Caterwauling

O HAI little bloggy!

With birds flying into my work building and DYING (two hummingbirds and one, oh, ENDANGERED-SPECIES woodpecker), I’m sure that’s been a sign of the market mayhem that we endured today. I have photos but it’s depressing, really.

(Photos of the bird suicides, I mean, not the market hijinx. The photo op of the latter will come when Botox is an approved prescription on my healthcare plan because of the fucking crow’s feet I generated as the Dow Industrials dropped an ever-so-not-lucky 777 points.)

Of course, my colleagues say it’s funny that birds are trying to get into the windows (except that woodpecker — he flew straight into the brick). Because they expect to see a Goddess-shaped imprint on the INSIDE of the windows as I run screaming without being bothered to find a door. Ow. If I see birdies flying around my head, they’ll probably be real.

Anyway, we’re long past Hour 12 at the ranch, which still beats going home, but still. I’m passing off one project (to someone who already has to goddamned many of them, IMHO) so that I can inherit five more.

The good news is, I got a nice “atta girl” out of the top-tier of the top brass. Which, yay. I can totally dig that. They like me — they really like me! Apparently love is showered in compliments and boulders to roll up mountains. Yep, thanks, feelin’ really loved here, then!

Things are still same shit, different shoes everywhere else in my world. I was told life was changing, and life IS changing. Some of the same old shit is still the same old shit. And some of it is just shiny new shit. But the common denominator? Yep, you guessed it. Shit.

Speaking of shit or, at least, other words that feel overly appropriate given the hour of the night and the lack of done-ness of the shit project list, well, don’t make me talk about what passes for “done” or “approved” or “I asked for it to be blue. Why the hell is it so hard to change a fucking hex code to make something blue?”

Ahem.

In any case, once again my overall sentiment toward this week (yes, I’m aware it’s only Monday) is best expressed in lolcat:

more animals

There is not one thing I can say about yesterday that wouldn’t get me fired. Not one.

The only saving grace to the day is that one of my boys called at the exact moment I needed it. And it left me with dreams of leaving it all behind, packing up a suitcase and running away to where he is. Which is clearly “not here” and my inner circle knows that I refer to all my boys by the city in which they live. Except Maryland boys. I lump them all into the “Maryland” category. Have had my heart thrown in the trash compactor too many times by them — they don’t get special mentions anymore. 😉

Of course, if I did jump in the car and beeline to a new city, it would be more running away than running toward at this point. But, you know. Stranger things not only have happened, but are happening.

One thing I will say is that, if you present me with something that’s as appealing as digested Mexican food on a wad of toilet paper (with which you’ve just wiped your ass, for those who need it spelled out), and my immediate response is, “Um, yeah, not so much,” the correct response is not to tattle. If we have to collaborate now, since structural changes dictate losing the trusted and dealing with the unknown, this wasn’t quite the way to start things off. Makes me wonder if this was just a one-off or whether it’s a sign of things to come.

I didn’t get one iota of sleep last night. And I hope I can keep it from showing too much. But can the girl who was secretly hoping for some sort of change handle the metric ass-ton that’s been dumped on her little red toenails?

Between a not-wonderful workday yesterday that I curtailed at my earliest convenience, and an Extended Houseguest^TM who seems to be under the impression that they can extend their stay till I get married (anyone wanna go to Vegas with me post-haste?), well, all I gotta say is this:

more animals

In better news, I was practicing some Magic Lite the other night. No, not a game — just trying to see if I could invoke some magic, but without any substantial effort.

I haven’t tried it since before I got my last job, since I was lighting candles and chanting for stable employment. I got it. Hoo boy, did I get it. 🙂

Hence I’ve been magic-free for several years because, kids, sometimes you DO get what you wish for. So be careful!

Anyway, I was saying a little spell as I lit a candle the other night, basically asking the universe to present me with a good man. I mean, I’ve got my arsenal, don’t you worry. 😉 But I’ve waited so long for a good one, I don’t want to pick wrong.

And I tell you, NOT 30 SECONDS after I said my little thing, my phone rang. Because someone was thinking of me and wanted to say hi at that exact moment.

Life’s doing a 180 right now. Am down another 2 pounds this week. (Yes!) The job I was just hired for is going through a major metamorphosis. And the heart, she has things to look forward to, however they end up unfolding.

Lord give me strength — I’m gonna need it more than ever. …

I often wonder whether it’s finally the time to go get married, have babies and get out of the rat race.

I usually laugh it off, as that would require a proposal (and someone willing to do it!) and a complete loss of wanting to go places by myself without toting a diaper bag and someone to pollute said diapers.

But today, I’m so spiritually exhausted that maybe I should go start shopping for my hope chest and see what follows.

I’m thinking of the scene in “9 to 5” when all the ladies, one by one, fire the day and go for a drink at Charlie’s. I’m all for it.

