1. Are you going to school this year? I may take some seminars/workshops, as funds permit. But no formal schooling.
2. If yes, where are you going (high school, college, etc.)? If no, when did you graduate? I like First Class in D.C. -- it's owned/operated by a mother-daughter team and gets some good speakers in for a decent price.
3. What are/were your favorite school subjects? English. I used to be known as the "Grammar Queen." That was until I went to college and was re-named the "One-Night Stand Queen." I loved history, too -- I was always in advanced placement English and history.
4. What are/were your least favorite school subjects? Gym. Never understood it. That and biology and other science classes. Too much math. I did well in algebra, though, but bombed geometry.
5. Have you ever had a favorite teacher? Why was he/she a favorite? I believe Friday Five has asked this before. Marianne Popovich, my ninth-grade English and French teacher. I didn't just learn those subjects -- I was also mentored and encouraged to grow as both a person and as a writer. I wasn't just another dip who happened to land in her classroom -- she made me feel like I could really be a star, both there and in the real world. And I couldn't bullshit her, like I could with so many other instructors. I hope she's still teaching -- she was absolutely amazing.
Today's horoscope: "Let your fingers dip into many different pies." I'll let you decipher that one. ;)
Siobra (aka the Cat from Hell) kept me awake most of the night. Maddie decided to sleep in my bed for the first time in a week last night, and everytime I peeled the little cat off my head or got her claws out of one of my body parts, I would toss the cat to the other end of the bed -- unfortunately, whacking Maddie nearly every time.
At some point last night, I declared, "Everybody out!" I was ready to scream -- it was nearly 3 a.m. and I had slept no more than 10 consecutive minutes without the little one either attacking me or my nightstand (this could explain why I awaken to a different radio station than the one I set). I shut the door behind them and still couldn't sleep because my blood was racing.
Today is a day at the print shop. Woo-hoo! No more Veggies till Tuesday! ;)
Another issue of the monthly Veggie Patch Gazette, that is. w00t!
I have the best team on earth. I really do. I've found that we take turns going through rough life situations, which does cause some minor stress for those who are left at the office with a question mark above their heads over some small things. But all in all, everyone really does come through and do their best and even go beyond expectations.
That's the neat thing about working for an arm of the organization that is pretty independent of the other departments. We kind of just hang and chat and laugh and get our shit done. It's a crazy cast of characters, but we click. And that's so important to me -- to love the colleagues as much as the work.
I've been pretty down on the workplace lately, even though nobody has really said/done anything to send me over the edge in quite a few days hours. I went to the publishing house tonight and chatted with one of my beloved customer care reps, Diana, about various items not related to either of our jobs. It's so neat to learn about different people and the things they've done. It's nice to be paroled from Club Medicated and be able to interact with some fresh faces -- faces who are always thrilled to see me, which I love. :)
I'm not really in the mood to be introspective and brilliant tonight (although, one might argue that I am NEVER up for exuding brilliance. LOL). Shawn came over to watch HBO on Demand, which as usual was more pre-menstrual than yours truly and refused to operate correctly for hours. I just got my first Comcast bill -- I think I should just send them what I think the service was worth, not the actual total. Of course, Shawn said that, with all the problems and malfunctions, the service was worth about $1.50. No arguments there!
The Cat from Hell has now learned how to crawl up onto my computer desk and dance on the keyboard. Great. I unearthed the old blue water bottle that I used to use to zap Maddie when she got out of line, and that still didn't do the trick.
I am thinking of renaming the little cat as Siobra (the "b" sounds like a "v"). Leslie had sent me a wonderful list of Irish names for Shan to consider when she wanted to find a good Irish middle name for Alex (she ended up with Marie, which is her own middle name). But I was re-reading one of Leslie's e-mails, and I really like the sound of the name. It really works for my new black kitten who's got some serious spunk. I'll see if this one sticks.
Siobra (OK, might as well get used to saying/typing it) has this habit of, when I'm sitting at my computer desk, taking a flying leap from the floor and digging her claws into my back. I have tons of red dots and scratches down my back, thanks to her. Little brat. :)
Looks like Siobra has a cold. She's been wheezing and snarfing for a day now, and I just noticed that Maddie is dry heaving right along with her. Great. Two sick pussies in the house. Sounds like I have a beauteous holiday weekend in store with those two gagging in my face 24/7!
The little hellion otherwise known as Chloe (till I change her name, which might end up just being "Rosemary's Baby") jumped in the toilet for a second time tonight.
The bad news is, the bowl hadn't been flushed at the time (don't worry -- it was just a liquid-filled bowl). I literally pissed, stood up, and heard a splash behind me. You know, I always felt bad for people who had not-so-bright children, but today I realize that I've got a cute kitty who isn't quite all there. :)
So I caught her and gave her a quick bath. She now hates me. She cried the whole time. Now she's drying off and is planning to accost me with her claws once I fall asleep.
Maddie was sitting at my feet, watching Chloe drown herself. I swear, she sits there snickering behind her paws when Chloe falls in the toilet. I can practically hear her tee-hee-ing and hiding a smile behind her big ole whiskers. And I can't say I wasn't laughing right along with her!
"If there's a screw to be found, you'll find it." -- one of my favorite colleagues.
Yeah, took Samantha Jones into the garage this morning to ask them to check my ever-leaking tires. A painful $52 later, I have two patched tires and two that are OK. To most people, I'm sure $52 is no biggie, but as my rent is practically doubled and I have some expenses to incur before next payday on Sept. 7, I just felt a big bad ouchie when I handed them the cash. *sigh*
And of course, for the fourth time, I've run over a large screw. That's why my fucking back tires are always leaking. And it's a real damn shame that the only screws I'm getting are in my tires and wallet. :)
I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work. I am not writing to bitch about work.
*whew* I feel better.
I really feel like I don't know what the hell I'm doing. And I feel like my head is going to implode today. And I would love some training in not only how to do my job better, but also in how to deal with office politics. I now have to go beef up some stories (that I didn't write) because the "right" people weren't quoted. And here I was just pleased to have new, cutting-edge topics with different voices than the same leaders who are quoted in every issue of the paper.
I'm gonna need a fucking ark if I want to get home tonight. Shit. There's a group of us stuck here at work, and our electricity has been on and off for the past half hour. If this turns into "Survivor," we're eating Town Crier first!!! ;)
I guess it must've been the joy of hearing from my very first roommate this morning, but today has just brought a constant, tiny twinge of nostalgia. Not to mention the fact that iTunes keeps cranking out songs that remind me of people from my far as well as my recent past.
I'm not sad -- I mean, I don't have much to really be sad about. I tend to miss what I never had more than what I did have in my life. I like to think that I appreciated and enjoyed everything and everyone when I had it or them, so I really don't have any regrets in that arena. But I tend to remember (especially with the music I have playing today) things I wanted to say and do, hugs and praise I should have given, declarations of love or fondness that were felt but never enunciated.
And why did I never do those things? If I say I was afraid, none of you will believe me -- y'all know I say and do whatever the hell I want. I guess I've never had a real comfort with, or entitlement to, some of my emotions. It probably started in junior high when you'd send a note to a boy telling him you have a crush on him, and then he'd go laugh with his friends rather than either tell you to hit the bricks or say that he liked you back. I used to be one of those little girls who punched the boys whenever I felt like it -- but it wasn't because I liked them ... it was because they needed a good bitchslapping, for whatever the reason. :)
At any rate, I grew up being not the least bit comfortable in my own skin. If you compliment any of my skills or talents, I will graciously thank you. If you say something nice about my outfit, my skin or anything else appearance-related (like the fact that my eyes are two different shades of green -- damn mutant), I will brush it off. It's not that I don't think you're sincere -- I just don't really agree with you, so instead of saying, "Why, thank you," I'd sooner say, "Um, yeah. So are you gonna watch 'Queer Eye' tonight?" I am the mistress of ensuring that I am not the topic of conversation, when I don't want to be.
Of course, I spent enough time as the topic of watercooler discussion. I kind of miss my wild days, but I've become quite the homebody since I left Pittsburgh and my apartment there that basically had a revolving door for all the guys I dragged in and threw out. :)
I guess I'm looking at my life through a kalidescope today -- I see it for all of its color and its magical way of falling into place into brilliant patterns. But I wonder what I have to show for all the effort and heartache and ebullience and frustration. I guess I can say I have a great apartment, two adorable cats, some fabulous friends and some decent memories of decadence and debauchery. But what have I contributed to this world? What have I done to make a difference? I mean, if I got killed on the highway this weekend (and anything is possible with my ever-deflating back tires), what will I have done that won't be forgotten in five years or fewer?
