Caterwauling

So I was staying at a lavish little resort for the past week, and there were all sorts of amenities and such in the room, like a corkscrew. I bought a lovely bottle of 2004 Pinot Noir while I was there, and brought said bottle to my next (not too shabby) hotel. Problem is? This one doesn’t have a corkscrew in the room! FAIL.

Spent the day shopping. Oh, the bling this girl bought without batting an eye. It’s hard to buy clothes these days because they won’t fit for long (well, with the exception of this week — I keep joking that my diet has filed for divorce due to all the damn cheating I’ve done on him!), but even jewelry fitting is transient, as I managed to drop a ring size, too. Go figure.

But I did buy the cutest boots on earth, because they are awesome and I can’t find shit that I like when I’m at home. I was wearing capris with them in the store and I didn’t love how they looked. The salesgirl noticed the disapproval on my face and said they will look so cute with jeans. I laughed and said you know, there are two types of uniforms in Vegas: sweatsuits and high heels, or dresses and Uggs. And NOTHING in between.

I’m debating whether to go out tonight, since I spent my life savings already and I do have a jacuzzi in my suite, waiting for me. I already had a gloriously long, hot candlelit bath this morning (made better by a Witches Ball from LUSH) so my skin is dried out enough for now.

I’m sure I’ll roll down to the lobby for a drink at some point — I’m Internet-surfing after spending four fucking days trying to get the Verizon access card to work and after an hour on the phone with tech support at work on Friday (to no avail), I figured out the problem on my own just a minute ago). Anyway, I was wondering whether to try to get into the uber-exclusive club or whether to just find an open table at any number of the other bars that were empty when I walked by a few minutes ago.

OH! Speaking of exclusive (my ass) clubs, I bought dinner for my team at the breathtaking miX atop THE Hotel the other night to the tune of $1,000. Then two of us broke away and had a few drinks at Rum Jungle, which turns into a nightclub complete with cage dancers. Anyway, my friend and I were almost finished with our adult beverages when a server came over and rudely told us to leave the area. We were all, who the hell are you? And he said that we were sitting in the VIP area, which is a bottle-only space.

It was about to turn into a wine-glass-smashed-into-his-skull space, if I’d had my way about it. We weren’t even asked to order a bottle so we could stay — we were just told to move it elsewhere.

Now, I go to Rum Jungle about once a year. It’s usually packed to the gills. But not the night I was there. Shit, I could have counted the number of patrons on both hands and maybe a foot. B and I were taking up two seats in an otherwise-deserted space. I’m not kidding. B actually sent the little runt on his way and said to send over his manager, who swaggered over like he had a 10-foot dick. (Meanwhile, I was taller than this dude.)

So we pointed out that people weren’t exactly killing themselves to take our two seats. And, for the record, we only needed five more minutes and, if someone needed our seats in that time, we would be HAPPY to leave the club.

The manager threw his weight around for a minute and I was wishing B — at 6-foot-6-ish — would stand up and flick him in the forehead and send him flying across the club.

He did try one last-ditch, “This is a VIP area, so we need you to vacate it” schtick, but I said, you know, we just dropped a grand on dinner at the hotel so why are we NOT worthy of sitting on these stools for two more minutes? He declared, “We operate independently of the hotel so what you do elsewhere doesn’t affect our business.”

Fair enough, but fuck you, you stupid little snot. We did vacate and laughed very loudly as we counted the SIX people standing at the bar, NOT drinking bottles other than BEER BOTTLES. And of course, there was no line outside. SHOCKER.

We rolled down to the J-Pop Lounge and had a fine old time ordering drinks and being ALLOWED to enjoy them before rolling back to our respective hotels. I had a terrific night, but Jesus, I will NOT be going back to Rum Jungle EVER again!

Oh, how cute — housekeeping just came by to offer turndown service. I said no and she asked if I at least wanted the chocolates. Aw. I said no, as my ass has already partaken of a nummy crepe and a sugar-free chocolate mousse cake and that was QUITE enough diet-wrecking for one day. Although, that PALES in comparison to the past two days, when I ate all my points AND apparently everyone else’s in the vicinity!

