Caterwauling

updated

Because I paid my rent, oh, five minutes late and even overpaid the late fee, I got an immediate-eviction notice. Can you tell me WHY they would give me an eviction notice … but with my RENT CREDIT scrawled at the top of it? Fucking idiots.

Bonaventure Realty, people. Public service announcement: Stay the hell away from them. Love and kisses from the bitch on the second floor with the cat who wipes her ass on the walls. 🙂 I hope the housing bubble bursts all over their faces, and no I will NOT pass them a tissue. Hah.

Adding to the morning’s auspicious start, I was coming off a ramp onto 395-North today and, as you local yokels know, if you don’t merge left, oh, IMMEDIATELY, you’re regaled to going right back off the highway ’cause you’re barreling toward the exit that’s about 10 inches from the ramp that put you ON the highway.

My dumb ass tried to generate good karma and let somebody in front of me so I could take their spot in the other lane. I did not count on an 18-wheeler FLOORING it and not letting me merge. *sigh* Guess who had to drive around fucking East Jabip to get back on course?

Oh, but wait — there’s more. A blood vessel in my right eye BROKE during all of this. This is my eye that twitches when my nerves are in overdrive, but alas, now it’s dry and sore and, um, RED. Hooray.

In better news, the troops at work have been coming up with many potential apartment sources for me. Although the one wonderful lad who asked his landlord about rental properties was told by said slumlord rather gleefully that they can charge any damn price they want because this area is in such high demand. Again, hooray. Something tells me the next place will cost me about $1,300, rats and mice included. 😉

Update
Here’s a list of things landlords can deduct from your security deposit when you move out. Me? I don’t get mine back, but given what the puddy tats have doneo to assault the place, I wouldn’t be surprised to get a bill. …

On iTunes: Black Lab, “Keep Myself Awake”

I think we should combine personal ads with “for rent” listings.

Face it, while we love most of our former roommates (I loved them all but the one I called “Salad Shitter” — the idiot who never bathed and who shat salad greens in the toily and couldn’t be bothered to flush twice when necessary. Well, come to think of it — nor did I love the wannabe drag queen who left dog shit everywhere and always hosted homeless, stinkin’ drag queens, letting them sleep on the floor while I was at work — the B.O. stench alone had me moving out within weeks. And I swear I left that place sans quite a few scandalous underthings. … OK, I’d better digress right now before I conjure up any other bad memories!), sometimes you’re too daggone old to live with others again.

And in my state of being forced to move, I am highly upset because I always hoped my next move would involve shacking up with someone. So, let’s turn getting fucked by your landlord into an opportunity to get fucked … and to possibly enjoy it! (Alas, it’s too much to ask that getting some and wanting some more from that person should go hand-in-hand. Or, something-in-something. Anyway. …)

Hence, the “For Rent Personals” — no lease, no contracts, no credit check. However, a trip to the free clinic is mandatory. They have an apartment in the part of town you want to inhabit, and voila! Instant concubine. If you have a home (or hole) to fill, sign up through your local City Paper and screen/interview potential live-ins. Forget movies-on-demand … get other, better things on demand AND get half your rent paid!!!

Seriously, my talents are being wasted in the “real” world. 😉

On iTunes: Portishead, “Roads”

WTF is UP with these gas prices?!?! Jesus H on a stick, I was at one of my favorite gas stations in Springfield, Va. (yes, I put MILES on the car just to get a cheaper rate) and actually watched the station workers CHANGE the price while I fueled my precious baby Samantha. Like — more than just a few cents. I had to check my receipt to make sure I was billed at the price advertised when I pulled in. Insanity!!!

Samantha, incidentally, is very mad at me because she is accustomed to being washed at least once a week, but Mama needs gas to feed her with, and making her all sparkly and shit is not altogether that high on the priority list anymore. She is angry and it shows, because she always drives better when she’s pretty.

I’ve decided that higher gas prices will be the new diet revolution sweeping the nation. Seriously, I left work late last night and I would normally have stopped somewhere for a drive-thru dinner — particularly because I never really do more than a vending machine lunch (ugh) and can’t always wait till I get home to seek nourishment.

