Caterwauling

So, I’ve been reading my “One Month to Live” book. (Sounds remarkably like an old soap I used to love to watch.)

And they said something rather profoundly obvious in that, we all keep shoving our dreams in a box/freezer/back burner/metaphor of choice, and every time we go back to see if they’re still there? They are. They haven’t moved, grown, nurtured, left us or, alas, fulfilled themselves. Go figure.

I say all of this because last week, I talked about running into someone who is better for/with someone else. And yesterday, I have another story about the opposite situation: I ran into someone — or, at least, a doppelganger of someone — and I just wanted to die on the spot because that one wasn’t so easy to give up on.

We were having dinner at Coastal Flats yesterday and, seated at the next table, was someone I swore I know very well. I mean, I was actually offended that he didn’t say hello, which no doubt means that someone in the back of my head clearly has a twin.

I spent dinner staring at him. He was with a girl and honest to God, that’s the perfect diet — I couldn’t eat, breathe, think or even make conversation with my dinner companion. (Sorry, honey, I’m staring at the guy over your shoulder. Cheers!)

And he kept staring back, and I was all sorts of fucked up inside. Was it who I thought it was, or was he wondering who this crazy woman is who has gone all Mennonite on his ass? (I’m told they like to stare.)

I swear, I spent a half-hour convincing myself it wasn’t the person who I put in that proverbial box, on that proverbial shelf, in the back of that proverbial freezer. That he’d never wear a hat during dinner. That he has better taste in bling. That he would never order a bottle of Zinfandel for the table. Oh yeah, I didn’t miss a thing.

OK, the short story is that I thought I put the feelers out there. I felt the feelers be avoided/stomped on/ripped out of their sockets. And I said OK, fine. I get it. Doesn’t take a brick wall falling on me to get the hint. What-evah.

But like I said earlier, sometimes you look in that box and it’s like, whoa, what’s that still doing in there? Didn’t I get busy with my life and move along and put this behind me? Why’s it still there and what do I have to do to get rid of it?

Oh yeah, that’s right. I keep leaving it in there. I guess it’s my spiritual hope chest after all.

Humph.

I was absolutely rattled. I mean, I went from running into someone last week and being happy for him, and then this week I see someone else (or, at least, someone with whom they were clearly separated at birth) and I just wanted to stab my temple with a salad fork at the thought of someone else being in “my” place.

If I had one month to live, what would I do?

Probably the same thing, just walk away … but not without looking over my shoulder and wondering why this dream, no matter how much I refuse to entertain it (and I oftentimes succeed), can’t seem to go away. …

Scratch, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Took the poop monsters to the vet today. Maddie has slimmed down to a little over 10 pounds (down from 18 three years ago!) and Kadie is up to 10. That’s a whole lotta angry pussy to drag around town!

I have the scratches and the empty bank account to prove that I went today. *sigh* $300 for shots, exams and a “geriatric workup” for Maddie, who turned 12 years old last week. And, sadly, I forgot her birthday till I was forced to remember it for paperwork today.

Years ago, I took Maddie to the vet (pre-Kadie) and some little girl looked at her in the cage and asked me, “Izzat a dawwwgggg?” And I was like, how the hell do you figure a cat is a dog?

Fast-forward a good 10 years here, and as I dragged my little fudge muffins from the clinic, a family with four little girls stopped to look at what I was carrying. And, hand to God, one of the little girls asked me about Kadie, “Izzat a puppy doggy?” I said nope, it’s a kitty, take a look. And she was so cute — she said, “I’m very sorry I thought it was a puppy!”

Hell, I was ready to put down the cats and adopt HER! 🙂

Speaking of cuteness, this is Scratch in the photo — he’s the official mascot of my veterinarian’s office. My kitties had just gotten their shots and Kadie — who hissed and howled the whole time — was back in her cage. Meanwhile, Maddie was scooped up for some extra tests and it was the one time she wasn’t with me.

Scratch wandered in to say hello to me, and as I petted him, Kadie started having a huge hissy fit in her cage. Scratch went over to the cage to say hello — he’s very docile and quiet, but totally unfazed by Angry Kitteh.

