Caterwauling

Cognitive dysentery, served up piping-hot daily!

• Not one to have anything on Paris Hilton, Tommy Lee/Pamela Anderson, Vince Neil, Bret Michaels and Dustin Diamond, the next person to have a sex tape get stolen? MY MOTHER. She swears she accidentally threw out an old tape, and it happened to be the same night that her ghetto-ass next-door neighbor got overwhelmed by curiosity at Mom’s very-private life and WENT THROUGH HER TRASH. What a fucking freak, and I ain’t talking about Mom. Although, admit it — how many of you can say your parents now have a sex tape (probably) on the Internet? 😉
• I have a stalker. Yes, ANOTHER. Seriously, people, stop it with the stalking already. I’m not as interesting as you think I am. Really. Well, actually I AM, but still. Begone! My boys are taking care of the latest adventure. Have I mentioned how much I love big, strong men who worship me? The sane ones, let me clarify!
• I just got a 2008 calendar and happily marked off my next birthday. When … *gulp* … I realized it was “34.” Oh dear GOD how did I get this old? I always said I’d be married (and probably divorced — twice!) by 34. Talk about a slap in the face with a brick!
• I wasn’t necessarily lost last night as I left one area of D.C. to go to another, but since you can’t directly backtrack anywhere, I did have a moment of trying a new route to get back to where I needed to be. And I assure you, nobody knows D.C. better than I do because I”m always turned-around in it. But I stepped briefly into Northern Virginia, and I couldn’t help but realize I always find myself lost in that area of town. Metaphorically, metaphysically AND directionally.
• This online dating adventure? Is suddenly quite promising. I’m pretty fucking pleased with it, actually. Once you get away from the sites “everybody” knows about and locate more of a niche, it’s so much more manageable. I yanked my profile off every site but one, and it’s yielded more results than the others combined.
• A friend of mine is looking to move to my neighborhood. I’m hoping she considers moving to my particular place. We hang out here and there, and she’s fun and always thinking up new things to do. It’ll be terrific to have a nearby partner in crime.
• A friend recommended the new Sara Bareilles CD on iTunes. I. Cannot. Stop. Playing. It. I’m partial to “City,” although “Between the Lines” sufficiently killed me inside and don’t get me started on “One Sweet Love.” Because I will have to listen to them again. And again.

Entering Chinatown, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

So I had this super-awesome, fabulous, oh-my-god-to-DIE-for lunch at Matchbox down in Chinatown. I ordered the Prosciutto White pizza, which was loaded with kalamata olives and more garlic than a vampire’s worst nightmare. Dear God, YUM.

I topped it off with a glass of King Estate pinot gris, which was (*cue singing voice*) “heaavveennnn.” The company was delightful — a group of ladies I haven’t seen in quite some time. I had last agreed to meet up with them for the D.C. Japanese Festival, but a new male friend surprised me by meeting me down there when I’d arrived and, well, I’m not a girl to keep a date with her friends when there’s a boy involved. 😉

Matchbox is a very tall and narrow red-brick building on the same block as Verizon Center and the Regal movie theater and a bunch of non-Chinese restaurants and stores, most of which have the store names written in Chinese underneath the English version. It literally does look like a matchstick, very blink-and-you’ll-miss-it from the outside, but very modern and heavenly smelling inside.

As you walk in there’s a fully stocked bar, and just beyond it are the wood-fired ovens in plain sight. Go up a half-flight and make a right, and you’re seated “outside” — there are maybe eight tables under huge red umbrellas. And today was just a gorgeous day — it was in the mid-80s with a nice breeze, so with the infamous dog-breath humidity for which our fair city is legendary not being a problem, we chose to sit outside. Glorious decision, I say.

Anyway, there were five of us with a 12:30 reservation. Four of us showed up and the fifth got tied up with work and said she’d be late. The restaurant refused to seat us. A half-hour goes by (yep, 1 p.m.) and we’re all mighty thirsty and hungry and dude, the waiting stuff was getting old because they REFUSED TO SEAT US.

We asked the hostesses why we couldn’t be seated when the restaurant was practically empty. They kept citing “policy.” And the thing is, two of our people are in the hospitality/customer service realm. Believe me, if they’re ticked? It’s my barometer to know it’s just not me blowing my little steam off.

