Caterwauling

A friend and I were having one of those wildly inappropriate discussions (which, if you’ve met me in person, you’ve probably experienced it, too) in which we declared that “tops need not apply” for something or other. And I was thinking, perhaps that’s a great title for a dating service ad? 😉

Taking a “vacation” day today since I’m losing the hours anyway and taking a day will at least buy me some time to set up a real getaway. By vacation, I’m still watching e-mail, which is fine because I don’t have to put on pantyhose and heels because I’m staying home.

I was even thinking about cleaning, but nowhere in my six rooms can I find my vacuum cleaner. Oh well — more time for TV! (La-la-la, I can’t hear you, laundry!)

Speaking of laundry, it expands from one end of my spare bedroom to the other. I had thought having a W/D would save me from that headache, but no — I just don’t feel like washing shit at 10 p.m. when I get home with the fast food du jour.

Fast food — ugh. I had fries at 10 p.m. Sunday night from Wendy’s, 10 p.m. Monday night from Mickey D’s, 9:30 p.m. from Chick-Fil-A and 10 p.m. from Mickey D’s again last night. Is there any question why “in shape” for me translates to oblong? *bonk*

Oh, and on the domesticity front? The. Cat. Shat. Up. The. Wall.

Along with my fast food timeline, Sunday I came home to cat crap on the carpet inside the front door — one foot from the litterbox. Sunday morning Saturday night, I came home to cat crap inside the front door, where the “powder” (er, secondary) litterbox used to be (but I’d removed it ’cause it was foul). Friday I had come in to cat crap outside the box because it was foul.

Anyway, moving forward, it was simply shit streaks all week, but those were at least on the carpet. Last night I could smell the unmistakable stench of cat ass and couldn’t even sleep, it was so bad. But where was the shit? I could not see it on the carpet, so I figured I’d wait till it was light to find out.

Yep, at 6 a.m. I saw the Maddie had shat up the dining room wall. Walls, actually, as Pooh Corner is in, well, a corner. Whee.

Remind me again why I love being me? I’m havin’ a REAL hard time with it today.

Another day that I hear a great song lyric and have no content to sustain it. Awesome. 🙂 But as it’s a Bon Jovi day in the neighborhood, it felt appropriate to use it. (It’s from “Maybe Someday”.)

I would say I came to an epiphany today, but instead it came to me. And it’s not a shocking revelation. It’s a realization that everybody I know is passive-aggressive. So am I. So, what can you do? 😉

The way I think of it is this: If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. We all frustrate the shit out of each other, but no one will ever do anything about it!

There’s an underlying seriousness that I’m not overly willing to think too hard about right now because I’ve stared enough at the computer today and I just want to go to bed.

But I seem to be in a circle of people (again, self included) who would rather irritate the shit out of someone to make them go away than simply ask them to leave.

We’d rather drop off the face of the earth than pick a fight/break up with someone, hoping instead they just get the hint eventually.

We’ll nod and smile at something crazy something says to us while agreeing with them through our gritted teeth, hoping they will just look at us and get that no, we don’t agree and quite frankly, we would like to rip off their ears and stuff them up their butt.

Ahem.

We also hope that someone will read our minds and come sweep us off our feet. That they will save us from whatever type of relationship that’s less-than-ideal with a grand declaration of why they can’t live without us. We pray that the universe will make the combination of conditions “just right” to allow miracles to happen. We assert that we will be happy “someday” … “if only.”

We’re all a bunch of fucking pussies, is what we are.

PLANET PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE

I’ve started to build a wall around myself. I’ve tried constructing it a thousand times, but it crumbles on command. But it’s time to raise the drawbridge because people will feel at home dancing back-and-forth across it until you threaten their asses with the shark-infested moat.

And see, that APPEALS to another passive-aggressive type — that makes the decision FOR them. Pick a side and stick to it, damn it. And choose well, ’cause you’re either going to thank or blame me for it. God forbid any of us thank/blame ourselves for the choices we would make if we had the balls enough to make a fucking decision, already.

Likewise, you’re not going to make some grand gesture to me? I can blame you, then. I’m here, ready and waiting. What’s taking you so long? Do you think I’m going to wait forever? (On Planet Passive-Aggressive, that’s entirely possible, unfortunately.) I may not be here when you finally get a clue … wait, where are you going?!?!

