Caterwauling

New Year’s has always been “my” holiday. In years past, you could usually count on me to host the party or plan the outing. That all sort of screeched to a halt four years ago when I found myself unemployed and just not feelin’ the season. And after that, I was just too busy to really do much of anything but show up if I was invited to go out, or just chill if not.

So as I sit here, waiting to go out to what has turned into Plan C (since I said no to Plan A, and Plan B got borked because I SWEAR these men are moodier than I ever was during my period, not that I’ve seen one of those in two months but I’m thinking it’s my stress level causing my engine to misfire), I was very moved while reading Swirlspice’s “Obligatory Look Back at 2008” that I thought perhaps I should count my blessings, too, before figuring out what should make it to this year’s to-do list.

So, as I sit here listening to Winger’s cover of “Happy Christmas (War is Over)” (it’s really good!), here goes my 2008:

1. I lost (and kept off) about 45 pounds. Of course, truth be told, I lost about 70 but I keep gaining it back because of lack of willpower, stress and walking by the fucking candy corner at work 7 million times a day. Because they put me upstairs. I know not why other than to help me ruin my diet.

2. I started moving. No, not moving out, although I do have a “hope chest” filled with new bedding that’s just WAITING for a new apartment, in whatever city it will be in. If I don’t leave metro D.C. completely, I do think it’s time to vacate D.C. proper. Yes, that means registering the car in another state. (Sigh.) Good times.

2.a. What I meant by “moving” was getting up out of my damn chair and exercising. Taking the stairs at every possible opportunity. Dancing around the house during the five minutes every nine months that I get it to myself. I recently blew the cobwebs off my 5 lb. weights and also bought some ankle weights, a resistance band and a balance ball. I’m not claiming I’ve done much in the way of using them, but I have to pick them up to move ’em out of my way. So, hey, that counts as exercise, yes?

3. I got out of town without taking the Guilt Trip Express. Don’t get me wrong, Kathie Lee of the Carnival Guilt Trip Cruises is all up in mah hizzy daily with what a miserable person she thinks I am. I think Cleopatra books a first-class ticket to Egypt every time I say things like “get out of my bedroom; for the 75th time, I mean it.” I’m not sure why this living situation had to happen this way. I don’t know why it was ordained that I have to be the caregiver now. And I don’t know how to get out from under it. But do not THINK I accept “deserving” this mess.

4. I fell in love. A few times. OK, really only once, since my heart was somewhere it shouldn’t have been and was never really present when it needed to be accounted for elsewhere. As everyone probably recalls, it didn’t happen. I still don’t know why I felt what I felt, or why it failed to launch. I mean, there are always reasons, but nothing I’ve managed to find acceptable. In any case, it was good to see that the heart could expand to let someone else in, even if they didn’t choose to enter the threshold. And to prove my resilience is still intact, the heartbreak ran its course and I’ve healed. Someday, I just hope I can once again feel the way I did when I had that rush of expectation.

5. I made time for me. This was huge. For the last four years, I never made it out of work before 9 p.m. and especially not before or even DURING a holiday. But I committed to weekly Weight Watcher’s meetings and other social outings, and managed to get to 90% of them in the past couple of months. I made it late, oftentimes, but that still counts. 😉 And my mental health is all the better for it — I finally, finally have some control.

So, now that I’ve looked back in order to look forward, here’s the resolution list for 2009:

1. Continue trimming the fat, both physically AND metaphorically.

I’m approaching this over/under number that, while I’m sad to be entering the new year above said milestone, it’s really not that far away.

2. Keep on moving.

I tend to blame my lack of gym joinage on those who drain my financial resources. But by blaming others for my own failures, I’m giving away my power. And I’m taking it back NOW. My success so far has been all my own doing; any future success will be the same.

3. Travel more.

The friends and I are either going to go to a Caribbean island for a week or take a cruise to several. (Is it sad that I want to take the cruise?)

