Caterwauling

Christmas at DCA

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I went to see “Four Christmases” yesterday and pretty much loved it. Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn’s characters are living exactly the life I want — surrounding themselves with expensive things, taking exotic vacations and avoiding all things family-related. Ah, to dream. …

Without spoiling it, the question does arise whether that’s all there is to life. And my answer would be “That’s fine by me!” but nobody’s asking what I think. 🙂

I’m making a conscious effort to not go all manic-depressive this holiday season, but this one is testing me more than most. (Minus the one four years ago. Just, don’t ask.)

I just want to know what a good holiday season feels like. One that’s not reminding me how financially fucked I am or how significant-other-challenged I always seem to be at this time of year. And now that I’ve got a built-in roommate (whoever said it’s cheaper to keep her, needs to get smashed over the skull with a brick fireplace) who is either clueless to, or simply ignores, my absolute discomfort at the situation, well, what’s the point of surviving the holidays when nothing looks to be getting better?

I skipped church today — I tend to do that when I need it most. But the bathroom was occupied when I woke up to start getting ready, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. That and, hey, it’s raining. I hope the baby Jesus will understand.

My recent vacation was my Christmas present to myself. I didn’t do nothin’ but shop, eat, drink and lounge in the tub. No cat fur, no intrusions, no sharing my oxygen.

And no answering the phone or looking at the e-mail, during the latter part of the trip. I’ve been so caught up in the details of making other people’s dreams come true, I’ve forgotten how to contribute my vision to the executing of others’.

I’m at this weird place in life where I could continue the career I have — I can get really good at it and do this forever. Or … maybe I’m at the point where I’ve learned enough and maybe it’s time to learn/do something new — preferably something that’s more immune to the recession at hand, if such a thing exists.

I dunno. I’ve always been happy to let my fate find me, whether it’s job, career, friends, family (or urban tribe), pets, boys, etc. I don’t actively seek anything.

And what I seek now — to have my house to myself again, to not be worried to death about losing employment in this tough economic conditions, to enjoy a healthy and functional relationship — seems downright impossible at this moment. I know everything’s within my power to obtain/achieve, but at what point are you just too beaten-down to pursue anything other than the occasional scrap of peace and quiet to simply exist?

Anyway, I don’t wanna just exist. I don’t want to “get through” the holidays, the next fiscal quarter, the next year of the lease.

I don’t want to keep putting off a computer purchase till my meager savings is dwindled down to nothing to pay all the bills.

I don’t want to be where I was four years ago, missing a job I hated with all my heart because I needed the (pathetic amount of) money it provided.

I don’t want to look back on this time where I alternated between anger and passivity when I could have been nicer to people who are rubbing my nerves like a fluffy cloud of steel wool.

I don’t want to believe that this is as good as it gets.

I don’t want to find reassurance in that there are plenty of others who have it way worse than me.

I don’t want to feel like my best days are anywhere but in front of me.

I want to see how great others have it and continue being happy for them. And I also want to feel that I can achieve that level of joy and love and accomplishment and completeness for myself.

I spend a lot of time in denial, of avoiding the things and people that stress me out. I guess I just want them to know how miserable they make me, that I have to pretend they don’t exist in order to get through a day/week/whatever. I also use that exhaustion as an excuse for not keeping up with the people with whom I very much want to share my time and love.

But now that I’ve had a week to myself, I’ve had a chance to chill out and look at the big picture again, instead of being mired in all the details that mean so much to seemingly everyone else but me. And I feel like I can continue in this path and rise to the top of it. But what’s going to motivate me in the meantime, other than fear and obligation?

I know I’m going to end up where I’m supposed to end up. But how am I going to recognize/fulfill my own dreams when I’m so busy tending to everyone else’s?

Live music at Mandalay

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

When I travel on business, I either do my partying with my associates or I wait till long after they leave town. And on neither occasion do I act like a drunken fool.

On my last night in Vegas, I saw “Mamma Mia!” at the Mandalay Events Center and spent the remainder of the evening at the J-Pop Lounge (pictured) where the service is fantastic and the live music is nothing short of amazing.