(And besides, why have two — or, for that matter, ANY hands on the steering wheel when you’re going 90 mph? And don’t question me on my speed — the later I get out, the faster I drive. It evens out.)

In any event, I figured that the cashish I’d spend on some crappy cheeseburger and a drink would be better spent on cheap-ass, low-grade unleaded.

Seriously, if we’re going to be fighting this unnecessary war in Iraq, could we at least liquidate Saudi Arabia while we’re over there and send some oil-filled care packages home to the citizens who keep having to fund this insipid war? (And for you fundamentalists, no I do not believe we’re doing a “blood for oil” war. I’m just saying that we aren’t exactly philanthropists, wanting a peaceful world — we might as well take a souvenir or two in the form of a few thousand barrels of something special, eh?)

And speaking of being driven to distraction, why the hell is it easier to get a driver’s license than a green card in this city? Jimminy Christmas, this guy in a brand-new blue Honda with temporary Virginia tags was terrorizing the greater D.C. area on the Beltway today. I counted 17 times — SEVENTEEN — that he tried to swerve into the left lane with no turn signal. And he only seemed to do it WHEN A CAR WAS COMING. I refused to pass him because I didn’t want him lodged into my passenger-side door. Moron.

I did pass him at the Rockville/Bethesda split, and he was driving all granny-like, sitting all the way forward and sweating bullets. And I truly don’t mean this as horrible as it sounds, but sometimes it’s WAY easier to turn one’s head to see what eludes our peripheral vision if we don’t have the contents of our linen closet plopped on top of our noggins. Just saying — I’ve seen NASCAR drivers less wedged into their seats, helmets and all. …

On iTunes: Bon Jovi, “Have a Nice Day”

“Got a wife and kids in Baltimore, Jack
I went out for a ride and I never went back
…
I met her in a Kingstown bar
We fell in love I knew it had to end
We took what we had and we ripped it apart
Now here I am down in Kingstown again
…
Everybody needs a place to rest
Everybody wants to have a home
Don’t make no difference what nobody says
Ain’t nobody like to be alone
Everybody’s got a hungry heart.”

Springsteen lyrics done in homage to my beloved Bill. *mwah!*

Because tossing $20 in the gas tank every three days doesn’t hurt enough (Jesus H, $2.79/gallon?!?! Fuck!!!), I took my happy ass out for a ride today. Not an exotic one — certainly not to Baltimore — but in fact to the Kingstowne area of Alexandria because the cats needed litter and being in the ghetto Wallyworld there usually makes me feel so much better about my life.

And while I was out, I went to my favorite playground — not my favorite park, though, the one I abandoned to avoid some idiot who works there who officially garners the title of World’s Worst Date. But I went to the adjacent playground, where I love to hang out on the swingset. I swear, I have made nearly every major life decision on one of those things — it’s like my cure-all for whatever ails me.

Today it was too hot to swing toward the stars, but I did sort of hang upside down and let the blood (and hopefully some brilliant thoughts) dump into my head. And while I don’t know that I came to any major conclusions, I did get a semblance of a blog entry in my head.

The thing is, there are two types of people in this world. There are the people who, come hell or high water, do not give up on their dreams. They know what they want and they know they will reach them, sooner or later. The pictures in their heads might change throughout the years, but the images only get bigger, better, more vivid, more real. They are the people who — once they’ve reached the top of their respective games — others reminisce about, “Oh yeah, he never gave up on his dreams. She always knew this day would come. He never lost sight of his goals. She always had faith.”

The other type of people are the, “Fuck it, it’s never going to come. I’m just happy to survive without anything of significance happening in a day. This is as good as it gets — what’s the point of hoping for more? My luck, I’d lose what little I have.”

More often than not, I’ve found myself in the latter category. And if I don’t believe in me, who the hell else is going to?

The thing is, it pains me that losing one’s idealism is every bit considered a “rite of passage” just like losing one’s virginity. Both are probably equallly abysmal when they happen, and it’s impossible to get either one back.

Or is it? I mean, I’ve heard of people getting stitched up to regain the former (that’s called having more money than brains), but could we have some sort of theoretical surgical intervention to restore hope to our hearts?