OMG, where the hell did all of this come from? :)
At any rate, I do feel entitled to my emotions (even when I don't declare them), but I've had such a shell wrapped around me since birth that it's hard to let the walls down and let someone in. You can't always count on folks to wipe their feet and store their baggage in the overhead compartment before they come in, nor can you expect that they won't overstay their welcome or slip out unnoticed and be gone before you realize. And just because I say, "Don't let the door hit ya where the good lawd split ya!" that doesn't mean that I don't wonder what the hell happened. But I guess I feel safer when people don't know how pissed or hurt or sad I was because of them. It's like I just don't want to give up that power -- I don't want people to think know that while they may not control my emotions, they sure have a hell of an impact on them.
So today, I take this opportunity to give a big ole hug 'n' smooch to some folks, and a big ole "I loved you then and might never stop" to some others. The only problem is, the people that this is aimed toward don't always -- if ever -- read this drivel website. And I doubt even amnesia could erase their faces and voices from my memory, even though, thanks to my reticence, there is little else to remember.
I checked my mail this morning, only to find a gift from my first roommate Janna. It's a gorgeous blue-and-silver mobile for my new hacienda. She said she had a dream about me, that I was a famous novelist living in Paris, so when she got my "I'm moving!" e-mail, she really expected to open it up and find out I'd gone abroad.
She did say that she hopes I have a balcony. Too funny -- because I do! :) (And I took the kitties out there separately last night, only to have them fall quiet in awe at first but then scratch the fuck out of me 'cause they wanted to go back inside. Pussies.)
Janna also had the pleasure of running into my beloved Jon Bon Jovi at the Westin in Pittsburgh. She saw him getting onto his tour bus. *swoon* Figures, she's not even a fan! :) But that's OK -- I loved hearing about it anyway! :)
Anyway, that nice surprise was almost counteracted by the fact that I took a wrong turn and ended up headed toward D.C. this morning when I should've taken the exit for Richmond. Oh well. I corrected it quickly enough after doing a quick spin through South Arlington. Gaah. Only me!
We have some big errors with the paper, so I shall be attending to those minor crises today. Woo hoo! I suppose I need to get my butt in gear and fix some problems, so I'll be back later. :)
One of my coworkers joked, a la "Office Space" today, "Sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays!" heh. He was right. :)
I haven't felt particularly inclined to post today -- I have little to say. I was busy at work (it's production week) and I've had a lot on my mind, so I've been quiet.
I miss Shan. I know, she's got her new life adventure, what with taking care of a miniscule pre-term baby at home, complete with hospital monitors and the nagging stress of knowing that, if something doesn't go quite right, they are a good half hour away from any hospital. But as I've been trying to weed people out of my life, she was one of the few whom I didn't want to fade into oblivion. I just hope that, once Alex is in the clear, we will have time to hang out again.
Thought a lot today about my purpose on this planet. Long ago, I counted on career success to make up for a less-than-satisfying personal life. And I still hold onto the hope that I will be much more financially stable and aesthetically content one of these days. But now I wonder about the whole lack-of-relationship business -- maybe it is bothering me more than I'd ever admit. I've never felt particularly inclined to be married or otherwise paired off, but it does have its benefits, I suppose. Like when most of your friends are happily coupled, where does that leave you on Saturday nights? Yes, alone with the remote and the vibrator.
And while I must admit that I'm glad I haven't had to take a pregnancy or an STD test anytime recently, I do wish I could replace eating with sex. Seriously, my appetite has been uncontrollable lately. Replacing ice cream with some version of genitalia would be so much healthier, wouldn't it? :) Although, at this point, I swear I forget how to have sex ... or, at least, good sex. And sex is such a part of who I am -- I love to talk about it just as much as have it. Only right now, I'm drawing solely upon memories, and even those seem so far away and fuzzy.
It's been almost five months ... do I qualify as a born-again virgin? :)
"Sex and the City" was both hilarious and hideous. Unfortunately, the hilariousness wasn't anywhere near the end of the show.
Shawn came over for our Sunday night "Sex" date, and we laughed hard over jokes about Madonna's (and then Samantha's) bad British accents and about something else related to the GLBT prom that Stanford Blatch was on the decorating committee for.
David Duchovny made an appearance as Carrie's high school sweetheart who was "taking a month off to rest" -- but the month was more like eight to 10 months in a psychiatric facility. I don't care if he has problems or not, he was hot! :)
The show ended more like "Queer as Folk" than "SATC," and we were kind of bummed. But the bumming only escalated when we learned that there will be no episode next week. Gaah!
If I heard correctly, the show will return Sept. 7 and 14 before going into its final hiatus -- the last half of the sixth and final season will pick up early next year. Shawn predicted that, when the new season picks up, Duchovny's character will be out of the rest home and might be ready to pick up where they left off. And of course, we see an eventual resurfacing of the debonair Mr. Big. We're still not sure how Mikhail Baryshnikov will fit into this puzzle, but I'm sure it will be fabulous (just hopefully more fabulous than this episode!).
In personal news, well, there is no personal news. :) The cats continue to be weirded out by each other. Maddie is hissing all the time (and I'd never heard her do that before!) while Chloe just wants to be around and be like her new big sister. I have a great photo of the two of them bitching at each other.
The new cat's shit stinks worse than Maddie's. And I swear the little one is flatulating all over creation. Ugh! I have about seven air fresheners active right now. Maddie's being quite unsociable, even with me, which sucks because she's been my best buddy for seven years. I'm sure she'll come around, but in the meantime, I am trying to sneak her extra treats and make sure she's fed and petted first. We'll get through this, just as long as I don't scold her when she's eating Chloe's food. :) She loves feeling like she's pulling one over on me!
3. Just cleaned up Chloe's vomit from the couch, as she was not eating her dry food today and I thought she might enjoy some wet kitten food. (She didn't.)
4. Remind me again why we need mosquitoes? I have 14 bites from my outdoor adventure this morning. *itch*
5. Spent money I didn't have at Tar-zhay on stuff I needed for the house and for the kitties. Got a great deal on the 9 Lives wet food for Maddie, as I am putting her on a "CAtkins" diet. Now to start thinking about putting ME back on Atkins! :)
Watching Maddie and Chloe hissing and growling at each other is more entertaining than my 500 cable channels. I should've saved the $130 and waited a few more weeks to get hooked up to Comcast! :)
Chloe is hiding under the computer desk, and Maddie has retired to her famed kitty sofa, where she is glaring darts at the both of us. Something tells me this is gonna be a LONG night for all three of us!
Update: Maddie decided to use Chloe's litterbox and try to eat her food. No sooner did I pull Maddie out of Chloe's food dish than I found Chloe darting her nose into Maddie's. Chloe has been very smart and has attached herself to my side. Maddie's just sulking from 10 feet away at all times. I feel bad for Maddie -- I am certain Chloe will adjust just fine, but Miss Madeline won't even let me talk to or even pet her. *sigh*
I put Chloe's new leather/rhinestone collar on her. It's the smallest collar I could find, and I have it fastened on the tightest hole, and it's still too big for her. :) She's a whopping two pounds, and she's not even the least bit afraid of her 18-pound big sister.
Must remember to separate the little terrors when I leave the house tomorrow, or the fur will be a-flyin'!!!
In Japan, they have replaced the impersonal and unhelpful Microsoft error messages with Haiku poetry messages. They're used to communicate a timeless message, often achieving a wistful, yearning and powerful insight through extreme brevity. Here are 16 actual error messages from Japan:
~ The Web site you seek Cannot be located, but Countless more exist.
~ Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, and reboot. Order shall return.
~ Program aborting: Close all that you have worked on. You ask far too much.
~ Windows NT crashed. I am the Blue Screen of Death. No one hears your screams.
~ Yesterday it worked. Today it is not working. Windows is like that.
~ Your file was so big. It might be very useful. But now it is gone.
~ Stay the patient course. Of little worth is your ire. The network is down.
~ A crash reduces Your expensive computer To a simple stone.
~ Three things are certain: Death, taxes and lost data. Guess which has occurred.
~ You step in the stream, But the water has moved on. This page is not here.