I was sitting alone at a table when a gal came up and asked if she could pay me for a cigarette (as Vegas is the last town where smokers can take refuge, even though they removed the smoking lounges at the airport, YOU BASTARDS). I gave her one and she invited me to join her and her friend at a table by the stage. And what the hell, right? I took her up on her offer.

That was my first mistake.

So I sat with Ashley and her friend Ward/Wyatt/Weirdo/Whatever and she tried to help us bond over the fact that he and I both live/work in D.C. So he said to me, “What do you think of the new president?”

I wasn’t sure what kind of company I was in, so I said casually that I was really a Hillary supporter but I was still pleased with how the election turned out.

At which point they groaned and said, “You can leave the table now.”

And believe me, I wanted to but I was hoping I just didn’t know how to read them at that point.

So these two go into a full-scale attack on Obama and why he’s not qualified to run the country. They said how much they hate him and Biden and they just KNOW that someone’s going to take out Obama in the next two years and we’ll be stuck with Biden as our president. And they will be thrilled in 2012 when their party resumes office again.

My head was spinning. I’m getting tired of forgiving every sore-pawed Republican who feels the need to tell me how much they hate my candidate. They aren’t the first, they probably won’t be the last, but you’ve got to do what I did — quit whining and go support your party in the next election. Period.

And I don’t want to call them racist because that’s a powerful word and certainly not a nice one. But if the shoe fits, please to allow me to beat you with it.

So Ashley wanted another smoke (she couldn’t smoke in front of this guy who she swears was not her boyfriend), so I pretty much just slid her the pack under the table and decided to keep the idiot company. There were football highlights on the TV and we actually had a very pleasant discussion about the sport. But then Ashley returned to the table with some latent comment about Sarah Palin and I decided it was time to change the subject. Since Weirdo works at Andrews Air Force Base (locally), I asked if he were a Redskins fan.

His answer? “Redskins SUCK! Go Cowboys!”

At this point, I’m thinking great, here’s a redneck Republican who loves Dallas. Please to be shooting me soon, yes?

I opted to ignore them for the rest of the night in favor of watching all the crazy white people trying to dance. Which, I assure you, is always good for a laugh.

There was a guy who had tried to pick me up earlier in the night, whom I had pretty much run screaming from (pickup line: “Your first baby’s going to be black!”), and he was there with someone he had managed to pick up. Awww. Barf. Does that line actually work or was she even drunker than she looked?

I was laughing my ass off at them trying to dance — it’s a pop-music lounge, and he was making this poor girl slow-dance to Fergie and Gwen Stefani tunes. I mean, come on. I was glad I had passed on that sorry sap.

I did tell Ashley that he had tried to pick me up earlier. And since his hue was similar to Obama’s, she almost crapped in her seat. At this point the cogs in my head are starting to turn to figure out how I can offend them by trying instead of my mere presence making them sick.

And opportunity presented itself when the sorry sap came over and grabbed my wrists to pull me onto the dance floor.

I shot a terrified look toward at Ashley and Weirdo, and they said go have fun.

Yeah, not likely. You know WHY this idiot couldn’t pick up a girl and keep her? Because he’s an asshole. We were on the floor no less than 60 seconds when he starts trying to pinch my nipples.

Seriously? The hell?

I started slapping his hands and shouted, “This ain’t the hokey poke-me!” But I don’t think he was smart enough to get that.

I kept smiling because I wasn’t about to cry rape on the dance floor. But what the fuck is it about Vegas, or business trips in general, that makes people think they can act like total douchetards in public? Clearly he can’t get laid at home, wherever that is, but trying to molest classy ladies such as myself (shut up!) isn’t going to get you very far either, cowboy.

For the record, it’s cold in the casinos because they pump in fresh oxygen to keep the smoke at bay and to ensure everyone’s nice and awake to keep gambling all night. Ergo, I don’t wear anything but padded bras when I’m in Vegas. So nyah, no titty-twisters for you!

