Caterwauling

One of my buddies just Twittered something interesting, that you can make your new year’s resolution/wish and have it printed on a piece of confetti that will drop over Times Square.

And just in case there’s an online archive of this stuff, I only submitted a fluffy wish, but I know what I truly want out of this year. Right now, it’s for me to know and y’all to eventually find out. 😉

I read something somewhere, that new year’s is a time to write down all your goals (I know, SO original). But the catch is that you write down where you want to be at the end of the year, but you don’t write HOW you’re going to get there. That made a lot of sense when I read it, because as soon as I start trying to figure out the steps and resources that will make certain goals possible, I write it off as too hard or even impossible.

But nothing is impossible, really. Now is a time for dreaming of where we’re supposed to be — the life we’re destined to have. I mean, I found two pairs of workout pants today that fit — divine intervention apparently DOES exist!

I was talking to my friend last night, and I said that once we quit working at the Veggie Patch, I guess I had assumed that life would be balls-out fabulous because we had escaped the environment that was suffocating us. And while life has indeed improved exponentially, on many levels, it just doesn’t feel as celebratory as I had anticipated.

She reminded me that we still haven’t gotten to where we’re supposed to be yet. That there are strawberry margaritas and white-sand beaches and hot-looking men at our beck and call who are awaiting our arrival. Heh. That made me happy … that we’re not yet the best versions of ourselves, but we’re on our way.

Speaking of getting my happy ass on its merry way, time to get cute so I can head out for the night. Here’s to hopefully making out with a random stranger at midnight — oh wait, that’s how I’ve kicked off most of the last few years, and see how those years turned out. 😉

OK, let’s revise that: Here’s to having a kickass time and starting the new year with as much hope, health and happiness as a heart can hold. And I mean that for all of us, especially if we can serve as the source of some of that joy for each other as often as possible.

One more: Here’s to wishes finally coming true, whether we’ve carried them around for years or we just had the light LED bulb flash over our heads and realized, yeah, that’d be quite all right, too.

A friend of mine joked that 2008 is the Year of the Douchebag. And to that, I say douchebags have owned pretty much every year. Instead, let’s make 2008 the Year of the Good Guys Actually Winning for a Change. I think our time has finally come, so let’s make it count!

So I’ve been going to church for about two months now, and it’s been about as spiritually impactful as seeing a good movie. Entertaining for an hour, but mostly whatever euphoria (if you can call it that) usually dies off by the time they collect the offering. So, it’s just like a movie that you pay for after you’ve seen it instead of the beginning.

And I’m not even going to try to claim that the holy spirit kicked me in the ass today, but it was probably the first time that I heard the sermon and thought, “That’s me!” with practically everything that was articulated. Perhaps it was because the session was about when we don’t know whether to shit or go sailing — er, I think their exact words were “figuring out which way is up” but, you know, same difference. 😉

The interesting thing was that the speaker who usually gets under my skin, and not always in a good way, delivered what might have been one of the best messages I’ve heard so far.

I swear, I don’t set out to write a secular blog; nor do I set out to deconstruct what I was taught. But alas, I had to disagree (in my head) when he said that we’re all battling a gravitational pull toward selfishness.

I have to disagree because I have to battle selflessness. I’ve been taken on one too many a ride in my day for letting my “nice” nature set me up for a fall from people who, indeed, succumbed to that very gravitational pull we discussed today. Hell, I’m fairly sure it’s safe to say that I’m being taken for granted right now, in more ways than one.

Recently, the pastor’s wife suggested that I bring one of those very thorns in my side to church. And I said, “I know full well that this is the wrong forum with which to be selfish with my time, but I’ve got to say no. This is my only escape, and I have to preserve it right now.”

I suppose I should be flattered that someone is so interested in the minutiae of my life. But fuck, I’M not even interested in it. Nor am I really excited to hear about anyone else’s. If I say I’m going AWOL and offer no other details, why must 20 questions follow it up? Why does it make me such a horrible person to need the space I always used to have?

Anyway, the really cute moment of the sermon came after, when a very nice young man introduced me to the pastor. And during the service, he had quoted something that U2’s Bono had said to explain the feeling behind the song “Vertigo,” which was that, to set oneself right again after feeling a bout of vertigo:

“… And then you see somebody and she’s got a cross around her neck, and you focus on it, because you can’t focus on anything else. You find a little tiny fragment of salvation there.”