In fact, to get some peace, Scratch found the opening in Maddie’s carrier and got comfortable inside of it.

I thought Kadie was going to go into convulsions over it, so I gently asked Scratch to evict the space, and he did.

The next vet visit for me will be to get Maddie’s test results (why oh WHY does she miss the litterbox by three rooms?) and the visit after that will be to get her furry ass shaved, as she’s a matted mess. (Poor baby.)

You know, the point of this visit was to find a way to put a stop to shit landmines. But after all the trauma my girls endured today, does anyone really think they’re NOT going to pay me back for this epic voyage?!?! 😉

This is the only possible way I can spin this clusterfuck of a day.

Gemini horoscope:

You might feel as if you are juggling ten plates at once, dawn. Hopefully, you have everything under control because about five more are going to be tossed your way. To make it even more fun, you’ll be asked to stand on just one foot. Challenges present themselves when you are ready to handle them. Be flattered when someone offers to toss you yet another plate. This shows that people are confident in your abilities.

Failing that? Film at 11. …

El Happy Hour, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I am too busy to know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt, to quote the awesome Dolly Parton in her “Steel Magnolias” role.

I did, however, get out to happy hour on Tuesday, and the world didn’t end. (But I missed a few deadlines.) But it was to celebrate a lovely colleague’s departure — and it also involved hanging out with some of my favorite partners in crime — so work could wait.

We went to Chevy’s, which has the WORST POSSIBLE SERVICE EVAH. Happy hour ends at 7; I ordered my first drink at 6:45 and got it at 7:10. So much for half-price margaritas. *kick*

We were all laughing at the sign for “El Happy Hour.” Because would the article be “la” or something (I didn’t take Spanish — I had no idea that having perfect English grammar/diction doesn’t mean SHIT in D.C.). Like, they couldn’t find SOMEONE within five feet of the restaurant to translate?

I’ll translate for you — “Service as slow as a tortuga.” *slap* Although, the margaritas were actually worth the 30-minute wait. …

The ratio of friends leaving town versus moving back to the city is at 2-to-1 on a good day — more like 5-to-1 or some equally heinous ratio. I got word that one friend is thinking about coming back, and then I learn that we’re losing another two to four in the next month or so.

Humph.

I was speaking with one of my lovelies, who lamented the fact that it’s just downright impossible to meet a good man in good ole D.C. I had read an article on Forbes.com that listed our fair capital city as one of the most lustful in the country based on condom purchases, but that speaks more to getting screwed than making love, IMHO. (I hear there’s a difference.)

Anywho, my friend said it’s disheartening — to be part of an amazing circle of beautiful, intelligent, educated and outgoing women who have no luck whatsoever in the dating game. And that it’s a gaggle of eligible women who are either settling or going without finding even so much as an imperfect mate, she rationalizes that it’s the city — NOT the women — that has something wrong with it.

I couldn’t agree more.

I say this because I was at the ballpark the other day — a natural habitat of the ever-elusive male species. I’m no dummy — I don’t expect to meet ’em at shoe stores or chick flicks. Nah, I’ve learned that an appreciation of sports and even having a favorite team or two can go a long way.

Anyway, I ran into someone I had a couple of dates with toward the end of last year — nothing exotic. I mean, nice guy but nothing clicked. It happens … er, rather, sometimes nothing happens and it’s cool. Sure, you go through that phase of “Is it me? Why doesn’t he like me?” until you realize that “Hey, wait a minute. I wasn’t into HIM, either!”

Or maybe you knew you weren’t into him but you were also willing to hang in there and see what transpired because — again — see “no eligible men in D.C.”

Standards? What standards? Oh, right, those things I’ve started tripping on. *headslam*

Anyway, I met the latest (I’m sure) replacement. It was nice to see him and slightly horrifying to meet the new girl and to act like I was never a girl who came before her. (Heh. I made a funny.) I am content being a “friend from a past life.”

No need to make anyone uncomfortable — besides, women will presume that other women in their male companions’ lives were either bedded or he WANTED to get down and dirty with them. And while I’ve had/have platonic male friends, well, desperate times plus desperate people blah blah blah you know where that all goes.