Meanwhile, I had given this guy all of two minutes on the dance floor, if that, and I decided to make my escape. I looked toward the table, only to find that Ashley and Weirdo had taken the fuck off.

Which, I was perfectly fine with — he’d bought me two drinks and it was definitely a great substitute for intelligent conversation — but to leave my pocketbook sitting there with my credit cards and room key? NOT COOL.

The idiot on the dance floor asked me to stay but I said I needed to find my friends. Fuck that, I grabbed my full glass of wine and went over to the next bar, where I moved on to tequila and lots of it. (Yay $20 half-yard mojito with extra shots!)

Luckily, I had kept one cigarette for myself and definitely celebrated being free again.

Anyway, I don’t really know what to make of that night. Clearly that alcohol plus destination city equals freedom to be an idiot. But what of Ashley and Weirdo? Maybe if what I saw of them was who they really were, maybe they could stand to act like different people when they’re on the road.

I had liked Ashley instantly because she, like me, is accustomed to traveling alone, and she said she knows how hard it is to go into a bar by yourself and she always wished someone would invite her to sit with their group. But that’s where my admiration began and ended.

I mean, you don’t ditch a fellow female, do you? I’m sure she was even more disgusted than I was by the idiot pawing me up, but I was the one getting molested, thanks much. If she’s so concerned about women having to fend for themselves at the bar, why did she think it was OK to run in the other direction?

Just goes to show why I’m mostly happy to hang out by myself when I travel. I can handle myself just fine, and I’m the same person you meet at the beginning of the night as you say goodbye to at the end. Just a little drunker, that’s all. 😉

Enjoy all the money I spent at your fine establishment!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The photo has nothing to do with the blog entry, but it’s nice to have something pretty to look at while I type.

Well, I woke up and wished I were dead, so that’s definitely a sign that I’m back at home. Even the sitting on the tarmac at McCarran for an hour yesterday before a long six-hour flight with no food, drinks or movies (Dear U.S. Airways, you suck. Love, Goddess) beat coming home to the smell of cat shit and a phone bill in which someone talked for 5,000 minutes last month.

I keep a photo of my grandfather in my wallet, and I noticed I’ve been especially emotional when I see his face. It occurred to me this morning that we lost him two Thanksgivings ago, and I gained an Extended Houseguest^TM who seems to be content as a permanent one.

So, today I’m having a wee bit of trouble with the “things I’m grateful for” list. Let’s see, I gained eight pounds on my eating tour of Vegas. I spent $100 on (adorable!) boots when I should have checked the phone bill instead. I spent $60 on a (so cute!) DKNY sweater when I haven’t yet been able to turn on the heat for the winter. My job was spared from cutbacks but that means continuing to do more but with even less.

All right, I’ve got to turn this around or else I am going to carve my wrists instead of the — oh, wait, no food in the house. Shocker! — turkey I will be having with friends tonight. (Thank you, God, for my friends. I mean that.)

I needed this vacation (eight glorious, glorious days. Half work, half play. As it should be). My sanity hinged on this escape. It almost didn’t happen and I’m so grateful the powers-that-be approved the expense because I can’t take a real vacation ever (I’ve learned to stop asking for days off) but no one could say a word when I tacked on a personal leg of this journey when I ask for so very little.

I’ve been suffering with “too much to do-itis” because there are always more projects but not the manpower unless it comes from within. And while I get that we’re entering a period of belt-tightening and taking one for the team to keep the boat afloat, well I’ve been operating that way for a lot longer.

Now that I’m at the end of my rope, I am being asked to find even more rope — and by the way, could I braid it myself? Super!

And I’m OK with that. For now. But I just needed to get the fuck away for a while to regain whatever sense of balance that I might have found, for the five minutes I might have found it to recognize what to emulate.

I did a lot of networking while I was away. And the thing I always walk away with, are compliments paid by the dozens, on what a happy person I seem like. That I worship my boys and bend over backward for them. That I genuinely come across as loving what I do for a living. That I will stay two hours after the conference ends to help ONE CUSTOMER to make up his mind about something.