*sigh*

I am a pretty decisive person. Really, I am. I just don’t always show it. I don’t know why. I think too many people have taken advantage of my convictions and tried to use them to hit me where it hurts. But what they don’t realize is that if I feel strongly enough, I’ll defend it to the death. I just don’t feel altogether that strongly about too many things.

There are a few things I do feel strongly about at this time, but I can also be swayed by a pretty good argument. If Prince Charming is too busy bemoaning the fact that he picked the wrong woman to be his princess, I may just go hang with the well-hung toad instead of waiting for Princey-poo to get off his throne and pick the right woman who will be queen.

But only if the toad comes to me first, no doubt. 😉

What’s it going to take for one — or ALL — of us to break the cycle and actually get where we want to be instead of expending the only effort we seem to be capable of, which is trying NOT to dream about the way we envision things COULD be?

I miss the recently departed “angsty Goddess” because the blog entries when I’m in a dither tend to be a little more substantial. At least I squoze a few half-decent tirades out of my last cycle, though. 😉

Anyway, loving “Lost Highway” already and I’ve only listened to four songs. So far my favorite is “Whole Lot of Leavin.'”

The band showed up on the “Today Show” this morning. I was busy throwing my underwear at the TV, although I think I’m going to need a new screen because I happened to be in them at the time.

Bon Jovi’s starting its world tour in January. I’m thinking that I should use the vacation hours I’m losing to go travel to see one of the “local” shows they’re holding (local to themselves, that is), although A) they’re in Newark and B) they’re in October. Rats.

I just saw a note from Pratt that at least the band will be on “Unplugged” Friday. *squee!* I may have to turn down a date to spend the evening with my favorite shaggy-haired rocker, but I think the sacrifice will end up being worth it. 😉

Now back to my regularly scheduled navel-gazing. ….

And just like that, I’m suddenly OK again.

I’m not even going to question it.

< / discombobulation>

Well, it’s official. I’ve banked so many vacation hours that I’m now losing them. Whee!

I just looked at the board for the summer — everyone and their brother is out from now till doomsday. So I don’t even know when to take a vacation, let alone WHERE.

I am, however, looking for suggestions on that “where.” What’s the new vacay hotspot this year? (Or what SHOULD it be?)

All right, I know I should be getting ready to go out, and I can’t find the shirt I want to wear, but I sort of had an epiphany and don’t know what to do with it.

A friend of mine ran into a guy she used to date. He got married not too long ago. (Is this a recurring theme lately?) And he’s miserable. He used to be good-looking, and my friend said he’s still hot, but he doesn’t have that spark anymore that was always unmistakable.

He was thrilled to see her. Said he thought back to when they were together and how much he missed being with her. That he wonders what if they’d taken that next step, would they both be happy? (She’s with someone, too, but I don’t get that the positives outweigh the negatives at this point.)

And I thought back to my situation and it dawned on me — are we all waiting for rescue? Do we go that green mile and hope that if the universe itself doesn’t intervene, that someone else will stop us in the nick of time?

There was an image on PostSecret.com last week, a postcard someone sent in of a couple and a priest looking at the camera, captioned, “I waited for you to show up and stop me. You didn’t.” The image haunted me in a way I cannot put into words.

I wondered, when someone tells you that they’re getting married or they’re really making a go of whatever they’re in, what their motivation is. Like when I’ve gotten “those” calls to tell me how happy they are, what was my reaction supposed to be?

I mean, I’m getting to the age that every guy I date moves on and marries the next girl he meets. I feel like “Sally” when she tells “Harry” in that beloved movie that the guy who said he didn’t want to get married, just didn’t want to marry her.

But what if they’re calling not necessarily for your approval — or, more likely, so you don’t read it in the paper first — but for your disapproval?

What if I were less of what I consider to be the “better” person — what if I said, “Oh, HELL no!” instead of squelching any feelings of loss I might have experienced? What if I said, “You fool!” and begged them to think really damn hard about what they were giving up in me.

But I’m not like that. You wanna leave? Buh-bye. Your loss. I’ll shut off my emotional spigot by putting a bullet in it. You wouldn’t hurt me if you really cared about me.