But I had one of those oddly triumphant moments in which I realized that those two? Are a perfect couple. Really. I say it as a compliment but maybe it’s a backhanded one. (And it’s just between you and me, Internet. And you’re not going to tell anybody, right?)

I had struggled to figure out why he didn’t seem to be all that into me — despite my having a lack of interest in him — for that very reason. This wasn’t George Clooney or Brad Pitt (not that they’re my type, but I digress because I’m hardly starstruck by anyone) or anything like that.

It’s not that I WANTED him to like me, but — and I mean this as nicely as possible — I was clearly out of his league. He was obviously into New Chick, and from her absolute, uh, non-descriptness, I say if that’s what floats your boat, then no wonder two or three dates with me didn’t turn into anything else.

Seeing them together at the ballpark reminded me of a simple phrase: pot: meet lid.

And it was an important lesson for me, one that I shared with my delightful-yet-disillusioned friend: We are better than what we get.

Or, more accurately when it comes to the men my friends and I are meeting: Calphalon, meet dollar-store cookware. Not only do these lines not complement each other together aesthetically, but they don’t function together very well.

I shared this theory with a male friend, too, and I think a lot of us are on this same sinking ship:

Most of us have big personalities. We are the PRESENCE in the room. We are dynamic, well-versed, confident, successful and downright magnanimous. And to some extent, we already expect that we will be the bigger personality in the relationship.

But …

Are the people we’re seeking out/dating simply lackluster in comparison to us, or are they simply, well, just lackluster?

My friend is contemplating going back to a city where she had no trouble picking up men. But what about me — I had no trouble in my motherland, but I’m in the city I want to be in. I have no concrete plans to draw up anchor and start sailing away in the next couple of years.

Why do I have to choose between a city with excellent dating prospects and a city with excellent career opportunities? Why can’t I find both in the same/neighboring zip codes?

One of my guy friends joked that he’s lowered his standards substantially, and he hopes to meet a woman with equally lowered standards, so they can date either happily ever after or at least until they want to kill each other.

And in that, is the perfect summation of “Dating in D.C.” Here’s to hoping that whomever gets elected brings some awesomely hot fresh meat blood to town to shake up the dating pool a bit. That’s always the good news — 9 times out of 10, the people you dated leave and you never have to see them again.

Too bad, though, that the nature of this town also sends the GOOD people on their way to less-expensive, lower-velocity, higher-dating-pool-quality areas, too. *sigh* Good luck to all my lovely lady friends who are seeking the important things in life elsewhere.

And better luck to the rest of us who are going to continue looking for that proverbial needle in the haystack while sorting through all the other pricks in the process. …

So I finally got my copy of “One Month to Live” today. So far, it’s nothing exotic or anything I haven’t heard/thought before. But, you know. It gives this whole “Live Like You Were Dying” experiment a whole new level of commitment.

I had an errant concern this morning, revolving around parting words, so to speak. As in, who can I not leave this earth without talking to, one last time?

I don’t mean saying goodbye. I’m not good at ’em anyway and I sure as hell don’t want to say another one if I can help it. I mean saying something that you’ve bottled up for so long that it might just be emanating from your pores if someone would just look closely enough.

I had two quick thoughts on that matter — the first is that there may be one person to whom I would have to say sorry that you’re going to have to go through an entire lifetime of not having me in it. That, I don’t know if you were waiting for any time in particular to wake up and smell the cat poop, but time’s running out. Can a girl die happy? (Mercy sex is fine, too — I’m in no position to be picky if I’m dying here!)

Of course, would I really be ready to hear, “Not no, but HELL no?” in my fragile condition? Not really. Which is why I haven’t made any moves to find out either way, with presumably another 50 or 60 years left to live.

The other quick thought was to pick up the phone and beat someone else with it. Hell, I have 30 days to live — why not spend the last one as gleefully as possible, ridding the world of pestilence? Of course, that would mean I’d be joining them in hell.

And that ain’t the point of the exercise, as it’s to ultimately get closer to God, not push myself further away from Him. Love thy neighbor and all that jazz. Even and ESPECIALLY if they don’t deserve it.