Grand Canal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I wish I could say that being away has given me a chance to relax, clear my head and regain my long-since burned-out spark. Not so much. But I’m working on it.

I’ m having a great time, though, at an event I used to work at but now I’m allowed to simply hang and be just like the average attendee. It’s cool in that I get lunch breaks and can tool around in my flip-flops. The frequent phone-ringing and the near-continual beeping or vibrating of my phone every time I get an e-mail (1,000 in two days) is enough to drive me nuts, though. But there are worse things.

Being incognito is weird, since everyone else in the traveling circus knows me when they see me all spiffed up. Now that I’m lying low, people I have met no fewer than a half-dozen times say, “Nice to meet you” when I approach them and say it’s good to see them again.

Hunh?!?! I mean, I know I have MY groupies when I’m working the circuit (who are either absent or who haven’t found me yet), but now I’m nothing more than a groupie to people I’ve ridden in the clown car with for several years!

Oh well. At least I don’t HAVE to be nice or visible if I don’t want to be.

Had my first really awesome meal here last night. Met up with two old friends (I told you it’s a circuit!) for a crazy-good dinner of Asian fusion cuisine at a world-class resort. And someone else picked up the bill — always a sweet treat after an already amazing night.

*checks time on phone* Well, enough of a break. Gotta go get smarter, although I think entirely too much of this shit is over my head and I’ve got to do something to remedy that. We all know I hate not being the smartest person in the room, although I’ve held my own fairly well in any regard. ….

Weather’s Fine Here!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I couldn’t get into my iced-over car yesterday morning. Which would normally be fine but since I had a flight to catch, well, damn.

I tried everything. I could get into the trunk (which I’d just carefully packed with all my purple Nine West luggage, but the doors were soldered shut. I unpacked the trunk to see if I could crawl in through the backseat. But my too-loose jeans, unbelted so as to reduce my security-line hassles — kept falling off every time I tried to stick my foot into the trunk. So, FAIL there.

I was hopping around like a freaking Mexican jumping bean, as I wasn’t wearing a coat (as I was traveling to a warmer clime, as you can see in the photo. I was also pullin’ up mah pants every two minutes, in between yanking on both car doors with all my might. (I was able to get in through the passenger side. Whee.)

I did make my flight on time — and thank God, ’cause I missed the last two and I wasn’t going for a third strike here.

And how nice to go from iced-over vehicle to palm trees and 70-degree weather. Aaah, life is hard.

Of course I’m starting to get sick. Haven’t been ill in nearly a year but traveling with the unwashed masses has done me in. I tried to sweat it out on the treadmill last night, and then I parked my pudgy butt in the steam room to clear up my sinuses and soaked in the hot pool to get rid of all the body aches.

I do have to say that I blew my diet last night. I was happy to go to bed hungry, but I was dizzy from cold meds and sweating my ass off, so I walked to a neighboring hotel for cheap, fast food. (As this hotel only has overpriced, slow-to-get food.)

And when I got to my room to devour my delicious, delicious diet-busting food, the assholes in the adjoining suite were having a big, loud party. Did I mention big and loud?

My body clock was ticking that it was midnight and even Nyquil wasn’t knocking me out over their shrieking and smoking (on a nonsmoking floor), so I called security and they were all silent within 20 minutes and I got the best sleep of my life.

I’m trying to figure out what to do with myself today, as my conference really doesn’t get interesting for another couple of hours. I did buy a three-day pass to the spa, but I actually am all dressed/dolled up and don’t want to get all skunked, only to have to be presentable in short order. I just hope I have some time tonight to go park my ass in paradise and get my money’s worth.

I remember being here before and wishing I was in better shape so that I’d be confident about being in the spa. Well, 40 pounds lighter and yes, I am way more comfortable, but I still have a ways to go. I’m not sure I’ll be back here next year, since this was an unbudgeted treat, but I do hope to come back on my own and really feel like I rock.

