Caterwauling

I’ve gotten many compliments and more than a few questions on my blog category “Being a Girl.” It’s basically where I make blog entries that no man would dare make, let alone even think of. It’s also where I can just let it all hang out and blame it on carrying ovaries and a C-cup everywhere I go. 😉

Anyway, in today’s “Being a Girl” news, I am struggling because my bra does not go with my shirt. And I am wondering whether it would be less of a pain in the ass to change the bra or change the outfit. Ladies, am I alone in thinking I should just go for a different outfit?

In other girly randomness, in my last entry, I talked about the New Hampshire woman who took her husband’s ashes to Heinz Field for his first/only Steeler game. But what I neglected to add was that I told my friends that my last request is to have some of my ashes sprinkled into Jon Bon Jovi’s pants — lord knows it’s the only way I’m going to get there!!! 😀

My friend D. hooked me up with this story today:

“Woman takes husband’s ashes to Steelers game.”

“PITTSBURGH, Pennsylvania (AP) — Richard Desrosiers never made it to Heinz Field to watch his beloved Steelers play football, but his widow helped him fulfill his dream in death.

Thanks to some help from sympathetic donors, Kathleen Desrosiers attended Sunday’s game, bringing an urn with some of her late husband’s ashes, as well as his ring and two pictures of him. He had died in March of a brain tumor.”

I was sort of waiting to read that they scattered his ashes on the field, or at least in one of the, oh, three nearby rivers. But I guess he made the travels with her and went home to New Hampshire.

And that’s why this story means so much, not (just) that it’s about a Steeler fan but because of how he got there:

“Amy Litterini, a western Pennsylvania native who now lives in New Hampshire, was the couple’s counselor during Desrosiers’ yearlong battle with cancer.

She arranged for the purchase of the two tickets to Sunday’s game and raised money for Kathleen Desrosiers and one of her sons to spend a night in a Pittsburgh hotel.”

I really needed to read that today, to believe that those who have passed on are still with us somehow — even if not in spirit (which I hope they are) but in influencing the things we grow to love. I guess, in that regard, we can’t help but let them live on.

And it also warmed my charred little heart that someone would be so kind as to make this dream possible, when anyone else would have walked away and not done anything like this for the family. Shit, my grandfather’s brothers have (thankfully) evaporated into thin air — not a one has sent so much as a Christmas card, although I hear they’re all bitching amongst themselves that Mom doesn’t call any of them. Fools.

The greatest gift that family can give is the gift of getting the hell out of our lives, and I’m eternally grateful for that. Although … I wouldn’t let them know that they were doing us a favor, because they’d probably have to end the peace and call to antagonize us!

Someone mentioned the other day that there are only “X” days left till Christmas, and that number was in the single-digits, and a part of me went, “When the hell did it become Christmas?”

(I really need to stop using “hell” and “damn” in sentences that have to do with church, Christmas, God or Jesus.)

It doesn’t feel like Christmas. Last year after my grandfather died on Thanksgiving, it sure as hell wasn’t Christmas. (There I go again.)

This year, I put up my artificial spiral tree in a fit. I was angry and needed to take out some aggression. I took the tree out of its box for the first time in five years (I’ve moved three times without ever opening that damn box) and fluffed all the branches in the space of an hour.

That was three weeks ago. And do you THINK I’ve managed to stick a strand of lights (or four) or an ornament on it? Nope. Not a one.

It’s been a busy season, but not the type with shopping and hustling and bustling. I gave up on writing Christmas cards four years ago. Don’t get me wrong — I BUY cards every year; I just never get around to saying hello to people because I never have stamps and, quite frankly, we’re all transient. Everybody moves a lot.

I struggled a couple of years ago with sending a card to friends who have a daughter with a terminal illness. Even today, I presume she might be gone but that kid had a way of hanging in there. I hope she’s still with us, but you can’t write a card to R and J “and family” if you don’t know what has happened. But you can’t leave off the “and family” or else other people would think you rude. So, fuck it — too much thought is required for writing cards.

Last year I sent some of my friends a text message to wish them a Merry Christmas, and we learned that I call people so infrequently, most of them didn’t know who the hell I was and they, in fact, texted me back to either ask who the hell I was OR they called me by someone else’s name that they know in my area code because it couldn’t POSSIBLY be me.

There was only one good Christmas in my world, two years ago. My mom and grandfather had just moved into a cute little house; I was doing well and went trucking up to Pittsburgh bearing better gifts than we’ve been able to give. And that was it. That was the first and only real Christmas in a real house with a real dining room table and a real reason to look forward to getting up on Christmas day.