Or maybe I’ll venture somewhere else on my own. Who knows?

My real goal is to get to Paris, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit here stewing until that day comes. I am also looking at branching out more locally.

4. To not lament the fact that I’m turning 35 and am nowhere near where women are expected to be at this age, insofar as marriage/family “goals.”

Those were never my goals and I don’t see why I should be made (even if only by myself) to feel pressured to catch up to someone else’s ideals. I mean, I’ve spent the better part of my life being pudgy; it’s only now that I feel like I’m really, truly living it up. This is a hard goal because I know I’ll torture myself now and again. But when it comes down to it, I want to see the world and while I’d LOVE to have someone at my side while I do it, I’d better not hold myself back if I DON’T.

5. Find more adventure in D.C.

More friends, more men, more classes/workshops, more everything.

See ya on the other side. Happy New Year, and may it be a prosperous one for all of us!

Since I know a lot of you like to read this page to learn from my mistakes (since I make so damn MANY of them), please take this advice to heart:

When you go see a three-hour movie like “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” please do yourself a BIG FAT FUCKING FAVOR and don’t park in an hourly lot.

See, genius here decided she would catch a matinee at Regal Cinemas, since those bastards at the AMC don’t see fit to discount prices ever.

Besides, I always get free offers at Regal for popcorn, and since my real motivation in going to the movies today was to hide my day off from my roommate nom on real popcorn (OMG, CHOMP), it seemed like the right thing to do.

Hah.

OK, first of all, my movie ticket cost $8. My parking? COST $9.

(Did I mention that the AMC has free parking? *thunk*)

Oh, and the popcorn wasn’t free. I received two coupons — one for a free small popcorn and one for a small popcorn for $1. I breezed past the ticket-taker, who had fallen asleep in her chair at the entrance (classy) and rolled over to the concession stand to meet the other employee of the year.

There, I presented the “free” coupon, but the guy still charged me a buck. Whatever — $18 plus $5 for a trough-sized drink and I could have adopted a child in a foreign country and fed them for a month with this expenditure extravaganza.

Regal must make it their duty to hire neither the best nor the brightest. Failure, they has it!

Also, note to self before attending a three-hour-long flick: Get the small Diet Coke. Really. Somewhere past hour two, your “dear God if I pee this much while not knocked up, I will need a catheter when I AM” bladder will not forgive you.

I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs to try to keep from spraying the people in the next row with piss-flavored Diet Coke. And I was so jittery from the caffeine that my phone — which I’d been using to carry on a couple of text/e-mail conversations with people at work — flew off my damn lap and landed, well, somewhere. I crawled around but couldn’t find it in the dark but eventually it did turn up.

And yeah, being nervous about the whereabouts of your $600 phone also adds to your captivity joy. Really! I was just glad no calamities arose when the phone was under someone else’s seat.

Anyway, the movie was lovely. Seriously, utterly lovely. It dragged in some parts, but it was magnificent how absolutely everything came full circle. Even the most-flippant mentions of the tiniest details in the beginning, came around to be poignant later on.

I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for a love story today, since I’m convinced (today anyway) that boys are stinky and stupid and also have cooties. But yeah, I needed this. Love may be imperfect and people don’t always realize it when it comes around. But sometimes you’ve just got to make your own miracles. But you can only really make them if the magic exists in the first place.

Which explains why I seem to have this harem that comes around, again and again. Always seems like someone had feelings when the other didn’t, then it reverses, then who only knows. You can’t tax your brain with it too much — you just have to focus on what’s in front of you and assume that you’re where you’re supposed to be — and that you’re not where you’re not supposed to be.

And I guess I’m not supposed to be in Times Square tomorrow night. But I’m not quite finding the point of why I’m still in D.C., either.