I wanted to leave. Really. I was happy to go to any of the dozen-plus Chinese restaurants (ha! imagine!) situated around H Street, but my friends very calmly asked to see a manager. And they were so diplomatic with her as she stood there WITH HER HANDS ON HER HIPS touting “policy.”

You know, I get policy. Policies are made to keep the riff-raff at bay. Policies are meant to save your ass when you need to make a decision. But with two-thirds of the restaurant open, and four very hungry people standing there begging to order drinks and appetizers and not being ALLOWED to, well, fried my shorts.

I sat there and Tweeted while the manager stood there with her I’m-so-calm manner of saying, “Tell me what you want me to do to make things right.” The answer was, of course, to seat us, for crying out loud. I was tired and cranky and hadn’t eaten since the day before and I know me. I know how annoyed I was. My back was killing me, and standing in a doorway for a half-hour hadn’t enhanced my sense of humor.

Anyway, the server, Jon, more than made up for the auspicious start to the day. And we were all classy about it — we loved him. He was pretty on-the-ball with drink orders and refills and such. And I do give credit to the restaurant — they comped our drinks for our trouble (including my wine, God love ’em).

You know, as I put it, I am not a small girl. If you want me to eat as I sit at a table and wait for the rest of my party, all ya have to do is ask. I won’t say no. 😉 The appetizer list looked amazing, but we were all so ready to eat our own arms, we went straight for the entrees.

Anyway, all ended well so I’ll give the food five stars, the service four stars and the robotic “Sorry. It’s policy” that we heard seven times a negative four stars.

We ended up catching “Chuck and Larry” next-door at the Regal, and to say it was a one-joke movie is like calling water wet. Although, I admit that they managed to fill two hours with dick jokes rather well — some were even funny.

I did have to question how Chuck and Larry were around all kinds of other bona fide gay men whose “straight-dar” never seemed to go off. Um, hello, do either of them come across as the turd burglar type? (I figure they used “butt pirate” in the movie — might as well dig up all the old ’80s references!)

I am not certain how Jessica Biel managed to be half-naked in a gay-themed movie, but she managed. I don’t even know if she has acting ability — she’s half-naked in every film and quite honestly, I can’t remember her voice to save my life. 🙂

When she and Adam Sandler were out having a “girls’ day,” I almost missed my old harem of gay men. But given that I only hang out with the hetero crowd these days, I realize how drama-free my life has become.

Actually, that’s not true — it’s finally all about MY drama and I don’t have anyone else’s overshadowing it. Damn it — it’s about time! Although I really could use a good makeover/spa day and can’t get the vagina-whisperer-types to join me. … 😉

So as I was trolling the personals sites (I still haven’t answered my e-mails — I decided I didn’t feel like ponying up $100 today to be hooked into a six-month contract), I wondered why there’s no flaming disclaimer, in a freaking marquee, telling us to do a reality check before believing any of this shit.

I’m casting no stones without admitting that, hey, there’s a lot I ain’t willing to put out there, either. And I would be remiss if I didn’t say that I am among the many who fudges my responses somewhat. Besides, you’ll never see a photo of me from the neck down. I assure you of that!

For instance, I very happily check off “never” when they ask whether you smoke. I was taking a puff as I did it, too. Look, I’m sure I have enough other strikes against me — why provide the third one that will put me out of the game entirely? Besides, I don’t smoke when there are impressionable men to get close to. I’d much rather they smell the cologne that costs as much as a site membership!

A friend and I were kind of commiserating yesterday that you know you’ve been around the block when not only do you start to see the profiles of people you know on these sites, but also those of the people with whom you might have actually had a date or two!

It got me to thinking (because, let’s face it, what DOESN’T set off my existential angst?) about wow, here are all these good single people out there. Many of whom know each other. Many of whom wouldn’t think to maybe say, “Hey, let’s go out for calamari sometimes.” Because we’d MUCH rather go online and hope that some total stranger doesn’t reject us based on seeing a photo alone. INGENIOUS.

I had half a mind to call up some of these people and go hey, what’s wrong with me that I’m not worth at least a wink at? But then again, what would they do if I winked at them? Run screaming or decide that hey, the proverbial girl next door is worth that second look?

I also had half a mind to call up a few of them and say, “REALITY CHECK.” Do you all believe everything you write? I know I’m making up shit — are you aware that you may be doing the same?