I’m not saying the holiday is about gifts. My expenses have gone up, and gifts are the last thing on my mind. I did go out looking for a nativity set, though — I figured that since I’m actually not running screaming from this going-to-church thing, maybe I’d approach the holiday differently this year. I haven’t found a nativity set I like — I figure the right one will find me. Hopefully at 75% off on an after-Christmas deal!

D.C. is bizarre and it contributes to the lack of Christmasy feelings. I drove down to see the National Christmas Tree but you can’t see it from a car and the closest parking spot was in, oh, Rosslyn. And it was raining. So yeah, that didn’t go as planned.

I live in apartment/condo hell. Meaning, nobody has houses around here. There are some townhouses, sure, but that’s about it. You don’t see people decorating around here. I attribute it to the lack of “real” houses (i.e., no trees/hedges) and the fact that you have about 40 billion belief systems represented here. Other than the occasional wreath on a door or a lighted tree in a window, the only way you’ll see neighborhoods decorated is if you watch the holiday specials on HGTV.

I don’t know. It seems like last year I had a sad little Christmas, and this year it’s sort of an indifferent one. My best friend’s grandma died this week, so she’s having that same shroud over her that I carried last year. But at least she can deal with her grief and go about her life. I’m glad that one of us can, anyway.

And, seriously, Dan Fogelberg died. Talk about the ultimate kick in the ass during the holiday season. He wrote the only “(Same Old) Auld Lang Syne” that anyone knows the lyrics to. *sigh*

I can’t wait for 2008. This year has GOT to go. Most people are counting down the days till Christmas — I’m counting down till the day after New Year’s. I have an offer to go out New Year’s Eve and would love to take advantage of it, but there’s a “but” in there somewhere. Oh well. I guess anywhere that I will be drinking (preferably A LOT), it’ll be a good holiday. 🙂

I usually blog after church but, meh, I went shopping instead yesterday. Because, well, I took issue with some points, and one of those points was geared toward those of us who tend to take issue with some of God’s creatures. 🙂

I mean, one of the lessons was to realize that each person on this earth was created in God’s image, and that we all share the same father, so to speak. That is, we all have possess the same divine DNA and we should stop insulting/talking about/being sarcastic about/disrespecting each other because God doesn’t like it when his children are the butt of the joke.

So, I’m trying my hardest to not look at people who stand in our way, thwart our every effort or fail to pull their part of the load. But I still have a hard time believing they were cut from the same mold I was and that God can look at them with nothing but love. Don’t tell anyone, but I think a lot of these yahoos were either adopted or were the milkman’s kids, because they have GOT to be the exception from “don’t mess with the Lord’s anointed” because they sure as HELL don’t treat people the way they would want to be treated in return.

Anyway, today I’m sort of struggling with credit, or lack thereof. I pretty much have spent my career behind the scenes and I wonder whether it’s getting too late to make a real, bona fide name for myself in anything. I have the skills and talents and smarts to make it in one of the four fields I’ve pursued. But would anyone know me? Many of you might know my work. But my name is as far from it as Perez Hilton is from a ladies’ locker room.

Lately, I’m struggling with my motivation. Paychecks are a nice motivator, of course. 😉 I don’t know. I guess I thought I’d be famous by now. I also thought I’d be a size two, so I admittedly am a dreamer!

Speaking of places where everybody apparently DOES know your name, whether you want to be anonymous or not, I decided to become a “real” member of my church. I figure, I go all the time and make anonymous donations. I guess it’s about time I made this journey an official one. I have no idea what membership entails, but I asked for more info on it. Besides, I need all the help I can get on this plane of existence!

One other thing I took issue with was that they said that everything we have in our lives is on loan from God. I believe in it, don’t get me wrong. You can’t take it with you, and all that jazz. But I guess I wondered why some people have so much more than others. I’m not throwing a self-pity party here — I’m asking why families are living in/scavenging through garbage dumps for the source of their daily bread and yet other people release an obnoxious earworm or star in a movie that happens not to suck, and they take their rewards and snort ’em off a mirror.

I guess the lack of balance in this world has always irked me, and made me question whether there was a God or not. These days, I’m fairly certain there’s someone or something out there, because it would devastate me if there weren’t. But I just spend a lot more time wondering why when I should instead be helping to do something about it.

I have perhaps the tiniest office on my floor, but I love it with all my heart because it has a window and a television. You can’t beat that. I have good neighbors and live in a happy hallway, so life is good.

Anyway, I struggle with claustrophobia and am very much aware that the obvious layout that I chose a year ago is no longer working for me. I’m moving into a creative period, which translates into “I’m doing some really routine shit and I’d like to see both the TV and the sun so I can get some inspiration here.”