Yep. That’s me. And you know why? Whether it’s Thanksgiving or any day, I am grateful for the opportunity to get to fall in love again with why I do all of this in the first place.

So, yeah, my vacation haze was shot within 60 minutes of collecting my luggage last night. But while I know I will probably never get another vacation day ever, from the home or the job, I was no dummy — I lived it up while I could.

And while a part of me wishes that I DIDN’T know what it was like to live the high life — because it really hurts to leave it — I at least have something to keep aspiring to and not just climbing into the hamster wheel, day after day, because it’s the only life I know. …

Pyramid

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

There’s a thing called time decay when you’re trading stock-market derivatives, in that not only do they have a limited shelf life, but their level of deterioration accelerates most rapidly as their lifespan zooms to a close.

In that vein, the time decay of my vacation is making my head spin.

I got an alert from my bank today that I’d fallen way below my designated balance. (Did I mention I didn’t pay bills — mine or anyone’s — this month?) So I took that as a sign to use the remaining funds to go book a show ticket for tonight!

Now, every hotel here hosts some sort of live production. I was particularly interested in the show at my hotel — especially because they keep leaving me voicemails to tell me that I can get 20% off tickets by stopping by the box office and showing my guest card.

So today, I said what the hell and went to the box office. I picked the 10 p.m. show, I picked my seat and I asked for the discount.

You’d think I’d have asked Twatzilla behind the counter to go kick a puppy on my behalf.

She asked what kind of discount I thought I was entitled to. ! I said I kept getting these voicemails telling me to get my 20% off, so that’s the discount. She asked whether I had gotten any discount books when I checked in. I said yes. She asked me to show them to her. I said look, I’ve been here for a few days — I’m not carrying around all the crap I was handed on day one.

So I had to show her a credit card, room key, room charge card, and a driver’s license and she said she needed to verify with the front desk that I was entitled to the discount I claimed I was entitled to.

HUNH?

Look, I get that maybe there are different levels of discounts for different guests. I have a suite at the top of the hotel, so I presume the fact that I got a really good room must have opened me up to some spectacular offers. Great! Give ’em to me. God knows I’m usually considered to be the riff-raff (see previous entry on WHY I FUCKING HATE RUM JUNGLE).

But gah, this was turning straight into a production. And I don’t do productions. I took back all of my cards as she got on the phone ,and she said, “What, don’t you want the discount?” And I said, “I did. But there are other shows in the area that won’t require this kind of effort. Thanks anyway.”

I was so angry — in fact, when I got back to my room, there was ANOTHER voicemail from the front desk, telling me to stop by the box office and ask for my 20% discount off my tickets.

Look, had I waited, I’m sure I would have gotten it. But seriously, this is my vacation. I don’t tap-dance for anyone and NOT for box-office monkeys. Sorry.

Before I returned to my room, though, I wandered over to a neighboring hotel to see about getting a ticket to its featured show. I would find out later that I had a coupon to get $30 off a seat to that production, but I had stomped there in a huff and didn’t exactly think to look at my pile of coupons. (Including several 2-for-1 dinner offers, which I found myself unexpectedly not needing, so you can see my reluctance to look through my stuff.)

Anyway, not only did I buy a ticket to the neighboring hotel’s show, but I also paid less than I would have for the one at my hotel.

And the best part? I said I wanted to pay the least amount possible, and I was shown my choice of seats. So I picked one and when the woman ran my credit card, she said, “Hey, I upgraded you to the $90 section but you’re only going to pay $50. The seats are better there. Enjoy!”

So, holy shit, I had to practically give blood and piss samples to get the guest discount at my hotel, but the other hotel (where I have stayed before — maybe that’s why they were so nice to me) automatically gave me a great deal WITHOUT ME EVEN ASKING.

I know they all deal with dipshit tourons all day long, but man, to have someone do something so nice for me — without it even being within the realm of expectation — was absolutely exquisite.

