Caterwauling

Today, on iTunes:

Amber (Thunderpuss stripped mix), “Need to Be Naked”

Justin Timberlake, “Rock Your Body”

Kylie Minogue, “Give it to Me”

Amber (Thunderpuss remix), “Sexual”

Celine Dion (Hex Hector remix), “I Drove All Night”

Jennifer Lopez (Hex Hector remix), “Waiting for Tonight”

Madonna (Club Mix), “What it Feels Like for a Girl”

BT (Timo Maas mix), “Never Gonna Come Back Down”

One-Inch Punch, “Pretty Piece of Flesh”

Red Delicious, “Want Me”

Sarah McLachlan (Rabbit in the Moon mix), “Possession”

Tatu, “All the Things She Said”

Daft Punk, “Faster Better Harder Stronger”

Who da Funk, “Shiny Disco Balls”

Kylie Minogue, “Love Affair”

Yeah, I’m about ready to straddle anything that might walk by. 😉 So who wants a CD? lol

Last night was the first of six Nightclub Dancing lessons. And let’s just say it for the record, I suck! (Yeah, okay, I guess that wasn’t the first time I’ve ever uttered that phrase. Heh) I was barely two-stepping, but promenading? Oh forget it. I’m an editor, not a dancer.

It was an interesting mix of people in the class. Undoubtedly, Dave was the best dancer in our class of mostly men. And speaking of men, the class attracted quite an array of them. The girls were asked to change partners frequently, and while it was a lovely way to meet people (think of the sweetheart Mike who was my partner a few times, who was always courteous and took the blame upon himself for when we missed our steps), but then there was Onion-Breath Gary in the Dayglo-orange shirt, whose mouth was just above my poor nose. Anyone who knows me knows that I won’t go near an onion with a 10-foot pole, so that wasn’t pleasant. Not one bit. And then there was Debonair Gary, who smelled good and knew how to lead — he should’ve been an instructor himself. I can’t remember the names of the other two guys, but they were cool, if not slightly terrified at first.

I didn’t meet the other women. No need to. None of them really appeared to be anyone whom I’d be thrilled to be all chummy with and have Girls’ Night Out with, so I saved my energies and made sure to only introduce myself to the men.

At any rate, I will never get the damn promenade step. Perhaps my shoes — all clunky and comfy — were the culprit, but I wasn’t ready to be twirling around on the first night, either.

The instructor was cute and petite — I hope she ingests a triple-tier wedding cake between now and the time of the next class, because she weighs about as much as one of my ass cheeks. She’s all gliding around and twirling and shit, and it’s like, damn bitch — eat cake! Would it have been too much to ask for a 300-pound woman instructor who could make the rest of us feel a little more svelte and a little less gawky? Jeez.

At any rate, some of the folks who came to class were just drop-ins and weren’t signed up for the whole session like Dave and I are. I remember trying to coax one of the guys into coming back next week, but he was on the fence about it and probably barely heard me above his step-counting.

I didn’t realize that I was so thoroughly enjoying Mike’s company until Dave asked if I’d scored the boy’s digits. Heh. (That’s a big fat NO, by the way, for those keeping score!) But I must admit that I am way happy that I was the youngest and I suppose most attractive chick in attendance (not counting the 12-pound instructor), by my own standards, anyway, which is a good thing. The instructor, who’s actually the owner, encouraged us to bring friends — preferably female — next week. I’ll bet half of the guys drop off by then, and it will be a girl-on-girl dancing fiesta … but then again, that alone would bring the boys back!!!

