Caterwauling

Just kidding — I can’t afford that brand yet!

Alternate entry title: ‘Wake me up when September ends’

I’ve never understood why we acknowledge “anniversaries” of epic, tragic events — whether worldwide or personal ones. Anniversaries should be celebrations of great things — marrying the right person, ending a war, stopping whatever desructive habit that keeps us from being greater beings who achieve greater things.

That said, September is an anniversary month for me, of sorts — this month last year, I quit two very bad habits. And both happened under auspicious circumstances — although admittedly, their absence brought more positive energy to my life. And today, I resolve to let go of the last piece of the puzzle so I can truly be free. So here it goes: Read the rest of this entry »

The usual six-minute drive apparently just isn’t long and superiorally FUN enough otherwise. *sigh* Construction on 395-North, kids. Be warned.

I’d spent a lovely evening in Mary-land and didn’t get to D.C. proper till 10 p.m.-ish. And with Bon Jovi and Sugarland coming on CMT’s “Crossroads” at 10:30 p.m., well, I was a bit late. But the night out was worth it and I’m sure the episode will air to death like everything else does.

My two least favorite Bon Jovi songs (*gasp*) are “It’s My Life” and “Wanted Dead or Alive.” Guess which ones they are performing? I didn’t vote for those!!! Oh well, I’m just waiting for Sept. 20 for when the “Have a Nice Day” CD ships — anything to give them some new songs to beat to fucking death. It’s the little things.

Aside: Bon Jovi’s gonna be at the MCI Center on Dec. 17. Who wants to come with?!?!

I am slightly fascinated by the chemistry between Jennifer and Jon. He recently said in an interview that he’s sick of sitting at home with his wife, as that’s what he’s been doing for two years. Hmm. Hey, if she can get him, good for her. I don’t normally go for blonds, but him, I’d do in a heartbeat. He doesn’t seem all that bright, but he’s pretty. Which explains most mens’ attraction to most women.

In other news, today wasn’t necessarily One of Those Days, but it sure had its moments.

I actually managed to sneak out for lunch (OK, a zip through a drive-thru). I was halfway back to the office when I decided to check said sandwich — yup, I order one widdle item, and it’s fucked. And I was in Just Enough of a mood to do a big, fat U-turn and go right back. When I went in, I was like, “Look, you guys have YET to get one single, solitary order right for me. I don’t mean to make a scene, but please humor me and either fix it or give me a refund.” They fixed it. And I won’t be going back there for a LONG while.

I also forgot my f’in cell phone at work. Like, I remembered it when I was already on the interstate. *boo, hiss* I did the world’s fastest circle and have it now. It’s not that I ever answer the damned thing — I just like to have it to ignore it.

Unrelated, when I’m not terrorizing highways and restaurant workers, I am patrolling the retail establishments. Recently, I was pondering a really cute LEI jeanskirt (like I don’t have 60 others to choose from at home) when some chick yelled over her shoulder at me, “You GO girl! Boys love them hoochie-mama skirts!”

How does one respond to that? Seriously. I could out-trash-talk anybody, but when I’m trying to ponder whether I can get my fat ass into said hoochie skirt without applying olive oil to my hips, I’m not altogether sociable. I did see the items in her hand, and it occurred to me after the fact that, had I said, “And those items shall make you look like a perfect whore yourself!” perhaps she might have even taken it as a compliment.

At last, however, I did pick out some scandalous underwear and felt MUCH better. Cures what ails ya, I say. Throw ‘em on the floor, and if they look good there, then they’re keepers. Trust!

I also had a Sep(w)hora odyssey the other day, too. My lips need some resuscitation, literally, and I was willing to spend Money on something to whip them back into shape.

And I found that No One would wait on me. Like, the hell?! I only got acknowledged after I’d put down my handful of shit and walked out. Meanwhile, I saw 12 sales associates fawning over this chick who said she’s going to be in a beauty pageant. Honey, unless she was competing in a drag show (or a horse race), I wasn’t going for it.

In any event, I know this entry is all over the f’ing place, but that’s the state of my mind. I don’t have any neutral thoughts tonight — just strong ones in opposite directions. It’s like when — for those of us who control the action in our dreams or are at least otherwise hyperaware of them — you know that it’s a toss-up whether you’re going to have a dream or a nightmare.

While of course we want the dream to prevail, ugly things happen to throw you off balance. And I don’t know why — believe me, I’ve got some unanswered questions submitted to the universe on this topic. Till then, I’ll just keep rooting for the good guys to win in the end and the good dreams to outnumber and, ultimately, overshadow the remainder. And I’m pretty sure tonight will be one of the better ones.

On iTunes: Michael Tolcher, “Sooner or Later”

Is it a sign that, when you have a sex dream, it’s time to get some?

When you’re going to go, um, *defile* a bathroom stall, wouldn’t it make sense to NOT put your e-mail printouts on the floor of said stall?

When you really want to stomp on someone’s head like a winery worker with a new batch of grapes, yet you instead choose to “kill them with kindness,” why don’t you actually get to *kill* them?

Is it wrong to have lascivious fantasies about most of the cast of “Reunion” and to hate the president even more (if it were possible) simply because his address last night meant the show wasn’t aired? (I watched “Sideways” instead.)

Why do people think that they can out-psycho me on the highways? Don’t they know that it’s the quiet ones for whom you have to watch out? I’d be Daisy Duke if her shorts of the same name wouldn’t fit me better as an anklet.

In this fabulous article on “When FEMA Met Katrina,” this gem caught my eye:

“(Michael Brown) does, however, cite among his exaggerated emergency preparedness credentials a stretch as assistant city manager in Edmond, Okla. His actual job was assistant to the city manager.” Editor’s note: Emphasis mine.

Fans of the American version of “The Office” might remember Dwight Schrute, the assistant to the company manager who tells everyone that he’s the assistant manager.

Perhaps Mr. Brown resigned because he was under the weather with a case of Count Choculitis. That, and he’s probably had to enter Witness Protection, although he does have a future on Season 2 of this beloved show.

From this month’s T-Shirt Hell newsletter:

“Kanye West said that President Bush doesn’t care about black people. I think this was an incredibly insensitive statement. It was especially hurtful to the hundreds of millions of other people the president doesn’t care about.”

*bwahahahahahaaaa*

And from the lovely Swirl-a-licious one, if the media says it, IT MUST BE TRUE!