Caterwauling

Pittsburgh Pierogies!, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

On Saturday at the Nats vs. Bucs game — er, Washington vs. Pittsburgh — — er, Homestead Grays vs. Grays (the day saluted the former Homestead Grays by having each team wear their old uniforms, and clips were shown on the big screen of their glory days), the presidents raced against the Pittsburgh Pierogies. I hear that Teddy was running behind the pierogies with a knife and fork. 🙂

First feet-up day!, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I missed these shoes — I found them in the move. I also noticed a matching bracelet when I was on my way out the door, so the bold pink helped to jazz up an all-black outfit.

OK, so greetings from my new life in a cube farm. Incidentally, my cube is bigger than my last office, so I ain’t complaining.

I’m putting in a long day, mostly because I spent it disoriented getting oriented (I get to slap the first person who says “orientated”) and trying to get used to carrying a key card to go to the bathroom. (I remembered the key card but kept forgetting the Tampax — I can’t do two things at once, peeps!)

Not much is different from my last adventure and, yet, everything is different. I still see my buddies on my instant messenger client and I’ve typed with many of them today, but it’s weird not actually seeing them or even hearing them laugh when we type something particularly silly.

I find that my cube farm tract empties out fairly early, which is cool. I can kind of hang here and concentrate on what it is I will be needing to concentrate on.

The bad news is that I am very used to working with people who, like me, are apt to blurt out the first thing that comes to their minds, the second it occurs to them. And language was never really a problem because we all could have filled up our cuss banks in the space of a half-hour. Now, I sort of grumble to myself and my new neighbors are all, “Are you OK over there, Goddess?” Only they don’t call me Goddess. They don’t know/see me as that yet. They may never. But my old neighbors did. *sniffle*

It’s all good. It all feels so strange, this new environment. But not in a bad way. I’m a fan of beginnings. It means something was left behind that needed to be, and that I’m walking toward something else I’m supposed to experience.

Change is good. I could stand to see a little more of it, but right now I’ll take what I can get!

The better my title, the smaller my office gets, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I got the best cubby in the company, so I can’t complain about, well, my new venture IN a cubby.

The higher the title, the smaller the space, I guess. Good thing I don’t have a higher title — looks like my superiors have even-tinier spaces. Yeesh.

I am not working toward any promotions, then — am happy where I am! 🙂

Feels like the first day of school. …

Today my mom was up and dressed early, so I took her to church for what, she says, will be the last time she goes.

We were waiting for first services to empty out so we could roll in for the later session when a guy came up to talk to her. Now, everyone’s so flippin’ nice there, you just assume folks are being neighborly when they start to chat with you. Of course, I’ve offended a lot of pious types because I don’t get much past the, “Hi, how are you?” stage, and I never, ever let anyone into my personal space.

But not her. Oh, no, I see where everything went wrong with my childhood. …

So this dude has an accent that I simply cannot hear through. And I’ve gotten pretty good at deciphering folks in the past six years that I’ve lived here, but maybe there was something about him that just made me want to run for the hills. The fact that he kept trying to hug me and kept squeezing my very-sunburned arms drove me bugshit nuts, so maybe that was it.

Anyway, he claimed he was at first services and wanted to come back after second services were done so he could hang out with us. Great.

I try not to remember all the bad dates I was dragged along on as a child/teen. And everyone who WONDERS why I run at the first blaring “asshole” signal, even if it’s only a potential signal that I could possibly be misinterpreting, well, this is why.

So sure enough, he came back and was standing at the freaking door of the church. I mean, there was no slipping out of a side entrance because he was there where everyone has to walk past. Yay.

I of course ignored him and strolled along, but Miss Must Be Nice to Everyone started chatting with him again. This after she told me to get her the fuck out of there without him noticing!