So, I’m out of money for dinner but I have enough in my pocket for a big fat cocktail after the show, and damn it, I’m about to have a really fantastic night. Once I finally see the show, I shall pay mad blog props to the hotel in question.

The sad thing about my hotel, though, is that I’ve never been treated better anywhere else that I’ve stayed … with the exception of box-office twat-nozzle. Amazing what one asshole can do to crap on your day, but luckily, that day has been so very saved. And I am so very grateful!

Eiffel Tower, Paris Las Vegas

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love Paris Las Vegas for its shopping, its beauty and its food. Did I mention the food? I have access to world-class restaurants within walking distance and, yet, I am addicted to Le Creperie, Le Boulangerie, Le Notre and, as of tonight, Le Village Buffet.

I was contemplating dinner at the Venetian, but meh. I realized it was 3:30 p.m. and the dinner buffet was opening at the Paris. I also realized that the $25 for the buffet equaled what I paid at New York New York earlier in the day for coffee and an omelette il formaggio, so what the hell.

I tried to pick mostly healthy things at the buffet. I just so happened to pick ALL of them. And then some. And then some more!

I took a crab leg and a crab claw, the latter I couldn’t crack to save my life, and the former — while tasty — left my hands smelling like a stripper pole. UGH. When seafood smells like seafood, it’s time to stay far, far away from it.

In any case, the Food Baby is pleased. I’ve got a 13th-trimester-caliber muffin top going on tonight. Not to worry, though — I’ve spent my life savings here in Vegas — I won’t be eating again till January, if I’m lucky! It occurs to me that food has been a sex surrogate. And I’ve been sort of fine these past few months with living on salads. But when my hunk o’ man meat was unable to come (heh) on this trip, I had to compensate for one void left unfilled by stuffing another!

Anyway, it’s about 7 p.m. and I’ve single-handedly liquidated Citibank with all my spending on clothes, jewelry and food. It occurs to me that I should take in a show at some point before I hop on a plane and head back to hades.

It also occurs to me to maybe listen to the voicemails that have been left for me by people who CLEARLY know I am on vacation, or otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to reach me that way. Humph. It’s bad enough I can never find time to schedule a vacation — why you gotta take a dump on the days I’m trying to sneak in before I re-tether myself to my cube? Nah, don’t wanna set a precedent of sharing my rare days off, although I may live to regret that little rebellion.

I mean, at the rate things are going in my industry, I may not even have anything to go back to, in which case, I might just not buy a return ticket when there may be nothin’ to which to return.

Oh, on that note, if you saw what I wrote on F-Book last night, I TOTALLY blame the recession for the dearth of available men in the bars. I went out last night (and not a goddamned decent club is open in Vegas on a Sunday, Monday or Tuesday night, FYI) and was appalled at the tumbleweeds rolling through the club I DID manage to find.

Damn. I’m FINALLY allowed out of the office — my only chance to meet someone! — why God WHY isn’t there anyone out there to meet?!?!

Oh, speaking of, I have been getting my kicks by watching men grab handfuls of Trojans in the hotel stores before a night out. *snicker* I mean, if I’m the only chick available for pickup and I wouldn’t do ya, who the hell are ya gonna score with?

Oooh, I totally forgot — I was at the MGM Grand the other night, contemplating something or other around midnight. I’d just come back from dinner at Tao with my friends and who the hell knows why I was wandering the streets at that hour. I know I wasn’t lost — I’d apparently had a double-shot of stupid ’cause I could see my hotel but I couldn’t GET to it.

Anyway, a guy actually MISTOOK ME FOR A HOOKER. Which, I was showin’ the girls and all, but I wasn’t whorish or anything. He wanted some company and was trying to get me to come with him. I’m like, wow, but uh NO. One wonders whether someone like me wasn’t sniggering as he was buying condoms in the hotel probably not too long before he saw me!