This is why I dig the power of LinkedIn.com, although there should be a dating site that serves as its equivalent. At least you get testimonials on LinkedIn so that if you make claims about your abilities, someone can back them up.

Of course, I’ve met some real dumb shits in person and to read their testimonials, I wonder what the fuck their commenters were smoking when they said this person is bright and articulate.

So, maybe there never really is any truth in advertising.

Or maybe, just maybe, we should all make a pact to fact-check each other. And to make sure that all of our good points are put out there, too, because a lot of people aren’t aware of what really does make them special.

For instance, I cannot resist a man who opens my car door for me. In this day and age, we don’t unlock or open each other’s doors anymore. Someone pushes a button and you just get in. What I wouldn’t give to meet the guy who makes sure I’m secure and closes the door for me.

There was a time in my life when I would have railed against that. But the older I get, the more I appreciate — and expect — good, old-fashioned upbringings.

And sure, I don’t reach over to open someone’s door anymore if it’s already unlocked. But I used to. My family always told me that girls who do that are considered “keepers.”

Although, girls who give blow jobs daily aren’t even keepers, so go figure. (I believe the word is “givers.”) 😉

But maybe that’s the trap we’re all caught in. We’ll give till it hurts and get our hearts trampled like grapes in a barrel. So if/when things don’t work out, we can either berate ourselves for not showing our best manners or we can thank God that we didn’t waste any more effort on that loser/moron/cheapskate/etc. than we already did.

And then, you see them out there looking, too, and you wish them luck and hope they’re doing the same for you.

It’s a strange thing these days, dating. It used to be considered a small world when you’d see them with their new, hot (or not) girlfriend on the street. Now you can’t escape them because you’re all trolling the same damn sites.

And it’s weird to see when they’re not happy. You wonder whether they’re having a run of bad luck or whether they just can’t BE happy. And then you wonder the same about yourself, if we’re all just trying to show our best face but we’re all just as fucked-up as they come.

Maybe that’s the answer — a site where we put our neuroses out there and we can pick from the menu just what it is we’re willing to live with and/or what we can identify with. Let’s call it “Dealbreakers.” If you see the shit that you’d eventually leave somebody for, just check off their profile as “Never Show Me This Person (or someone with this issue) Again!” and you’ve narrowed the cesspool exponentially.

That said, anyone who is fine with someone who stress-smokes, lives at the drive-thru so much that she’s two Frosties away from sprouting red braided pigtails, works too much and whose idea of a stress-free day is NOT telling someone “eat me,” then leave me a comment. I’ll be sure to pass your number along to her. 😉

Dinner with the Pope, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

The work gang went out to lunch Thursday at Buca, where we filled up the entire “Pope Room.” All photos/statues/tapestries of our papal friends. I suddenly feel very guilty that we didn’t even so much as say grace before we dived into our 47 family-style platters.

I had a lovely dinner of leftovers tonight (Friday) of eggplant parm and a side of chicken corkscrew pasta. Seemed lonely without that big head watching me. …

A friend checked in on me yesterday to ensure that I hadn’t killed anyone lately because she hadn’t heard from me and knew I was sort of on the precipice of losing my mind anyway. I said I’d NEVER commit homicide — they don’t allow iPhones in jail!

I’m trying not to do any real work right now because it’s looking like another biggie-size day in the making. And it’s impossible, really, to not at least keep an eye on e-mail because part of my job is to respond to urgent requests, and it’s the minute I step away to go pee or scrub my butt or something that the world collapses and IT’S BECAUSE I HAD TO GO ADJUST MY PANTYHOSE that it happened.

I’m getting a laptop soon. Not the one I want, or anything I WOULD in my right mind want (read: a Dell. *shudder*). But I plan to be found more in coffee shops and other places that do not involve pantyhose. I just hope my plan comes to fruition, since SO MANY of them have lately. (*snerk*)

My horoscope said: “Oh, and why not stop off for a splurgy cup of fancy coffee? There’s no rush! Today is all about savoring the day and going about things slowly enough that you can discover some new people and places.”

I think I will, but it’s only because I can respond to urgent pages from my iPhone. I’m so glad my little personal investment helps me to work even more. 🙂

Of course, the horoscope also said: “You’re all about one other person.” Which, surprisingly? Not really. I went through the coffers of my brain and it’s suprisingly devoid of anyone’s presence. Usuallly I’m trying to figure out how to make this or that one happy, or figure out why this or that one is being a douche, or figure out why I think or feel what I do and/or what I’d really ask for if I knew I could have it.

