Caterwauling

Dear Apartment Building Management,

WTF do you mean that my notice to vacate was not sufficient? Do you ENJOY charging me out the wazoo just for shits and giggles? Seriously?!?!

I don’t know whether to shit or go sailing right about now. …

Love,
One Irate Goddess

So I would like to think I’m a decent person. Caring, compassionate, decent, relatively moral — all that jazz. Some days, anyway. 😉

And lately, I’ve been feeling yucky because I just can’t muster it up for some people. I’m not a fan of faking orgasms and I really don’t want to go on and fake the whole damn relationship.

I wonder why it doesn’t bother me when I can’t make peace with someone. Don’t get me wrong — I have to come to terms with my feelings for (or against) them in my own mind, but then I’m fine. I have to be. I have other shit to worry about and, more importantly, other people to care about.

I admit, the godless heathen witch in me is trying, in some small way, to find some religion these days. I get little inspirational notes from Joel Osteen e-mailed to me daily — I call it my “get out of hell free” card because, hey, at least I’m trying over here!

The only problem? When I think about gettin’ a lil “Inspiration in my Inbox,” I think Joel and I clearly have opposing ideas about the delivery of it! 😉

Anyway, I get sort of bitter when I get those little notes telling me I have to be nice and make peace with everyone and never give up on people and direct my energies to restoring broken ties. Pfft. Really? You mean I should go call people who have threatened to ruin me and say hi instead of calling my mom? So I should go have lunch with someone else who throws tantrums on a regular basis despite the fact that they’re pushing 50 years of age, instead of giving a hug to someone whose arms I want to be in?

Yeah, yeah I get it — we should be able to do it all. But I’m really struggling to see how it makes me a better person to grit my teeth and swallow the bile in my throat instead of — gee, I don’t know — turning on some feel-good music and spending my precious free moments being happy.

I’m not saying I’m right. I’m just saying I don’t understand. My mom and I call it “licking dick” — being unnecessarily nice to unnecessary individuals, oftentimes in payback of (or in preparation for) a favor. Shouldn’t I find the best one to, ah, partake of instead of one who makes me gag? 😉

Someone recently asked me a question about someone who has said/done enough things to really turn me against them, and I tried to be good. My initial reaction was, “There’s something about that person that makes me irrational, and I find myself unable to form an unbiased opinion.” I was proud of myself, although once you get me talking, you know I can find about 40 stories to share — hence why I have to get drunk off several rounds of cups of shut-the-fuck-up.

It brings me back to when I supervised Incoherent Twit, the product of nepotism from an equally deranged CEO. I was constantly caught in the middle of their craziness. At first, I thought this was my cross to bear — some form of life transformation I needed to achieve, so I had to endure the reign of terror from above and the downright rebellion from below. I gave it a year to the day and decided I had to preserve myself — that whatever the life lesson was supposed to be, it ended up being, “Run for your life!”

The thing is, I feel like a bad person when I can’t overcome my distaste. But at least when I’m feeling icky, I’m feeling something. I wonder sometimes if that’s better than simply looking through someone and not seeing them anymore — like, at least there’s hope if they still get under my skin. Then again, like all scarred flesh, at some point it has to become tough and resistant to outside forces. You can’t be hurt in the same way more than once.

I don’t know. I guess I fluctuate between wanting to be the better person and just not wanting to deal with people who suck the soul out of my body. My ultimate question, then, is whose feelings are more important for me to save/spare — theirs or mine?

I am heavily tranquillized with Midol today, so I’m doing a better job than I was last week of just leaving well enough alone. (That is, I only think the word “die” in the presence of evil instead out outright SAYING it aloud — good girl! *pats self on back*.) But it got me to thinking about when two inner bitches brush against each other, and I’m hoping mine isn’t more of an “outie” than the other one.

I love how we all just grit our teeth and tolerate each other. And it gets me to thinking about how much somebody else’s inner bitch grates on my nerves — how I have a list of “this is why you suck.” And I wonder if the other inner bitch sees my inner bitch and has an equally long list of “why I hate (the Goddess).” Which, stupid bitch, hating on me isn’t going to get you anywhere in life, just like I know picturing your demise isn’t going to get me into heaven any faster.

I don’t know. I know my shit don’t stink — I don’t expect that absolutely everyone should be in love with me at all times. (Most times, but not ALL.) But do others ever stop to think, as I do, what they could do to be less grating and annoying? Do they ever stop to check themselves and scale back on the outer bitch in case they’re astrally projecting it a little too hard? And do they ever think, “Wow, Goddess is a really nice person, and if her gentle graciousness thinks I am a horrid whore, then I must REALLY be a stankin’ hoo-ha”?

I don’t know. I guess I have had enough people treat me like a doormat that I hiss and growl and attack at the first signs of it. Goddess don’t play that — go piss on someone else’s hydrant; this one’s taken. Don’t make me gnaw through this leash and choke you with it!

