Caterwauling

I need a massage, a makeover and an orgasm. And not in that particular order.

Every part of me is wound really tight right now. And I’m horny. Seriously. Talk about bad timing on that one. *sigh*

I realize that I stare at the computer so much because I either have nothing to work with, or crap to work with. Never something juicy and decent and begging for a simple polishing. I know I’m an overachiever and all, but part of the delay in my day is wondering how the fuck to make fondue out of government cheese, or squeezing seven courses out of a cup of rice and a ray of sunshine.

Anyway. I’m just waiting to hear whether or not the Fed will raise interest rates, and by how much, if they do. Exciting times here. Don’t you wish you were me?

I scheduled myself off for a week and a half, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it all. I’ve purposely not raised my hands for (m)any new projects so that I can have this time. In fact, I have no doubt that I would sit at home on my “vacation” and research all the stuff I need so I can come back without feeling completely submerged.

My new hire actually came from the other side of the company. And she remarked that she used to be able to close her door for a few hours and do the “thinking” work with ease. But over here, there’s never a real break from urgency. You can’t shut your door, turn off your phone, ignore your e-mail or just plain THINK for 15 consecutive minutes because you will miss something, just as sure as the sun will shine.

That explains why all my “thinking” work waits till everyone else goes home. There’s enough busy/boring work to last all day, night and month, for that matter.

The good news is that one of my projects just got a green light to spend some money on it and make it something special. Now, having the manpower to execute it is a whole ‘nother issue. But maybe it will be easier to procure it once I can say, “Well, we spent ALL this money to get it THIS far. …” 🙂

I noticed that the ideas started flowing again, once I heard we’re going forward with this minor empire of a project. We are all held back by time and a lack of ability to have these ideas implemented. But I’m going to keep dreaming on it anyway — nothing bores me more than having to color inside someone else’s lines.

I mean, I’m good at what I do — I’m GREAT at what I do. But there’s so much more I NEED to do, to feel personally fulfilled. To grow. To look back and go, “Damn. I kicked ass.” Instead, it’s usually, “Wow. This day kicked my ass.”

So, today I’m grateful for being given a blank sheet of paper and a brand new 64-pack of Crayolas. I hope I can get enough of that “thinking” time to create a work of true magnificence that others will be overjoyed to help me to fill in, and not yet-another hastily scrawled outline that I have to fill in if I want it to get done at all.

So my mom broke up with her idiot, backwoods-redneck, racist asshole of a boyfriend. Which, he didn’t show these things upfront, but when he did, hoo boy. Ass, meet foot.

This weekend, we all went out to dinner — a goodbye thing, I guess. I don’t know. Fuckhead ordered the most-expensive thing on the menu, and when the bill came, he THREW it at my mom. Like she has any money. (She doesn’t.)

I was infuriated and paid the bill my damn self because he couldn’t be a man about it. I hope it gave him diarrhea.

But as further proof that he needs to just die already, he was hugging me goodbye. (I hate when people I abhor touch me. I love hugs as much as the next girl, but not from people I want to stab to death.) And his parting words to me?

Some bullshit that if he had a daughter, he would have wanted her to turn out exactly like me. (His two sons don’t talk to him. And in a second, you’ll see why.)

And he capped it off with this 1950s-reminiscent bullshit:

“Don’t date any black guys, OK?”

I was stunned for a minute. Like, did I HEAR that right? He’s met me all of four times and hasn’t met a soul I’ve ever dated, and THAT’S his lasting legacy to me?

The hell?

Although I wanted to say, “Hope Mom doesn’t date any more DOUCHEBAGS like you,” I refrained.

But in response to his comment, I did say, “Too late.”

*snerk*

That made him cringe. 🙂 Mission accomplished!

The fucker’s in AA. I would never jeopardize my karma, but I wouldn’t be hurt at ALL if he starts drinking again. It’s kind of like with the other person I hate most in the world — nothing wrong with asking God to “give that jagoff exactly what he deserves.”

And here’s to hoping she meets someone MUCH more worthy of her time and affections. Amen to her figuring it out sooner rather than later.

This Kind of Love, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Got to see Sister Hazel play in Gaithersburg at the City Hall Pavilion.

It was the second annual Taste of Gaithersburg festival, which means you spend a lot of money on food tickets and leave stuffed full of goodies from some of the midscale to higher-end restaurants. From chocolate-covered strawberries courtesy of The Melting Pot and Red Rock’s ribs to birthday-cake-flavored ice cream from Bruster’s, it was a pants-unbuttoned kind of day.

Anyway, the band was awesome and thanks to my $100 iPhone credit, I’m now the proud owner of their four CDs.