I just realized something. Brat just crossed my mind for a second (damn iTunes and your songs that remind me of him! damn you to hell!), and I realized that, for as much as I wanted him once upon a time, I’d probably end up cheating on him. Seeing him for a fling put everything into a crystally clear perspective for me; well, not necessarily the fling, but the chilling out afterward. I realized that I could possibly find happiness with him, or I could possibly murder him in his sleep — but nothing in between. I even admitted to him that, before I saw him, I was prepared to kiss him or kill him. 🙂 Sure, I’d love to see him again at some point in the future, but I won’t turn blue waiting. And I know it would only be for a drunken night anyway. I guess he’s beyond the point of wanting or needing to impress me. I want that — I want someone who’s always trying to outrun me, to keep me entertained, to keep searching for my different pressure points (mentally, people — minds outta the gutter NOW!) and trying different combinations. Cerebral Twister, if you will.

With the music, I just had a flash of how much time I spent chasing after him and hurting because of him just a year ago. I don’t know — I just felt good around him — his eyes would sparkle toward me, and therefore, I would sparkle. He would walk beside me, and I’d feel him even if we were a foot apart. Perhaps because it were all so forbidden at the time, it was sweeter. I don’t know. I was really wondering what would happen this time … now that he invited me to be with him, now that the dizzy Romeo-and-Juliet forbiddenness were lifted, now that we were a year older and supposedly wiser.

What happened was that I was grown-up enough to know that this is as far as the ride goes, and this is where I get off. (pun intended) And that he’s got to either start building tracks toward me, or extend the tracks I might have left behind me. But alas, if intuition serves me correctly (and it always does), I’ve given this lone entry about as much thought as he’s given me since I left. I could be wrong, but I see no evidence to contradict the statement, either.

He’d make a great second husband for me — he’s stable and set in his ways and very much rooted to his family and friends. And while I love that in him, I need somebody to root himself with me (and preferably in me), someone who’s wild and wonderful and willing to take a chance on whatever-may-be. I gave Brat the opportunity to be that man — he has an open invitation to come down to D.C. whenever the mood strikes. Maybe it will be in a year-and-a-half, as he had joked it would be. Or maybe it will be sooner. My money’s on never, and I’m not a betting woman. But one thing I will bet on is that I am going to continue having fun and doing my thing without him. And they always come around. I can make lists of the men I’ve left behind who have sought me out whether weeks, months or even years down the road. I say that not with pride but with a general understanding. We want what we gave up, or we want what walked away from us. Whether they gave me the boot, or I just got tired of their (insert actions here), they come across a perfume, a photo, a memory of you, and they give you a call or an e-mail. It’s OK — I’ve been known to do that too. Maybe things can go back to where they were, but they rarely go to where they should have been. And that’s a hope I won’t let myself hold onto, for it’s a dream and only that.

J.O. from high school always said that the one who tamed me would be the one who keeps me. I agree 50 percent with that statement. On one hand, the one for whom I want to settle down had better be worth settling down for! But on the other hand, I want someone who loves me for my impulsivity and love of the serendipitous, and I want someone who enables that wanderlust. But maybe when you find the one who makes you want to surrender your wanderlust, that just means that you’ve found the point where your journey needs to merge with theirs, and your wanderlust turns spontaneously into direction. Maybe I can handle that. Someday. Just not today! 😉

*Off to find some dancin’ shoes!*

It’s a shitty day in the neighborhood. It went wrong from the first minute I awakened. I gave in to having a spotted cow early on and resigned myself to a hideous day. I was not disappointed, then, when the day just went to total hell in an Easter basket immediately thereafter and kept on trucking.

But the late afternoon has been looking up. I heard from my buddy Lori, and speaking of Easter baskets, my mom’s Easter package to me arrived a day late, but it got here anyway. Mmmm, raspberry truffle egg from Sarris Candies. Damn, I’ve missed having Sarris products in my local stores! This is the first year I haven’t had somebody at work harassing me to buy Sarris Candies for their kid’s soccer/baseball/cheerleading group. Bummer. Mom really does think of everything — including the earrings, perfumes and new Ani DiFranco CD she sent. Did I ever mention how much Mom rocks?