The cute part? The second the pastor looked at me, he said, “And she’s got a cross around her neck.” Which, clearly, I did. 🙂 And I liked him even more for that.

My cross necklace was actually left over from my (brief) goth phase. Black cord, big silver-and-black cross, and a moonstone in the middle. In fact, I used to collect crosses. Not in any religious sense, but there was something about going out drinking while wearing crosses that made perfect sense in my then-21-year-old mind. In fact, I wasn’t even going to wear it today but figured, really, is there anywhere better to wear it?!?!

SPEAKING OF FIGHTING GRAVITY …

I had plans yesterday but was told asked to accommodate someone else for the day. My plan was to go shopping for workout wear and to join a gym. I already know where I want to be; I just can’t find anything to wear. Isn’t that always the case?

So, I accommodated everyone under the sun but myself yesterday and decided today would be the day for my plans. And the road to hell is paved with what, boys and girls? Exactly.

I never did go to that gym today. The first reason is because they have now e-mailed and called a total of five times in two days. (I have a trial membership; they haven’t gotten the credit card yet and, at this rate, they might never see it.)

The second reason is that no athletic company under the sun makes it easy for people of size to find anything to wear to work out in. So, effectively, it’s hard enough to get motivated to be seen, but to not have anything respectable to be seen IN? Madness. It’s all about removing the obstacles; I’m more than HAPPY to say the reason why I didn’t go to the gym was because those adorable yoga pants looked better on the rack.

I did go shopping for workout wear. I must have tried on a dozen and a half pairs of pants. And it irritates the bejeezus out of me that there are tons of cute workout outfits for the smaller sizes, but for the people who really need to work out? Not a goddamned thing. I swear, just one size bigger in the pants would have been perfect. Just because the pants fit, doesn’t mean someone like me should be sporting anything spandex-y under any circumstances. Trust me, people — the extra breathing room is for YOUR benefit just as much as it is mine!

I did find a cute fleecy pair of brown workout pants — bootcut, even! — at Tarzhay. But I was one donut away from sporting a camel toe, so no donuts and no cloven hoofs. *shudder* The workout that goes with finding workout clothes is about as hard as any hour on the stairmaster and certainly kills one’s appetite in the process.

I hate to be one of those a-holes who has “losing weight” on the new year’s resolution list, but I do have “get healthy.” I have exactly no time for myself anymore — someone is always up my ass. And when I do get five minutes? Eating is the only thing that brings me joy lately. Don’t get me wrong — I run around the mall and go shopping as much as possible, so I’m getting mah heart pumping.

But I also have the need to smash things and hit things and scream sometimes. And everyone I know who works out brags about sleeping better and working out the aggression before/after dealing with the humans who cause it. Even better, if I’m nowhere near anyone who knows me while I’m doing it, I can’t think of a better way of getting “me” time and actually doing something constructive with it.

I swear, I thought I left the house wearing a different outfit today, but a glance in the mirror indicates that, at some point, I pulled on the crankypants. And those bitches are tight, too.

Hopefully everyone who was NOT supposed to bother me this week has officially STOPPED bothering me so that I can get some real stuff done. Too bad I’m too tired to keep my eyes open. Here’s to another working weekend if I can’t just pull my act together tonight, and I have too many expectations to meet tomorrow to spend the whole day immersed in my own crap.

Am seriously counting down to new year’s eve because I know there’s a nice night out awaiting me. And that’s what I need — booze, friends and, well, more booze.

If there’s a circus with which I can run away, my life’s goal has become to find it!

Genius here thought she was going to go see the special sneak preview of “27 Dresses” last night, but alas, next time she’s not going to go to a theater that lacks online ticketing because it was SOLD OUT when I got there. *stupid stupid stupid*

I did get to see “P.S. I Love You,” which was terrific but I tend to judge a movie by whether it makes me cry, and it didn’t. But hey, I got to stare at Harry Connick Jr. and Jeffrey Dean “Denny Duquette” Morgan, the latter of whom sported a delicious Irish accent that made me knickers soggy. 😉 When I say the film had gorgeous scenery, I’m not just talking about its setting in New York and Ireland!

I was watching the song credits, and it looked like Gerard Butler actually did sing all the songs he performed in the movie. He was awesome as Hilary Swank’s husband — and man, speaking of Hilary, I know I’m not a fan of hers in general but are all wives as, I dunno, cunty as she was to “Gerry”? Sheesh.