(Incidentally, I was taking notes during the sermon and she asked what I had written down. To which I replied, “None of your God damn business!” Yes, I know, my language in church sucks. But at least it wasn’t like two weeks ago when I kept shushing some very loud teen girls behind me and, on the SIXTH time I turned around, I said, “Jesus Christ, shut UP already!”)

Anywhore, this clown stalks us outside and refuses to leave unless he can either:

A) steal mom away from me, or

B) tag along with us to whatever phantom place she claimed I was taking her to.

Now, I’m the first one who will say I WANT her to meet a sugar daddy who will sweep her up (and away). He said he runs a store and has no time to date, so he needed to be with her RIGHT THEN AND NOW.

It occurred to me that maybe he didn’t go to first services after all but instead was trolling the church for women. Which, I can totally understand. I would say the bulk of my dates in my 20s were with men I perceived to have a strong religious affiliation because I always figured I’d want my kid(s) to grow up with faith and I knew it wasn’t probably going to come from me.

And don’t think I’m not scanning the seats myself, looking for attractive faces that I’ve seen there more than once. 😉

So she basically told him we were going to a party (“out in Reston,” I supplied — as in, not close to where we were) and he turns to ME and says, “She can either ride with me or she can ride with you and I’ll follow you.”

Hunh?

I said, “Aren’t you a pushy bastard?”

He said, “So that’s a yes?”

I said hardly. I know she was looking for me to fight him off, but come on — I didn’t invite this!

I started looking around for help, and I saw my salvation — my lone friend in the church was coming out, and I practically frolicked to him because well, of course I was happy to see him. But I figured that asshole might not fuck with me with this dude next to me. 🙂

I quickly explained that this idiot HAD to spend time with my mom RIGHT NOW because he runs a store and has no free time during the week. And from his accent, I suspected the store was a 7-11. And we just watched this idiot, marveling at how easy it was for him to push his way in and try everything in his power to get a date.

I’m not sure what all ran through my head at that time, although it pretty much convinced me that the great guys are unsure of their greatness and won’t put their heart on the line, but the flaming assholes are like the ugly babies of the world who don’t care that they would look better with a diaper over their head (or at least blocking their mouth) — they just persist in their trolling when the subject is CLEARLY disinterested.

The question of the day, however, was how wrong it is to give someone you meet at church a wrong number. I personally don’t think it’s a sin, just as long as you don’t give the church’s phone number. 😉 ‘Cause THAT would be worthy of some penance for sure!

Nice Hat, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Not my most-shining example of brilliant photography, but I rather enjoyed this dude’s solution to being in the blazing-hot sun for four hours. (Am lobster-iffic in my own redness. Ow ow ow ow OW.)

I should have taken a glove myself — a foul ball bounced off the seat right in front of me and I could have caught it. (But the grilled wings from Hard Times commanded my attention instead.)

Of course, nine men with beers all lunged for it and nobody caught it because none of ’em would put down their bottles.

As a result? The ball girl got it and tossed it to a little kid. You should’ve heard them all complaining about that. …

Oh I swear to God, for a “day off,” I’m freaking exhausted!

It started at 8 a.m. with people who know better than to ask me for stuff at that hour, well, asked me for stuff. It was fine. Really.

9 a.m. arrived and I started on a new project. Chaos only partially ensued. Life was good.

9:45 arrived and of course the 8 a.m. project was augmented with a, “Hey, you decide how to do it.” And well, that wasn’t a decision I should have made. So I made the decision in which everyone wins.

10:30 a.m. arrived with a “Why didn’t you make the decision I wanted you to make?” I had my reasons and stated them. All was well. Once again, everyone won.

2 p.m. arrived. Lunch! Outdoors! At Cosi! Nom nom nom, viva la salade nicoise. Seriously. Good stuff. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a lunch hour? (Hint, I’ve had one a year for three years.)

2:30 p.m. Hmm, there’s a movie playing at the cinema down the street. …

2:35 p.m. Bought the only ticket to the 2:35 showing of “Made of Honor.” I laughed, I cried, I arched my eyebrow at the formulaic-ness of it all and cried some more because, oh Hannah, I feel ya.