Well, dance classes begin this evening. At least they’ll get me outta this hellhole for an hour. 🙂

One always breathes a sigh of relief when her period comes. Lately, it’s few and far between when I have an opportunity to get some, but no matter how careful you are, you always wonder if this is going to be the time that you get *caught.* I didn’t think this would be the time, but I’ll admit to having wondered what the hell I’d do if … well, never mind. I’m off the hook again. But it’s a little sad, too. It’s not that I am all baby-happy and what not, but I think if ever I should find myself in the situation again, I’ll be ready this time to make a go of it.

I’ll be 29 next month. I think I just officially hit the snooze button on the biological clock for the first time. For now, the Easter basket is empty, and the proverbial rabbit isn’t dead yet. Here’s to hoping the eggs don’t expire anytime soon, ’cause I think Mom’s in for a long wait for grandmotherhood status!

Rejected headline: Jesus needs a new stained-glass window

Rejected headline 2: Cheaper than a movie, and about as entertaining

Okay, so I went to church today. The walls didn’t crumble or anything — no injuries to report, anyway. 😉 We sinners — John, Shan and I — arrived late, so we sat in the back (which is most helpful when trying to leave early, too. heh).

I don’t know. I guess I was expecting to be moved or something — maybe I figured I’d leave with a, “Yes! I am saved!” kind of feeling. That didn’t quite happen.

I can’t stand the singing part of church. I really can’t. And for the record, I do not sing along. I was pissed that I had to keep standing up, sitting down, bowing my head, standing up again, etc. etc. It’s hard work, trying to blend in with all the Christians, particularly those who are raising their hands and swaying to the music. For the first 20 minutes, I was ready to impale myself on a blunt object, were one handy.

But luckily, I found no way to end my life, and when a youngish preacher-man took the stage, I was kind of intrigued. He spoke to me. He didn’t whale us over the head with (too much) scripture. He spoke to the cynics and the once-a-year attendees and the people who came because a friend asked them to. He was basically like, look, here’s what happened — take it or leave it. He hoped we would take it and maybe come back and see him again sometime, but hey, it’s all in your own time, whether or not you ever come to believe as much as he does in the word and the almighty power beyond us.

He was much better than the chick who was presenting before him. Ever see the movie “Carrie”? This was the woman who played Sissy Spacek’s mom — no shit! Had the hair, the face, the build, the wardrobe. Talked just like her too. She was in her own world — I’m not really sure she noticed the rest of us. I was waiting for “Carrie” to burst into a side door and be all telekinetic and shit and have the walls collapse onto us. Egads.

I was thinking that it would be a great business opportunity to host a motivational speaker on Sunday mornings who doesn’t talk about religion — I bet you’d get a hell of a lot more people to come out of their holes to listen to a life sermon as opposed to a religious one. I liked hearing stories about people he’s met and the crazy things his young daughters do to make him scratch his head and wonder what motivates them. I liked hearing that I’m not the only asshole who hates working for a living, that I’m not the only person who wonders why people just can’t act right and not harm others, that I’m not the only person who hurts and has needs that are simmering in the background while trying to juggle whatever is boiling over on the front burners. That was the best part of the service for me.

The worst part, of course, was the collecting of the offering. They sent around like 10 guys with tophats or some shit like that, collecting our money “in the name of Jesus” about an hour before the service even ended. I was rude and leaned over to Shan to ask, “What are we contributing to? Does Jesus need a new stained-glass window?” I mean, really. Tell it like it is and say, hey, it costs a lot to keep a church lookin’ all spiffy and new — if ya want to contribute a coupla bucks so that the entertainment remains free for the po’ and that your pews still hold your ass above the ground without cracking, throw us a fiver, fer cripes’ sake!

Ahem. Honesty probably wouldn’t be the best approach, if you’re letting me be in charge of truth in advertising!