~ Out of memory. We wish to hold the whole sky, But we never will.
~ Having been erased, The document you're seeking Must now be retyped.
~ Serious error. All shortcuts have disappeared. Screen - Mind. Both are blank
Y'know, it's a furlough afternoon. That means I AM WORKING WITHOUT BEING PAID FOR IT.
Of course, I'm no stranger to that concept. But I am so very annoyed that I had plans to work on my apartment this afternoon, yet most of my writers did not make my Tuesday early editorial deadline, and a bunch weren't able to hit the standard Thursday deadline. So here I am today -- editing six late stories and waiting for two more.
I love editing, though, so this isn't exactly painful work. But I would rather be ANYWHERE but at work during this gorgeous afternoon! :) Oh well. As long as I can make it to my rental office before it closes, I s'pose I shouldn't complain.
1. When was the last time you laughed? Last night with Shawn, over his recent firing resignation from his latest employment fiasco. We speculated how -- despite the rigid rules the suits must have had to follow when they decided to fire him because of the contents of his blog -- fucking HILARIOUS it was that they never referred to the "Incorrigible Asshole" in question by his actual name. Envisioning people in authority saying "Incorrigibile Asshole" every five minutes ... now there's a reason to invest in adult diapers, 'cause that's some funny shit!!!!
2. Who was the last person you had an argument with? I avoid arguments, especially if the situation and/or the person just don't matter.
One exception would be at the Veggie Patch, but seeing as though my good buddy just got fired for blogging about work, I'm gonna digress right here and now. :) Of course, the last person who screamed at me was Town Crier as she backed me into a bathroom stall, so one could suggest that I was "backed in" to that disagreement! :)
3. Who was the last person you e-mailed? A professional/personal contact in Massachusetts. He's a darling person.
4. When was the last time you bathed? I wonder how many people are gonna lie about this question. ;)
I showered at 7:45 a.m. today.
5. What was the last thing you ate? Cruise Director here at Club Medicated brought in doughnuts for those few of us who showed up for today's half-day. So I had a big bad fried hunk of dough with chocolate icing.
Who'da thought you'd get fired for keeping a weblog? (And no, it wasn't me ... at least, not yet anyway!) Tonight I ripped Shawn's blog down and replaced the entries with a message to just e-mail him for updates. Then we restored it, minus the offensive entries.
This just sucks. Really sucks. He even took in banana bread this morning for his colleagues. He came in to a note from one of the bosses that asked him to stop by for a brief chat before their staff luncheon. The chat, unfortunately, took up his last moments there at that job. The fuckers couldn't even feed him lunch. :)
He's in good spirits. For now, anyway. The hours weren't agreeing with him, and per the offensive entries, the job seemed to employ someone almost as illiterate than the Incoherent Twit I used to supervise at my old job. As always, there's a company skipping the progressive discipline policy and just eliminating someone based on their thoughts and personal writings ... someone who is far more talented than the employee in question. Not to mention, that same employee threatened Shawn only days ago -- shouldn't the firing have been of the other person?
I guess, once again, here's another employer choosing political correctness over talent. And Shawn took great care to not link to the employer nor refer to anyone by actual name or place. It's called plausible deniability, for crying out loud. But we wondered if the employers thought of his entries as veiled threats, even though Shawn and I use phrases like "just fucking die already" in everyday conversation. It doesn't mean we're gonna shoot up the workplace -- it just means that we write about other people's idiocy to get it out of our system. Sure beats bitchslapping them on company property. ;)
Bleah. At any rate, that instilled some minor amount of fear in me, and I ripped down two recent Veggie Patch postings in his honor.
I already knew this day was a doomed one, as I only slept two hours and when I got up for my near-daily run to Mickey D's, I was told by the driver behind me that I had a flat tire. Gaaah! I went to the gas station to fill it with air, and I am so infamous at that gas station that my regular mechanic came over and asked if it were the same tire that he's already fixed five times. Surprisingly, it wasn't. He offered to check it for me for free, but I was 15 minutes late for my Veggie goodness fix of the day. So he asked me to keep an eye on it and bring it in if it deflates within the next day or so.
Shawn and I had a long talk about how much growing we continue to do as we continue to age -- and we thought about how much our forked career paths have changed us. He's got a good plan -- to take a break from the writing/editing for awhile, as he is truly burned out -- and he'll start seeking some other jobs that, while they may not pay what he needs them to pay, they will give him some skills that he's always wanted to acquire. Which is consistent with my theory whereby sometimes you've just got to take a step backward before you can move forward. That's what happened to me when I moved here -- I took a huge nosedive in pay, but I got the promotion that brought me back almost to where I was before I got here. And this isn't a stopping point but more of a rest stop in my own journey.
I don't know. How many of us are truly where we thought we'd be at the ages we're at? I figured I'd either be a CEO or a single mother. I am neither. Nor do I really want to be either one. But it'll be interesting to watch Shawn make a fresh start -- and something tells me, he is going to find his vocational happiness this time around. And nobody will be more proud of him than I when that day finally comes. :)
I won't provide any spoilers in the "Freddy vs. Jason" battle, so go spend the nine bucks yourself. :) But I loved it, minus being annoyed by Kelly Rowland the entire two hours. And they showed a lot of titties -- every time one of them died, I had to say, "What a waste of implants."
The quote of the night comes from Freddy, when he finally killed Kelly. (Yes!) "How sweet -- dark meat!" (For those of you who remember the "fresh meat" quote from several years back.) lol
In real-life battles, we learned today that baby Alex might get to go home tomorrow. Shan has been practically living at the hospital, so her mom called to fill me in. Things were very rocky for the past week -- the baby's veins in her head shut down, so they had to hook up an I.V. to her head. But ever the trouper (this is the kid who peed on her first X-Ray), she ripped out the I.V. cords. Shan's mom noted that there was obviously no switching her at birth with another baby -- she's definitely gotten Shan's fire. :)
But all in all, Shan has been getting training from the nurses about caring for the little one at home. If they both make it through tonight with no problems, then Alex goes on her way in her $250 specialized carseat for little squirts like herself. She's lost some weight -- down to 4.6 pounds -- but they all think she's getting stronger. And apparently she's the loudest one in the NICU -- every time Shan walks through the doors, it's her little one who's hollering for attention.
I had given Shan a cool kids' book on a caterpillar who turns into a butterfly. It's even got a silky caterpillar running through the center of the entire book. (Thank you, Reader's Digest, for sending me the book to review in a scholarly publication. WTF? Ha ha) Shan's mom says she reads the book to Alex over and over, and Alex has proclaimed it as her favorite storytime reading material. :)
At any rate, *whew.* I've been worried about the girls. I can only imagine how overloaded Shan's circuits are right now, but I am just so glad to have an update. Shan's mom will be in town on the 27th of this month, and she's all about gettin' the baby shower set up during that time. I am thinking the 28th will work fine, given that we actually get the paper to bed at a decent hour that day. *knocks on wood -- no wood available -- using head instead.*
Y'know, I'm poor right now, so I am careful with my money (until Friday, when the beloved payday -- even with the furloughed hours -- arrives). So I went to (dread) Burger King for a sammitch.
I got into the drive-thru line, and I had to commend them for desigining the line so well that you simply cannot get pissed off and drive away before reaching the windows. There I sat for 15 minutes, behind four cars, waiting for hell to freeze over. Several times, I thought, fuck it, I'm outta here. But then, I didn't see how my beloved Samantha Jones could possibly climb over the festive landscaping of rocks, mulch and huge-ass bushes. Oh, and then there was that curb thingy too. :)
So of course I sat smoking and inhaling fumes from the Nissan in front of me, only to pull up to the window. The guy said, "$4.60" which I repeated back to him. He nodded. So I gave him exact change. He ended up looking at me funny, going to the register, and giving me change. I looked confused, and he said, "Four Seech-TEEEN." *scream*
Why do I keep torturing myself at drive-thrus around here? Why don't I just fucking learn how to cook? Why waste my money and my time on these horrible experiences? But at least they got the food right -- a real rarity for them. Bleah.
I am a huge "Nightmare on Elm Street" fan, so I am already pullin' for Freddy. But it's like there's something missing from the pic already -- I just hope there are some special cameos from some of our other favorite slashers, or at least a "Killer Tomato" or two. And wouldn't it be darling if we found out that "Chucky" was one of their sons? Heh.