OK, judging from this entry, perhaps dinner should be a Midol sandwich. … 😉

Dude, cinnamon dulce de leche. Seriously. It tastes just like a cinnamon dolce latte (with soy milk, natch) from Starbucks. I loves me some cinnamon and caramel. :9

It’s been a day here atop Goddess’ fiefdom. I put in my termination notice at my apartment building, and they were all, “What a surprise!” Surprise? How many fucking times did I call, e-mail and visit, asking for a new, bigger unit? Seriously, people. I’m at the end of my rope, and all y’all do is keep giving me MORE rope!

Look, I know these places don’t care about us. And hell, I WANT to stay here. I LOVE it here. But when I asked for the keys to go tour the model unit so I can think this through a little better (I can still stay here — I put down a deposit on the new place but I can get it back right now), they gave me the wrong keys. Either that or told me the wrong floor/unit to go to.

I’ve never worked so damn hard in my life, to stay at this place. I tried the keys in four different doors before I gave up, threw them at the agent, and walked the hell back to my door. She gave me a halfhearted, “Stay in touch,” because there are two open units that I can consider.

The other thing that pissed me off was that they made me sign to allow them to take tours through Goddess’ territory before the lease expires. HUNH?!?! When I was taking this place, they didn’t let me see it. Why should I let someone into my shit-streaked world before I’m ready? Ponderous.

I’m so tired. I’m so afraid to collapse, because I don’t know if I will get up again. This whole moving business means losing my grandfather all over again, because it sucked and it hurts like hell and I cry every day, without fail, for him. And now, with the move becoming a reality, it’s like shit — he’s really gone. The world that was turned upside-down is now going in reverse at warp speed.

Maybe that’s why I’ve hated every apartment I’ve looked at. Holding on to the one I have and love has meant nothing has really changed. I was waiting for a feeling about where to go and what to do, and because the feeling never came, I could remain stationary. But now logic is taking over and it is telling me to just figure it out already.

Maybe magic is what you make of it. You just take it with you if it isn’t working where you are trying to use it. Good times can be had, and marvelous memories can be made, absolutely anywhere. And if there’s one thing I particularly excel at, it’s moving forward and never looking back. …

Someone said something the other day that resonated with me, about laughter coming easily in our circle of friendship. And I remember thinking, “Why shouldn’t it? Why do we work so hard on so many (other) things that should be effortless? Why are we so taken aback when the stars seem perfectly aligned?” Today, I celebrate things not necessarily coming easily, but instead being worth the wait when they do come.

I went on a marathon tour of D.C. today, in search of not necessarily a dream house, but at least a place to live that that works. At some point — after the ninth place I saw — I was exhausted and slap-happy and declared, “The next place I set foot in, I’m living at.” And as Emeril says, “BAM!”

I applied at five places today. Not that I was in love with any of them, but instead that I realized I have GOT to move on to the next phase of my life … NOW. And it was interesting, how I decided the next one HAD to be it. Because it was.

I was almost home when I told my car, “Pull into a good place — your choice.” And she chose right, I think! I had no plans to go there (I always go out with an itinerary), and maybe that’s why the magic happened the way it did.

I basically walked in and told the rental agent, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have the world’s best opportunity to either make my day wonderful or to simply piss me off. I advise you not to do the latter.” Because I didn’t CARE what she thought — I was so tired of tap-dancing and driving and paying application fees for places I didn’t care a whit about, but yet I needed for them to care enough to let me live at these rat holes.

And when she took me to the model apartment, something inside me finally unwound itself.

I kid you not, it’s the same layout of the place I’m in now. I-freaking-dentical. The only difference is that I have awesome windows here but the new place had kind of crappy ones. But it had everything on my “must-have” list — two beds, two baths, washer/dryer, etc. Gorgeous? Not really. But nice, you know? And I’m fine with nice. I’m fine with a roof over my head and space to put my shit.

The funny thing? I have gotten approved for every last place. It really IS that easy to be happy, once you put your mind to it. So, I have my choice of several.

I’m so happy, I could just sleep.

Normally, I say I’m so happy I could just shit, but I wouldn’t have the strength, even if I did have the urge. 😉

After my dream place rejected my sorry ass, I admit I was a bit unnerved. I figured, especially with these places with the sliding-scale security deposits (i.e., the yuckier the credit, the higher the deposit), I was screwed no matter even if I was approved somewhere.

But apparently those tight-asses lost out on a great tenant (which, DUH) because all these new places asked me for the minimum deposit. I know my credit score isn’t a great one, but not enough that someone would look at me and go, “Yeah, we don’t trust you to live here unless you pay two months’ rent upfront.”

Whew.

Anyway, I wouldn’t say I’m overjoyed. But at this point, I can start to make plans.

