Caterwauling

Editor’s note: This is the third installment of an occasional series of stuff that’s clogging my mind and I don’t have the ability and/or the balls to direct it to its intended recipient. See here and here for other historical hysteria.

• There are times when you frustrate the living shit out of me. And the only thing that keeps me from bopping you upside the head every time you’ve gotten me completely mystified is the undeniable fact that there is something about you that intrigues me.
• Go. AWAY. Seriously, bye. Do I need to send an engraved thank fuck-you card?
• God, I wish I knew how to read you sometimes. I don’t know how to (re)act so I just don’t at all.
• The amount of time I spend thinking about you is unnatural.
• I suggest you go to the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office and secure “half-assed apology^TM” and “I’m sorry, BUT^TM” for your exclusive, repetitious use. Oh, heh, too late — you already did.
• You would have been so good to me. And I treated you like you didn’t even exist. I feel bad for anything I did (or, more likely, that I didn’t do) that hurt you. I feel even worse that I couldn’t feel anything for you, because I really wanted to.
• I don’t feel safe knowing you’re out there.
• You inspire me.
• I hate you for walking away from me. If you disagreed with the path I was on, for God’s sake, why didn’t you fight harder for me? You told the world you missed me but then you silently walked away from me when I approached you on the street. You taught me my trick of people who’ve exhausted me becoming dead to me. Because I know I’m dead to you. And the feeling is mutual … now. By the by, I’m so glad you’re back in the old hometown again after some time away while I have moved on and am not going back. You can have the memories, and believe me, I know you won’t forget a thing.
• I miss you.

That’s all for this installment. Thanks for listening.

I’ve always said that when I’m 34, that’s going to be my year. And as of a month from today, that’s two years away (*barf*), so I’d better get myself in gear for that wondrous time.

I am not one to read books or sites for dating and relating advice, but I couldn’t help it when I got my Comcast installed on Sunday and my home page miraculously showed me this article called “Too Busy to Date?” I couldn’t help but read it.

Don’t get me wrong — it’s pretty much up there with all the other crap at which I turn up my nose. But then again, when it ever came to prioritizing my life, it always went work, then friends, then nothing left over for me. And most recently, I phased out friends because “commuting to work” suddenly began to eat away at my time and thus my energy. And while I do love my job and all, it can’t be the only reason I get out of bed in the morning.

The article tells singletons to calculate how much time per week we would invest in a relationship, then use that same amount of time being hot to trot.

Read the rest of this entry »

Well, crap. Now that I’ve moved, my all-moving-talk, all-the-time schtick is sort of over. The odyssey went well, although I am debating exchanging my new TV for a slightly smaller one rather than buying a new entertainment center. Believe me, I’ve had worse problems.

I think it’s a fine day to cop out of writing by sharing some of the latest tunage in heavy rotation in my world:

Trisha Yearwood, “Georgia Rain”
[audio:TrishaYearwood_GeorgiaRain.mp3]

Planet Funk, “Under the Rain”
[audio:PlanetFunk_UnderTheRain.mp3]

Keisha Cole, “Love”
[audio:KeishaCole_Love.mp3]

Kate Havnevik, “Unlike Me” (from “Grey’s Anatomy”)
[audio:KateHavnevik_UnlikeMe.mp3]

Leah Andreone, “Imagining You”
[audio:LeahAndreone_ImaginingYou.mp3]

Reader Poll Monday:

1. When is the last time you had a papercut?
Yesterday. My hands are so effed-up from moving that all I have to do is think about touching something and my paper-thin skin tears.

2. Would you rather have a 5 pound tumor on your face or a 50 pound tumor on your back, neither of which could ever be removed?
A 50-lb. tumor on my back? It’s not nice to talk about my ass that way.

3. What was the best part of your weekend?
Getting a wonderful sleep in my new apartment on my new 400-TC sheets. I slept 17 hours my first “night” there (at 4 p.m. Friday till the next morning).

It’s not overly quiet, as there’s this pesky little thing called the Metro that’s damn close by, but it didn’t bother me as much as I’d expected it would.

Actually, in addition to the loving slumber, I treated myself to a pedicure on Saturday. A half-hour in a vibrating chair for $20 plus tip? Seriously, everyone should give one to themselves as a moving gift.

4. Do you like peanut butter?
*~*heart*~* PB

5. List three foods you can’t stand.
I’d have to be in love with you or really trying to impress you if you serve me raw or half-cooked mushrooms. *twitch* Saute those bitches! And stuff them with shrimp or sausage!!! Other than that, I am easy. (Hey now, no comments from the peanut gallery!)

6. Did you make your bed this morning?
I always straighten it up and make sure the pillows are covered ’cause I will find kitty fur on them otherwise. And I’m already in the mad throes of allergy hell.

7. When it comes to handshakes, are you firm?
I try to be, but not always. My legs are much stronger — I can dole out a firmer kick in the ass than a handshake.

8. What was the most effective punishment for you as a kid?
A good, old-fashioned ass-whooping did wonders. Fuck these parents who won’t spank their ill-behaved hellions. I was in a store yesterday where these two kids kept hollering and the mother kept ignoring them. I almost beat HER before planning to set out on the demon spawn. If I have kids, I’m not above using corporal punishment if that means they will turn out civilized.

9. What is your favorite way to fix/eat potatoes?
Buying them — Five Guys fries with malt vinegar.

10. Ask me something.
Anybody out there psychic enough to know in which box I packed my sanity? Or did it fall out on the street somewhere?

On the first day of Christmas last day of moving, my aching ass gave to me. …

10 panic attacks
9 thousand boxes
8 hours sleeping (over four days)
7 cuts and bruises
6 parking tickets shattered glasses
5 broken nails …
4 -letter words (and plenty of them)
3 stubbed toes
2 bloodshot eyes
… And tons of clothes still left to bring!

Executive summary: I lived.

Detailed summary: Ask Maddie. She’s got it covered.