Besides, who wants to waste their last days focused on, well, bullshit? Today’s message is one of rediscovering passion — of not spending so much time on the things that don’t matter and instead re-allocating one’s resources to what, ultimately, you’re in this world to achieve/leave behind.

They said something absolutely fascinating at church today — I actually wrote it down and shoved it in my purse so I could put it on the blog so I can refer back to it for the rest of my life:

God gave you enough hours in a day to do His work; he did NOT give you enough to do what everyone ELSE expects of you.

To quote the illustrious Chevy “Clark Griswold” Chase, “Hallelujah and holy shit!”

Think about it — there’s ample time for you to earn a living, take care of your relationships, have some fun AND to talk to God.

That actually made me cry when I heard it.

The problem is, we all make choices. We all schedule ourselves to death, just so we don’t fail to meet people’s expectations. Whose expectations, though? Not God’s. Mostly, not even our own.

I mean, it’s not that work can run late and you can tell your boss, “Sorry, that project ain’t happening. Me and God have a hot date.” (Tempting …) Or that I’d much RATHER have tickets to an upcoming concert that I would very much enjoy but that money is going to be directed to giving someone else what THEY want and my “me” time is just that — all in airquotes.

Basically, I am finally getting that whole “Your body is a temple” concept. Granted, I’ve treated mine like a Roman temple (read: vomitorium) for the past 33 years. But I see now that it’s one’s physical AND emotional health that makes him or her a better servant to God.

There’s a book that came to my attention, “Margin” by Richard Swenson, that basically nails people like me for having no “margins” in their life — i.e., white space. No spaces between the words in my book — just go-go-go-go-go.

I have four calendars to keep all of my events in order. I have event tickets and meeting notes and e-mails and reminders all over the damn place — I have CHURCH scheduled into my calendar, fer crying out loud. CHURCH! (At least it’s recurring. …)

I don’t know. A part of me wonders “what’s in it for me?” when I think about this life … that I have to fight tooth and nail for any table scrap representing peace of mind. But I guess the whole idea from this reading adventure I’m on is to stop fighting so hard against the tide — that if I go with it, it will take me places I might not have imagined.

I guess it’s true — whenever I accept things and stop being angry about something or other, my life always pulls a Madonna. Off come the jelly bracelets and on comes the cone bra — I get reinvented in less fashionable ways, but you get the idea.

But it’s so hard NOT to fight, you know? It’s like my inability to carry Mace because I like to spray it on random people just because I can. 🙂 It’s hard sometimes to say, “God’s fighting this battle for me” or “God will bring me through this,” but it has always been the case … even if I didn’t believe in God at the time (as there were many years of that), He seems to have had WAY more faith in me throughout it all.

So, I guess my next goal is to somehow break up the jam-packed pages with margins and white space and spend some time with the Big Dude by way of giving a reprieve to lil’ ol’ me sometimes.

Wow, a goal I actually WANT to achieve! Blessed be, indeed.

Shiny New Stadium, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Hello, poor little neglected blog. I’m going to get a cuppa java. Care for one, too? I know, sweet and light. BRB darling — have I told you how much I’ve missed you?

Been a busy lifetime coupla days in Caterwauling land. Decided to wander down to Southeast (*gulp*) to marvel at the Washington Nationals ballpark, as they were having an open house for folks to check out the new digs.

(I have about eleventy billion photos of it that I’ll upload to Flickr one of these years when I have free time — a girl’s gotta get ready for church at some point today.)

Anywhoo, the Open House was for folks who didn’t already procure season tix to go seat-hunting and, for folks like me who aren’t exactly avid baseball bimbos, to tempt us with sunshine and food vendors (mmm, Ben’s Chili Bowl — half smoke, no onions).

I was severely tempted to do a partial-season package just to get the seats I fell in love with. Although, let’s face it, I was most impressed with the PNC Diamond Sponsor seats, as they were the cushioned ones. (Those went for $22,100 a season per chair. Woo hoo — good to have goals, I guess!)