I went to the Apple Store and got a nice, shiny $100 iTunes gift card. Guess what I’ll be doing tonight?

Thank you, Steve Jobs. I love my phone and Apple, so I appreciate the bonus for being a good customer.

I think I was ticked off because I should have used the money for dental work, but instead I wanted to — for the first time in my life — join the early-adopter crowd. And I’ve loved it. It was sort of my first “status symbol” and I guess I was sort of incensed because the one time I decided to do something for myself — to reward myself for surviving this hideous fuckup of a year. But with the price cut coming six weeks after I bought the phone, it seemed like yet another message to me that no, in fact, I can’t make the right decision in any area of my life.

But alas, the world is right again. Sort of, anyway.

Time to fill the void with more purchases. But at least this time, I don’t have to float a rent check to do it!!!

So I’m waiting for my SMS text message so I can get my $100 store credit for Apple. My colleague pointed out the fine print in the FAQS, however:

What products can I purchase using an Apple Store credit code?

You can purchase just about anything sold by Apple, except another Apple Store Gift Card or an iTunes electronic Gift Certificate.

Damn it!!! I’d already picked out the 10 albums I had planned to buy.

Apple truly is a cult. And like the Heaven’s Gate tools, I feel like we all cut off our balls to be a part of it. Steve Jobs is my shepherd; somebody pat my woolly ass as I trot after him. …

Ah, dear almost-abandoned blog. I’ve missed you.

Have been working a crazy schedule. And by crazy, I mean psychotic. It’s calm during the day but boy, these nights have been something else.

And what to talk about if not about work? Hmm.

Can’t talk about this. Or that. Or that, either. Rats.

Drama is abounding. And I’m so not-dramatic, I don’t know how I attract it all.

I’m living my life on Twitter these days. And only giving updates to friends. So, well, what am I paying all these webhosting costs for?

I long for the day that I can be upfront with everyone about everything. But that day clearly isn’t set to arrive for a LONG time, so I’m not sure at this point that I’m not going to die with all these secrets and a list of things left unsaid that could fill the Dead Sea Scrolls and then some.

“Batten down the hatches, baby
Leave your heart out on your sleeve
It looks like we’re in for stormy weather
That ain’t no cause for us to leave
Just lie here in my arms
And let it wash away the pain
Feels like rain
And it feels like rain”

— John Hiatt, “Feels Like Rain”

So I was watching “The Hills” last night. (Shut up — I love that stupid show.) And this amazing Natasha Bedingfield song came on, “Soulmate,” and I think I died and went to heaven.

The song isn’t yet available in the U.S. iTunes Music Store, although I did put in a request for it.

In the meantime, here’s the video on YouTube, because I have to have access to this song. Damn it. *sniffle*

Huh?, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Perhaps tissues and Cialis go hand-in-hand (*cough*), but my feeling is that if you need one, you don’t need the other. Right?

Alternate title: I groomed my hoo-ha for this?

Had the second in what is now a neverending series of doctor’s appointments this morning. Oh, the joy and rapture at shelling out cash every couple of weeks because I STILL haven’t gotten any real work done. From appointments with nurse practitioners (last time) to even more tests (this time) to exploratory stuff (next time), I’m ready to explode.

We anticipate that there’s surgery at the end of this road. At least, that’s what I’m expecting because I really don’t see dancing the horah or building an altar of crystals being a viable alternative. And I’m OK with that. I’m not kidding — I’m not nervous. Just the opposite — I’m relieved that something, somewhere has GOT to fix me.

I just hate it that the wait between appointments is so long. I mean, I get there and it’s like yep, my cycle started. Which probably wasn’t a big deal, but still. Anything that keeps me from getting all patched up will earn my unbridled ire at this point.

The only funny moment was when they asked about any recent sexual activity, which made me laugh because, well, why wouldn’t it? So I said to this straight-laced, old-fashioned doctor who screams for his assistant, “I only have sex with people I think I love, or know I hate. And lately? I haven’t felt one way or another about anyone I’ve dated, so I haven’t bothered.”

Yeah, he wasn’t as amused with me as I am, apparently.

The next appointment comes during my “vacation” week later this month. Which wasn’t going to be much of a vacation anyway, so I said OK. Besides, I rarely pass up an opportunity to drop my pants for perfect strangers. 😉

This is why I don’t get overly worked-up or nervous over doctor’s visits — you never see a “real” doctor anyway, and it’s not like you get any news you can work with until two appointments from now.

I just want to be healed and whole again. That’s all. All this other shit is just that — shit.

Not only was the day a waste of makeup and it’s not even 10 a.m., but it was also a waste of scandalous underwear and a shave.