Caterwauling

Tonight’s post is sponsored by a Jordan 2004 Alexander Valley Cab that is, shall we say, Dy-No-MITE!!!

Or orgasmic. Whichever.

It was a gift from one of my beloved boys when I left D.C. It’s freaking amazing. I wanted to save it for a special occasion, and being roommate-free is probably the biggest thing worth celebrating in my life right now.

Day 5 of my freedom has come and gone. Work has been a beast this week. I have to take off tonight from even so much as reading e-mails. I’ve had two glasses of wine (just poured No. 3), ate some chi-chi cheese from Whole Foods and smoked an Al Capone bourbon-dipped cigarillo.

Took G-Dawg into the office today. Everyone wanted me to go let him take a smelly poop upstairs, but I was profeshunal and stuck him on a chair next to me. I love me some terrier right now — they don’t jump off! Of course, he managed to jump out of the car on his own, to my utter surprise. Does that say something about my driving or the fact that the car is a rattling death trap?

We went to PetSmart for treats. It was a big day for him! And yes, a beloved male admirer noted tonight how I talk like either a dog owner or a parent about him now. My big boy!

*mmmm wine. Slurp*

So I have to put that dipshit asshole at my house on my car insurance policy. Which MORE than doubles now that I own her car. Grrr. I told her she has to call around and get her own damn quotes. Would it kill her to pay her own car insurance, for fuck’s sake? Of course it would. She pushed it back on me, I pushed back, she pushed back … etc. I’m like, fine. No insurance for your lazy ass. Don’t drive my car. Love, moi.

My friends have commented how calm I am now that I don’t live there. (For this week, anyway.) I actually had to stop one of my boys on the phone last night from talking about her. It’s like, no, do not break The Zen.

UEOEH texted me first with a photo of my cat looking miserable in a headband, and then with a note that it would have been my grandmother’s 83rd. birthday on Saturday. You know what else Saturday represents? The day she moved in three years ago. My grandfather died on Thanksgiving 2006. She spent the insurance money on living on her own till September 2007.

I wanted to text her that, really? It’s also the three-year anniversary of the WORST DAY OF MY LIFE that your lazy, dependent ass moved in. Fuck you and stuff yourself into a handbasket bound for guess where. Love, moi.

I can’t believe it’s only been three years that she’s been torturing me. I also can’t believe that a person can go three years with no purpose in life. Er, 53 … but who’s counting?

I also can’t believe how much FREE TIME I have that’s not spent hating her this week.

Fucking whore.

I was planning to walk to Ben & Jerry’s. But the last time I shoved a $20 in my pocket to walk the dog, I lost it on the street. Never did find it. I can only hope the wind carried it over to Boo Boo. In any case, I’d rather lose it on the A1A to some random person than keep funding the mooch in my apartment.

Ah, G-Dawg. Time to curl up with treats and watch some TV. …

So I’m having one of those weeks that I had, well, every DAY at the InvestorRanch. Just a cyclone of deadlines and the crushing weight of two jobs (manager vs. the person who has to get shit done too).

I’ve been stressed. But not as much as I used to be. In fact, I know my limits so much better now. I used to just sit there till midnight, cranking out my to-do list like a good little girl. And it took a pay raise and a few dozen trips to the beach since then, but I have things to do.

I play too vital a role to bring a burned-out brain to the situation. I have too many people counting on me — even if I can’t whip through the massive to-do list on their preferred schedule, I need (hell, I WANT) to be professional and approachable and not a snappish, psychotic mess. Which is pretty much my default setting after the past year spent working in the den of iniquity.

The good news is, this week will end. The bad news is, this week will end. I have my furry little buddy sitting here at my feet as I attack my inbox. And I’ve had to leave every day by a certain time to make sure he didn’t have any accidents in the house while waiting for me.

So, by rights, I probably WOULD have worked till all hours this week. But that this just so happened to be my week with George … with seven THOUSAND deadlines plus a new (glorious!) employee starting … I’ll take that as a sign from God that keeping my balance was the universe’s priority. And that it should be mine.

I didn’t get to celebrate any achievements with wine last night. But tonight? Bring it on, baybees. …