Actually, that was the neat thing about yesterday. The Nats were away and the game was playing on the shiny new JumboTron. So, you could pretty much plop down in any ole seat you wanted and could watch the game from the vantage point you deserve, even if it isn’t the one you can necessarily afford. 😉

I did end up buying some tickets to individual games instead of doing a package deal. That way, I could simply get the best-available seats on my desired days without being committed to a package that, I’m certain, simply won’t accommodate the Goddess’ hectic schedule. 🙂

We ended up rolling down to U Street, the home of the original Ben’s Chili Bowl, although that place was P-A-C-K-E-D and I didn’t want to go in. (I was thinking a half-smoke for lunch and a chili dog for dinner would be just the right combination to kill me.)

But alas, I did find solace (and a table) at the Love Cafe where we bought slices of cake but — oops — they ran out of forks. Classy. (Plastic ones were unearthed at some point, but in a cafe that seats 25 people, how hard is it to find/wash utensils?)

So, if you were ever wondering how to get a figure like mine, consider this: breakfast at Ben’s, lunch at Warren’s and dinner at Dave’s (that’d be Famous Dave’s). Yeesh. Almost beats the weekend of Brio, Carrabba’s (go for the white sangria. Seriously) and the Greene Turtle a coupla weeks ago. (Hey, I don’t have time to eat during the week. It all evens out.)

Now, I’ve got to go scrub mah butt go figure out how to pay for next weekend’s plans, too. Damn shiny-new baseball tickets sitting in my wallet. *shakes fist at heavens* Why did Nationals Park have to be so awesomely seductive as to lure me into wanting to be a baseball wench this spring?

New baby, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

It was a hockey night in D.C. but even though I was a block away from Verizon Center, I had better plans. Girlier plans. (Don’t get me wrong, I DO love me a good Caps game, but tonight? Girls ruled.)

Tiff got hooked up with Nintendo via Brand Enthusiasts and got all of her girl-geek friends hooked up with a schweet “thank-you for playing” gift (the Nintendo DS Lite, Brain Age and a charm bracelet, and four charms that we “earned” by playing four different types of games).

Oh, I’m a shameless marketing hussy. Let’s give Nintendo some lovin’ for inviting us to “A Girlfriends Guide to Gaming.”

I was afraid that we’d end up with pink DS Lites, but I had my choice of pink or black and of course you know what I would pick.

As if my carry-on suitcase isn’t packed enough with a laptop, iPhone, digital camera and other toys, now I’ll be toting my pretty little Nintendo everywhere, too. Although that gold charm bracelet will definitely stay put after tonight. 😉

The four charms are a light bulb, a high heel, a black-and-white checkerboard heart and a dog dish with a bone in it. Don’t ask — it makes perfect sense if you go to one of these soirees.

The gathering was at the Numark Gallery in Chinatown, and it was quite a unique, modern and yet cozy locale for this swank little event. A very clever little space — perfect for an evening of ladies being treated to wine, appetizers and technology that’s strong enough for a man, but made for a woman. 😉

Tons of people came out for this event, and Tiff admitted to “knowing” everyone but not having met several attendees anywhere offline before tonight.

But as for me? It was a big fat episode of “This is Your Life,” as I saw friends with whom I haven’t crossed paths in anywhere from three months to three years. I’m still blown away by how nice it is to pick up a conversation that was put down a long time ago, just like only a few days had passed.

What also knocks off my froggy socks is how many people read my blog … because they care and want to keep up with me. And I even heard a story that someone was INSPIRED by something I wrote, to emanate some creativity of her own! Seriously, what an honor! Am humbled. *blush* 😉

All right, it’s past midnight and I have to be in the office in entirely too few hours from now. (Read: earlier than usual.) But one last commentary: I left my car at a Metro stop and rode in, so I wouldn’t have to fuss with Chinatown parking on a game night.

And these two very-flamboyant boys got on with two very pretty, classy girls. And those boys (nope, not calling ’em “men”) were just so disgustingly rude and degrading to them. Just, the snotty, bitchy things they said … well, I’ve heard before.

Other than being annoyed, I was SO glad that the particular phase those girls are in, well, is OVAH for me. Thank the LORD above. That these two queeny little insecure boys felt the need to insult these two pretty girls? Not surprising, but not acceptable.