At any rate, one of the phrases the young (okay, and let’s face it, hot) preacher-man said that stuck with me today was “childlike faith.” I suppose the context was to approach spirituality without the jadedness that we all acquire at some point in time — the, “Hey, is anybody out there really looking out for me?” wondrement. Boyfriend had a point there. I walked into that church as an agnostic, and while I left the same way, I wondered how religion really has lasted all these centuries — people really believe in this stuff, and their faith seems so unshaken — like of course there’s a heaven, and of course we will get to hobnob with the holy ghost someday.

I had no faith as a child. My great-great-aunt Annie was a nun, and after devoting a significant portion of her life to the catholic cult — I mean, church — she ended up blind and with a son who went all PTSD after serving in the Vietnam war. They lived in a converted garage in a not-so-fabulous neighborhood. Annie’s sister, my great-grandmother Anastasia, was told to never return to the catholic cult because she divorced and didn’t want to promise that she’d never remarry (and she never did remarry, sadly). Her youngest son also died as an infant. My grandmother Rose (Anastasia’s daughter) outlived the whole family and died of about 10 types of cancers, a handful of strokes and respiratory and renal failure. At some point, Rose told me that, if I was going to worship anything, I should worship money, because that’s the only thing that can fix — or at least ease — the problems we all faced. Jesus loves you and all, but the Pennsylvania Lottery pays off now.

Of course, be it known that, during her final weeks, my grandmother did start to re-think her faith, and we buried her with her Aunt Annie’s rosary. But that’s the thing I was discussing with Scott last night at Shawn’s kickass cookout — those who are closest to the grave or the electric chair seem to be the most impassioned about religion. A priest or preacher-man or whomever can give you last rites and absolve all the shit you’ve done in one sentence. And of course, I can go on for days, debating about what is, in fact, a sin and what is not. But I’ll digress before I even get started. 😉

So I never had childlike faith … at least, not in the holy gang. But I live in a time so far removed from when that stuff supposedly happened, too, that it seems infathomable. Who would nail a guy to a cross who fed a village? (Other than Saddam Hussein, I mean.) Who would fuck with god’s child? He can rule the playground, as far as I’m concerned, if he’s proving what he’s worth and using his powers for good. My childlike faith was always put into myself and my family — they were real, and if that’s what it means to have god’s presence in your life, then I can handle that, I suppose. But it’s a lot to digest in a 90-minute service in a church that’s worth about 90 times my annual income.

At any rate, the most memorable part of the service for me was when John fell asleep and Shan nudged him awake. He tried to play it off, and he pointed to the passage he was supposedly reading. The passage said something about needing to be awakened. Heh. Priceless!

We went to brunch at Mango Mike’s afterward. w00t! Praise the lord for the bounty of freshly made waffles, eggs benedict and sausage upon sausage galore that we ingested. It’s been a helluva long time since I’ve had salmon and caviar too, so that was my own little Easter miracle. Yeah, my priorities are screwed up, but it was a happy lil holiday for me. I may be in a strange land that’s far away from home, but between yesterday and today, I spent it in a wonderful way with some wonderful folks.

This is my first holiday away from my family. It’s strange but OK, but I am missing them today.

But when I think about it, my family is all around the world. The only blood relatives I have are my mom and grandfather, as well as a handful of cousins in Ohio and Pittsburgh, but I’m not really close to any of them. I find that I am closer to people in the Blogosphere — people I’ve never even met — than I am to my extended family. So family isn’t always what you’re born with, but what you find and keep.

I suppose I have risked alienating a few of my nearest and dearest friends with my recent posting on my close friendship with Shan, and the reaction from some wasn’t something I really saw coming. For that, I have to apologize, because I never intended to discount the special relationships that I have with so many others. Part of what even inspired that post was the fact that she, knowing I’d be alone on Easter Sunday, refused to let me spend the day by myself. And even as I contemplate moving — whether this fall or even next year — I realize that I can’t go too far away from Alexandria, because I love having her only two streets away.