Someone said something to me two days ago that really got under my skin. She pointed out how I get to a point where I’m like, “OK. Whatever you say.” That I don’t stand up and fight for what I want past a certain point. That I internalize my disappointment and disgust and my dreams if it means that someone else can go off and be happy. At least one of us should be, I always reason. Apparently it wasn’t my turn to be.

Ugh.

Just, ugh.

I hate that about myself, my inability to fight for what I want.

What my friend said, though, is that just because someone declares what THEY want or that THEY decided on, doesn’t make it right. Furthermore, I should just open my damn eyes already and realize that they are approaching me because they RESPECT me, that they want to find out MY opinion on the situation. That they feel like they need to tell me what THEY decided but that they are WAITING for me to throw a hot fuss and give them the thing they need to consider that, well, hasn’t OCCURRED to them yet.

I never thought of it that way.

I never dreamed that I could argue with someone whose mind was made up.

That’s why I don’t talk politics. You want to think Dubya is the best president on earth, well, I don’t argue with the criminally insane. 😉

I don’t fight battles I’m clearly not going to win. Even if I know I’m the voice of reason that could change your world if you’d just let me.

Let that resonate with you for a minute like it just did with me. …

“I could change your world if you’d just let me.”

Do you walk away, thinking that I DON’T care if I don’t make my case against whatever it is you’re telling me is supposedly true?

Do you walk that green mile to the altar, looking over your shoulder, hoping I’ll be the crazy person who shows up and says you’re marrying that mess OVER MY DEAD BODY?

Because you know it would take me that long to get my shit together and do it, if I had the balls to.

Once in my life, I made a last-ditch attempt to keep someone in town who’d met that “dream girl” (not the way I’d describe her, but I digress) and they were moving out-of-state together. And you know what? I was too late.

I was waiting for someone else to make the miracle in that situation. But maybe that miracle had been in my hands all along.

I’m tired of saying, “Your loss.” When the loss is equally shared, if it meant nobody fought for it but they sure as hell wanted to.

I always figure, why make even more of an ass out of myself when I’ve just been mortally wounded?

But in battle is when people discover their superhuman strength. That’s when that adrenaline arsenal gives you that kick in the ass that will carry you through. You can recover from it later. But your time to fight is NOW.

I can stare in the mirror and give a million reasons why I shouldn’t stand up and fight. Especially if you don’t know anything about your opponent. And why would the person you care about even bring an opponent for you onto the field if they cared about you in the first place?

I’m more likely to fire up a song like Shakira’s “Don’t Bother” in that instance (i.e., “I promise you won’t ever see me cry”) than strap on a set and say, “No, I don’t accept this.”

But what am I interested in preserving? The peace? Jesus, that’s the first thing to go out the window. The only peace is the silence that follows, and it’s uneasy at best.

I don’t know. In my last case of getting “that call,” I faked cheer. Said I was thrilled for him. He was quite taken aback at that. I was wondering what he wanted me to say, but that he called me at work when I couldn’t really talk, well, I didn’t expect that he wanted me to beg him to reconsider his position. Fuck, he’d given her a ring. My pathetic little plea wasn’t going to change that.

Or could it?

So when my friend found herself staring at her ex and reliving all the good times, do you write it off as resignation, that they fucked that one up and they were going to spend the rest of their lives regretting it. Or do you see an opportunity for Fate to intervene and to right the course that had clearly gone so wrong?

I don’t want to lose out on any more miracles. Even if that means I have to make my own. Losses are only compounded by the “What Ifs.” I’d rather move forward, knowing I made them stop and think.

But I’ll tell you, I admit that if I’m the one about to walk down the “wrong” path, I’ll be the first one to say that I hope someone, somewhere saves me from it. They might “ruin” a special day, but if they prevent the loss of a special lifetime, I think I’d have no trouble forgiving them … and loving them for it.

Moving slowly today after Sabre’s awesome get-together for Tetris’ birthday. Also not breathing altogether that well, as I blew through almost an entire pack of Marlboro Ultra Lights in one sitting … after not touching a cigarette for months. Corruptin’ mah morals, I tell ya!