Anyway, I found a Barnes & Noble tonight that’s going out of business. I was on my way to my de-pudgification meeting but fuck that noise — I always have to buy my own Christmas gift, and I hadn’t found anything yet that I could afford. So, I headed straight to the self-help, metaphysical studies and DVD sections and loaded up on 40%-off delights.

Hey, if I have to ring in another new year with this bullshit excuse of a life, at least I’ll be doing so, armed with all the tools I need to make sure that when 2010 comes my way, everything that CAN be different, WILL be. …

O HAI vagina on my plate

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My neighbors think I’m under the illusion that it is Halloween and, not, in fact Christmas … as I stepped on a scale tonight and my screaming would outdo any cartoon in which a woman jumps on a chair and shrieks at the sight of a mouse.

OK, so I’ve basically spent the last three days eating my body weight in, well, everything. It started with a lasagna (albeit veggie) lunch at work on Wednesday (preceded by about four Christmas parties and one special one-on-one lunch) and slid into the Feast of the Indeterminate Number of Fishes^TM / Prime Rib Cage Match^TM at Casa Bridge on Christmas Eve.

(Aside: NOM.)

The feasting continued the next day when I dragged my still-full self to my Christmas brunch reservation at Phillips Seafood. But as I sat there and read the menu, I found it lacking in something.

What was missing? Um, yeah. SEAFOOD.

I figured it’d either be a limited or prix-fixe menu. Um, sure. Yeah. You could get an omelet, French toast or eggs benedict. And while I am quite the fan of “make your own” omelets, do you know what I like to add to them? Say it with me — “SEAFOOD.”

So without ordering, I left a tip on the table and walked out … knowing full well that not a goddamned thing was open at that time.

I was surfing Open Table on my phone, which had given me the bright idea to make reservations on the holiday. I learned the hard way that some places were open early in the day, and some were open for dinner. (Corduroy was in the latter category, which I REALLY wanted to try. But I didn’t feel like killing six hours.)

And the only other available reservation in the area I was in, at that time, was at Legal Sea Foods.

Which, as I’m SURE you’ve picked up by now, piqued my interest since I was hungry for … ah, you know. 😉

It was my first time there, and my server was absolutely amazing. And the food wasn’t too shabby either. Mussels for a starter, woodgrilled scallops for an entree, Shandong dipping sauce (spicy ginger/shittake), jalapeno polenta, snap peas in oyster sauce, and woodgrilled calamari gleaned from someone else’s plate. OM NOM NOM.

OK, so again I’m eating all my points (and everyone else’s) in one sitting, but it’s not so bad if you’re eating one gigantic meal a day and not eating the rest of the day, right?

Well, then when you find out you have another $300 phone bill (second month in a row!), well, you might as well just go eat the four dozen cookies that the phone perpetrator baked and left in your “how long have I been dieting and do you KNOW how weak my willpower is?” line of sight, and in one sitting.

*burp*

Oh well. Maybe Santa will come next year, since his jolly ass seems to have gotten stuck in the furnace once again. And maybe he’ll bring me a damn present instead of more bills.

The good news is, I’ve been mad enough to express my angst. Quite clearly. And repeatedly. And vehemently. I’ve been simmering for far too long. So while my ass may look like two stuffed pork chops, my mind is pretty much empty at as much peace as it can be.

And it was still a calmer holiday than I had as a young lass. I just miss being able to get in the car and go back to my own world. While I don’t miss the drive, I do miss the distance.

Oh well. Maybe next year. No, definitely next year.

The new year will find me back to eating tofu and soy and veggies and all things organic and bland. But it will also find me, well, finding myself. Whoever that is.

Anyway, happy birthday, Jesus (and many more!) and thanks for all the fish.

I have to say it — I had a GREAT day. (My apologies if you’re looking for sarcasm … not a drip or a drop here. Savor it while it lasts.)

One of my boys took me out for lunch today. Say it with me: Out. For Lunch. My third lunch hour of the year, my friends. Forgive me if I do a happy dance that resembles a polka.