Obligatory 'SATC' wrap-up -- as always, see my life on-screen "Sex and the City" found Carrie shoe-less after someone stole her $485 silver Manolos from a baby shower. The culprit was never found, and the hostess refused to pay her the full value (which she very well should have, and damn straight, she could afford it).
But the hostess started putting Carrie down for her extravagant lifestyle, saying, "And why should I have to pay for your lifestyle?" So Carrie tabulated how much money she'd spent on the woman's engagement gift, wedding gift and boatload of baby gifts (which easily came to well over $2,200) and wondered why we single folk are obligated to buy gifts for everyone else's life events when we ain't gettin' shit in return. Like she asked, "Why doesn't Hallmark make a card for, 'Hey, at least you didn't marry the wrong guy!' occasions?"
So she left a VM for the greedy bitch, saying that she's getting married ... to herself. And by the way, she's registered at Manolo.
And damn sure if the gal didn't go to Manolo to check out her registry. There was one lone item on it -- the gorgeous silver shoes that had disappeared. So the gal purchased the shoes and sent a lovely congratulatory note with them to Carrie.
Oh, that one hit home. I do buy gifts because I like whatever I saw -- I purchase gifts at any time of the year, when I see something that reminds me of the recipient. But I loathe being forced into purchasing something because I feel obligated. And let's face it, O Single Friends, can you stomach another occasion for someone else, when there's no clear time in sight when that sentiment will ever be reciprocated? Like, even at work, when someone's selling Girl Scout cookies or wrapping paper or other stupid shit for their children ... do you ever wonder who's going to buy that shit when you have kids? Or what if you never have children?
Like Carrie's Hallmark card statement indicates very clearly -- who's celebrating the rest of us for just not meeting Mr./Ms. Right and not continuing our fabulous line of genetics? When does the line of duty ever bend into a circle?
Shawn brought me cigarettes and brought us a fabulous apple flip cake for the festivities. He's my new Sunday standing date. Hey, I'll take a hot date in my life any way I can get one! ;)
In other news Attempted to wax today. Yes, as in "why not stick wax strips to the lower half of my body and rip off some hair today?" I was appalled to read that one must not shave for three weeks for this shit to be effective. I went without battling with my razor for five days, and that was enough growth for me. So, I showered, came out and waxed un-poetic. It didn't hurt much (hell, I used to work for Satan Herself, so nothing is THAT bad), but it left my thighs stuck together and when I bent over to try to do my calves, a certain tender part welded itself to my petrified thighs. Ouchie ouchie!
This went on for a full, oh, five minutes before I realized that the wax strips were only removing, at best, half of the hair beneath the strip. Fuck me. At any rate, let's just say I jumped right back into the shower and shaved absolutely everything. And then some. Bleah. And now there is wax stuck between the blades of my favorite razor. Never. Again. Quote me on this! :)
No soup for you! No pussy, that is.
The cat never arrived. Mikey never called. I left him a VM to try to catch me this week. I'm sure something came up, but something always comes up with everyone in my life. It's a vicious cycle -- people are calling you while you're trying to get in touch with someone else, and so on. In today's high-tech world, you just cannot get away from the damn phone or e-mail, and even when you're sorry to miss a call (Leslie, I can't believe I missed six calls from you! Gaah! Forgive me, please!), you're wondering WTF some other people are doing while you're trying to call them repeatedly.
And I love one of my dear (local) friends with all of my heart, but right now, I'm a little stressed because I have to call Oregon to get news on happenings down the highway. But I understand the need for this right now, and it shall pass. But it's really easy to worry about folks when you don't know if things are going swimmingly or hideously. And I'm just one of those people who is impatient when worrying about someone's well-being.
I need to start getting out and meeting people more. Single people. Single fuckable people. I like being busy, and I'd like to -- ahem -- get busy. (*wink wink nudge nudge*) Sure beats sitting around with my thumb up my ass, trying to please the world and not myself.
Speaking of cats and other pussies I was thinking about my old friend Alan this weekend, how easy it was for him to stop returning my calls. It's a long, sordid story, best left offline, but after I moved, I really tried to keep up the communication (although I wasn't good about it when we lived in the same city). But he wrote me off. *Poof* And I was hurt for a minute, but it's more than OK now. That's just life. You just stop having things in common with people. Then one day you wonder if the only thing you had in common with them was that you lived in the same ZIP Code. But he's a good guy, and our friendship was very give-and-take, and I was sad to see it go. But when I realize that I can barely keep in touch with all my good buddies who live off the same wretched highway (I-395) as I, I don't feel so bad. Fare thee well, old chum. At least, since you forgot to send me a wedding invitation, I didn't have to buy you a gift. :-D
The new little puss arrives tonight. I am sufficiently prepared with a new litterbox, collar, food and whatnot to make her arrival a pleasant one for her.
We attempted to generate some discussion on Maddie's page about what we should call her, although Tiff and I ended up listing the four million monikers we've given to Maddie over time. I can't believe no one else would participate in the great "Name that Pussy!" contest. :)
I am still looking for names for the little one, as well as any tips on how to not have my two cats kill each other when I'm not looking. So, consider this a plea for help on playing with pussy. Any suggestions? ;)
Am officially out of my old apartment, as of today. Tiff and I worked hard and not only lugged the rest of our shit outta there, but also left the place spic and span.
Of course, I have no remaining energy to either A.) clean the place I officially live in now, or B.) unpack the friggin' car.
But all in due time, I s'pose. But I am curling up on the couch and tuning out the outside world, once this blog entry is done. My fingers, back and feet are absolutely aching. But we did go get a celebratory Slurpee at our favorite 7-11 after we turned in our keys and parking passes, which I am enjoying mightily right now. :) Hurrah for frozen orange-pineapple Crystal Light!
Housewarming is likely to occur Nov. 1. Gives me just enough time to unpack six million boxes. :)
I mentioned this letter a few days ago. I wanted to share it with my readers, to show what idiocy still really exists in the world. Just for reference, this was in response to Pride Fag's monthly columns wherein he manages to use the words "gay," "sodomy" and "lesbians" fairly liberally. Misspellings retained in this letter to not protect the asinine.
"Dear Pride Fag:
I am so sorry that you would use your position as president of the Veggie Patch to advocate for practices that are bringing death and destruction to untold millions and their families throughout the world. The fact is that the homosexual lifestyle is a dangerous one on all counts -- you can sanatize it, you can legalize it, you can pretend that it is "moral," but you will not be able to overcome the bacteria and viruses introduced into the body through sodomy and anal sex. If you fantasize that somehow medical science and the taxpayers can cure the consequences of homosexual sex, you are quite foolish. You cannot separate the consequences from the behaviors. Please refrain from advocating practices that are killing 600 people a day in the nation of South Africa alone! Please do not wish these consequences on your membership. Thank you."
-- Dumbass Anonymous
I have been forbidden from printing it, but it could have made some good discussion among the newspaper's very vocal, touchy-feely readers. In stranger news, though, the guy who responded isn't even a subscriber to the paper!
I always assumed that I would end up in New York, but after making the transition from little-big-city Pittsburgh to much-bigger-city D.C., I realized that I am fine here, that I don't need to be in huge-ass-city Manhattan.
NYC has had way more than its share of drama, and the recent blackout is no different. I'm still waiting for some of our northeastern bloggers to come back online, but in the meantime, I am grateful that, in our 95-degree weather here, we have functioning air conditioning.
Of course, most of the major news coverage is of New York, and not of Ohio, Michigan, Canada and the parts of New Jersey and Pennsylvania that were affected. But it's reminiscent of 9/11 coverage -- how often do retrospectives and tributes focus seemingly solely on the biggest disaster site and fail to mention the Somerset, Pa., and Pentagon casualties? Too damn many, that's how many.
In the story I linked to above, some assclown of a deli owner was whining about having to throw out $2,000 worth of ice cream, yogurt and other perishables. Here's a thought -- why didn't he donate it to all the stranded folks who were half an inch from heat stroke in their 90-degree weather? Y'know, there's so much talk of a newfound human kindness in Manhattan, but that sure didn't symbolize it.
I awoke this morning to news reports of subway trains being stopped under the rivers up in NYC, and people had to walk for miles (with all the friendly rats) until they could see the light of day again. And what about all those elevators in those massive buildings? I am so glad I don't work in skyscrapers anymore -- Pittsburgh had its share of massive buildings, and I worked on the 57th floor of USX Tower for awhile and on the 36th floor of PPG Place. Eeek.