Anyway, Gerry died but beforehand had planned out a series of letters and gifts, to be delivered posthumously, to help his wife through the grieving process and to let her know it’s OK for her life to go on and to be a good one. Pretty ingenious, actually, especially when sometimes your fondest wish is to get a sign from your loved one that they’re still around you somehow.

I wanted to love this movie. Really, I did. I liked it a lot, but other than probably watching it one more time when it comes to HBO, I’m mostly done with it. Then again, if I’m in a different state of mind and in a place where I can let myself cry, it might end up as a favorite after all.

In a form of rebellion not even seen in my teenage years, I left work! At 4 p.m.! While the sun was still shining!

I am killing time at my local Cosi, where my skim eggnog latte tastes like dry-roasted ass, they lost my order and the table full of teenage girls next to me are loudly snarfing in their food. And yes, they arrived after me. And don’t forget the speaker above my head that is BLARING Christmas carols. One of the workers said my sammich was going to be delayed and that he’d bring some bread for snacking on, but that was 10 minutes ago.

No big. Didn’t need the carbs anyway.

It’s like the universe punishes me when I take some time to myself. I decided I really want to take in a 7:30 p.m. movie without checking in at home. I never actually check in at home; I didn’t realize it was a requirement at age 33, particularly when I wasn’t all that good about it at 16. It’s just that I only have a few bucks left to my name and I either have to buy two movie tickets or one ticket and one sammich. You see which route I chose, and yes, I will probably choke on my Chicken TBM (tomato, basil, mozzarella) melt out of guilt if and when it arrives.

Wow, someone just turned down the radio volume AND my sammich came. And the six kids at the next table left. Hallelujah!

I was talking with one of my colleagues today about roommates (he has small kids). And I actually said I’d RATHER have kids than roommates. I said it was nothing personal against anyone I lived with, but the thing I found wrong with all of them was the fact that they were born — they were/are all lovely, lovely people, but I just don’t deal well with people being in “my” space. Another of my colleagues did my astrological chart and told me, point-blank, the same thing.

I was talking with Sabre today about my previous entry (i.e., I shouldn’t date Cancers). When she took the test, it told her clearly that she needs to stay away from Geminis. (And if you knew the history? Not only would you not BLAME her but you would FORGIVE her if she would never want to so much as SPEAK to someone with that sun sign … self included!)

I told her I think there are two types of Geminis, given that we all have two personalities. There are the drama mamas and the drama haters. I fall in the latter category but, unfortunately, you never know where the next Gem you meet is going to fall. And the less we like drama, the less tolerable we become, I think. My quest to be left alone has superseded all my other goals, of late, and I’ve become downright cantankerous sometimes when I don’t get what I demand. And that, in turn, qualifies me for the “drama mama” category. *sigh*

Before I snarf down my sammich, here’s a text-message conversation that celebrates the snark:

Friend; Merry freakin’ Christmas.
Me: Ho freakin’ ho.
Friend: I would KILL for a drink right now.
Me: Speaking of killin’, did you get through Xmas without acquiring a rap sheet?

I’m still waiting for an answer. I hope that isn’t a “no” … !!!

Speaking of, I just had to look at my phone for the conversation and see that I’ve missed some voicemails. Bah freakin’ humbug. …

Stolen from the lovely Sabre. …

Never Date a Cancer

Clingy, emotional, and very private – it’s hard to escape a Cancer’s clutches. And while Cancer will want to know everything about you, they’re anything but open in return. Instead try dating: Leo, Sagittarius, Gemini, or Aquarius

I’d like to thank the City of Alexandria for refunding part of the income tax refund they robbed from me earlier this year due to my supposedly owing them property tax even though I only lived there for a half-year in 2006.

What irks me, though, is that while they did acknowledge that I spent the latter half of ’06 in D.C. proper, the fuckers kept the $25 decal fee (property tax sticker, for those not lucky enough to live in the Commonwealth o’ Virginia at any point in their lives) even though they never sent me the decal. (Not that I needed it, because again, I was registered in D.C.) These states will do anything for a buck and boo hoo if you disagree with how they’ll spend it.

I understand that sales tax is going up in Virginia and Maryland, which pfft. I do lots of shopping/activities in those wonderful areas, and again, anything these governments can do to anally rape you, they will. Happy freaking new year to you, too — isn’t it bad enough that everything already costs more here to begin with?

In any event, Christmas came and went at the Caterwauling chateau. I bought a turkey breast from Harris Teeter, which was yucky and dry, but luckily there were plenty of awesome side dishes to take its place. And sweet potato/cream cheese pie, also from HT. Proof positive that the universe really doesn’t hate me!