It’ll be a good day. A long one but a good one. I finally got some sleep, after two days without. And while all I want is MORE, maybe I’ll clear the books on Saturday and do just that. If I can just keep my eyes open that long. …

God damn it.

Another sleepless night.

Judging by my buddy list (the fact that hardly anyone was idle at 3:22 Eastern), I’m thinking we’ve all given up on the sandman. By 5 a.m., I gave up and went into work. It’s 7 a.m. I’m ready to pull off my eyelids to keep me from falling asleep right where I’m sitting. I was the last one out of the office last night and the first one in. And yes, I keep repeating the mantra that I’m happy to be employed and working and thriving and growing and all that jazz. I’m just crabby right now. Bear with me here.

So I watched the sun rise today. My office (I think) faces southeast, so I got a good eyeful of pink skies and a bright orange sun against the blue gradient ranging from midnight to morning hues. I don’t get what the fuss is about, with watching the sun rise. I would rather have slept through it. 🙂

I have a 10 a.m. meeting, and because my morning project runs till (and past) 9 a.m., I always have to be up extra-early to be showered and dressed before it so I can drive in for 10. Which means I NEVER sleep the night before. Which means the crabaliciousness will continue well into the wee hours of Friday night, as we do love our 10 a.m. meeting time slot. Although if there is a God, it’ll be an 11 a.m. meeting on Friday instead. Maybe I’ll skip today’s group lunch and sleep at my desk. I’m in a (seemingly permanent) cycle of 15-hour days and my brain is hurting entirely too much to be social.

My health is falling apart and I don’t know where to begin in fixing it. (Physical health, of course. The mind got toasted 10 years ago.) I am having a hard time healing from my backache, as it’s now traveled to my legs and I’m getting jealous of people with canes and walkers because they’re getting around better than I am! It’s like how a stubbed toe makes you forget that you have a headache — and I’m running out of body parts to injure to take my mind off the fact that my brain is jelly.

Pulling all-nighters, even if you’re not working them, is terrible for the soul. Admittedly, I was so stressed out over unfinished/unstarted projects that sleep refused to come. But when I have time on my hands, the pontificating begins. And never ends.

I got to thinking about a mutual pledge made once upon a time, how each didn’t want to screw up what we were trying to find together. Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn’t it? And how screwed-up it all became, and I don’t know quite why. It wasn’t meant to be. I can live with that. Hey, I’m a big believer in the universe making or breaking it for a reason. But what I fail to reconcile in my head is why nobody really tried to get it right, either. I’ll live, but I do miss the hugs more than anything and can use one right about now.

I think maybe the universe was saving me for something else, but I don’t know that was completely it. At least, not for anything in the immediate line of vision. Maybe I’ll answer all my dating-service e-mails after all — I guess I’ve been waiting for a miracle, a sign to tell me not to go about things that way. But even the universe is like, “Honey, you’re cranky when you’re not getting laid. Hop to it, and soon!” So I’ll suck it up and agree to autorenew my subscription and see whether good intentions can pave a road to paradise during one of these journeys.

“Change has begun
So cease your regrets
I make good mistakes
And I’m not over yet.”

— Jimmie’s Chicken Shack, “Smiling”

Another day that kicked my ass up and down Rockville Pike, but today I had a tiny but significant victory, so let’s call this one a win.

Most days I can’t comprehend why people turn to psychotropics or hallucinogenics to get through, but other days, I can totally get down with frying one’s brain temporarily.

As I told someone today, I’m so crabby lately, it’s time for a bath in drawn butter. And that’s about the only preface that you can put on an “Eat me!” comment that won’t get you sent to human resources. 😉

I’m getting to a point where I’m so overloaded in all aspects of life that I’m tired enough to screw up. I haven’t, knock on wood, but I can see it happening if I don’t slow the hell down. What amazes me is how I’m actually trying to add MORE to my life.

Pressure never fazes me. I can’t get enough of the challenges and responsibilities and am always up for more. But on days like today, I’m thinking that being average wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But then I meet average people who are clearly happy that way, and they aggravate me to no end.