I love summer and having all kinds of social stuff to do, so on a whim, I contacted a dating service so I could love it even more. A “relationship counselor” called me the other day to get more of a feel for what I’m looking for, and I’m sad to say I’m almost willing to pay for this adventure.

The other night at Tiff’s comedy performance, one of the other comedians was joking about these services that guarantee you three dates. Doesn’t mean they guarantee you good ones! And sure enough, these people were selling me on all the marriages and long-term partnerships their magic has spawned, but they sure as hell don’t tell you about all the restraining orders and hours of therapy that this odyssey probably inspired. 😉

They asked me to give them the three words that would describe my match. I said, “Doesn’t. Annoy. Me.”

I don’t think they thought I was funny.

When they asked what age range I was considering, I said, “Somewhere between a quarter-life crisis and a mid-life crisis, thanks.”

At this point, they’re saying, “No wonder you’re calling us!”

I did settle on 34-42, if anyone out there in that demographic is reading and wants to save me from paying for the crazy stories I know this journey is going to yield!

But it’s interesting, really exploring with this “counselor” where it all went wrong and what has been missing that I never really even considered. I mean, when they said to describe an ideal first date, I sort of was at a loss. I’m not lacking in things to do — just someone to do them with. And the same person to do them with — if a girl doesn’t have a few different people to call, she’ll be pretty lonely on those other nights of the week that someone else isn’t available.

And as for my ideal first date? Am I hopeless that dinner and a movie is my utopia? I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever done that with anyone other than friends or friends with that question mark attached because you don’t know where it’s going or if it’s going anywhere different.

In any event, my theory on that “boring” first date is that I want to have just enough conversation to determine a boy’s level of intelligence and emotional maturity, and the movie bit takes the pressure off talking — ’cause you know we’re all stressed out from trying to convey enough of ourselves without revealing ALL of our neuroses in one sitting.

The way I explained it was that I am not going to agree to go sky-diving or bungee-jumping on the first date (or ever, but let’s stick with the analogy here), only to have a real conversation with the boy on the next date because I don’t want to go, “I jumped out of a plane for this moron? Gah!”

So, really, what’s the reason I’m even doing this? And why now? I don’t know. I guess I was inspired by my colleague’s assertion that his son is getting married this summer after signing up for a dating service. But here’s the deal — as soon as he paid an exorbitant amount of money for this service, he met a girl completely of his own accord.

And he even wondered whether he should take advantage of the dating service anyway, because he’d dumped a few grand into it. But the new girl was firm — you get me, or you go get your money’s worth there. And he chose correctly, apparently, since they’re officially starting their “happily ever after” as I type this.

I want THAT kind of a story. I’m tired of telling stories that make people cringe and laugh sympathetically and say, “Poor you!” I don’t want to always be known as the one who’s better off alone than with the clowns I’m always telling them about.

And most of them aren’t clowns — they’re great people whose most memorable moments in my mind are usually unintentionally comedic. 🙂

My mom even told me recently that I can turn down some of these invitations — no law against it, if I’m not thinking it will be worth throwing on a clean pair of scandalous underwear. And I said it’s almost feeling like my duty to go “do some time” so I can have the story to tell that it will inevitably yield.

It gives me blog fodder, if nothing else. Not like I ever really do spell out my exploits in this space, but you know it’ll all come out in a couple of years when I have another situation that’s frustrating me, I can tell the “old” story to give me some perspective on the new.

Or maybe I’ll be the next one that Serendipity smiles upon, and instead of laughing at the things that have happened, I’ll be giggling with someone about the fact that this period of my life is behind me.

In the meantime, though, I plan to enjoy all the yuks that I can possibly squeeze out of this period of my life!

I finally have a little stability in my life, yet the one thing I am yearning for more than anything is a change.

A good change, let me qualify — life seems to grant my requests willy-nilly if I don’t get specific about it. 😉

There’s something standing in the way of me moving on. That thing is me.

I think I’ve been clinging to something that is hurting me more and more to (almost) have. I was thinking a lot about my last post, how I let go when I’m hurt. I may have to do that again. No matter how much joy it can bring, if the accompanying heartache isn’t going to be worth the trouble someday, I might as well save myself even more damage to undo. It’s going to take a miracle to change my mind this time.