‘You know, some of us are still on that dream trip.’
The quote above came from Savannah (Whitney Houston) in “Waiting to Exhale.” And one I don’t let get too far from my mind.

Nothing revives my convictions more than seeing and hearing people — with heads just as full of thoughts and dreams and desires as mine — being afraid to let their imaginations run amok. I mean, when you think about it, the super-successful people to whom I referred earlier got where they did because they had a plan. Sure, some people fall into their success and we all scratch our heads, wondering why they deserved it when the rest of us work so hard and seemingly get nowhere. But I’ve learned to not begrudge people any good fortune they may achieve — let them try to hang on to it, and we’ll see whether or not it should have ever found them in the first place.

For the rest of us, I assume some degree of success would challenge us to not only cling to it, but also to surpass it. I imagine it’s like getting high — you only really realize the pain of your humdrum existence when you come down. You want to score another sensation as soon as possible. Like, what if I actually finished one of the dozens of books that I’ve started writing throughout the years? Wouldn’t I just be racing to do it again — bigger and better the next time around?

And so, like there are two types of people, there are also two types of coping mechanisms. You can either take the randomless series of heartbreaks and conundrums that are peppered with occasional highs and turn them into inspiration, or you can wallow in your existential discontent and resign yourself to getting the occasional kicks if they happen to come. It’s the difference between pioneering your own path and not looking back or else sitting inert and waiting for life to happen to you.

The way I am looking at my life is this: Shit happens, whether I want it to or not. The universe is watching me to see how I handle it. And this whole pending move thing may actually be good for me. Why? Because I’ve been getting by, and that’s all. I’ve been so happy lately to survive that I’ve been afraid to make waves, lest I lose what I’ve fought and clawed to achieve thus far. But am I happy? For now, sure. But that’s because I’ve achieved the picture in my mind of what I wanted.

But I’ve got new pictures that I want to make into reality. That’s the thing with actual photographs — you always want to go back to however happy you looked on film at that particular moment. But with mental pictures, you want to be as happy as you seem in your own little fantasies.

And like I always say, my dreams are as good as anyone else’s — therefore, why shouldn’t I feel free to dream them? And not just when I’m down — I need to also dream while I’m happy because that will take them even further into the stratosphere. Because those are the best visions — when I’m happy, I want to find ways to prolong it … intensify it. Imagine not just feeling happy, but being happy.

With the pending move, I am hoping the hardship it temporarily brings will be like an investment into my future — my long-awaited, blissful future. Maybe I will move into the apartment or condo where I will live for the next few years (instead of moving every one to two years like I currently do). Maybe I will run into the love of my life in the same building or in the local grocery store there. Maybe my attitude will improve so much that I will make waves where and when they need to be made — and maybe I will be able to surf on those waves instead of being pummeled by them, like always seems to happen otherwise.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel at home — long enough to want to stay. Maybe if I can put down some roots, I can finally start to do some real growing. Maybe those books will come out of me in the right environment, and maybe all that has been eluding me thus far will finally know where to find me because I’m going to walk right up to it and announce that I’m in the neighborhood.

The universe positions us “just so.” We aren’t supposed to understand it until the time is right and all the puzzle pieces interlock — probably all at the same time. No matter how I’ve struggled to patch up all the holes in my heart, only for a leak to spring somewhere else while I wasn’t looking (like right now, as a matter of fact), maybe it’s the universe’s way of kicking me in the ass and making sure I’m not staying where I’m not supposed to.

All right, already, Let’s get this show on the road, then. And as a bonus, I won’t have to drive past the same places that used to bring me pain — a new start might be scary, but it also might just be what the doctor ordered to let me leave the dead, rotted-out piece of my heart behind so that new things can flourish in its place.

I look forward to the adventure. Not the move itself, of course, but to whatever is destined to follow. …

On iTunes: Minnie Driver, “Hungry Heart”

Although I did have fun with pulled quotes today. Girl’s gotta get her kicks somehow. 🙂 Not sure how those’ll translate for you newsreader-type visitors, tho.

I moved into this apartment two years ago yesterday. *memories* And of course, I’m still reeling over my pending eviction. Heh — I guess there’s no reason to even bother paying rent this month, as I might never get a chance to get a cashier’s check. (As they refused to cash my personal check — anything to get a late fee out of me. Fuckers.)