I understand that, here in D.C., no building can be taller than the Capitol Building. That is a Good Thing, although I am claustrophobic and would just spontaneously combust, were I trapped in an elevator, no matter whether near the fourth or 40th floor of a building. I am thrilled to, after years of being a city girl, be living and working in the suburbs, where I drive to work and the buildings are as short as the bus my colleagues must have ridden to school as children. :)
1. How much time do you spend online each day? Too much. I mostly do it at work, though, and when I come home, I check e-mail and go watch TV for a change of pace.
2. What is your browser homepage set to? At work, the Washington Post. At home, to My Yahoo! But I actually set my first page to come up blank, so that I don't have to wait for those pages to load unless I really want them to.
3. Do you use any instant messaging programs? If so, which one(s)? Not a fan of instant messaging (thanks to all the porn spam that comes through if I haven't filtered carefully enough). I rarely turn it on, but when I do, I use AOL instant messenger.
4. Where was your first webpage located? Gosh. I don't think it even exists anymore. But as far as this site, I started out at http://caterwauling.blogspot.com.
5. How long have you had your current website? I guess since March 2002. I've since gone on to buy a few more domains, but I'm too incompetent lazy to develop them.
I dragged a bunch of shit to the dumpster at the old abode today, as the lease is up Saturday and I have a gaggle of stuff to either haul or heave.
But what never fails to amaze me is that, within a half hour of burying my treasure inside of or behind said dumpster, the shit's gone ... or, at least, it's been gone through.
On Sunday, I must've chucked four dozen VHS tapes from 1984 to 1994. And they hit the bottom of the dumpster with a nice crash. Well, an hour later, as I brought out another load of shit, a great deal of my tapes were sitting on the chairs and the telephone stand that I had brought out there earlier. This means that someone had to jump into the dumpster to find my goodies. Are they nutz?!?! Was that taping of "Dead Poets Society" and miscellaneous episodes of "Ally McBeal," "Melrose Place," "90210," "Knots Landing" and the like really worth immersing oneself in a bin full of roaches and other multi-legged wonders?!?!
At any rate, I didn't leave a lot of good stuff out tonight, but I'm sure it'll have disappeared by the time I go back tomorrow.
That's how I describe Northern Virginia weather lately. It's always overcast, of late, and it's pointless to labor to wash one's car when Mother Nature is gonna rag all over it for you.
Last night, I took Tiff to the Springfield area to pick up her temperamental but still beloved vehicle, and as I was a stone's throw from the mall, I journeyed to Linens & Things and to Boutique Tarzhay for some household goodies. I was careful to only pick up the items I needed, which threw me into bankruptcy anyway. But I have Swiffer and trashcans and shelving and cat food, so life is grand.
This morning, I was in the mood for some toast. So I went ripping and tearing through multiple kitchen boxes, unpacking them as I went. The toaster was in the third box, but by then, I was tired and cranky and smellin' kinda funky, so I showered and never did make that fucking toast. But Mom had sent a little loaf of her famous banana bread yesterday, and I happily had a slice on my way out the door.
I took the trash down to the sub-basement this morning -- a scary voyage at best. I was greeted by the stench of unembalmed corpses and by a welcome wagon of waterbugs. Yeeaacccchh. The trash room also doubles as the laundry facility, but something tells me I will just have to keep buying more clothes so that I do not have to wash the old ones in that godforsaken pit.
Well, I awakened to a big steaming pile of poop in the bathtub this morning. Conventional wisdom dictates that when your day starts off with a discovery of shit, you can pretty much tell what the rest of your day will be like. :)
I've consumed much coffee and Mountain Dew to keep me alive today. My little blogworld is pretty quiet, and that's probably for the best, as last night was a long one for many of us.
Have not seen/heard from Shan in a couple of days. That can't be a good sign. I finally left a message for her husband to check in with me with a quick update. Of course, he, like Shan, is on the hated Sprint network and won't probably get the message till Christmas.
I spoke to my own hated cell phone company today. Seems that AT&T canceled my recurring credit card months ago because my billing address didn't match my credit card's billing address (I transitioned to a P.O. Box). So nobody told me that the credit card number was kicked out of the system, and as I have paperless billing, I didn't know of any past due amounts (and I rarely check my credit card activity because it's solely used for recurring debts such as web hosting and cell usage). Well, seems I owe them three months of payments. Wasn't that cute? I don't even have half of it, so they took $75 and promised to get the rest next month, when the next bill rolls around. This should be fun, trying to have enough credit available for that remaining $150 plus the new charges. E. Gads.
And in Veggie Patch headlines, some dipshit keeps writing to me (and copying it all over creation) to publish a correction to a story she submitted that I ran in the May issue. Back in April, she clearly submitted the story under her own byline, and I made it clear that I needed the specific author information (i.e., that she's a grad student at some university). So, since the pub date, I have been treated to biweekly demands from her that I tell the world that the article was really written by a merry band of fools, not just her. (Not to mention, she keeps sending me e-mails from someone else's account, so I have been confused from the beginning and struggled to set the record straight that the owner of the e-mail account was not, in fact, the story's author. But now the claim comes that the e-mail box owner is, in fact, ONE of MANY authors.)
Let me tell you, after the aggravation of editing that article, I owe her no more time. My personal editorial policy dictates that, when I screw up, I owe the readership an immediate correction. But this chickie seems to think that because I didn't know that she wasn't the only author, I must claim that the newspaper erred and thus must assuage some hurt egos. I keep deleting her messages, but bitch won't go away. Will someone just go shoot her for me?
In good news, Demure is out, so I was not subjected to my weekly stupervision meeting. Hallelujah!
Expect no coherence from me tonight, kids. I'm piss drunk from a lovely dinner for nine at Shawn's casa.
I just can't believe Paul and Bryan asked me to drive them home -- I am toasted. We're all lucky that I got them -- and me -- home alive.
Now to smoke my last cigarette and crawl into bed. Or maybe fix another drink or 10. ;) But I'm a very good drunk driver -- the alcohol calms my nerves so that I'm not wigged out whilst driving I-395. I should drink before I commute more often!!!
We had much discussion about romantic relationships (not about mine -- shit, I can't even think about my sordid past). But while sometimes we all feel defective when we've been cheated on, dumped or otherwise remained in "singles" mode for far too long, we have to realize that, in fact, we rock ... and if folks are too fucking stupid to realize it, it's their loss.
I can't believe I forgot to record this, but then again, like I know which end is up anymore!
When I went to the hospital on Saturday, there was a young kid working the admissions desk. I went behind his desk to go wash my hands, and I could swear he was looking at porn -- big, wet black booties, if you get my drift. But after a second, it's like he knew I hadn't moved, so he toggled to a Yahoo! search page.
So I washed my hands, came out, and saw booties and boobies again! I must've gasped, 'cause that Yahoo! page came up immediately to cover it. Heh. What a dumbass, sitting out there in the open like that. Hell, I don't even look at porn in my enclosed little office! ;)
I swear, after reading really shitty submissions from the many Veggie Patch offshoot divisions, I have to support Shawn's wish that the Pulitzer Prize Committee gave out awards for editing. Somebody remove the Exacto knife from my jugular, please!
Cruise Director here at Club Medicated wants me to get Shan's passwords and the keys to her files. Heh. Good luck. Sister ain't picking up her phone, not that she ever wanted our screwy colleagues nosing through her stuff more than they already do. They've already accessed her voice mail, and let's just say that I know I left two messages for her bitching about the place. Heh again.
I'm liking having a new employee. Leaves me more time for blog-reading. w00t!
No, for once I'm not talking about the Veggie Patch. I'm talking about the hospital.
I called before I went down there yesterday to confirm that Shan was still there. The patient care line rep assured me she was there. So I got there and *poof* the nurses told me she had been released only about 20 minutes before I arrived. Grrr. Like I would've driven to D.C. and paid to park if she weren't there! (One could argue that I could've called her, but she's worse about picking up her phone than I am -- we both tend to set our phones to vibrate and then forget to check for messages for days on end.)
It just bugs me that we trust people to provide supreme care for the patients, but these same people don't even know that the patients have left the friggin' hospital.