On to WAY more interesting subjects, I had a terrific night out last night, so no complaints here. Traipsed over to Adams Morgan to watch our budding comedienne perform her heart out at Topaz. Laughed my ass off. I think that’s going to be my new fitness routine — laugh off ass, fit into jeans. Wish I’d thought of that workout regimen sooner! 😉

Here’s her set from April 10, just so you know who she is when she becomes famous:

At last night’s show, there was a guy looking at me from across the room in the audience for the last part of the show. I’m no dummy — I was looking back. I saw him upstairs in the bar a couple of times, but he never approached and I was too busy clock-watching to really relax enough to enjoy the post-show chatter. The guy at the Colonial Parking garage on Rhode Island Avenue made it clear that the doors were closing at 11 p.m. so I needed to have my car out by then.

I hate Colonial Parking because they don’t let people actually enjoy a night out. Fuck, it took almost two hours in traffic to get to the hotel (we’re talking a 15-mile drive) — let me unwind and have a drink and see my friends, fer crissakes, will ya? That, and their garages seem particularly heinous — all on angles and tons of poles. A guy smashed his front end trying to get around me, and I wasn’t exactly taking my half out of the middle.

When I left, thank GAWD I was the last car in there — it took a fucking 14-point turn to unwedge the car from her spot. How the hell did I even get it IN there, is the question. And we PAY for these headaches? Sheesh!

Speaking of unbridled joy and rapture, Mercury moved into retrograde today. I try not to make big decisions and commitments during these tumultuous times, although I have two looming and I admit I’m worried about the outcome of both.

In any event, I have no energy today. My horoscope indicated that I can’t do anything about today’s mood — it’ll pass when it’s done with me. I ain’t fighting it today like I usually do, so maybe if I just let it run its course, instead of staving it off through denial, I’ll be emotionally healthier in the end.

Well, I have an entry title. Y’all didn’t actually want content to go along with it, now did you? ‘Cause I ain’t got it tonight. (Stop cheering!)

I’ve gotten to a point in my head where I’ve intellectualized everything that has been going on. I do that — it’s probably a coping mechanism. My comfort comes from reaching a place in my mind where I can give a very-logical explanation for things that have transpired. (Even if I don’t fully believe it.)

It’s a very eerie talent to not only step outside of situations and talk about them like they happened to somebody else, but to feel like I wasn’t actually a part of them when they took place.

Always the storyteller, I guess.

Speaking of stories, I remembered an old story of when I was dating A. a million years ago. I was a full-fledged pack-a-day smoker then. He hated that. I don’t think he threatened to disown me, but I think I was so enthralled with him that I decided to pretend to quit and let him think he was responsible for it.

I did end up quitting for awhile and he rewarded my various stages of getting through it. And after we stopped dating (apparently evaporating off the fucking planet is an acceptable method — nay, the preferred one — of bowing out. Damn him for beating me to it!), I went straight back to lighting up. No reason not to, I guess.

Not that we would ever acknowledge that anything ever happened. He met his future wife (what a freaking mess she was) and I was just the buddy he met through his volunteer work. And it was that way whether she was within earshot or not — I felt like I had dreamed up the whole thing. Maybe I had. Maybe nothing I’ve experienced in this life is real. I’m seriously beginning to wonder.

But back to A. I remember how, when I knew I would see him, I’d refrain from smoking for the whole day. Didn’t want it in my hair, on my clothes, on my fingertips. I didn’t make a production out of it — I knew it would bother him and he wouldn’t want to be close to me if I reeked, and really, for the amount of money I spend on designer perfumes, smoking was stupid for that reason alone.

I guess the memory brought up a couple of unresolved issues. One, that it’s so hard to actually go ahead and take care of myself anyway when no one is looking. I really need someone or something to hold me accountable to my goals. I resist that kind of control, because that’s what I view it to be. But on the other hand, I’m an A-student at heart. I love to do my homework if there might be a pop quiz following it.

The other issue is a better one, in that while little has changed insofar as never knowing where you stand with people, I either ask or just decide not to worry too much about it. I mean, I don’t know why I cared so much what he thought. I remember him going to kiss me and I wanted him to — intellectually. But my body flinched, almost imperceptibly.