Who’s on board? First round’s on me!

OK, so my jeans are falling off my hips and my pink-and-black scandalous gutchies are of course on display. So, aha! Belt! Right?

Wrong.

The freaking belt (it’s gold. I’m wearing a Steeler shirt. I MUST MATCH MY BLACK AND GOLD GOD DAMN IT) is too big, even on its smallest hole.

The really cruddy part of this all is that I have been trying on new jeans but I can’t find anything that I like or that doesn’t create a muffin top in a smaller size. Besides, since I have, oh, 30 pairs of jeans in my closet, I’d like to give them a LITTLE more use before I go and donate them.

I know, not the worst problems I’ve ever had. … 😉

So, there were some commercials out earlier this summer for “Keeping up with the Kardashians,” in which Kim was prepping for a calendar shoot and was getting her cellulite massaged or whatever the hell the process is called.

Anyway, she was wearing these awesome leopard-print underwear trimmed in black lace. Dude, I saw those panties in the store that same week and I HAD to have them.

Yes, I know they don’t make my butt look like hers. But I still love them.

So I was wearing them today, and my pants (being just a twee bit too loose at the waist) weren’t always covering them when I was sitting. But I usually pay attention to these things and am quite acclimated with fussing around with my clothes.

Of course, we got hella busy today and by busy I mean “why the fuck did the seven people I am paid to beat into submission crawl out from under their rocks at THE EXACT SAME TIME and send me urgent work that needed to be attended to RIGHT THAT VERY GODDAMNED MINUTE?” I have one lone but glorious staff member, so we divided and conquered and kicked the inbox’s ASS in a half-hour before we were annihilated again shortly thereafter.

Anyway, I was trying very hard to do math once the onslaught abated and it meant staring at lots of flashing, shiny lights and numbers up on my screen as they KEPT FUCKING CHANGING. Oh yeah, good times.

So what I did not realize that my poor boss was standing behind me, waiting to get my attention when I was done doing my little data inputting and percentage-getting and such. And what I realized was a lovely “oh shit” moment as I noticed my undergutchies were quite visible to anyone who might have had a rear view of moi.

Har har har. *headdesk* My apologies for the underskivvy exposure!

I normally wear longer shirts but I fit into one I haven’t worn in a couple of years and wasn’t so concerned when I got dressed this morning. I always forget these days to check my clothes when I’m sitting down in ’em.

Oh well — I’m wearing a Steeler T-shirt tomorrow ’cause we’re actually allowed to dress like normal human beings (like, with jeans! And favorite-team jerseys!) so I am just gonna hope for the best or, at least, wear undergutchies that sit much lower than the Kim Kardashian-esque ones that I still love so much.

And, actually, belts just don’t help. I was wearing string-bikini-type gutchies on Saturday night, and I accidentally threaded my belt through them. *facepalm* When I went to use the powder room, I couldn’t figure out why my shorts and gutchies were all one unit. Please tell me I’m not the only asshat who’s endured this particular wardrobe malfunction. … 😉

OK, OK, I’m getting your pokes that I haven’t blogged in a while. Thank you. 🙂 I’m glad to know that if anything happened to me, I’d have people looking for me.

Anyway, I’ve been presented with a sort of bombshell that feels a lot like my worst nightmare, but that maybe my wildest dreams could be contained within it.

Hrm. I don’t know.

I can’t really explain it at this juncture. I do know that I really wanted a tequila shot this morning and had to settle for espresso, so maybe I will have to allow myself a little somethin’-somethin’ after work tonight.

I guess what I can say with some level of confidence is that when you’re doing something to change things for the better, other changes are destined to follow suit.

As you become a different person, maybe you outgrow everything around you. Maybe the universe notices and says, “OK, you’ve shown you can tackle (and even conquer) everything that’s been placed before you. Now it’s time to REALLY see what you’re made of.”

I’ve elected to stop wondering whether the changes are good or bad. Since, really, all I can do is make the best out of them.

I am asking folks, though, about the choice I made back when I had the chance … whether it was the right one or whether I shot myself in the foot. And I am being reassured that it’s all good and maybe better.

We’ll see.

Let’s face it, life gets cataclysmic sometimes. One may even proclaim that Life is Crap. But one wonders whether, through all the strangeness and suckitude, the good guys really will come out on top and get everything they dreamed of and so much more. Or, whether I should just go buy a T-shirt from that site now and accept the inevitable. …

Oh well. Lost another 2 pounds, so really, how can anything this week truly be bad?

SNL’s Hillary/Palin sketch:

I believe lots of things. Not usually what anyone tells me (a hot stove will burn me? Gotta feel for myself. OK, ouch, heat hurts), and definitely not what the right-wing nutjobs are selling (we’re different than George Bush!! We’re only using his speechwriters; they’re not going to script out the next four years. No siree, not at all!).