At any rate, kill me before sending me to a hospital. Seriously. I told Shan she's the poster child for abstinence, after watching what she went through. The thing about being with a friend who has just given birth is that doctors have no qualms about running in and ripping their blankets off, for all the world to see. I swear, I've seen more of my friend than I ever wanted to, but then again, you know you're good friends with someone when you watch her rip off her blood pressure cuff and start scratching her ass with the Velcro. :)
My new gal started today. We really seem to get along. I look forward to a good working relationship with her. :)
No news is good news. Haven't heard anything new about Shan and the little one. I did know they were supposed to do a blood transfusion on the baby either last night or today, which brings about a hepatitis risk, but this kid seems like she can survive anything.
I am slowly emptying the old apartment. It looks like a hurricane hit it. Meanwhile, I have yet to even unpack a damn thing in the new place. But that's OK -- life took over, and life is way more important than emptying boxes.
A gal at work offered to donate baby stuff to Shan -- clothes, highchairs, etc. I will gladly take that stuff off of her hands for when Alex gets to come home in four weeks!
So. Very. Tired.
Got some hate mail about Pride Fag's latest column. Some asshole bitched about us promoting homosexuality and disease-spreading. I was told not to run the letter, which I didn't want to do anyway because it's just ignorant and nasty. But it's sad -- I've been waiting for someone to write in opposition to his ideas, but not about his sexual orientation.
Welcome Alexandria Marie Edwards to the world, folks. :)
She's 4 lb., 11 oz and 17 1/2 inches long. She came screaming into the world at 2:46 p.m. on Saturday, Aug. 9, after a whopping 17 minutes of labor. She's the prettiest and biggest munchkin in the NICU, and everyone who's seen her is in love with her. She's got a full head of hair, dancer's legs, big feet, pretty little fingers and nails and a set of lungs that would make even a full-term baby envious. Oh, and did I mention that she registered her disgust with the hospital staff by peeing on her first X-Ray?!?! ;)
Her mom's doing OK, minus some post-birth agony. Alex is kicking and responding like a pro, and Aunt Dawn is exhausted from a very full afternoon, evening and now morning at the hospital. ;) Thanks for all your good wishes (especially those coming from Ireland -- thanks to Leslie for her trans-Atlantic blessing of our new little Irish princess!). You've all been such a great support to me as well during this very trying time!
And of course I have purchased every single "It's a Girl!" item from the hospital gift shop. :) < / proud aunt behavior, for now anyway! >
Subtitle: Our late September miracle is happening this weekend
Spent the better part of today finding hanging out at the hospital with Shan in D.C.
The news is that the doctors have decided to induce labor tomorrow. She's at 32 weeks -- not great but not bad, when you think about it. Right now, they're pumping the little one full of steroids so that her lungs will develop more quickly. And they gave Shan something to kick-start the cervix into dilating. If When all goes well, we may have a new arrival on Sunday or Monday, at the latest.
To say I'm worried, well, that doesn't begin to cover it. I'll spare you all the gruesome details, but on the upside, the doctors say the baby has a 90 percent chance of survival. I have great faith in the medical staff, as it's the hospital where all the presidents choose to be treated, and everyone seems to be pretty on-the-ball. But it seems that the umbilical cord is either wrapped around the child's neck or ankle (too fuzzy to see which), and that explains the fact that her heart rate either stops or plummets. But she's still kicking like a trouper.
Shan's hooked up to a fetal monitor 24/7, so we were treated to hearing the little one's heartbeat throughout my visit. But it was scary -- it dipped for awhile, and I had to crank the volume up to high until we started hearing it again.
She's holding up divinely, although the hubby's family is trekking into town tomorrow and will probably be up her ass until she gives birth. I'm going to head down there again and try to distract them. The mother-in-law called no fewer than four times in four hours, and each time I told her Shan was asleep or that they had taken her out for tests. The mother-in-law was all like, "And WHO are YOU?!?!" every time I picked up. And I said, "I'm Dawn. Who may I ask is calling?" And she's heard my name enough times to know that I'm a welcome visitor, but I was annoyed that she would assume she could snap at whomever was kind enough to pick up the line while Shan's arms are tied down with IV tubes and BP monitors.
I did curtly remind the woman, though, that the phone rings pretty loudly and is pretty close to the bed, so if no one answers after a couple of rings, no one is there. (I think I missed two of her calls, as the phone rang off the hook, but I was busy helping Shan to reattach her plugs to the monitors after bathroom trips.) Shan was most grateful.
We think the mother-in-law is going to force herself in the room during the delivery, which Shan has made clear is a no-go. I told her I'd be more than happy to be there when the little one arrives, but if she's more comfortable with just the hubby and the team of doctors, I won't be offended to wait in the hall.
I feel like everything will turn out all right, but it's this middle time that just sucks. She's terrified of what's going to happen -- that 10 percent chance of disaster is high enough to instill panic in all of us.
I left when visiting hours were over. Shawn Metroed down to meet me, and we went out to Dupont for hummus and a pitcher of daquiris at Pepper's. I cried so hard when I got to my car after the hospital visit that I lost my parking ticket for a few minutes and just couldn't otherwise function. He generously offered to drive, which I took advantage of, and he even paid for my (outrageous) parking because I couldn't locate the money to get out of there. *sigh*
As always, friends, I need you to send happy, positive and healthy thoughts and vibes toward the little family in the hospital room this weekend. And other than shutting off my cell phone so I could go drinking tonight, I'm on-call for them and will go running when I hear anything. Thank you for the love. I hope to write back by Sunday night with good news. :)
I just hate when things are out of my hands and I can't do a damn thing. But you can count on it, I'll be there. Shan and John both said that I need to be worrying about unpacking and getting the rest of my shit out of the old place, but fuck that. They need me more than my stuff does. At any rate, I can't wait to hold that baby, if they ever let her go for two seconds so that I can. :)
Well, after kicking back various vodka and Motrin cocktails till 4:30 a.m. (whilst watching hours of HBO On-Demand), I finally got to sleep. Yay! Just woke up, and I feel great!
Was just bitching to the cat about having to go drive across the county line to go get a shower. But then my inner bitchhandywoman took over, and I figured out how to turn on the water. You see, the dipshit maintenance staff painted over the little door to the tub controls, and I had to fight to find it and get it open, but I did it. Now, to clean the tub and have my inaugural full-body cleansing! w00t!
UPDATE Would you believe, 10 minutes after posting this, the maintenance guy came to fix my shower? I was so thrilled to say, "Nope. Did it myself. Thanks anyway!"
But insofar as my ant problem, the guy brought me a can of Raid. The same can I bought last week. But I haven't seen a bug in two days, so my self-extermination must've worked.
I did get a talking-to for shortening the chain on the ugly chandelier that they put in my dining area. Ugh. It's brass with six weird candle-looking thingies. The guy said I need to have it 10 chain links down (it's at about five, because I was hitting my head on it). Not to mention that it's not even centered -- if I put my dining room table under it, no one could get into the kitchen. And did I mention how ugly it is? I told him, look, all the gay men I had moving me told me I need to move that monstrosity entirely. He laughed and said he had to agree with us!
1. What's the last place you traveled to, outside your own home state/country? On a spaceship, where I was anally probed by aliens
2. What's the most bizarre/unusual thing that's ever happened to you while traveling? Not ending up getting lost
3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go? The Big Apple, baby! I want to stay at the Marriott Marquis or at the Ritz, and I want to shop till my credit card breaks in half.
4. Do you prefer traveling by plane, train or car? Plane. And as far as the increased airport security, hell. At least I know I'll get felt up!
5. What's the next place on your list to visit? The bathroom. Money doesn't grow on trees, so I'm going somewhere I can afford!
Granted, I can never sleep in a strange bed, but even though I'm in a new dwelling, I'm in my bed, with fresh, crisp, brand-spanking new black-and-white gingham sheets. I've even spritzed the life out of them with Bath and Body Works eucalyptus-spearmint linen spray. But nothing's working.
I'm physically and emotionally overexhausted -- that's got to be it. Even while my body is begging me to rest, my mind is in 14 different places ... and not one of them is a relaxing place.
If Shan's still in the hospital tomorrow, I'm going to sneak down there after work see her. But first, I'm going to have to go to the old apartment to get a shower, as I still have a non-functioning tub/shower here. *sigh* No wonder I can't sleep.
I talked to John today about Shan. She's still in the hospital, under observation at the moment. Seems the baby's heart stopped beating twice. Both girls are fine now, and John is calm. He said they might end up wanting to induce labor, if that happens again.