I don’t write much about her, even though we are together seven days a week, and that was my one homage to the friendship we’ve worked so hard to build … one of the few good things that has resulted from a strenuous workplace environment that drains the life from both of us on too many occasions.

But, admittedly, I was remiss in not acknowledging quite a few people who willingly stay in my realm of insanity and, for some reason, actually love being a part of my world — even when they’re halfway across the physical world from me.

So today, millions of Christians are celebrating rebirth and renewal in the religious sense, and today, I will honor that spirit of renewal in my own aesthetic sense. Today I remind myself that, when I feel lost and confused and out-of-control, I have support systems that reach farther and so much deeper than the boundaries of my cell phone’s Nationwide Network. And not just farther, but closer as well. It’s easy, when you’re a new kid in a new city that’s three times the size of your homeland, to feel alone and even detached from the support systems you’d previously had in place. And even though almost everyone you love is in different ZIP Codes, area codes and even country codes, that doesn’t change the fact that you all love each other just as much as you did when you were all still living in the same cities, crying on the same pillows and laughing in the same bars together.

And I meant what I said before about relationships being fixable, if there was something there worth saving in the first place. We all say and do things that will hurt people in ways we never anticipated, but the most honest of intentions will always shine through. We hope, anyway. 🙂

So I have some hard work to do in this area, and I’m sure a lot of others are realizing the same thing. At any rate, Happy Bunny Day, Passover, Easter, Hangover … whatever it is you’re celebrating today or this month, and thank you for attending the lesson of today’s sermon, “Appreciate What You Have … And Let Everyone Know It.”

I am in my hallway at work, and I am realizing that I am all by myself.

The office next to me is empty; the office diagonal from me is empty. The customer service reps, located just outside my office, moved upstairs today. It has never been so quiet or so dormant here … and I love it!

I have so much work to do this weekend, but I’m going to squeeze in a favor for Shan tomorrow, and then she and I are going to do a church-and-brunch thang on Sunday. Yes, I’m going to church. Sweet Jesus, what is this world coming to? Maybe they’ll give me a swig of wine or something, to make up for the pain. I swear, the place’ll burn down when I walk in — shall I just bring my Scarlet A so I can spare them the trouble of finding one for me? lol

1. Who is your favorite celebrity?

I was amused by Al Gore in his day — I have a soft spot for nerdy guys who try too hard. Monica Lewinsky, too, because I’m still puzzled over how — if a cigar were truly inserted into her pink parts — it didn’t disintegrate a little bit in there. Did they leave the wrapper on it?

2. Who is your least favorite?

I cringe when I see any or all of the Beastie Boys when they approach a microphone. You know you’re going to be treated to incoherent opinions about whatever world situation is happening in that particular year. I think they only make records now so that they can go on MTV and music award shows to spew their stupidity.

3. Have you ever met or seen any celebrities in real life?

Oh, yeah — B-list all the way, baby! Scott Baio, Kip Winger, Christopher Knight. All were hot in person, though, so that *almost* made it a serious occasion. If you want to call David Satcher a celebrity (as he was/is a national leader), then add him to the list. And Shan and I were in an elevator with Janet Reno, so that counts, right? 😉

4. Would you want to be famous? Why or why not?

Absolutely. But I would want to be lauded for whatever talent I were sharing with the world, rather than wanting the *celebrity life.* (Okay, of course I’d want the mansion in Malibu, and the vacation home in Paris, and of course the twice-yearly vacations to the Bahamas and the Alps. …)

I, for one, would NOT be like these brain-dead celebs who insist on sharing their political and social opinions with the world, whenever they take to the stage. Like I tell my friends and potential love interests — show me, don’t tell me. If you’re concerned about starving children, do your part to feed them. If you’re against the war, use your influence to get an appointment with the President and let your voice be heard, or just go crawl in your hole and shut the hell up. I know it’s a cliche, but you can support your troops even if not the war itself. Give away some autographed items — they’re more valuable than your opinion anyday.