But I do believe in me, in fate, in God, in good things someday coming to good people, in love. I am trying to keep up these beliefs through faith, as life hasn’t really shown me evidence of most of these things yet. But I can’t go on if they aren’t out there, so I’m just waiting my turn.

I thought I’d heard everything, but recently I learned that my body has gone into starvation mode.

Humph.

How the hell is that possible?

I seem to have plateaued in my de-pudgifying efforts. Apparently eating a salad a day, along with some rice cakes and maybe some yogurt, isn’t enough nourishment. Who knew?

It’s very strange, because a few weeks ago, I was the one championing the fact that you’ve got to eat to lose weight. Because I was still eating pretty well — just healthier. And I don’t know if I’ve gotten too busy, too apathetic, too broke or just too “I know better than you,” but the less I eat, the less progress I make.

Damn it.

It of course occurs to me that my problem never really was overeating. Poor food choices, sure, but not necessarily always a quantity issue. Cheap food isn’t exactly the healthiest.

And now that I won’t put anything in my mouth that doesn’t have some redeeming nutritional value, well, that means I may not eat at all.

It’s weird to be sitting here at 10 p.m., just home from work, with no appetite whatsoever and mostly feasting on all the thoughts flying around like a weird combination of butterflies and hornets inside my head.

I mean, I’m annoyed because I haven’t felt well enough to do my work at my usual speed. I’m agitated because I got a resolution (more or less) and it just ain’t what I wanted it to be because, hey, maybe he’s just not that into me. I’m thrilled that I stood up to someone for something I desperately need that I may never get. I’m curious about the boy from long ago and far away who seems to want to be in the here and now. And I’ll never stop wondering about something else I just cannot say to anybody.

But …

I’m so much better off than I was. Twenty-five pounds ago, I wasn’t swimming in my clothes and buying new ones. Well, I’m definitely getting new bras, since I seemed to drop a size there. (Damn!) I’m the proud owner of a new workout wardrobe (although my dumb ass still hasn’t bought proper workout shoes).

Twenty-five pounds ago, I wasn’t taking photos of myself just to monitor my progress. I mean, if I’m losing boobage (yaar), then I am clearly losing weight faster on top. Fine. So each week, I’ve snapped a photo of my face. Nothing exquisite — just for comparison’s sake.

And you know what? The girl who hasn’t posed for a photo in years suddenly sees a new light in her eyes. She’s actually picking a photo or two to put on her profile. She’s getting e-mails and private messages from boys she knew from college and beyond who simply take a moment to tell her she looks hot.

Hot. Me!

*blush*

And let’s face it, 25 pounds ago, I would never have called that boy back. I think I stopped taking myself seriously for a long time. And then I had my stupid epiphany in which I realized the heart, she’s still beating. And maybe beating a little faster when it comes to someone in particular. But then the beating stopped, cold in its tracks.

But there’s a new boy, and he jumpstarted it. Now, I’m not going to claim that it is anything or that it will be — it’s still early, and we all know what happens when I get my hopes up. (There goes that “seeing by faith” thing again.) But this is a story that I thought was over, and maybe the book was never totally closed.

In any case, people are seeing me again. And maybe they always were. Maybe I was the one who assumed no one was looking.

If there’s a good kind of wrong to be, then this is it. 🙂

Anyway, so that’s my journey that I’ve been on, and the one I will continue along. With some modifications, of course. The de-pudgification process feels like the only thing I have any control over, so of course I’m frustrated to be stuck in neutral right now. But at least it’s not in reverse, and I can get it moving back in my favor again.

After all, I’ve got a lot of adventures ahead of me. And the ones I can have RIGHT NOW are motivation enough. …

Day two of migraine from hell. Bonus symptoms include a sore neck and stiff shoulders. Awesome! Am trying to stay in hiding from anyone who would purposely or even inadvertently poke the penguin — I’m not above making someone feel as hurty as I do. In fact, it might make me feel better to pat someone on the head with a brick. 😉

Because “sick day” isn’t in my vocabulary, I’m still wearing sunglasses. Prescription ones, so I can actually edit better than I was yesterday. Whee. Too bad I just keep reading the same grafs over and over because I can’t concentrate enough to know whether I’ve read them before or not.

I’m not going to bore anyone with reflections on Sept. 11. It’s just a shitty tragedy and it’s been a shitty day every year because the sun has the audacity to shine despite the pall over the day. I half-wonder whether that’s part of my physical ailments … whether they’re partially in my head because of this day.

Anyway, to lighten things up a bit, do yourself a favor and go to iTunes and buy this bit from Patton Oswalt on “Alternative Earth.” The gist is that maybe there’s a parallel universe where 9/11 never happened, Al Gore is president and Paris Hilton isn’t a celebrity.

Hey, it’s nice to dream, anyway!