And what I found was that I was energized all day. I had to bust a move to get a project (nearly) finished by noon. I was full and happy and worked through the afternoon with no need for complaint.

And I left ON TIME.

Of course, I felt guilty for the “leaving on time” part. But for all the Mondays that didn’t wrap up till past 10 p.m. (that’d be an hour or two past 10), I earned it.

In my amazingly awesome free time, I went to my happy place — Old Navy. Where I bought two pairs of jeans that are two sizes smaller than the ones I wore to work today since everything fits me like Hammer pants. (O HAI crotches at the knee — not the season to get a breeze up there ’cause they don’t make Chapstick for tender bits.)

Anyway, the jeans fit in the dressing room, despite all attempts this week to reverse my entire weight loss. They’re in the dryer right now so I MAY have some muffin-top issues in the morning. (Yeah, guess who’s skipping weigh-in tomorrow. Guess!)

But in trying to look at it positively, tomorrow’s breakfast surprise will hopefully be less of a muffin top than a Vita Top. 🙂

Yesterday was, by all standards, routine. Vanilla. Ordinary. Blah.

And, yet, it brought several of those moments of “Whose Life Is it Anyway?”

Started off the day with yelling, as usual. Eased into the new comfort-disappointment cocktail. Slid into the boringly familiar. Flirted with the mildly annoying. Ended with “WTF just happened to me here?”

And I wondered exactly when I am going to be able to leave it all behind and write my trashy novels like I always said I would.

It’s all about perspective (mine) and between a home situation that disintegrates at the rate Brad Pitt gets younger in “Benjamin Button” and external situations that are great if you’re into routine (and that routine spans the spectrum between warm fuzzies and homicidal rage), well, I can see why I shove my head up my ass regularly. La la la, if I can’t see it, it’s not there. La la la.

Of course, a cold splash of reality hit me square in the face over a plastic cup of Oak Grove pinot grigio, as I inadvertently crashed my old department’s Christmas party (*sniffle*) and I realized, where they’ve shoved me now, is into just another cubicle at just another company. And even though I was welcomed as an ex-officio member of the team, I realized again how awesome, caring, nurturing, loving and generous my old team was. And how my move upstairs is a total downgrade.

I wondered, when I worked for the awesome team, if everyone knew how good we had it. We knew. We loved it. Outsiders treated us like three-headed martians most of the time. I don’t know if they were jealous or, more likely, they just figured we were all a bunch of weirdos who spoke “twin language” among a dozen of our own people.

I’ve been either kidding or comforting myself that this reorganization would blow up in everyone’s faces and we’d go back to the way we were.

Then I look around at home, which is just never going to get better, in its present state. I was thinking about last New Year’s Day, how I made reservations at a moderately upscale place. How the roomie declared she wasn’t going, but that I could go by myself. How I canceled and sat around hungry all day.

How did I ring in the new year? By wishing I was dead. How did I spend the year? Dying.

I made reservations for Christmas Day. And I don’t give a fuck if I’m eating by myself, I’m getting dressed up and going out.

I think what I’ve avoided doing in these and one other area of my life, is put my little foot down and provide my list of demands. Sure, I’ve tried. Usually through thinly veiled sarcasm or the grapevine or in a very loud tone of voice. But I’ve gotten next to nowhere with any of it.

And I’ve done the best I could for me, which is to live my life. To lose weight (minus these damn Christmasy temptations!) — down 43 pounds so far that I haven’t sabotaged! (Let’s not talk about what I HAVE sabotaged. …) To give my very best to every work project. To go out with friends at least twice a month. To actually do that “dating” thing again. (And to let people settle for what they’ve, well, settled for and not take it personally.)

But it’s not enough. It’s a running start, yes, but not enough.

I’ve got to wonder about that new Jim Carrey movie, “Yes Man.” I think we all learn to say no to opportunity because so many people and entities are altogether too happy to say that word to us. (“Move out.” “No.” “Can has moar monay?” “No!”)