5. If you had to trade places with a celebrity for a day, who would you choose and why?

I’m not a stargazer, by any means. Translation: I admire some famous people for their talent, but I passed the point of hero worship when I pulled down all my hair-metal posters from my teen-age bedroom. Although if I were hard-pressed to provide an answer, I’d be Tiffani-Amber Thiessen, ’cause she’s hot. 🙂

Just had a long conversation with Shan. I’ll spare the details and give the quick summary of what we both discovered.

Friendship is hard. My fifth-grade teacher once told us that, if you can look back on your life and identify two good friends, we should consider ourselves to be damn lucky. Almost 20 years later, I still hold those words close to me. I’ve had dozens upon dozens of friends, and each have served a purpose in my life in some way. Some were people to lean on for support, some were drinking buddies, some were there solely to keep my spirits up during a crazy period in my life, and some … well, I was the one there for them, serving whatever purpose they needed me for.

But I’ve found in Shan an honest-to-goodness, bona-fide, there-through-the-good-and-bad kind of friend that I don’t know that I’ve ever had the good fortune to have in my life. We can be businesslike, personal, goofy, sad, ecstatic and serious together, oftentimes all in the same sitting. 🙂 She often compares friendship to a bank account — everyone has to make deposits equally and withdraw equally, or the account goes bankrupt. It reminds me of the lesson I learned (in a previous entry) from watching “Married by America.” You really can’t do all the work or all the depositing, then have little or nothing left for yourself when it’s your time to dip into the well for some support. In that case, it shouldn’t have been a joint account in the first place.

I’ve had so many friends come and go in my life. I used to have dozens of people to call whenever I needed anything, but I’ve never had one person to call when I need everything. And now I do. And while I love everyone who has touched my life in some way, I’ve never really had a *best friend* before, not like this. Before I go into sappiness and sweetness and violins and shit, I’ll quit while I’m ahead. 🙂 But I won’t quit before saying that I love having Shan in my life. We’re equals. We have a lot of similar experiences and points of view, and when one person’s having a difficult time, the other one always comes in to save the day — whether with advice, ice cream, sympathy or simply a shoulder to cry on. I’d take a bullet for her, if I needed to. And I don’t doubt for a second that she’d do that for me. She loves me when I’m fiesty and fiery and moving 100 miles an hour on adrenaline, and she’s there when whatever is going on in my life has damn near paralyzed me with fear or sadness or temporary insanity. Fair weather friends, we are not. The bank account is always full-to-overflowing, and I can’t imagine who I would be without her.

She says I’m a lot different now than when I met her, and I had to explain that we met during one of the roughest times of my life. Everything was so out of control then. I had no money, no hope, no real authority at work, and no satisfaction with my living situation. I was unhappy everywhere I went, and I had no resources to get me out of that funk. Now, I’m making a little more money, I’m happier at home, and if I really want to get away from everything, I can actually afford to go out and have a good time, to lift my spirits. This is the Dawn I used to be. I’m not out of control anymore — I have regained my mastery of my own fate. I suppose it was always somewhat within my control, but I suppose I have relearned my old way of coping, which was to make change when things were going wrong. I can and have made a lot of progress during the past four months, and I’ve done it on my own terms. I can walk away and not look back with guilt. I can appreciate situations for what they’re worth, and I can either use them to my advantage or learn the lesson from the situation and move forward without any doubts. I can, in fact, survive, and I will. I’ll just do it now with the love and support of a truly wonderful friend, and that is what is really helping me to be the person I used to be.

That’s not to say that broken relationships can’t be mended. I just don’t have to wait around for things to fix themselves, nor do I have to get frustrated and just fix everything myself. Granted, I still have a lot of things I want and need to do to further ensure my happiness, but right now, things really aren’t that bad. Not bad at all. And that is the best feeling in the world.