the person in front of them a little breathing room on the ice.

I knew he was at my heels. It was making me nervous, truth be told. I don’t see the problem in trailing someone by a few feet, not inches. I was clearly not interested in acknowledging his presence — why do I have to be punished for it?

So I get to my door, and something had been delivered there that SHOULD have been delivered as a gift to someone else (on Jan. 23, not Feb. 2). I was furious — people in my building are known to open others’ packages, take what items they want, and re-seal them. I kid you not.

From my overloaded vantage point, I was trying to figure out whether the package had been opened as I put the key in the lock.

And I dropped everything.

Every.thing.

Including the pizza, which landed face-down. *splat*

Asshole was standing right behind me … I mean, RIGHT behind me. I know he needed to get past me, but seriously, BREATHING ROOM, people. Has anyone heard of it?

I was scrambling to get the key in the door when the pizza hit the floor, the package, the books, the paperwork, my purse and my other shoulder bag. Cans of cat food went rolling. Expletives went flying.

I didn’t look at the guy.

He mumbled some sort of snotty, “Sor-ry” my way, as though he expected I blamed him for breathing.

Which, was sort of true.

I just answered with a very tired, “It’s just that kind of day” and kicked all my shit into the doorway.

But it WASN’T that kind of day. Not by a long shot.

I hate feeling like I have to cover up so others don’t feel bad. Even though he WAS the reason I was scurrying!

I just get angry that I can’t choose to ignore someone who creeps me out. It’s 10 p.m., there was just a report of an assault on the property and damn it, what law prevents me from choosing to not want to talk to strange men at that hour?!?! (Unless I’m in a bar — talking to strange men is mandatory, in that case!)

I already have to put up with enough people in this world I can’t stand — don’t crowd my space and get added to the shit list. It’s a short list, which means all the ire that would normally be targeted to a crowd is split evenly between two people. I just added No. 2 last Friday night — want to be third?

I don’t know. I don’t ever want to make anybody feel bad, but was I wrong to just want some personal fucking space? No one was out at that hour — do you really need someone at your heels, on the ice? It’s like when you’re the only car on the road and some nitwit is tailgating you. Go around, drop back or drive off a cliff — just quit breakin’ my stride and stealin’ my peace.

Like Jim Belushi said in “About Last Night” — “We’re talking about space. Recreational fucking space!”

* Starbucks needs to deliver. Period, end of story. Because it’s snowing and I say so. The coffeemaker’s been on the fritz for three days at work. That’s the good, glorious, single-serving, gourmet coffeemaker, of course. Not the “regular” pots that we look at and go, “Enh — I don’t need caffeine THAT badly.” Dear God, this company runs on coffee and chocolate — speaking of, I should go to our Candy Corner to indulge at least ONE vice today. …

* We’re going through sort of a transition period at Ye Olde Humble Work Establishment Type Place. Blah blah ownership etcetera etcetera. The owner was walking around the other day, looking sort of sad and lost, as this was his little dream just a few decades ago, and look how big it’s grown. But I’m sure he’ll be mighty happy once it’s in different hands, as it’s worth a bundle. But even though I don’t feel sorry for him on *that* front, I’ve never seen a dream come to fruition and, ultimately, completion, so it’s got to be strange when the time comes to take your name off of everything that ever meant anything to you.

* Speaking of visions that I’d love to have come true, I dreamed I was making out hardcore with Timbaland — like, hot and heavy holy crap *fans self* what a way to wake up in the morning! *swoon* I guess he was being interviewed on the radio this morning (download it here), and we all know I sleep through my alarm because I can’t ever get my ass to sleep at night. Anyway, I don’t know what my fascination with that man is (although my friend’s husband did grow up with him), but I hear he’s got an album coming out — you can stream his new single here. (Damn it, iTunes, get this in already!)

* I see stupid people, part 1: My neighbor was knocking on her own door, and the kid was inside the apartment. The woman said, “Let Mommy in,” and the kid said, “How do I know it’s Mommy?” I’ve seen the kid — she’s like, 8 years old. The mother had to keep knocking until the kid asked again, “Who is it?” I don’t know how she kept from killing that child, and I swear to God, I don’t think the kid was joking around!