My feeling is that Santa got stuck in the chimney but he decided to crawl back up and not land with any presents. I did buy myself one thing, and as usual I find myself strapped for cash and feeling guilty about the purchase, so it might go back. It was the T-Fal/Food Network 4-in-1 Grill Station (in red!), which I’m sure is half-off at Kohl’s today but meh, ask me if I feel like fighting crowds today.

Actually, I do have to make a return today because I have something purchased 30 days ago and, alas, today is day 30 and that’s the return policy. Unfortunately, everyone’s so damned stinky — I was in line for an hour on Christmas eve and the woman in front of me was farting up a windstorm. *gag* Seriously, between the B.O. and the B.M.s that people are apparently making in public, the case for shopping online exclusively is pretty airtight.

But anyway, I wanted this stupid grill because I have this wild hair up my ass that’s making me crave panini sammiches. ‘Tis the season for grilled cheese, too. Mmm. But guess who never has any groceries in the house? Which means the grill is destined for the tower of boxes in the dining room that includes about four different coffeemakers, an iced tea maker, indoor grill, outdoor grill, sandwich maker, toaster, blender and whatever else I have but I’m forgetting about. What can I say: I’m a Gemini — I like gadgets. Preferably vibrating ones, but ones that are edible or contribute to making edible things work, too.

In any case, Christmas is over. Yay. The tree remains undecorated — now to pack up the fucking thing for another five years (*sigh*). But for the first time in my life, I heard/understood the story of the nativity. I guess I’d always written off the Bible as being equally non-fictional as Santa Claus, but this year I tried to keep an open mind. I guess I needed to believe in some magic, and it was actually kind of comforting to get why we celebrate Dec. 25 as we do (or should do).

I love how the angels came and spoke to people directly, and that they believed it and did what they were told and that they were rewarded with a miracle. I guess I wonder why the angels don’t talk to us anymore, but I figure they gave up because we all stopped listening.

Guess I should do some work or shower or something useful like that, speaking of avoiding the voice that’s telling me to hop to it, already. Hope y’all had a Merry Little Christmas!

Last night, I stopped by our church’s Christmas party (wow, I can say “Christmas” and “party” in the same sentence now. Weird) for a whopping 20 minutes. I went late, got lost and was downright bored. I talked to the pastor, who I am growing very fond of, and he introduced me to someone I would like to talk to more often and who gave me her contact info if I ever wanted to grab a cup of coffee.

After that I walked around and walked out. Nothing personal, just a little too kid-friendly for my tastes. But today, actual members of the church were asking what happened to me, as they were looking for me.

I’m like a kid in a classroom when it comes to Sunday services — I sit in the very back row. It’s a good group of people who hang out there, which is cool because when we are asked to greet our neighbors, we all know each other. (Oh, how awkward it was during my first few weeks when I didn’t know a soul there.)

Anyway, today I was looking at the guy who always sits in front of me, but oh my God — today I got a really good look at him and I realized why he looked vaguely familiar. From his profile, and maybe even somewhat from the front, he looks like a face I haven’t thought about in ages — but certainly haven’t forgotten about .

I admit that I found my mind wandering during services, back to a “long ago and far away” time. This is someone I miss greatly, when I do remember him. The love and the pain ran its course … for both of us … but he wasn’t easy to get over, especially not when we both knew there was a lot of emotion and certainly passion left that was going to remain unexplored.

I made my peace with my heart back then that if the universe really wanted this to work out, it would help us find a way. And if that way means in the next lifetime, then so be it … we’ll have that same instantaneous connection next time around that we found this time — which we’d both recognized as maybe having felt in a lifetime before this one.

I don’t tell this story to get hung up in the past, or to even pretend that it’s going to stay in my head after I hit the “publish” button on this blog entry. But to tie it into today’s message at church, the pastor said something interesting that I had to write down.

To paraphrase:

We’re all trying to get somewhere in life … to be somewhere or to be someone or to find someone or something. And no matter what the ladder we’re trying to climb — career, relationships, friendships or otherwise — sometimes we lean those ladders against the wrong walls.

That struck me for more than just a second. The context was that if you’re stressed out in certain areas, you may be hitting resistance for a reason — and that reason might be that you need to either stop fighting the battle alone or maybe it’s that you shouldn’t be fighting it at all because you’re in the wrong place and … yep … climbing the ladder but not to the right goals.