Anyway, there’s a new year waiting to be rung in. This one was probably one of my personal best, although any of you who’ve been with me through it probably think my standards are waaaay low. 🙂

But if I can match my current weight loss and also gain back a bedroom, and maybe find something interesting to do with my life (any part of it. Or all parts of it. Whichev), then THAT will be a victorious year.

So, bring it, 2009. Odd-numbered years are always the kindest to me. Show me what you’re made of, and I’ll do the same.

I’m having one of those days in which I am a twee bit sensitive to criticism. I’ve been busting my hump and taking a whole lot of shit, and I swear, even so much as a “did you think about …” comment is enough to make me want to *stabstabstab* the nearest possible victim.

I don’t think I’ve ever made it a secret that I work with “rock stars.” They’re at various stages in their career path. I’m sort of like the band manager — I get rid of the brown M&Ms if that’s what they want, and I give the groupies the backstage passes.

But a relative newcomer who would fall into the, ah, drummer position in my rock band, thought they deserved lead singer status and, let’s say, trashed not only the hotel room last night, but damn near burned down the entire wing.

And blamed it on me.

And admitted to it (at gunpoint) with a simple “Hehehe.”

*pimp-slap*

In the grand scheme of things, it’s no big deal. But then I had to pay off the hotel staff to keep quiet AND hose the vodka and puke off of all of us today. And I’m a little bit crabby about it all because, even though it’s only the drummer, you can’t vote half your rhythm section off the island when the show’s gotta go on.

In a small “pity party” moment, I seriously stopped to wonder why I’ve got to deal with all these crazy folks — parking lot cunt, fuckhead Alexandria police officer, “Animal” from “The Muppets,” and a whole lot of smaller but equally annoying exchanges and actions — and have to always rise above them. It’s getting kind of old.

At some point, when everyone’s wiping their asses with your hair, you’ve got to explode. And while I stop to wonder why everyone’s dumping/blaming their shit on me, I notice that I am struggling (and oftentimes FAILING) to maintain an “inside voice.”

I mean, I finished an argument first thing in the a.m., only to roll into work early for something that instead came TWO HOURS LATE. The two-hour delay made me miss my 10 a.m. engagement. Then I had two make-up meetings to cover the ground I wasn’t there to cover in the original planning session. And anyone who approached me in the interim damn near got their heads bitten off. NOM.

I’m not snapping and have no plans to, but seriously, when all of these tests abate, I’m accepting no less than an A-plus for effort.

You know, I will regret till the end of time not taking the gondola to the top of the mountain in Aspen, Colo.

Hell, I’d even bought the ticket and had it refunded, my fear of heights was so grand at the time.

And then I saw the story about the gondola crashing into a bus shelter (!) after a tower snapped, and suddenly I am SO GLAD I was a giant crybaby back in the day:

Dozens Saved From Dangling Gondolas After Tower Snaps

Sometimes, it pays to be a puss!

Last night’s “Biggest Loser” finale is an epic example of what I’ve been ranting about here for days, of horrible, undeserving people getting exactly what they want — and what we want.

America got to vote on the third finalist. And there was Heba — 150 pounds lighter and smug as a bug in a rug that we were going to vote for her miserable ass — who was outvoted 80/20 in favor of having her husband Ed as the finalist.

Oh, was she pissed.

So they weighed in all the ex-contestants for a chance at $100,000. And she won it. Humph.

I mean, based on the work she did to reduce her body weight by nearly 50%, that’s great. Congratulations and respect for that are definitely in order. I’m far from my goal and it ain’t easy. And it only gets harder, the closer you get to where you want to be.

But still, hateful twat, much?

When the finalists were weighed in and she saw Ed’s HUGE weight loss (but admittedly it was several pounds shy of her own), OMG the ugliness on her face.