* I see stupid people, part 2: I went shopping in what might become my new neighborhood, and I don’t care how upscale a community claims to be, idiocy knows no social class bounds. I was perusing the facial cleansers, which are located about two sections away from the hand lotions. So this man sees that one of the pump-dispenser facial cleanser containers was open (i.e., the pump was up and not locked down), so he pumped it a few times and rubbed it into his hands. It was CLEARASIL, you moron!

* More apartment-hunting goodness slated for this weekend, but abundant social time. Hurrah! Not that I’m overly thrilled to be social, by any means, but the good thing about social situations is that they mercifully end and I can crawl back in my hole and write about them (cryptically) later. 😉

Answer: “What is, paved with good intentions?”

*bonk*

OK day, I guess, interrupted by crabalicious moments here and there.

Four thoughts that are better left untyped, but when did propriety ever interest me?

1. That hyena-in-heat sound? If the Crocodile Hunter were still alive, I’d advise you to watch yourself.

2. Um, I know I *said* I need multiple reminders because I get so busy, but the more I have to TALK about it, the later I will GET to it.

3. As Sabre and I were discussing today, what is WITH people who act like assholes and subsequently (intentionally or otherwise) drive you away from them? And THEN when you’re finally free of them, they come back and Will. Not. Go. Away. If you’ve moved on, kindly MOVE THE FUCK ON. And keep MOVING!!!

4. I’ve either got to control my meandering middle finger or just gouge out my eyes to keep them from rolling skyward. I know I’m worried what X could possibly do to hurt Y, and I’m loyal to Y but it ain’t my bidness and in my experience, the “Y” party usually gets ticked off at uninvited interventions. So, all you can do is stand by, and hope that something you do/don’t say or do isn’t going to be something that costs you your alliance with Y.

I don’t know anymore. I just don’t.

Some days, the only thing that keeps your chin up is the noose around your neck. …

When I say the least, sometimes, I’m thinking the most. When men sometimes turn all women-y on me and ask what I’m thinking, it’s like the gender roles must reverse completely, as I say, “Nothing.”

Sometimes it’s true; sometimes nothing could be further from reality.

I’ve been inside my head about the apartment-hunting situation. The “affordable” place (by D.C. proper standards) is in an “enh” area, but the slightly-above-my-price-range place is in a great area. For a frame of reference, I need to be prepared to spend $300 a month more than I do now, and I’m already broke most of the time after I take out rent, utilities, car, insurance, cable, cell phone and incidentals. I don’t take trips, I don’t have furniture. And I’m inheriting someone to take care of, too. You do the math — it’s making my head swim.

I don’t mean to imply I’m not doing well. I got my W-2s yesterday, and my first thought was, “Wow! It took me two years to make THAT at my last job!” And my second thought was, “For all the time I put in, that’s ALL I was worth?” Heh. 🙂

I’m struggling right now between the two apartments, probably because I don’t love either one and keep thinking the “right” one is still out there. I am APPALLED at D.C. real estate. Any assholes out there calling for a bubble might want to pull their heads out of the warm anal canals where their noggins have been nestled, because when people can’t afford to buy $300,000 condos, they have to rent. And thus, management companies get PAID for the privilege of giving shelter to those who can’t afford to buy.

I’m thinking of going with the more expensive place, mainly because I am a sucker for convenience — and hot damn, Starbucks is across the street. And they offered to paint the walls for me, and again, see “convenience: sucker for.” And when people ask me where I’m considering, they’ve at least heard of the “good” place, so maybe that’s my sign.

Moreover, it’s been said that you’re as successful as you picture yourself. If I’m in a place I view as second-rate, I don’t want my confidence to slide to that level. Dress for the position you want, so to speak. Be where you want to be and, thus, be who you want to be. Or some other “Stuart Smalley” shit like that! 😉

My bottom line here is that I would rather struggle and live in a nicer place because I can grow into it, financially. I can get a weekend job. I can put off the new-computer purchase for another year. I’ll probably never get to Paris, anyway. I lived in a place I hated once — I was miserable. Not to say any place I’ve looked at would be horrible, but for as much money as you have to shell out for your second choice, isn’t it worth it to take the place you feel a little more confident about?

What sucks is the reason I picked my current building was for the social calendar, and I just got our events list for February-March and damn it, they’re offering some really good stuff — trips out of the city, plays, parties, etc. I almost don’t want to leave where I am now! 🙂 Oh well — hopefully I can participate in a couple of things before I go. I just wish I knew where I am supposed to be going!