So I was staying at a lavish little resort for the past week, and there were all sorts of amenities and such in the room, like a corkscrew. I bought a lovely bottle of 2004 Pinot Noir while I was there, and brought said bottle to my next (not too shabby) hotel. Problem is? This one doesn’t have a corkscrew in the room! FAIL.

Spent the day shopping. Oh, the bling this girl bought without batting an eye. It’s hard to buy clothes these days because they won’t fit for long (well, with the exception of this week — I keep joking that my diet has filed for divorce due to all the damn cheating I’ve done on him!), but even jewelry fitting is transient, as I managed to drop a ring size, too. Go figure.

But I did buy the cutest boots on earth, because they are awesome and I can’t find shit that I like when I’m at home. I was wearing capris with them in the store and I didn’t love how they looked. The salesgirl noticed the disapproval on my face and said they will look so cute with jeans. I laughed and said you know, there are two types of uniforms in Vegas: sweatsuits and high heels, or dresses and Uggs. And NOTHING in between.

I’m debating whether to go out tonight, since I spent my life savings already and I do have a jacuzzi in my suite, waiting for me. I already had a gloriously long, hot candlelit bath this morning (made better by a Witches Ball from LUSH) so my skin is dried out enough for now.

I’m sure I’ll roll down to the lobby for a drink at some point — I’m Internet-surfing after spending four fucking days trying to get the Verizon access card to work and after an hour on the phone with tech support at work on Friday (to no avail), I figured out the problem on my own just a minute ago). Anyway, I was wondering whether to try to get into the uber-exclusive club or whether to just find an open table at any number of the other bars that were empty when I walked by a few minutes ago.

OH! Speaking of exclusive (my ass) clubs, I bought dinner for my team at the breathtaking miX atop THE Hotel the other night to the tune of $1,000. Then two of us broke away and had a few drinks at Rum Jungle, which turns into a nightclub complete with cage dancers. Anyway, my friend and I were almost finished with our adult beverages when a server came over and rudely told us to leave the area. We were all, who the hell are you? And he said that we were sitting in the VIP area, which is a bottle-only space.

It was about to turn into a wine-glass-smashed-into-his-skull space, if I’d had my way about it. We weren’t even asked to order a bottle so we could stay — we were just told to move it elsewhere.

Now, I go to Rum Jungle about once a year. It’s usually packed to the gills. But not the night I was there. Shit, I could have counted the number of patrons on both hands and maybe a foot. B and I were taking up two seats in an otherwise-deserted space. I’m not kidding. B actually sent the little runt on his way and said to send over his manager, who swaggered over like he had a 10-foot dick. (Meanwhile, I was taller than this dude.)

So we pointed out that people weren’t exactly killing themselves to take our two seats. And, for the record, we only needed five more minutes and, if someone needed our seats in that time, we would be HAPPY to leave the club.

The manager threw his weight around for a minute and I was wishing B — at 6-foot-6-ish — would stand up and flick him in the forehead and send him flying across the club.

He did try one last-ditch, “This is a VIP area, so we need you to vacate it” schtick, but I said, you know, we just dropped a grand on dinner at the hotel so why are we NOT worthy of sitting on these stools for two more minutes? He declared, “We operate independently of the hotel so what you do elsewhere doesn’t affect our business.”

Fair enough, but fuck you, you stupid little snot. We did vacate and laughed very loudly as we counted the SIX people standing at the bar, NOT drinking bottles other than BEER BOTTLES. And of course, there was no line outside. SHOCKER.

We rolled down to the J-Pop Lounge and had a fine old time ordering drinks and being ALLOWED to enjoy them before rolling back to our respective hotels. I had a terrific night, but Jesus, I will NOT be going back to Rum Jungle EVER again!

Oh, how cute — housekeeping just came by to offer turndown service. I said no and she asked if I at least wanted the chocolates. Aw. 🙂 I said no, as my ass has already partaken of a nummy crepe and a sugar-free chocolate mousse cake and that was QUITE enough diet-wrecking for one day. Although, that PALES in comparison to the past two days, when I ate all my points AND apparently everyone else’s in the vicinity!