And I got where she was. My empathy gene is always working overtime since I feel that people, and certain ones in particular, seem to make it at least a part-time job to try to ignore what’s running through my head. Ahem.

I mean, she could have won that quarter-million. No question. When the sweet and beautiful Michelle (yes!) took home the grand prize with a weight loss of more than 100 pounds, sure Heba’s suddenly scrawny ass would have kicked her newly bony ass.

But whatev, bitch — if you weren’t such a self-entitled bitch, we would have voted you through to the finale.

I was thrilled that Michelle won — I was rooting for her all along, mostly because we were about the same age and starting weight (sigh) so even though she was pulling 10-pound weight losses out of her ass each week compared to my paltry half-pound to a whopping 2 pounds, she was “me” up there, you know? The one with the strained relationship with her mother. The family who needed, and got, to start all over again.

Imagine what $100K could do to help us in my cramped little quarters to get a fresh start. Can we say separate apartments in separate cities for starters, boys and girls? I know you can!

Anyway, speaking of impossible people to live with, Heba is like the Dallas Cowboys to me. I won’t intentionally root against either one of them. But I’m not exactly celebrating either’s victories, because all their arms are apparently long enough to pat their own backs.

So the only reason I am not angry about Heba getting the $100K is that it’s also going to Ed, who is too good for her and I’m hoping now that he has his looks and self-esteem back that he will realize that and LEAVE her ass.

Heba has always stated that her goal is to have a healthy pregnancy. Gah. She’s reproducing? Lord help us all. Hopefully her steaming-cunt genes will be heavily diluted by Ed’s sweet and nice ones.

I often joke with myself that I can’t wait to meet my Inner Skinny Bitch. Heba’s is, sadly, still an Outie. She went from pudgy bitch to skinny bitch, but again, she didn’t lose the BITCH!

My mood today has been downright manic, oscillating between “awesome!” and “omgwtfbbq is this day over yet?” And not stopping at any points in the middle of the two.

I’m still mad over Cuntasia in the previous entry. I can’t even read/link to it or else my head will asplode. I mean, really, WTF is up with all these bullies in the world who think that just because they want something, they should have it?

Ever since I decided to become a “God follower,” as my church calls it, several years ago, I’ve made a very strong effort to look the other way, to never retaliate and to never, ever put myself in a situation where I can’t look at myself in the mirror afterward and feel that I rose above the situation.

But man, to take these people who think their opinion matters, that they have the right or even the place to degrade others, and clunk all their heads together … ah, it remains a dream.

I think the bug that’s still up my ass is how these wretched, horrible, hateful people are having holidays and good things happening to them that give them their sense that the world owes them.

Of course, are they really so fortunate when perhaps the only kicks they get in their day is to try to ruin someone else’s?

Speaking of those kinds of days, I actually achieved a HYOOOOGGEEE victory this morning. The product launch that was slated for, oh, 12 days ago happened today. Mostly because I put my foot down and all but threatened to put it UP someone’s butt.

What’s really nice is that we had a major breakthrough today. And nicer still that the whole upper echelon has acknowledged that, without my pointy-toed shoes being dangerously close to someone’s tender bits, it wouldn’t have turned out as well as it did.

I needed this victory today.

But alas, the oscillator turned when some information came my way that I wasn’t looking for (anymore). And it kind of fired me up all over again about Cuntasia from the BBBY parking lot. Not that the person in question is anywhere near cuntiness on any level, but I kind of got sucked back into that vortex of “OK, so once again, victory isn’t mine in this particular area.”

And I have to remind myself that, if the only battles I win are at work, well, that’s a hell of a lot more than others can say, right?

But another really nice note from today (I warned you it was manic!) was that I ran into people I haven’t seen in months at our Christmas party holiday fete thank-you luncheon. I mean, I only had time to grab a plate of cold food and drag it back up to my cell. But for the few minutes I was down there, man, the compliments I got on my de-pudgifying pork roast ass! (As opposed to the usual “pudgy pork roast ass” terminology I use.)