Seriously, who moves around Christmas? Rent specials are happening NOW. Not like I have two dimes to rub together, mind you. I don’t care how respectable a salary you are pulling in — in D.C., it evaporates. I mean, your first paycheck goes to rent alone. Alone! Second pay goes to bills, and maybe a little bit of funny money can be squeezed out for shopping and grocery-buying. It’s impossible to live alone and have good credit here — I quit paying my student loan three years ago when I arrived here, and I’ve pretty much given up on everything else. All hail the charge-off.

And even if I find a halfway decent place (aside: I LOVE my apartment now. Right size, right price, no pet fees, utilities included. Balcony where I am permitted to grill — most places won’t let you grill out on your own balcony!), how the hell am I going to get my crap there? Seriously, it’s 2005 — I should be able to teleport my happy ass as well as my furniture-related shit wherever I want it.

I’ll tell you what’s frosting my flakes most. It’s the fact that I fought SO HARD to keep this place when I wasn’t working. Every month was a toss-up as to whether I’d be locked out of this place (and would never get access to my stuff again). If Shan hadn’t paid my rent in January, I wouldn’t have been able to take my Dream Job when it popped up. Look, I’ve felt a lot of pain and cried many tears in this place, but it’s my bachelorette pad and, damn it, I just bought more shit to put in it!

That, and I really wanted to get out to Oregon for Christmas. And I wanted to do something really special for Mom’s birthday on Labor Day. I am just so fucking tired of life always being a big, fat ball of suck — I’m tired of my happiness being totally contingent on whether the universe is willing to afford me any.

*sigh*

I know to look at this as an opportunity. I know to be grateful that my neighbor wanted me to know it before the management springs it on us. I know that I’ve been a good tenant and they’re the ones losing out on me — they’re the ones burning bridges while they’re standing on them, not wanting to keep good residents around for when these places are renovated. Then again, we’re not exactly the affluent bunch — this community has been underpriced for the area, and with its immediate access to D.C. proper, they can easily double their revenues because people will pay it around here.

But what happens to those of us who can’t? Tough shit, of course. So now I am looking at leaving my beloved Virginia (ugh) and moving to Mary-Land (double-ugh). If that. I mean, I want to stay in the area. But you know me and my ever-pending existential crises — is this meant to poke me in the ass and go live in the Carolinas or Manhattan or even Oregon? Or should I go back to Pittsburgh?

Seriously, I am tired of trying to figure out life’s riddles right about now — I know I was given the lot in life that I have because I am the only one who can make it work. I have been positioned “just so” that I can either make miracles or sink to the bottom of the sea, and I know that I am perfectly capable of taking advantage of all the opportunities as well as suckage to make my life — and me — better.

Lach, I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to share what I’d said that you’d thought was so appropriate: “I guess I know we both have so many unresolved feelings and are trying so hard to not have regrets, but finding the time/ energy/ sanity/ money/ wherewithal to create even the most ordinary of miracles seems so elusive some days.”

I know the universe will help me when the time is right. It always does. I always find that “right” combination of time and place and companionship. And I’ll survive this. I’ve survived worse.

And when I live through this, I’ll be that much closer to earning the better things that are out there for me. Maybe, after all is said and done, they’ll just be in closer proximity so that I don’t have to work so hard to find them.

On iTunes: Portishead, “Scorn”

updated to include bad ’90s dance tunage

On iTunes: Mariah Carey, “We Belong Together (remix)”

I hate the new apartment management here. Let’s not talk about how they trashed my bathroom and left me to figure out how to fix what they broke while they were fixing something else. Let’s not think about how they’re turning off the water and a/c tomorrow at 7 a.m. when some of us WORK FROM HOME in the morning and will have to get up EVEN EARLIER to shower.

Let’s instead talk about common fucking courtesy.

Rent’s due by the fifth. I of course spend every waking moment in Maryland and completely forgot to pay rent on time. So I slid a check under the rental office door on Friday night (as those fuckers get to leave at five and my happy ass was NOT home at that time). That would be Aug. 5, mind you.