I cried for a half hour (I was sitting in Van Dorn traffic anyway, which is also a tear-jerker during rush hour). Shawn called and invited me over, and I'm headed there now -- he just got the Season One DVDs of "Strangers With Candy."
Send happy thoughts to Shan, John and little Alexandria, OK? Thanks! :*
Bryan, as he started to lift my mattress: "Oh, the stories this mattress can tell!"
Me: "If there were a movie made about the life of my mattress, it would be called 'Toy Story.'"
We survived! My strong cadre of good-looking men had me moved within five hours, although it took all five of us to carry my hulking entertainment center.
I love the new place, minus the army of multiple-legged critters I've killed and the fact that the shower doesn't work. I had to drive back to the old place to bathe today, and I had to do it fast to be here for the Comcast five-hour window.
On my first day with cable/internet, I've already experienced the ineptness of my new cable company. Seems they can't support Mac OS 8.6, but I told them to install the Internet service anyway, as that's all I wanted when they persuaded me into getting digital cable. But I am loving the digital -- I have all the MTV channels, including the all-'80s music one. w00t!
More stories to come ... but I've got a lot of blog-reading to catch up on right now!
Just talked to John (Shan's husband) -- the doctors measured the fetus, and she's 5.2 pounds and healthy!!! Shan's eight months along, so this is extremely comforting for all of us -- Alex is the right size and is in great shape. Now to get her mom out of the hospital and let this pregnancy-induced itching end already!
Hugs o'plenty go out to Bryan, Paul, Shawn, Dave and Scott (listed in order of scheduled appearance) for helping with the move tomorrow. I shall be up all night preparing for this impending thrill ride. :) John may show up later, but I hope we knock out the big stuff so he can spend a lil more time with the mommy-to-be.
Well, I lost one of my moving crew for tomorrow, but for good reason. Shan is in the hospital, so John is out. And it seems I can't get out of the truck rental. My hope is to move the entertainment center, TV and couch. The rest, I should just set on fire and not worry about moving it. Ugh. I fucking hate stress.
I feel like I've been working like a dog to make my move happen, but I'm not seeing enough results. I'm wiped out today and plan to do a billion loads of laundry, as my muscles hurt too much for me to lift yet another box today.
Shawn graciously treated me to lunch today, as he also took the day off to do some schoolwork. I needed that escape from tubs and boxes and newspaper and packing popcorn, not to mention that the best way to take care of your friends who are in moving hell is to pamper and distract them. :) Thanks Shawn!
I was most excited at the fact that 7-11 now has sugar-free Slurpees, something that's been bothering me for years. So today, I got a Diet Pepsi Slurpee. And guess what -- it sucks! Diet Pepsi is just nasty in general -- what was I thinking when I assumed that it would taste better frozen? Yeeaaaccchh. Stick to the Crystal Light Orange-Pineapple Slurpee, if you're so inclined to have a sugar-free treat! At least it has flavor. The Lemon-Lime isn't half-bad, either.
I had my usual moving-night jitters and dreamed that I forgot to rent a truck. Of course, for those of us who know, I DID rent a truck, and when I called to confirm the reservation, I was told that I wasn't in the system and that my reservation number was no good. So, let's see if, after giving the company my credit card info for a second time, there will be a truck for me tomorrow.
Well, off to wash my guchies. Perhaps I really don't need to take all 150 pairs with me, eh?
I've realized that by 2:30 p.m. each workday, that's when I truly hit my "I'm so disgusted with this place, I could just kill someone" mark.
It hasn't been a bad day, though. Demure is out; her secretary only cornered me for 20 minutes this morning; no e-mail = no responsibility (today, at least) for what was in it (although we've been informed that any e-mail we received after 7:30 p.m. Wednesday is toast); Shan is here and relatively healthy today (minus her newly diagnosed case of ICP; and Cruise Director is nowhere to be seen.
But this is just the time of day when I'm downright stressed out about everything. Of course, today I have plenty of reason to feel that way.
I went home violently ill on Friday, right after H.R. made the job offer to Witchy Woman, so much so that I was incapacitated for the rest of the evening. My body is never wrong -- I would only assume that it went into convulsions for a reason. I hope she's a hell of a lot less formal than she came across in her interview -- she has the skills I want and need for her to have, but will she be able to gel with me? It's not like I have a lot of allies around there -- I need somebody who won't get caught up in the Mouth Almighty/Town Crier end of the hallway fondly known as the Bermuda Triangle.
Speaking of bodies in revolt, although I'd never tell Shan, I'm worried sick over her own health. She's so damned itchy that she's been scratching herself with letter openers and Exacto knives. We quip that she looks like a drug addict, continually twitching and bearing bloody scratches on her arms and legs. And with this ICP crap, it's looking like she might have to plan to deliver the baby early (no problem for her -- she's got seven weeks to go and can't wait to end the itching and sickness). But I am struck by a huge risk of stillbirth with this ICP business. So is she, but I keep reassuring her that there is a risk even when the mother's health is perfect.
So today I did something I haven't done, well, ever. I said a prayer. What I prayed to, I don't know. If it was heard, well, we'll see. I prayed for Shan and Alex to both get through this pregnancy and birth as healthily and happily as possible. I prayed for a long and loving life and mother-daughter relationship for them. I prayed that Shan's health and sanity holds up. I prayed that Alex hangs in there and gets to know this phenomenal woman who is going to be an incredible mother.
I reassure Shan that everything will go well. I tell her that if ever Alex gets out of line, I will remind her how much her mom went through to have her. I beg Shan to put a little more faith in her own strength. I remind her that in two months, we'll be chugging beers, smoking a blunt and watching her pretty little girl sleeping soundly in a bassinette. I let her know that it's okay for her to rant and rave and cry and that she doesn't have to be Superwoman all the time. I ask her to be patient and to concentrate on herself and that baby, even though so many other things are going wrong in her life, outside of her body.
And I wonder what I can do to make things better for her, when she's done nothing but be an amazing friend and lifesaver for me. And that's something she continues to do, no matter how wretched she feels or how disgusted she is by work and other worries.
On that note, she's on a reduced work schedule, and I'm off to call her and make sure she's leaving around 3 p.m. :) I know I can't do much to take away her pain, but I might just be the only person at this godforsaken workplace whom she'll listen to, and damn it, I am kicking her outta here for the day!!! ;)
The office building management has been testing the fire alarm system since 7 a.m. and won't stop till after 11. I am sick of jumping every half hour, although it is probably the only effective way to keep me awake at this hour. :)
I just realized that, at the Bon Jovi concert last weekend, I might have seen Jon's wife Dorothea. I saw a gal with a baby carriage who looked just like her, and it just occurred to me that she recently gave birth (and that no one in their right mind would bring an infant to a rock concert, no matter where they were sitting). Heh. I should've stopped to look at the kid, 'cause god knows he keeps his kids out of the press.
Oh, and we haven't had e-mail at work for more than four days. And I do half of my workload online. Fuck.
And did I mention that the cat shat all over the bathroom floor this morning?
"They're not strangers -- they're our new friends with pot!" -- Carrie, in response to Charlotte's query whether they should be trying to buy pot off of strangers.
I absolutely loved tonight's episode. It chronicled the 24 hours after Burger's "I'm sorry; I can't; don't hate me" breakup Post-It appeared in her apartment.
The ladies ventured to the opening of "Bed," a hot new nightclub with mattresses o'plenty. Miranda miraculously fit into her "skinny" jeans, and she was out celebrating and meeting men while Carrie ran into Burger's friends who weren't aware of their 3M Corporation-inspired breakup, which she happily enlightened them about.
Tonight's theme: why do we feel we need to learn a lesson from everything? Because it just works out that way. If Miranda didn't get pregnant and have the baby and forget to eat all the time, she'd never have fit into her jeans. If Charlotte didn't marry Trey, she never would have fallen in love and gotten engaged to her divorce attorney. And if you're never someone's girlfriend, then you can never be his ex-girlfriend. And if you never had someone break up with you via Post-It Note, then you'd never be cited for smoking pot on a streetcorner, like Carrie was.