So, I moved my desk to face a wall, which leaves my back somewhat toward the door but not completely, so I don’t have to feel wigged out that someone is staring over my shoulder because I at least have the doorway in my peripheral vision. The layout is good now — I’ve gotten compliments. My chi is sated. Writer’s Block Goddess is now Energy Flow Goddess.

But …

So I am known as the Imelda Marcos of the floor, although I actually had someone say to me, “Are you old enough to know who she was? Of course you are — never mind.” (Do not overestimate the Goddess’ age. Even though, yes, she is aware of the inaugural shoe queen.)

Anyway, I have all my shoes neatly tossed into a big mesh storage cube, but it’s the shoes I wear to work each day that are the problem.

Read: I cannot work with shoes on my feet.

For that matter, I find myself absentmindedly molesting myself here and there, too. Whether I’m touching my boobs or feeling my ass to see if I remembered to wear underwear, I’m not someone who should be given the illusion that she is in a private space because I end up invading my own privacy but with an audience. *sigh*

So, I have to mind my manners and try to convince myself that people are nearby and, in fact, watching. I sort of miss being holed up in the back corner with my ass not hanging out of the doorway. Even more, I miss the modesty panel that hid the fact that I usually sit Indian-style with bare feet. It’s making my attempt at Feng Shui more like a steaming pile of Feng Shit, and I’m hoping more goes unnoticed than I think!

Dear Montgomery County Safe Speed,

Fuck you. Did you hear me? Fuck you. I don’t think you got that, so let me say it more clearly: FUCK YOU!!!!

Screw you and your cameras. I’m spreading my knees and you fuckers can eat me. And I’m not even going to wash mah coochie for a week before you do it.

Love,

Goddess

ARGH.

I had to go to Baltimore three times in October. I got a speeding ticket on two of those three days.

But GENIUS here, well, didn’t realize that she received two separate tickets. Why? Because I was clocked in the SAME PLACE at the SAME SPEED. The third day, I took a different route, so that’s why I didn’t get three tickets.

But it gets better. I didn’t have the money to pay for the (what I thought was one) ticket, so I got slapped with a late fee. Guess what? I GOT SLAPPED WITH TWO LATE FEES.

I seriously hate the state of Maryland with the fire of a thousand suns right now.

Happy fucking Christmas to you, too, bastards.

I had seen an e-mail floating around last night about a meeting for this morning, which I tried to head off at the pass by having a conversation with someone before they left for the day yesterday. What I did not know is that I still wasn’t off the hook for today’s meeting.

So, I was in need of caffeine this morning before I went into la oficina and decided to treat myself to a latte, as I gave those up because of the expense. Hah. I made the mistake of checking my e-mail and found, lo and behold, that morning meeting was starting in less than five minutes. Fuck.

I left the Starbucks with no purchase and was about 15 minutes late to said meeting. In which I learned that, yeah, that stuff I was spending a lot of time doing? To stop doing it that way. I’m not sure what way to do it, but I guess I’ll figure that out.

I left that meeting and flew to yet another one 15 minutes late. (Today’s theme, apparently. No 15 minutes of fame here — infamy, yes, but no fame.)

Anyway, three hours after I first tried to get coffee, I finally have a cup. And I’m humming some bizarre hybrid of, “If I Had a Hammer” and “Can’t Touch This,” so to say I’m dreaming of bopping myself over the head with a hammer and putting myself into a coma that lasts until Jan. 15 is probably redundant at this point.

*making a note to go home and look for parachute pants to wear to tomorrow’s meetings. Because I’m Rick James, bitch.*

Confession: When it comes to MTV’s “The Hills,” I am a junkie. I vote in the polls on the Web site and on People.com. I read every stupid news article about the cast. I watched “Laguna Beach” and never missed an episode of either show. I buy all the music I hear in the shows, too.

I’m so ashamed. 😉

I’ve watched the “Lauren Looks Back” special as many times as it’s been on. I was hooked on “Laguna Beach” back in the day. I have missed only about a half-episode of “The Hills” this season, and no worries — they will replay the series till the end of time or, at least, till the end of this year.

And yes, even though I’ve seen most of the episodes eleventy billion times, I still watch them. I love the fight between Lauren and Heidi. I’m totally “Team Lauren.” I just LOVE how Heidi can either do all kinds of stuff to hurt Lauren, or egg on that dipwad boyfriend of hers to do it, and try to talk to Lauren like, “I don’t know what you’re mad about, as I am fabulous and innocent and so special. And hey, remember all the stuff I did for you when we were friends?”