One of their lackeys actually left the check under my door today with a nasty note that they will NOT accept personal checks after the fifth and oh by the way calculate a 5 percent late fee and add it. HATE. They had it ALL WEEKEND and they leave it for me when I’m at work? HATE. DIE. ROT.

Guess what — somebody was about to bounce her account this pay period anyway (don’t cha hate it when there’s more month than money?). They’ll get their fucking money when I goddamned well feel like it because it’s not like I’m ever around when the BANK is open.

Not like the prior management was a joy. When I was freelancing and praying for checks to arrive (asking for them to arrive ON TIME was asking FAR too much), the company actually gave me an eviction notice even though I told them they’d have their rent AND the late fee on the 9th of the month instead of the 5th. HATE. Although they did let me slide by when the 6th was a SATURDAY. Sheesh.

And Comcast? Fucking STOP trying to telemarket to me on my CELL PHONE during PEAK hours! In fact, stop calling me. You want to get my attention? Leave me a video message. Until you figure out how, sit and spin. Love, Dawn.

No wonder my right eye will not stop twitching. But try finding a doctor who will do an agonizingly long new-patient visit on a Saturday. Ugh. …

On iTunes: Jaffa, “Be Nude, Baby”

And you’re all saying, “It took you this long? And only one problem? What the hell ever.”

I asked the Muse on the drive home to quit letting trees jump out in front of me when I’m speeding banish all Lexus vehicles from Earth give me an epiphany. Even just a small one — anything to serve as a sign that I’m either on the right course in life or else I’m in the vicinity.

Trusting the universe. Again.
And it came to me clear as day: I don’t trust the universe to do the right thing anymore. I am skeptical and scared and feel like I am helpless, just waiting for the hand of Fate to bitch-slap me whenever it feels like it and wondering how to dodge it next time that happens.

This from the girl who threw caution to the wind like she throws panties at Jon Bon Jovi at a rock concert (although the ass to which said panties belongs needs enough material that Mr. Bon Jovi would look like he was assaulted with a tarp or something). LOL

Anyway, I attempted to resolve to just dig the ride — the road is good right now. A little bumpy, but I seem to have gotten past the real turbulence that kicked in about a year ago. Dude, it’s been a YEAR since everything unraveled, give or take a few weeks. Holy shit.

And that’s the thing — back then, I assumed that the universe would provide. I knew I’d HAD IT with the way life was and that things had to get better. And let’s face it, far be it from me to lose my faith in serendipity — the world works in its own time, and it certainly isn’t in YOUR timeframe. But if you can somehow hang in there and fight with all your might and believe with all your heart, the carousel comes around again and picks you up after it unceremoniously tossed your ragged ass off of it.

But it’s not like taking back an asshole ex — we know full well to leave them in the gutter where we left them. But the universe really can make it up to us and lead us to where we need to be. Even if it’s not permanent because, alas, nothing really is. But if you’re committed to surviving, the universe wants you to end up thriving. I guess, though, before the latter can happen, we need to forgive the universe for its unconventional management methods.

The inspiration
When I get my nails done, I don’t really speak to anyone other than my manicurist Helen and another gal Tracy, who used to do Shan’s nails when she lived here. Other than that, all the technicians speak to each other in Vietnamese, and I am happy to zone the hell out and cry in the acrylics to the country music and easy-listening that’s on the radio.

But on Saturday, a gal started talking to me as our nails dried under the blacklight table. And I was riveted.

She was going to a Wedding of the Year on Sunday night and she was asking my advice on the toenail polish she was thinking about using for her pedicure (I talked her out of it). And I wished I could have talked her out of a major life decision she’d made, as that was what was eating away at her that she wanted to tell a perfect stranger (moi) about.

Before I proceed, let me extol this brilliant quote from Carrie Fisher in “When Harry Met Sally”:

“All I’m saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don’t get him first, somebody else will, and you’ll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband.”

The girl at the nail salon? Was attending the wedding of her lifemate … as he married somebody else.

*sigh*

I couldn’t believe she was attending it, quite honestly. But good for her, wanting to witness it — lord knows she sounded stunned and perfectly incredulous at the prospect of him. Getting married. To someone else.