I’m extraordinarily bummed that my planned travel companion couldn’t make it with me on this journey. Makes me wonder whether we’re ever going to make any magic happen, if the “easy” things like this can’t even come together. I still wonder whether I’ll be surprised, though. …

Oh, Jimi Hendrix would not be proud of that entry title.

I’ve decided to have my mail forwarded to my perch atop the clock tower. And all I want for Christmas is more ammo.

What can I say about this past week except that it is ovah? The most brilliant thing that came out of my mouth, after someone pissed me RIGHT the fuck off, was “If she were a rapper, her name would be T-Wat.”

I even attempted to pay said person some (albeit undeserved) thanks. Said individual took great pride in NOT doing the favor and making someone else, who had better things to do, do it.

But before we think Goddess ain’t happy, behold the Best Morning Ever. (Not to be confused with the show “Best Week Ever,” at least, not before its pre-sucking days.) I had the house to myself for the first time in 14 months. Fourteen months!

What did I do? I danced, I sang, I cooked, I hung out in my scandalous gutchies and I left my bedroom door open. Like a grown-up!

Am all dressed up and ready to go out now. Don’t want the memory of when I was happy (ah, more than 14 months ago) to be sullied any further.

But at least I remember. And it’s why I will never, ever give up hope of getting back to that feeling again.

You know what victory is? It’s wearing a vest that used to fit you perfectly — maybe even snugly, if you’re being honest with yourself — and putting it on to find that not only does it button, but once it’s buttoned, you can look down and see the FLOOR between you and the fabric.

In other words, w00t!

Am a half-pound away from being down 40 pounds. It was a good week, at least in the de-pudgification world. Maybe it was all the STRESS that did it to me — and it certainly wasn’t my proximity to the office Candy Corner, where last night’s dinner was a peppermint patty, five peanut M&Ms and three organic animal crackers. *sigh*

I’m going to have to miss the next two Weight Watchers meetings, although I may try to pick one up on an off-day to keep myself motivated.

Tonight we talked about Anchoring as a weight-loss tool. In other words, what is the thing that keeps you motivated, whether positive or negative?

Molly showed us a ring her parents bought her when she was halfway to her goal. And the ring is now too big, since she reached her goal.

(As for me, I’ve started wearing jewelry again — I have no fewer than 100 necklaces that I’d been ignoring that I suddenly can’t get enough of. And I’m wearing all my former-ring-finger-sized rings on my index and middle fingers and they’re STILL too loose. Yay!)

Our leader showed us a photo of himself at his biggest when he was in Italy two years ago. Not pretty.

As for me, I have two anchors, a positive and a negative. The negative is my corporate headshot. It’s awful. I can’t stand it. I hated it when I saw it but when someone offered to take another photo of me, I said, “What’s the point? I still look the same.”

And being down nearly 40 pounds, I’m ready to take another one, should opportunity arise. I mean, that I agreed to speak in front of a live audience AND a virtual one without even thinking to hesitate because of how I look, dude. Seriously. Wow. It didn’t even occur to me to think I wasn’t cute enough to be on camera.

And in that, maybe is the greater anchor — I am starting to see the person I was meant to be. I see what I want to look like, how I will look in a great pair of jeans, how small I will be when standing next to others, how I won’t automatically search for someone bigger in the room than me so that I feel a little bit better.

I was hugging a friend the other day, of the male variety. Someone who looked at me a couple of weeks ago, surprised, and mused, “You’re disappearing before our eyes.” I thought it was some existential reference to me being more scarce than usual, but it was a compliment.

And when I last saw him and hugged him, for the first time I realized I was smaller than him. (We were roughly the same size, maybe if only in my head but I think my perception wasn’t too far off.) And I LOVED it. I had that feeling of being small and protected and engulfed in a bear hug.

I mean, I hug my friends all the time, but to actually feel their arms going all the way around me? Wow. Just, wow.

OMG, that was a feeling that had been missing from my life for too damn long.

This is why I’ll be good when I’m nowhere near a meeting these coming two Tuesdays. I can’t explain it any better than that.

And just think, it’s only the beginning.