We all have a Heidi. The one who kept score when they did something wonderful but magically forgot everything ELSE they did to not only cause a rift, but to exacerbate it. And what kills me is how Heidi just keeps showing UP in Lauren’s life. I know MTV has orchestrated a lot of of those run-ins, but sheesh. How much clearer can Lauren be that she wants to “forgive her … and FORGET her”?!?!

But really, I’m watching because I’m rooting for Brody and Lauren to get back together. Because, let’s face it: We all have a Brody, too. The one who is PROBABLY better left as a friend, but who would probably be such a PERFECT match, it wouldn’t even be funny. We all have those moments where you *think* they’re on the same wavelength as you and would totally be on board for moving things a step further, and yet there are so many other moments when we just run scared or cut off our little dreams at the source because, nah. Either they won’t feel the same way or are we just imagining what we felt in the first place? Decisions, decisions.

And yes, I swooned when Brody kissed Lauren goodbye before she jetted off to Paris. I’ve been waiting all damn season for that. Do you get to a point with someone that it’s too late to turn it into something else, or will it be fireworks no matter when or how it happens? I know she was focused on hightailing it to the airport, but did she sit in the car going “OMG, OMG, OMG” on the way?

I can even forgive Brody for being Bruce Jenner’s son. You know, Bruce Jenner of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians”fame. At least that’s a show that’s below MY low standards — I’m not a total loser. 😉

But is Brody as much of a player as he makes himself out to be? Maybe Lauren’s right not to let herself fall for him. You wonder about these guys whose phones are full of ladies — makes you wonder whether you’re just one of a million instead of being treated like the one IN a million that you are … and if they’ll ever fully realize that.

I was reading Mel’s post today about her male friend who’s getting married … who confessed to having a huge crush on her for years. (And how could he not? She’s FABULOUS!) And she’d had a crush on him, too. You wonder how many of us have those stories (and how many will go on with their lives never even knowing about it).

I guess that’s why I’m all about Team Lauren and Brody — you can see the spark that everyone keeps dancing around and is either pretending it doesn’t exist or isn’t actually aware of it. I mean, I guess we all tend to default to, “Meh, they wouldn’t be interested anyway so why entertain it?” But what if. …

What if, indeed.

Hell, I actually turned my work TV to a “Hills” marathon yesterday — figures my boss only visits when I’m chatting with someone or when I’m watching MTV. Gah. I promise, I really do work a lot!!! But I am a sucker for that stupid show — lick me, please. There ain’t no rehab that’s going to dwarf this addiction!

I was watching the movie “Catch and Release” the other day, because I am SO on the cutting edge when it comes to watching movies. (It was from 2006.)

And for the record, I’m not totally out-of-touch with new releases — I did manage to catch “This Christmas” when it came out a couple of weeks ago. The ability to stare at Mekhi Phifer was reason enough to see it. 😉

Anyway, speaking of movies better left to Comcast On Demand, “Catch and Release” wasn’t necessarily cinematic genius but part of the plotline got me to thinking. The summary is that Jennifer Garner’s fiance died, we learn he was doing dirty deeds on the downlow, and she ends up hooking up with his best friend, a nice piece of eye candy named Timothy Olyphant.

But we learn that yet another of the fiance’s friends, “Dennis,” has apparently carried a torch for Jennifer’s character for six years. And while he had just a bit part, he was the one I walked away from the movie pontificating over, wondering how he ended up.

Dennis confessed this crazy attraction he’d had for her since she had come into their lives. And I thought, wow, isn’t everyone wishing they could have someone who was secretly in love with them? But of course, don’t we all hope it will be someone GOOD when it does happen? 😉

But Dennis still haunts me because he was cute and nerdy and sweet and sincere. And when you’re the person who’s been hoping and wishing and dreaming for years, what do you do with all of that if that dream is taken from you? I think a lot more of us would go confessing these torrid feelings if there weren’t a 50/50 chance that the other person would look at us as though bugs had started crawling out of our myriad orifices.

I don’t know. I guess I made a conscious decision awhile back to take several years’ worth of dreams and wishes and wants and lock them away in the ol’ hope chest. I don’t have balls enough to ask for a chance to see whether those visions can live outside of my head, so I figure I don’t get to entertain them anymore. Plain and simple.

But again, the question arises, what do you do with all that, I dunno, stuff? If you’re pushing it out of your head, what do you do with all this new, empty space? It’s like moving into a bigger place and not having furniture in all the rooms. All I can do sometimes is yodel and listen to the echo when there’s still a part of me that DIDN’T get locked up that wishes it were the voice I have always been longing to hear, answering me.

I’ll be fine someday. I know it. I can feel it. Hopefully sooner rather than later. I just don’t know WTF to do with myself in the meantime, or what it’s going to take to either throw the hope chest into the ocean or to open it and DO something with its contents. …