4 p.m. Wandered up the street for hot tea and dessert plus a one-on-one session with the laptop. Here’s the deal — my e-mail address was disconnected last night. AND THERE WAS STUFF IN THAT FUCKING ACCOUNT THAT I FORGOT TO READ/FORWARD that I would need for today, as today is a transition day and all.

*headslam*

So I was able to call up the one document that was most urgent on my iPhone. Now, as it was a Word doc, I couldn’t save it or send it to a different e-mail account. But I could prop the phone up against my laptop screen and type the four-page tome verbatim, hyperlinks and all.

OK, it’s 6 p.m. and I’m calling shenanigans. I’m actually sitting catty-corner from the condo where one of my ill-fated attempts at romance lives, and I’d like to get the hell out of here before he decides he needs to walk or drive by. I was looking all right until I cried off all my makeup, so it’s time to vamoose with what little sanity I still have left intact. *poof!*

Bye bye, office #4005, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

My beloved little space, minus the 40 million knick-knacks, decorative glass tables and, of course, miles of files. Which I thankfully took home before people started laying claim to my furniture while I was still using it. (Seriously, writing your name on my stuff while I’m SITTING ON IT while working at 10 p.m.? Seriously?)

Anyway, I have one last item to pick up and one last photo to take of my view, and it’s like I never occupied office #4005. But I’m sure the laughter, love and lunacy experienced in that little space will be embedded in the walls forever. …

Final feet-up day, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

It’s been a good three-and-a-half years (two of which were at this very desk), but it’s time to move on. One last (busted-up) feet-up day for old times’ sake, and two more boxes to pack, and I’m outta here. It’s not a day of endings — no, just the opposite. I feel like a completely new person. Bigger and better adventures await!

Delayed by at least a dozen years but no sense in waiting any longer:

Hey Psychofag,

Just because you comment doesn’t mean I have to read it. The “mass edit” mode helps me to make you disappear from my Web site the way you need to evaporate from my life.

You hate me? Sorry to hear it. You want me to die? Believe me, if it rids me of you, it’s apparently not the worst option. You wanna keep making fun of a dead man who was loved more than you’ll ever be? Have at it — you can’t hurt him and therefore you can’t hurt me.

Since unsubscribing from my blog feed or, gasp, not visiting Caterwauling.com is clearly above your intelligence level, too bad — so sad.

I was through with you in 1993. I was through with you in 1995. I was through with you in 1998. I was through with you pretty much the whole period between 2002 and now. And what, do you think I miss you? I miss someone who doesn’t exist anymore (and hasn’t, for some time now). Or maybe that person was an illusion you showed me to try to get someone like me into your clutches or that vicious circle inside your head.

I admit, all those times I came back? Were because I was afraid. Keeping one’s enemies closer, blah blah blah. I spent too much time being afraid and settling for sub-par scraps of so-called friendship. You were so afraid of me finding better friends, because I’d leave when I did. You were right. So stop punishing me for it and start changing to be someone that others would WILLINGLY hang around.

Get help. Get healthy. Unlike your latest directive, no I’m not going to die. But as I once again have to be the better person (you haven’t made it difficult to do that), I want you to LIVE. I want you to THRIVE. I want you to see how AWESOME life can be without anger and hatred bubbling out of every pore.

My pastor says sometimes you have to keep forgiving people, even when you’ve already done it a million times. Let’s make it a million and one and cap it there.

When you look back on your life and realize how much time you spent trying to make people supposedly regret not being your friend — instead of trying to be a better friend to those who were within arm’s reach — you’ll realize all the love you missed out on (that you willingly sacrified).

Stop using people and start loving yourself. Ask God to help you change, and even you will be amazed at how truly great He can help you to be. And even for those times that I couldn’t forgive you, maybe He will. …

Goddess (and don’t you forget it)