A part of you wonders whether you really looked that bad before. And that answer is of course yes. And judging by all the crap I’ve eaten in the last two days (thank you to my beloved boys who sent a GIANT box from Cherry Republic yesterday to make the holidays bright (and wide), I’m sure tonight’s weigh-in will bring the next round of epic failure. But, the way this is going, do I expect anything less than abysmal news when I waddle my ass onto the scale that I was looking so forward to confronting this week? (Well, before Cherrypalooza yesterday and catered lunch today.)

Oh well. I’m going to offset whatever chunky-butt catastrophe I endure tonight with doing some daydreaming about the vacation to Barbados that The Girls^TM and I are plotting. A real vacation — not just two or three days tacked onto a work trip! While I will hate paying the airfare, I mean really, it will be nice to burn off more than one or two personal days at a time.

Speaking of all things delightful, we have TONS of cherry-related goodness available at my desk. Come eat my cherries, people, while they’re still good! 😉

I decided to roll up to the Bed Bath & Beyond in Rockville, Md., as it is was my favorite location of that store. And I will gladly give away all my BBBY discount coupons to anyone who wants ’em, ’cause I ain’t going back there.

The store’s fine and delightful. It’s the customers who’ve turned me homicidal today.

I was having a perfectly pleasant day till I pulled into the parking lot. As I was pulling in, a car was leaving. It was too awkward to pull in and I didn’t want to block traffic, so I waited till the guy left (I went past the spot) and backed in.

It was a first spot — the type of spot I never get. The holy grail of parking spots, if you will, during this ridiculous holiday season. (Whoever said we’re in a recession clearly hasn’t shopped in Montgomery County lately.)

So anyway, I needed to straighten the car because I didn’t pull in very well. And this raving lunatic cunt who had wanted the spot — and CERTAINLY felt entitled to it — because she’d been behind me, decided to park right in front of me. Like, BLOCkING ME IN.

I figured she was trying to be intimidating. But you know, for all the spots that have been stolen from under my nose, and for all the assholes who went through the four-way stops when it was my turn to do so, and for the dumb bitch at the previous parking lot (Old Navy) who took SO FUCKING LONG to vacate a spot that I just simply moved on to another one, I wasn’t exactly concerned that I had ruined her day.

So I was fussing with stuff in the car. I wasn’t getting out. She and her two kids all shoved their ugly faces out of her window and GLARED at me. I looked up once or twice and went back to rooting around in my purse for my BBBY coupons.

After I’d wasted at least five to seven minutes and a Beltway-sized traffic jam was consuming Congressional Village, I finally looked at her. With a big smile.

She wasn’t going anywhere and those ugly, surly faces still stared back at me.

I shrugged and said, “What?”

She yelled that I am a “very rude and inconsiderate young woman who TOOK MY SPOT.”

I said, “And?”

I mean, WTF, right? I couldn’t pull out WITH HER BLOCKING ME IN. And God forbid I get the good spot so I can run right and use the bathroom quickly, since my bladder has the capacity of a shot glass. GOD FORBID GODDESS GETS A FUCKING BREAK ONCE IN A WHILE.

She kept saying — with EXAGGERATED PATIENCE — what a terrible person I am. I liked my spot but I admit, I was afraid to get out lest the cunt whore would dent it. In retrospect, I realize it’s already dented so what’s a little more damage?

And seriously, the traffic jam was out of control. So I figured, fuck it. Even though she was convinced I was the Antichrist, I would be the better person and leave the spot.

I debated ramming her. I really did. If she wanted to prove a point, so could I. I can out-cunt any of you cunty cunt bitch whores out there. Don’t test me. That’s all I’ve got to say.

In fact, I did turn on the car. Ugly whore and her ugly kids were all still giving me the same ugly look. I hoped God would freeze their faces like that. Of course, maybe those WERE their faces. Who knows?