And I think about dating because, of course, I’m a girl and I’m not willing to hit my sexual peak alone. 🙂 And I think wow, I’ve achieved more than 10 people put together, and people might have the audacity to reject you based on some minor thing in you that they perceive as a flaw when you can run circles around them.

It’s a funny trap, how sometimes people can make you feel like you’re not worthy of their time, attention, affection, whatever — and even if they don’t try to, that’s what their actions or lack thereof can convey. And maybe that’s what pushes people like me to excel at everything else, that you just won’t miss them missing out on you.

I guess, during a rare free moment the other day, I found myself pondering whether the magic is/was only an illusion, and whether I’m dumb enough to keep trying to figure out the difference. But maybe it was only finite — maybe I saw something that wasn’t meant to last, and I was lucky to have witnessed some sort of cosmic miracle.

Like it was said on the “House” rerun from last night, apparently life is a series of rooms, and your experiences and memories are based on who’s in the room with you at any given time. But I guess we all leave those rooms, and move on to bigger and better ones. As I find myself wandering a hallway right now, I’ve got to remember that before I choose the next room to enter … and to close the door on rooms already visited or those that just don’t have a good vibe about them from the doorway.

Or maybe I just need to not stop in vacant rooms anymore and just head straight to the party. That would probably save a lot of time and effort, but for some reason, I’m afraid of missing out on something special so I’m always spelunking for it. I just hope my hands won’t be too full when I find whatever it is that I think I’m looking for. I guess I also hope that I’ll find something even better than I imagined, if I just keep at it long enough.

I don’t know. I do know I’m doing fine overall, even if I’m just exhausted and crabalicious and seemingly aimless sometimes. A couple of people have said to me recently, “Wow, things really seem to be going well for you.” And honestly, they’re right. I really have no complaints. I think I’m just imagining that I’m hitting a wall when really I’m just punching through the plateau so things can get even better.

Growth hurts sometimes, but it’ll feel good when I can overcome the fear of heights long enough to look down and see how far I’ve come. I get so focused on where I’m NOT that I don’t think much about where I’ve BEEN.

And perhaps that’s where I’ll get the strength to turn around and resume the climb with renewed spirit.

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

“Breathing is really cool, I love my life
Every reason in the world to be smiling.”

I swear, I’m in dating-service hell. I gave up on one service because for the cost of meeting someone, I could instead afford a nice tropical cruise.

(And which would YOU rather have, honestly? Exactly. Sing it with me: “Vacation, all I ever wanted. Vacation, had to get away!” Sorry about that Go-Gos earworm; I had to share the misery!)

Anyway, so I’ve been getting e-mails from a couple of the online services that I’ve joined. And folks are, shall we say, less than creative with their subject lines. You know — those things that are supposed to entice me to open the damn message, like to show that they read my profile and weren’t just blinded by the goddess-ness of it all.

Little did I know I’d be getting a blog entry out of this epic adventure.

MUST LOVE DOGS. FINE. BUT LET’S NOT GET CARRIED AWAY

Last week, I saw this note pop up, “I love dogs, too!” And I’m thinking, you know, I write epics about myself and who I want to end up with. I toss out a dozen conversation starters in my essays. My username isn’t something I’d normally affiliate myself with, but I figure if I’m trying to attract hetero men, I can’t do something girly and frilly and goddess-y.

So this “I love dogs” business. I’m thinking what a lazy son of a bitch. I have no dogs. Either he’s doing form letters and spamming potential mates in the hopes that one of them is going to happen to love dogs and bite, or he’s just that plain dumb. (And believe me, I know dumb. There’s someone I know whom someone else thinks is a drunk; trust me, I just don’t think the lights are on OR that anyone’s home — it ain’t booze-induced.)

Ahem.

Anyway, so I’m thinking, “I ain’t paying to read this stupid message!” because really, I have CATS. Read the fucking profile already. I don’t have photos of them; I simply mention them in a checkbox/list-style area.

As far as where they’d pull dogs out of their ass, there’s another checkbox, after “Pets I Have,” for “Pets I’d Like to Have.” And well, I checked “dog.” I like dogs. Don’t love them. I’d sell you my cats for a cup of coffee — THAT I’D BUY FOR YOU — because I’m up to my ass cheeks in cleaning animal excrement. So what kind of tool finds that miniscule detail and hones in on it?

Sure, I like a dude who’s detail-oriented, but that level of detail tends to freak me the fuck out because “those” kind of guys tend to have no peripheral vision, as they’re so focused on the minutiae.

