Caterwauling

Overheard on colleague’s speakerphone:

Colleague’s spouse: “What time will you guys be done with today’s projects?”

Colleague: “Springtime.”

I know we’re all familiar with “The Bucket List” and how those things work.

If you’ve hung out in the blogiverse with my friends and me throughout the years, we often referred to the “Fuck it Bucket”, which basically purports giving up on whatever’s troubling you and eating candy to feel better.

Today I’m coining the phrase “Fuck it Bucket List.” Because I have one. And that is what I call it.

I have a little notebook, with one full page so far, filled with Shit I Needs to Do. Sooner rather than later. While I still have the opportunity.

I’m not talking about bungee jumping or having sex with a horse or anything like that. I mean, hell, “Eat at Ray’s (Steaks AND Hellburger)” and “Attend a Wine Cruise” are probably the most-interesting things I’ve written to date.

I guess I just realized that time is so short, y’know? I was looking at an event that takes place on Friday night at 6:15. And I immediately scoffed and thought, “Yeah, not unless I have the day off.”

And I want a dining room set (I gave away my dining-room-table fund last summer). But I’m tired of thinking, “Pfft. Maybe when I have the money again. And preferably in a different apartment. Whenever that may be.”

So, fuck it — “get a goddamned dining room set already” is on the list right after “get a new goddamned apartment!”

There are other things — get new glasses (since I JUST BROKE MINE), get a wine rack, stock up on that tasteless flaxseed oatmeal at Trader Joe’s because it’s Weight Watchers-friendly and tastes SO GOOD when spiced up, shop for computer monitors, etc.

Nothing exciting, by any means. Except for that “Passport, then Paris” note. One of these days, y’know?

Anyway, what I’m trying to do is to “love the one I’m with.” No, not the roomie — that ship has sailed. But to acknowledge that I could be much happier if I didn’t have this list of regrets that I would carry if I didn’t do these things.

I was talking to a friend recently about regrets. She has none. I admitted I would have one. I probably shouldn’t have admitted it at all. 🙂 And in the long run, I’m absolutely fine with things not happening for a reason. But stuff like not being able to go on a spur-of-the-moment / awesome-price-deal cruise because I don’t have a passport? Unforgivable.

I mean, what if during one of my world adventures, I meet the love of my life or find someone willing to pay me to never return to D.C.? Have I seen all the branches of the Smithsonian that I’ve “meant to” get around to visiting? Did I see my friends enough? (We all know the answer to that one.) Did I leave it in better shape than when I found it?

Etcetera.

That’s why it’s a “fuck it” bucket. I’m reaching my hand in and pulling out what’s going to satisfy me. To you, it’s a Reese’s cup. But to me, it’s a Godiva truffle. And I am gonna suck the filling out of that bitch and savor every second of it. …

Sand lion

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Yesterday, I cleaned the snow off the car at 7 a.m. I re-emerged after 8 a.m. only to find my work was all for nothing. Cleaned it off again.

Had to run to the post office. Well, “run” is overstating the issue, as it was more like “skidded.” I was pulling out of my apartment complex and as I went down the hill that would put me on the interstate, I braked. But then they started popping and stopped working, so whee I went for a spin. The good news was that the normally insane stretch of road was unnaturally quiet at that moment.

I spent five, maybe 10 minutes inside the post office, where the whore charged me 42 cents to mail a postcard. (Of course, all my vacation postcards bear a D.C. postmark — why do you ask?) I asked why and she said it’s “oversized.” I said, “What other size is there?” *smack* A friend later in the day said he thought I was going to go postal, and I made everyone crack up when I said, “Let me tell you something about THOSE whores. …” 🙂

Anyway, I had to clean off my car AGAIN at the post office.

I got to work, where of course the car sat in the same spot for more than eight hours. I tell ya, I envied those who get to go to lunch, because at least they didn’t come out to two inches of packed snow when they left for the night. Yeesh.

I went out, as I am apt to do on Tuesdays, but I had given up on my “Tuesdays with Goddess” nights since I inherited this exhausting new project that is easy (for me. Not for a rational, normal human being, no doubt) but it’s rather time-consuming. But alas, I was told that I needed to surrender my computer to the IT gods because, as they put it, “You never stop working.” Apparently the fix I need takes an hour and that everyone else in the building, save for another workaholic friend, had already been serviced.

I busted my booty to get done at what I would determine a reasonable hour. But alas, the ‘puter update got moved to today. The only thing that kept me from going postal was that, even though I was about to gnaw off my own arm from the stress, I finally made it to my Tuesday night “thing” after several weeks away.

So after my “thing,” during which the fucking sleet started, guess who was chipping ice off her windows? And all night as I slept, I kept hearing the ding of text messages from AlertDC about all the street and school closings.

I can’t bring myself to look at my car, since there will be one more ice sculpture in progress. I feel like Edward Scissorhands when he was carving the block of ice and making it “snow” over the town.

That’s why I’m posting the photo of the sand lion I saw at the beach. Apparently there’s a guy who gets up at the crack o’ moi each day and does these very elaborate masterpieces. Just for fun.

Here’s a shot of the lion, a rhino and the tip of a tail all the way at the bottom of the shot. Neat stuff.

All right, enough whining. For all intents and purposes, Mother Nature’s tampon being full of TNT aside, it’s been a good week. Kicking ass, taking names, playing project whack-a-mole. People who are not normally the type I would describe as “cooperative” are downright helpful. Mountains have become molehills, to some degree.

Can has Mercury in Retrograde? Can has! And for once, I’m not complaining about it!