The way I figure it, I’ll give it two years. Hopefully I’ll be moving toward getting married by then. (I’ll be turning 35, damn it — it’s time, already!)

The rental agent actually liked me, despite my attitude problem. She was the only rental agent out of — no shit — 39 places I’ve visited who actually gave me condolences on losing my grandfather and said, “Nothing would make me happier than to know you and your Mom will be able to start your new life here.”

I mean, even if the place turns out to suck ass, it’s nice to have some people who are on my side who give a shit.

In fact, I was sort of balking at the rent price and she said, “What were you aiming to pay?” And I said, “About 50 bucks less than that.” And she said, “OK.” And wrote it in my contract.

Fuck — I should’ve said about $1,000 less! 😉

Actually, she did suggest giving me a half-month free, which would be superb if I can get it. I told her I have to fund two moves, one an interstate one, and I’m not looking for charity, but if there’s any wiggle room available, I’m not ashamed to ask.

I sort of feel like a 5-year-old right now, in general, with my arms outstretched and asking anyone around if they can spare a hug. This isn’t like me — I don’t ask for favors or special considerations or even for the things a normal person expects to deserve. I guess I’m always afraid of actually GETTING what I want, because then I’ll “owe” somebody for their (supposed) trouble.

But today, I learned that if you do ask, you might be pretty surprised and actually get what you want.

So, here I stand, arms still outstretched, not for a handout but if anyone’s got a hug or 20 to spare, I could use it right now. They ARE free, you know. 🙂

I do not calendar my menses. Really, there’s no need, because in addition to our daily and weekly deadlines, we have monthly ones. And yes, my own female cycle has managed to coincide with my boys’ monthly copy cycles, so I know that as soon as I see our two monthly products, I need to go shopping for some monthly paper products of my own.

But boys, when y’all are late with your products, well, mine isn’t following suit. Translated, the copy I should have seen two days ago would have warned me A) to not wear beige pants today, and B) to have brought some girly supplies from home, as opposed to being surprised 15 minutes before an all-staff meeting and having to, ah, borrow some supplies.

In sum, love yas, but remind me of the original due date if you’re going to miss yours, so I don’t miss mine!!!

My elder cat is on a shit streak lately. Not just the streaks she leaves after taking a dump in the box, but for three days straight, she’s shat anywhere BUT the box. Three nights ago, she shat in my shoes (they’re history), two nights ago she voided herself all over my apartment-hunting paperwork (applications I’ve collected and was CONSIDERING) and last night, she took a watery dump in the pants I wore to work yesterday.

Seriously, when I tell potential landlords that I have no pets, I am NOT joking — I ain’t taking this shit machine with me anymore!

It hasn’t been a bad week at all, but I feel like I’m five days behind in my work (probably more), and of the five days I was off (working) in New York, they were weekend/holiday hours. Why God WHY am I not AHEAD OF SCHEDULE, then?

Just wanted to wish a Happy Birthday to D and a Get Well to T. And a thank-you to my two favorite boys for surprising me with Starbucks while the coffee machine at work was broken. And a simple Hallelujah to realize I’m not the only person on the planet with sense, eyes and damaged eardrums. 😉

I’ve been apartment-hunting like mad. And everything? SUCKS. I saw the ideal place today, if the windows weren’t fucked-up and it weren’t on the wrong side of the right neighborhood. What I can afford is not exactly aligning with what a normal person would agree to spending that fucking much money on.

I’m watching “American Idol” (of course) and wondering how Season Five was so chock-full of vocal brilliance, and this season is devoid of a reason to keep watching. I think Fox planted those Antonella blowjob pictures everywhere so idiots like me would keep tuning in to await her finally getting the boot on that public-toilet-sitting ass of hers.

It would be a fitting end to the episode if she were the final one to get tossed, but as in life, the worst ones get the most chances. It would be nice if these crazy types would just hit the exits gracefully and then leave the rest of us wondering whether we’d misjudged them, instead of rubbing their uncooperativeness yet their untouchable-ness in our faces every goddamned day.

I remember at an old, old job — one of those jobs where it was a terrific group of friends, but the situation at work just sucked ass (we all have that one workplace where the camaraderie was just magical, but it has to be coupled with a soul-sucking job) — I was spouting my opinions about something, and my boss (I called her Miss Piss) called me in and told me that the world is turning JUST FINE without my opinion.

Bitch. 🙂

I remember that conversation from time to time. I think she only fueled my snarkaliciousness even more, by trying to get me to put a cork in it. But it comes to mind when all I want to do is share my thoughts in hopes that they will actually effect a change. On the other hand, nothing pleases me more than when my opinions are validated without me ever having to actually voice them.

OK, anyway, whoever came up with the “Vote for the Worst” idea for “American Idol”? FUCK YOU!!! I can’t BELIEVE the outcomes tonight!

America, WTF?!?!