I thought OK, maybe fat bitch couldn’t waddle very far. I was trying to be nice (that was as close as I could get). My fat ass might be healthier and could stand to walk a little farther.

Now, I refuse to be intimidated. But as I debated about whether to ram the whore or to actually tell the fucking cow to move her ugly family out of my goddamned way, I figured it just wasn’t worth it. She seemed perfectly happy to park there for the next two hours. And I’m sorry, I gots shit to do. (Well, more like “piss” to do, but whateev.)

So she’s still telling me how little she thinks of me in her extreme-calm voice. I yelled. “Fine. How do you expect me to move if you keep sitting there?”

So she moved the car in reverse, creating even more chaos in the parking lot. As I drove by, I yelled, “Since having this spot is so FUCKING important, enjoy it!”

She yelled back in a “nice” voice, “You’re such a rude person.”

I said, “Oh yeah? Well FUCK YOU.”

I of course could not find a spot in the rest of the lot but her very-able ass walked into the store with her two kids (who were middle- and high-school aged) just fine.

I did park and did make it into the store. I noticed I was walking around with a very tight fist. Don’t make me use my left hook on you. My rings alone will cause some dents. And if my jewelry breaks on your face, it’ll only piss me off more.

I did see those dumb bitches in the store. And you know, factoring out their ugly faces in mine in the parking lot as they BULLIED ME out of my spot, they actually could have been considered attractive.

And instead of punching them (I wasn’t seeking them out, I promise! They just happened to be blocking me from leaving an aisle. Now who’s rude and inconsiderate?), I decided to feel sorry for those kids.

I’m sure the mother was trying to make this a teachable moment to stand up for what you feel entitled to, and to use intimidation as force and to never, ever raise your voice.

Misguided, much?

I’m always bemused by people who resort to name-calling and insult-hurling when they are out of other options to resolve a situation. I can just imagine them cussing me out long after I’ve laughed them off. (Laughing *at* them, let’s be clear, not *with* them.)

I know that’s what wounded people do — pitch a bitch and use foul language to express their frustration. It’s not a grown-up way to handle a situation, but I hate to say, I understand feeling like you’ve just got to let people *know* how much you hate them.

And yes, that’s what I did here. But anyone who knows me, knows that swearing is just a way of life. I have so few vices — don’t take my “fuck” word away from me. 😉

And maybe I *am* growing. I did not tell her how I plan for her to perish. (I’m thinking fire, as in DIAF.) I figured someone THAT intent on proving a point to her kids probably didn’t curse much. I was actually going to yell, “And by the way, there’s no Santa!” but I certainly didn’t want to ruin it for the GOOD citizens of MoCo just because this twat nozzle was worthy of that and so much more.

Although I was HIGHLY tempted to go let the air out of the tires of her silver Nissan — Maryland plate M542627 — I figured she can stay smug all she wants to but I’m still the better person for not feeling the need to inconvenience the City of Rockville to prove a point or try to intimidate someone who is just trying to get through a day, too.

I admit I was annoyed to see all the crap in their cart. Her family is having a Christmas. Mine isn’t. I ain’t got shit to celebrate. Thanks for taking away my joy for the brief amount of time I allowed her to do so. Whore.

Again, I’m trying very hard to think that maybe she simply needed to win a battle (that didn’t have to be one) to feel whole and good and not take it out on her kids. I dunno. I’m not feeling overly sympathetic right now. The way I look at it, I solved a traffic jam that she created. I got some exercise. And I was too annoyed to really shop and therefore didn’t spend any money in the store.

So, really, didn’t I emerge the winner in this?

But if anyone sees that car on the road and just so happens to cut her off, hit her as she’s traversing a crosswalk, or otherwise shove a large Christmas tree up her ass, color me grateful and know that I appreciate that more than anything Santa could bring!