Grand Canal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I wish I could say that being away has given me a chance to relax, clear my head and regain my long-since burned-out spark. Not so much. But I’m working on it.

I’ m having a great time, though, at an event I used to work at but now I’m allowed to simply hang and be just like the average attendee. It’s cool in that I get lunch breaks and can tool around in my flip-flops. The frequent phone-ringing and the near-continual beeping or vibrating of my phone every time I get an e-mail (1,000 in two days) is enough to drive me nuts, though. But there are worse things.

Being incognito is weird, since everyone else in the traveling circus knows me when they see me all spiffed up. Now that I’m lying low, people I have met no fewer than a half-dozen times say, “Nice to meet you” when I approach them and say it’s good to see them again.

Hunh?!?! I mean, I know I have MY groupies when I’m working the circuit (who are either absent or who haven’t found me yet), but now I’m nothing more than a groupie to people I’ve ridden in the clown car with for several years!

Oh well. At least I don’t HAVE to be nice or visible if I don’t want to be. 😉

Had my first really awesome meal here last night. Met up with two old friends (I told you it’s a circuit!) for a crazy-good dinner of Asian fusion cuisine at a world-class resort. And someone else picked up the bill — always a sweet treat after an already amazing night.

*checks time on phone* Well, enough of a break. Gotta go get smarter, although I think entirely too much of this shit is over my head and I’ve got to do something to remedy that. We all know I hate not being the smartest person in the room, although I’ve held my own fairly well in any regard. ….

Weather’s Fine Here!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I couldn’t get into my iced-over car yesterday morning. Which would normally be fine but since I had a flight to catch, well, damn.

I tried everything. I could get into the trunk (which I’d just carefully packed with all my purple Nine West luggage, but the doors were soldered shut. I unpacked the trunk to see if I could crawl in through the backseat. But my too-loose jeans, unbelted so as to reduce my security-line hassles — kept falling off every time I tried to stick my foot into the trunk. So, FAIL there.

I was hopping around like a freaking Mexican jumping bean, as I wasn’t wearing a coat (as I was traveling to a warmer clime, as you can see in the photo. I was also pullin’ up mah pants every two minutes, in between yanking on both car doors with all my might. (I was able to get in through the passenger side. Whee.)

I did make my flight on time — and thank God, ’cause I missed the last two and I wasn’t going for a third strike here.

And how nice to go from iced-over vehicle to palm trees and 70-degree weather. Aaah, life is hard.

Of course I’m starting to get sick. Haven’t been ill in nearly a year but traveling with the unwashed masses has done me in. I tried to sweat it out on the treadmill last night, and then I parked my pudgy butt in the steam room to clear up my sinuses and soaked in the hot pool to get rid of all the body aches.

I do have to say that I blew my diet last night. I was happy to go to bed hungry, but I was dizzy from cold meds and sweating my ass off, so I walked to a neighboring hotel for cheap, fast food. (As this hotel only has overpriced, slow-to-get food.)

And when I got to my room to devour my delicious, delicious diet-busting food, the assholes in the adjoining suite were having a big, loud party. Did I mention big and loud?

My body clock was ticking that it was midnight and even Nyquil wasn’t knocking me out over their shrieking and smoking (on a nonsmoking floor), so I called security and they were all silent within 20 minutes and I got the best sleep of my life.

I’m trying to figure out what to do with myself today, as my conference really doesn’t get interesting for another couple of hours. I did buy a three-day pass to the spa, but I actually am all dressed/dolled up and don’t want to get all skunked, only to have to be presentable in short order. I just hope I have some time tonight to go park my ass in paradise and get my money’s worth.

I remember being here before and wishing I was in better shape so that I’d be confident about being in the spa. Well, 40 pounds lighter and yes, I am way more comfortable, but I still have a ways to go. I’m not sure I’ll be back here next year, since this was an unbudgeted treat, but I do hope to come back on my own and really feel like I rock.