And it was weird, how I thought that was what I wanted more than anything in the world. But maybe I didn’t. Not at that moment, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I was jealous as HELL that he married the next girl he met. (She was Jewish; so was he. I knew he’d never marry a gentile. I think he was more attracted to her bank account, though — it’s amazing what people might leave you for, but that I can at least understand.)

I don’t even know where I’m going with all of this. The memory was just so powerful, of just that moment of having him mention that he met somebody new and, oh yeah, he’s going to marry her too. Like, WTF was I supposed to do? Sure, I wasn’t QUITE THERE, but I was willing to try to get there. That’s what dating is, right? Having fun with the potential of actually getting somewhere with it, if it should be meant to happen.

I was just mad I never smoked around him. How many moments I needed one that I wasted. … 😉

I wonder whether he’s still with the ol’ Mole Hole. (I know, I’m such a grown-up. She looked like a mole — what can I say?) Moreover, I wonder whether it ever occurred to him that I just needed a little more time with him.

Uptight little priss. Made me so damn nervous sometimes, like I wasn’t yet worthy of him. Lemme think, he was born in ’65, so that made us about nine years apart. I know he liked that I was younger, but that I wasn’t making any money in the non-profit sector was a problem, it seemed. Even though I paid for myself practically everywhere. (Lisa Lampanelli did a great joke in Vegas that Jewish men will make you pay your half of dinner AND the whole tip. Funny because it’s TRUE!!!) I never wanted to seem like I needed anything, that I could take care of myself just fine.

Don’t get me wrong — he took care of major events (birthdays, milestones, etc.). And I loved being seen around town with him — EVERYONE knew him. I enjoyed going to myriad club openings and other nifty stuff he always managed to be on the guest list of.

Now, I always felt like I was somebody, but I loved knowing that I’d picked someone who was respected in the community — like, not only did I have PHENOMENAL taste, but he apparently did, too, to be seen with me. 😉

It’s weird how far I’ve come since then. I have a job that’s reminiscent of the one he used to have. (I admit, I just looked up his LinkedIn profile.) I have become everything I think he wanted me to be. (Other than Jewish and rich. LOL) I think, if we had been able to stay friends, he’d be proud of me.

I think I threw away the friendship. I had to. I was hurting too much. He was good to me — helped me in a lot of ways, both professionally and personally. But I had to step away. I stopped returning his calls after he told me he was getting married. (Admittedly, I DID move to D.C. right around that time!) I left him a message on his wedding day — the one he’d asked me to come to but never sent me an invitation to. And that was that.

I don’t miss him. I will probably forget about him again as soon as I publish this entry.

But that’s the point of this — we try so hard to be what people want us to be, while we know them. And in this case, I became that person, just on my own. Was that partially his influence, dumb luck or just an ability to recognize my past in my present?

Moreover, the point is that everyone — EVERYONE — has the ability to impact us. And we can have the same affect on them.

And you wonder whether one of you walking away when you did means costing you what could have been the greatest relationship of your life.

I wonder if he’s happy. I hope he is. I know men who say they’re settling for the relationships they’re in — you wonder whether they’re exaggerating or whether they’re crying out for help.

And I’m OK that A. wasn’t happy with me. I guess I just wonder what more of a chance with him — or anyone, for that matter — could have yielded.

Maybe one of these days, I’ll not have to wonder. Instead, maybe I’ll just “know.”

But it’s the A.s of this world who are the reason I’ve evolved far enough to determine the difference either way.

Hungry. Have nothing available for dinner. And no change to go at least make do with something from the vending machine.

So what’s a girl to do? Heat up her last packet of kettle corn and hope for the best.

Unfortunately, the microwave burned the popcorn, rendering it absolutely inedible. And the smell of it is making me too nauseous to be hungry anymore. So, this is a win-win, eh?

Gun, meet head.

To boot, my lovely pink push-up bra is killing me because one of the wires is dislodging itself and stabbing me with its pointy little metal tip. Lord.

The saving grace to this day is that my friend told me I look spectacular in pink (based on seeing my outfit, not the bra!).

I really need an hour to myself to take a nap or something. Seriously, people. Embrace the siesta concept!!!