And it dawned on me that it’s a cycle — insecure little boys try desperately to put these girls down and they will STAY for the abuse until they wise up. But then they will go on to do great things and surround themselves with great people, and they, too, will be thrilled they outgrew that particular phase.

I wish them the strength to break away … they will be completely different people in 10 years.

Anyway, I digress. But yeah, tonight’s gifts for me were far greater than the tangible ones I hid in my purse from the throngs of game-goers on the Metro. Am so grateful for where I’ve been, how far I’ve come, and those who are here with me on the journey now.
*mwah!*

Make mine a triple-shot, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I didn’t buy this bumper sticker, but since my best friend picked it out, you know I’m going to use it. Because, well, it sounds kinda yummy right now. Nom nom nom. …

My day started off with laughter at Tom’s Tweet that “April Fools’ Day is like Easter for assholes,” and if THAT didn’t prove itself a dozen times over, I don’t know what else to say about the day.

I left work on time today — April Fools’! Ha. Actually I did sneak out prior to daylight drawing to a close, so for once the joke wasn’t on me.

Things I learned today:

1. Canada Dry sparkling green tea ginger ale does not completely suck, although it takes a while to get used to drinking fizzy iced tea.

2. The USB-powered desktop fundue set is simply an April Fools’ joke, but after spending Easter at the Melting Pot, I would totally buy one of these things for my desk.

3. When trapped in a boring meeting to which I have nothing to contribute, I can conjure up some pretty salacious visions to keep myself awake and occupied. *blush*

Other things I learned today:

In continuing my meanderings on what would I do with 30 days to live, today I find myself (theoretically) with 29 left and, damn, it would suck balls to have lost a whole day spending it the way this one went. 😉

Today’s ramblings are inspired by planning to eliminate a terminal case of the “Somedays.” For all of us who put our dreams on hold for when we’re better off financially, when we’ve lost X number of pounds, when we’ve put the kids in school or when we’ve washed that man right outta our hair … are we foregoing some level of happiness in the here and now until (insert event) occurs? And what if it doesn’t or, as we know, it takes longer than anticipated to come to fruition?

I made a list of all the things I’ve back-burnered till I got my career on track. Which happened almost two years ago when I was promoted to my own personal level of incompetence. But in order to remain competitive, I admit to giving up on things like cooking, cleaning (sigh), spending time with friends, dating actively and picking up the phone and seeing who’s available to raise some hell. A girl needs her beauty sleep, y’know?

Don’t get me wrong — I still do all of the above and then some, but not enough. Not with any amount of regularity or without emotions bordering sometimes on obligation. Yadda yadda gotta stay on the horse/use it or lose it blah blah cakes.

And not that I am forcing myself on anyone or feeling like I HAVE to see them. But more along the lines of, “I really do still care and will thus pull my turtle ass out of this turtle shell once in a while” and “No I really don’t want to see that movie or go to that restaurant but I’m craving social contact so much that I will suck it up because I miss my friend/want to go on this date/I can do what I want on my own time anyway.”

That sounds like more of a pity party (favors, anyone? I’m partial to the kazoo myself) than it is. But don’t feel sorry for me — I may not cook anymore, but to quote Barbra Streisand in “The Prince of Tides” (*swoon* — awesome movie. my favorite, even), “I may not know how to cook, but I know how to eat!”

Anyway, the point is, I always find myself waiting till I have more money to plan a trip (because, you know, cash does help). I keep waiting “till things calm down” to go to the gym. I anticipate finding the right outfit before I actively want to go out to meet someone for a drink. I keep waiting for a little health issue to pass before I feel like I can let a day go by without being preoccupied with it. I keep waiting for a particular miracle to happen before, well, my blood pressure can return to normal. I keep waiting for a day when I wake up looking PERFECT so I can go get that damn passport photo taken already. 😉

And really, what am I doing to enjoy/pursue the smaller pleasures in the interim that will ensure I’m healthy and ready for all those big “someday” things? And is it all enough?

Do we feel undeserving? Is that it? I know I’m not the only one with the “Someday Syndrome.” What keeps you from achieving greatness or at least enjoying the goodness that may be easier/quicker to reach?