Life lessons without the heartache
Y’all know I (sometimes painfully) put it “all out there” on this site. Even if I spare you the specifics, I share my life lessons because, well, I want to. Damn it. 😉 But it’s a treat for me to be able to learn from someone else’s existential crisis — I have enough scars of my own and am happy to grow without the growing pains.

The question, of course, is WTF was she thinking?!?! He’d asked her out. Repeatedly. She adored him. He adored her. His very-famous mother loved her. Her mom loved him. They were friends and very, very close, yet she never accepted a date from him. Said they worked together and it was totally unethical, in her view.

To which I finally got a word in edgewise. “Fuckin’ ethics. Look where they got you.”

I thought she was looking for sympathy, but I am more of a kick-you-in-the-ass type of person, especially when you’re telling me you’re 44 and want this guy and he wants you and you’re going to let what could very well be true love slip the hell away from you because you’re afraid of somebody finding out and/or disrupting your life.

She was cool about it, though — she said, “I KNOW!” in response. And she said her mother is constantly telling her that she needs to break up the couple, as he doesn’t seem happy and he seems disoriented by the speed of things, like he was railroaded into this marriage by Bridezilla.

She got called to go get her pedicure, so we bid farewell and I wished her luck. And don’t think I’m not hoping to be parked next to her at the salon again REAL soon to get the scoop. 😉

The moral
I’ve never been in love with someone at the same time that very same person was in love with me. I’m more familiar with one person loving more (and it hasn’t always been me) and/or somebody longing for someone else. Either that or one party realizing their feelings long before the other person, but by the time the other comes around or frees up their schedule, it’s too late to get onto the same page.

We lose a lot of time waiting for the “perfect” time/conditions for our dreams to come true. And while I do believe that there is a “right” time, I am starting to accept that the weather doesn’t always cooperate just because you want life to be a picnic. There might be ants or mosquitoes — and the “just so” people can’t suck it up and spray some Raid and go on with the show.

On the other hand, people like me are always on the lookout for signs — like, maybe the “right” conditions will present themselves. And maybe the gal at the salon was one of those people. But what I picked up about her was that she wasn’t willing to change the conditions or the climate to get rid of the mosquitoes. Silent suffering, while oh-so-noble, doesn’t change the outcome of anything. Continually hitting yourself with a fly swatter (i.e., kicking your own ass) hurts after awhile. When do we stop sulking and start making changes?

When do we stop fighting the course of the universe and trust that it’s choosing our fates less randomly than the songs on the iPod Shuffle and more strategically like a chess championship?

And so, by my own admission, I learned from this gal that I need to quit swimming upstream because I’m running out of steam, just fighting to pretty much stay in place. I remembered that one of my greatest characteristics is my adaptability — to juggle life’s curveballs and figure out when to duck or run away and when to close my eyes and catch them. And, whether or not to toss them elsewhere or keep them and run with them.

Whatever comes my way next, I will not be scared. I will not give up on it if it’s something I really want. I will not be afraid to bend because I haven’t been broken yet.

I will not look back and say, “I should’ve done (whatever) while I had the chance.”

I will not pretend to be happy in lieu of taking the wonderful opportunity to BE happy.

But I will hope for that gal and for all of us who might have (knowingly or not) missed out on something or someone special that something even better comes around that was worth the wait and worth the time previously spent without it/them.

On iTunes: Garth Brooks, “Unanswered Prayers”

Headbanging to heavy-metal music and being over 30? DON’T MIX.

And the more days that pass, the worse you feel. Oy, my aching neck. …

On iTunes: Quiet Riot, “Come On Feel the Noise”

Angie and Shawn, as usual, know how to throw a party. Their events are like a cross between “When in Rome …” and “Whatever happens in Vegas …” I got home at 4 a.m. 😉

Let’s see: Danced our asses off. Drank our asses off. Drowned in a sea of taffeta and mesh and fishnets. Shawn was so freaking perfect as Billy Idol. Probably the only not-tragically hip thing that happened was that the DJ didn’t play the half-hour of ’80s country music that Angie set up for the two of us. But the half-hour of hair metal? Seriously, I was in my GLORY.

In any event, Happy Birthday Angie!

On iTunes: Sly Fox, “Let’s Go All the Way”