Inside my head, something clicked with that analogy. Leaning your ladder against friends who crumble at the first signs of having to make a positive deposit instead of a negative withdrawal from the friendship bank account. Killing yourself to do a great job in a vocation that really doesn’t feel right. Hoping and praying for a relationship to work out that just isn’t meant to be.

Taking it a few steps further, maybe there’s a reason that some doors close and that other, newer doors don’t open. And try as we might to rush at those doors with random, heavy blunt objects, they still won’t open. Why is that?

Everyone is trying to tell us to rely on patience and faith, but when you’ve been hoping and wishing for something, when do you write it off as “that’s clearly not God’s plan for me” and when do you dig in your heels and continue to say, “I believe in you, Great Pumpkin”?

I don’t want to be like Linus, stuck out in the pumpkin patch while waiting for some mythical occurrence that only flourishes inside my own head. But I don’t want to go about my business and not be there to get the gift(s) I’ve waited so long to receive, either.

I guess all you can do is hope for the wherewithal to know which course of action is right to take.

I don’t know if my ladder is leaned against the proper wall. I don’t even know that there is a “right” wall at this point. All I know is that I’m doing my climbing wherever I can find hope, and I don’t think it would be in my heart to want for things that just aren’t meant to be. Because my heart is the most-sincere patch I can name, one that’s certainly a good candidate for the Great Pumpkin if it happens to be thinking of coming around. …

My tree stands undecorated, the house looks like a hurricane went through it, I left work at 10 p.m. and I’ve got another hour to devote to it today so I can enjoy my damn holiday already, and I’m supposed to go to a Christmas party tonight.

No complaints — just too brain-dead to keep plugging when all I want to do is eat and sleep. And eat. I’m very stressed right now. And I stress-eat. (Five Guys burger for breakfast, anyone? Don’t think I didn’t.) I was too tired to eat “real” food last night (although the office was filled with sweet treats in all our myriad kitchens), so yum.

Anyway, I just bought my ticket to go somewhere on New Year’s. We’re looking at nearly $100 for the honor of being “somewhere” and getting a glass of champagne and maybe some cheese and crackers. We’ve also got dinner reservations beforehand, which I am looking forward to. (And will probably cost as much as the midnight event!)

The way I figure, there is no Christmas in my house this year, but if there’s one holiday I need to celebrate, it’s New Year’s. I am a firm believer that whatever you’re doing at midnight will set the tone for the year. Last year I was with friends, and although my year turned to absolute shit, I figure it at least started off on the right foot.

I also made reservations on New Year’s day for a nice restaurant. Yeah, I’m starting off the new year broke as all hell but at least I won’t be hungry. 😉

It was a struggle to decide to go out because there are so many obligations (read: guilt trips, mostly self-inflicted) to overcome. But I had the choice to greet the new year wishing that I were somewhere else, or else I could go out and be overjoyed that I was out doing something fun and hopefully memorable. A friend gave me the advice to buy the ticket and make a commitment for the next day to balance the skipping out for midnight.

In that, everybody wins — and I win twice.

And that, my friends, is an occasion worth celebrating. If the new year brings double the wins, then it’ll be a delightful year, indeed.

Most days, we’re all holed up in our offices with our respective doors shut, as we are all engaged in heavy-thinking work. We are not hiding in our offices like the non-productive folks at my last job, who blatantly left their doors open while they took naps and competed in Solitaire championship games all friggin’ day.

Anyway, we all had our doors open today, and I tell you, I would have gotten more peace pulling out my laptop in the middle of the Metro Center station. My beloved neighbor (I really do like him. We kid because we love!) was so loud today that someone coming to meet with me thought that my neighbor was in my office, thanks to the volume. I realize now that this can come in very handy — everyone thinks I’m in a meeting! My door will be closed more often. 😉

But the real kicker was that I was listening to my iPhone without the earbuds. (I think a cat may be trying to hang herself with them right now — can’t find ’em in my purse.) And that’s just a bad, bad idea for the number of comedy albums I store in there. Case in point, a bit came on from Lisa Lampanelli, (“Pillow Talk,” if you’re familiar.)

If you’re not familiar, it’s the track that starts off with:
“‘… See ’cause I’m an older white bitch and I started banging black guys late in life, so I’ll be honest — it scared the hell outta me. …”

*thunk*

I’d apologize to my neighbors, but meh. I think forgiveness is just understood on all of our parts. 🙂 Like Lisa’s album title, we all just “Take it Like a Man”!