Over ice cream at the end of the show, Charlotte remarked that Carrie's note was like a "Get Out of Jail Free" card, as the policeman showed some sympathy and decided not to arrest her for toking on the sidewalk, as her day had already been bad enough. But when Samantha urged him to not cite her at all, he said, "I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me." *snerk*
Sarah Jessica Parker was altogether too convincing in her blazed state, even down to the deep guttural snorts of laughter. Heh. Reminded me altogether of my own experiences of not making sense and snorting at jokes that really aren't that funny. Golden Pen and I have had many of those moments together, and we've often had two separate conversations going at once, even though we were the only two people in the room. Makes me look forward to a special-brownie celebration at my Haunted Housewarming, coming in October! ;)
I've decided that, in honor of the "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy's" team's license plate, "Fab5," my friends and I need our own plate that reads, "High5." :) Ah, to have a smokey treat right now. ...
But alas, I'm feeling anything but dreamy right now. Although there was much more from the episode that just rocked, well, I've got a headache and moving-related pains in every other part of my body, so I'm signing off to do a load of laundry so that I can be ready for tonight's re-run of "Dead Like Me."
Who do I have to kill to get a disposable litterbox? I went to four stores today, and not a one was in sight. Fuck.
Went to Chipotle for dinner. There was some gal parked directly behind me (no one was around for quite a few spaces), and she suddenly backed up and went tearing out of the space in a hurry. I thought, "That bitch had better not have hit me." Sure enough, there are two big scratches under my license plate, where the bumper says "Sunfire." She had a new gray car with a black top, and it was a Virginia plate that had "DST4" at the beginning of it. May karma bite her in the ass for this one.
Only moved one huge load of crap to the new dwelling. Saw some ants and promptly went out and bought pesticide. Am thinking of taking the can of Raid to work and seeing if it really does kill all the pests in my life. :)
Michele points us toward this review of a new French bestseller that capitalizes on 9/11. Apparently it's a fictional book that depicts people who were trapped in the World Trade Centers fucking fast and furiously as their office buildings crumbled.
Most everything else written about the book is in French, so I'm just taking everyone's word for it. But I am disgusted nonetheless.
Shan and I talk often of 9/11, how it changed America. We wonder if there were two women, just like us, sitting together in one's office and chatting about their ideas and the freelance/personal businesses that they were destined to start together, when the planes hit. We wonder about all of the lost potential and the dreams that went no further than that hallowed ground. We wonder if that could have been us -- going through the motions of going to work every day until we could venture out on our own and really enjoy going to work again.
That's the real story of 9/11, if anyone were to do a fictional account. I feel that Beigbeder's torrid romance story spits on the ashen graves of so many thousands of people, and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the families who lost a loved one didn't either sue his ass or hunt him down and kill him.
I never ask for books to be banned, but I want this one to be. And put this twisted mofo in a burning building with every last copy of his book.
I am tired and sore, and do you think I have even made a significant dent in my moving process? *sigh*
I had my first dinner at my new place last night. Granted, it was from Chez Mickey's, but for a girl on a budget, it was fine for me. I bought all kinds of pop for when the big move happens, so we'll all have cold beverages to keep us from dehydrating as we drag my shit up my two flights of steps.
Dumbass (that's me, for those keeping score at home) wiped out a curb two days ago -- I have yellow streaks on both of my passenger-side tires and wheel covers. Of course that resulted in a nearly-deflated back tire yesterday (on which I've already spent $50 in patching twice before). Gaah! I took Samantha Jones to the gas station yet again and cried girly incompetence, and the mechanic felt bad for me and checked the tire that he's become altogether too familiar with. He filled it with air and sent me on my way with a reasurrance that I didn't do permanent damage. And he didn't charge me. Thanks, David, at the Mobil Station on Stevenson!!!
At any rate, onward ho. I have about a thousand books and CDs to haul today, although I might follow Tiff's lead and consider donating to charity my two dozen stuffed frogs that are living in my closet. One less box to haul, if nothing else. :)
Moved my first load to the new apartment. I was treated to a vomit-scented stairwell at my current abode, and an Eau de Fresh Dung aroma at the new place.
I'm glad I have another 15 days to make this move -- I have entirely too much crap. Friends keep asking what they can get me as a housewarming gift (let me point them toward my Amazon Wish List), but then again, do I really need more stuff?!?! < / shameless plug for gifts >
One thing that will NOT be on my wish list is Mariah Carey's rendition of Def Leppard's "Bringing on the Heartbreak." Sweet jesus on a pogo stick, bring on the earplugs!!!
At any rate, a Haunted Housewarming Soiree is on the horizon. I love my new balcony, and once I go back to Pittsburgh for my grill, there will be much meat consumption at my hacienda. :)
Don't get me wrong -- the apartment is perfect for me. But I've just made a major purchase (not to mention getting raped by Comcast for digital cable/internet when it comes on the 7th), so I feel kind of drained, both financially and emotionally.
I'm really tired. I was psyched about starting to move tonight, but I think I'm going to crash and just get an early start tomorrow. I just can't decide whether to cry or to laugh -- I know I'll be laughing soon, but I guess I'm really missing my family today. My mom never missed a move and always worked round-the-clock with me to get it done. Although, the poor woman always ended up helping me do the final cleaning of the apartment, as nearly all of my roomies in the past saw fit to take off and dump it on me because I actually cared about leaving the place in good shape.
At any rate, I just don't know what I would have done without my mom during those stressful times, but I guess I do know now ... I wish she were here. *sniff*
Well, I'm officially a tenant at my new abode. The place is immaculate and the carpet is brand-new (let's take this opportunity to admit that I already stained the carpet with an air freshener that must've melted in my trunk this morning -- purple spots o'plenty, but it smells like lilacs in there now!) I can't WAIT to start lugging carloads of crap there (as I've run out of boxes and patience so I would like to get my unpacked items there pronto).
The bad news comes from Sports Guy, who politely declined the job to my voice mail. He sounded sincere in that he feels he's missing an incredible opportunity to get to work with me, but alas, he got another offer -- from a daily newspaper -- which he thought would be the better choice for him.
Maybe it isn't bad news, though. Things happen for a reason -- maybe this is fate's way of kicking my ass and telling me that it's not too late to undo a screw-up.
1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings? 8 a.m. -- I usually get up around 6:30 a.m. but go back to sleep.
2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late? Not big on sleeping in, not even when I'm up till 3 a.m. My standard waking time on the weekends is always before 9 a.m., unless I've partied a bit, at which time, 1 p.m. sounds about right. :)
3. Aside from waking up, what is the first thing you do in the morning? Curse.
4. How long does it take to get ready for your day? About six hours. Just because I'm awake and functioning within an hour doesn't mean that I want to talk to, look at, listen to or just plain put up with stupidity. I need about four cups of coffee before I am fit to deal with others.
5. When possible, what is your favorite place to go for breakfast? Around here, I could give a rat's ass about breakfast places. But in Pittsburgh, I died over Pamela's and DeLuca's. And Eat 'n Park. And even ShittersRitter's.
Town Crier (everybody's favorite villain) just stopped by with a big stupid grin on her pointy little face. She sing-songed, "It's (Cruise Director's) birthday!" I just glared at her and said, "Um, yeah, I know." She still had that goofy smile and said, "All right then," and danced out.
Today brings a new month, a new apartment and eventually, a new life.
I'm signing my lease at 10:30 a.m., although I just got a panicked call from the apartment complex folks, asking why I hadn't come in yet. Turns out that they lost their appointment bookings and have simply been relying on people showing up as scheduled. I offered to come in earlier, but they said no. Oh well. As long as the place is neat and clean and ready for me to move in, I'm cool.
I am taking two things with me to commemorate my move: My friend Leslie had brought me back a gorgeous slate mirror from Ireland, which I typically keep above my silver jewelry armoire, and that's definitely coming with me today. I am also taking one of my big stuffed Garfield dolls (yes, Dave, the one sitting on the couch with Tinky Winky), and I have a scarf wrapped around the doll's neck that I picked up in New York.
At any rate, I just finished the world's most boring conversation with Demure's secretary. She does not stop. Sweet gal, but didn't she see me falling asleep during the hour that she had me cornered in my office? I came in at 7:30 a.m. for a reason, and I'm no farther along now than I was when I arrived. Gaaah! Luckily, my phone rang, and that ended that, or else she'd probably still be in here. :)
Raising the practice of wasting time & bandwidth in the nation's capital to soaring artistic heights, searching for sapience in a cesspool of despair, indulging an addiction for coffee & cigarettes and ranting about nothing in particular.
Send lovin' to: P.O. Box 9663
Alex., Va. 22304
goddessdawn AT gmail DOT com