I’m extraordinarily bummed that my planned travel companion couldn’t make it with me on this journey. Makes me wonder whether we’re ever going to make any magic happen, if the “easy” things like this can’t even come together. I still wonder whether I’ll be surprised, though. …

Oh, Jimi Hendrix would not be proud of that entry title. 😉

I’ve decided to have my mail forwarded to my perch atop the clock tower. And all I want for Christmas is more ammo.

What can I say about this past week except that it is ovah? The most brilliant thing that came out of my mouth, after someone pissed me RIGHT the fuck off, was “If she were a rapper, her name would be T-Wat.”

I even attempted to pay said person some (albeit undeserved) thanks. Said individual took great pride in NOT doing the favor and making someone else, who had better things to do, do it.

But before we think Goddess ain’t happy, behold the Best Morning Ever. (Not to be confused with the show “Best Week Ever,” at least, not before its pre-sucking days.) I had the house to myself for the first time in 14 months. Fourteen months!

What did I do? I danced, I sang, I cooked, I hung out in my scandalous gutchies and I left my bedroom door open. Like a grown-up!

Am all dressed up and ready to go out now. Don’t want the memory of when I was happy (ah, more than 14 months ago) to be sullied any further.

But at least I remember. And it’s why I will never, ever give up hope of getting back to that feeling again.

You know what victory is? It’s wearing a vest that used to fit you perfectly — maybe even snugly, if you’re being honest with yourself — and putting it on to find that not only does it button, but once it’s buttoned, you can look down and see the FLOOR between you and the fabric.

In other words, w00t!

Am a half-pound away from being down 40 pounds. It was a good week, at least in the de-pudgification world. Maybe it was all the STRESS that did it to me — and it certainly wasn’t my proximity to the office Candy Corner, where last night’s dinner was a peppermint patty, five peanut M&Ms and three organic animal crackers. *sigh*

I’m going to have to miss the next two Weight Watchers meetings, although I may try to pick one up on an off-day to keep myself motivated.

Tonight we talked about Anchoring as a weight-loss tool. In other words, what is the thing that keeps you motivated, whether positive or negative?

Molly showed us a ring her parents bought her when she was halfway to her goal. And the ring is now too big, since she reached her goal.

(As for me, I’ve started wearing jewelry again — I have no fewer than 100 necklaces that I’d been ignoring that I suddenly can’t get enough of. And I’m wearing all my former-ring-finger-sized rings on my index and middle fingers and they’re STILL too loose. Yay!)

Our leader showed us a photo of himself at his biggest when he was in Italy two years ago. Not pretty.

As for me, I have two anchors, a positive and a negative. The negative is my corporate headshot. It’s awful. I can’t stand it. I hated it when I saw it but when someone offered to take another photo of me, I said, “What’s the point? I still look the same.”

And being down nearly 40 pounds, I’m ready to take another one, should opportunity arise. I mean, that I agreed to speak in front of a live audience AND a virtual one without even thinking to hesitate because of how I look, dude. Seriously. Wow. It didn’t even occur to me to think I wasn’t cute enough to be on camera.

And in that, maybe is the greater anchor — I am starting to see the person I was meant to be. I see what I want to look like, how I will look in a great pair of jeans, how small I will be when standing next to others, how I won’t automatically search for someone bigger in the room than me so that I feel a little bit better.

I was hugging a friend the other day, of the male variety. Someone who looked at me a couple of weeks ago, surprised, and mused, “You’re disappearing before our eyes.” I thought it was some existential reference to me being more scarce than usual, but it was a compliment.

And when I last saw him and hugged him, for the first time I realized I was smaller than him. (We were roughly the same size, maybe if only in my head but I think my perception wasn’t too far off.) And I LOVED it. I had that feeling of being small and protected and engulfed in a bear hug.

I mean, I hug my friends all the time, but to actually feel their arms going all the way around me? Wow. Just, wow.

OMG, that was a feeling that had been missing from my life for too damn long.

This is why I’ll be good when I’m nowhere near a meeting these coming two Tuesdays. I can’t explain it any better than that.

And just think, it’s only the beginning.