SO YOU HAVE EARS, TOO? WOW! JACKPOT!

So this leads me to think that I don’t want to pay to read Captain Kooky’s e-mail. I mean, wow, you love dogs, too? We’re meant to be together! You have two ears? OMIGOD, me too! You sit down to poop, too? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?

Anyway, I got a bunch more messages last night, and it occurs to me that one particular service must just automatically assign the subject lines, because they’re all, “I’m into (X activity), too!”

I think it’ll be worth the price of admission to at least open the letter from the one who’s into fine wines. Means he has to have SOME level of class, I hope. 🙂

GAWD, why can’t I just meet someone in person like in the “good old days”? OK, let’s face it, without the Internet, I’d probably never really meet anyone to date, and the ones I do find in person are about as questionable sometimes as the ones hiding behind a quasi-clever screen name.

But shit, for the money we have to dump into these dating services, it’s like paying for a date anyway — it just feels like a rip-off to not at least get a movie or something out of it. Makes me feel not just like a tool, but the whole damn toolBOX, to pay $40 a month to sit on my ass in front of my computer when I could be out seeing the world.

Fuck, who can afford the actual DATES after you pay to be “introduced” to them at your computer?!?!

Prince Charming, are you out there or am I just swimming toward the next lily pad for nothing?

I just don’t have it in me to pontificate tonight, so Tiff saves me by having her YouTube video ready (already!) from her Saturday night comedy performance. Her first paying gig! w00t!

Click here to view it if you’re checking this out from your favorite feed reader, or watch it below. Go, Tiff!

I guess part of being a manager is, well, managing. And this morning, I came up with the best solution. I am not necessarily a genius, but today marks the day I grew up and let go.

I think I have a good solution to my time management situation, and it means giving up a project I love but also one that I do mostly because it helps me to feel like I’ve actually achieved something in a day. But I will achieve more — and bigger — things if I free up the energy to do them.

It just took (not) sleeping on it to push me in the right direction.

I just talked with the fabulous person whose project I am to give up, and he gave me a genuine, “I’m sorry to lose you.” And I explained that he’s easy. He’s a joy. He’s amazing. Which is why I feel good about giving his project away — I know I will never have to worry about him coming through and doing a kickass job.

There are other projects that require more of me to tame them — some that will kick my ass till the end of time, and others that need my immediate efforts in order to guide them down the “right” path.

I’ve picked up a new external team of experts, and all they ever really wanted was some attention and someone to show that they care that they are on board with making the project — and all 40 of its moving parts — a success. And I have been named the person to make magic for and with them for a reason. Because I will. I have a real opportunity to make something incredible happen here.

And I see where others have approached it all wrong — as “yet another obligation.” I need to put the kibosh on that before it even begins. As I’ve said, they’re home to stay now. And it’s time to do some major renovations. This may be one of the hardest projects I’ve picked up, because we’re starting a new one and improving an old one simultaneously. But if there’s anyone who can make it work, it’s your girl right here.

I also spoke with another external person (yep, it’s not even 9 a.m. and I’m kicking ass — already put up three Web pages and sent a broadcast) who said he’d be sorry to see me move onward and upward but that he’s happy about it. Is that not awesome? How can you for a moment hate being me? And all my men refer to me as “Goddess.” I tell ya, it’s the best job title ever!

My original hiring manager promised he’d only call me “goddess” if I proved I was worthy of it. Now after three years, no one calls me by my given name anymore — everyone liberally bestows the worship upon me accordingly.

Life is good. And getting better.

Once again, it’s good to be me.

I sort of retain all these half-assed rants because I want to write a book someday on thriving in your chosen vocation. And up till now, I’ve been anything but an expert on that topic. I’ve been hoping that collecting all my notes throughout the years would make me smarter. And I think that will ultimately be the case — sometimes it just takes a brick wall to fall on me and the occasional nervous breakdown to put things into perspective.

I just can’t WAIT for vacation season to be over so that I can stop covering for everyone and get my own load manageable enough that I can con some folks into covering for me. 😉

I admit, I’m sort of proud of the fact that it takes an army to cover my essential duties and that it would take a world army to cover my non-essential ones. But pride ain’t worth nothin’ if I’m going to be too fried in a year to do any of it.

Apparently, there’s hope for me yet!