Caterwauling

Toes

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

O HAI, this was me, baking in the sun at the hotel pool yesterday after taking a nice long walk on the beach along the ocean.

Today, I am back in my cubicle with my back to the window, where it is snowing outside. Capital Weather says there could be a snow’ice storm through Wednesday. Mmm, joy.

I got an e-mail that the next National Blog Posting Month theme is “Want.” (It’s for February if anyone’s doing the daily theme posting.) I know I’m starting the theme a week early, but I want to have my toes back in a pool in the sun.

The neat thing about vacationing in sunnier climes is that people are so flippin’ nice. Except those who think that anorexic is the new black, because they don’t have the energy to try to smile past the Botox. But when you get to the airport, you’re back with all the rude a-holes from your city who are going to be on your plane back home.

What’s really fun about being a grown-up, since there’s so precious little these days that seems like a privilege to have achieved that status, is that we used to pile a ton of us into a hotel room to travel as cheaply as possible.

Now, when you travel with a buddy, you not only fly in from different cities, but you also get your own rooms. THAT is living, my friends. And if you’re lucky, as I was, you can hear your friend talking on their cell phone, three floors down, as they stand on their balcony while you’re catching the rays on your own.

Well, I got nuttin’ else to say today. Just hoping for a good week and that I can actually get my Tuesday nights back since I haven’t made it to Weight Watchers in quite some time. Of course, after all the eating I did during the past four days, this might be a good week to NOT kill myself to get across town to hop on the scale. …

Today’s Gemini horoscope, courtesy of Astrocenter.com:

Your fantasies could come true at this time, especially when it comes to relationships, Goddess. This could be the moment that you have always dreamed about, so get ready. … Remind yourself that all dreams can come true on a day like today.

Exciting stuff, I tell ya. And at a time when I’ve been saying that anything remotely resembling a love interest will do a lot in determining, well, everything right now, I wonder if the universe is throwing me a bone(r).

Speaking of things a girl dreams about (I meant love, not the boner. Keep it in your pants, people, and wash your hands before you touch your keyboard, K?), I am doing the Dick Cheney thing and will soon board a flight to an undisclosed location. One where the weather is about four times warmer than it is here in ol’ D.C.

I actually didn’t have to be awake at 3 a.m., but since a cat locked herself in a closet and I’ve been listening to her beat on the door (I thought she was outside of it) for the past hour, I’m up way earlier than planned.

Oh well. Sleep is overrated, yes? I’ll catch up on my Zs next week. Maybe. Till then, I hear there’s sand, sun and water in my future. And wine. What more could a girl need in life?

A lot more. But we’ll deal with that another day.

*goes poof*

“Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don’t care?”

– Pink, “Glitter in the Air“

Yes I Can (Eat This in One Sitting)

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

It’s funny when you live in Washington, D.C., or New York City — home to the biggest events in the country (inauguration and new year’s eve, respectively) — and if you talk to any local, we’ll say, “Pfft. Those are tourist events. I will remain FAR from the activities, thankyouverymuch.”

And it’s sad, really, because it’s Inauguration Weekend and I’m happily nestled in suburbia.

In an ideal world, everyone would stay the hell away from my fair city and all the locals like me would feel welcome and, well, not inconvenienced by everyone else who’s suddenly underfoot.

I’m the type who went to every single city event when I lived in Pittsburgh. But when I got to D.C., my love of crowds has dissipated. Severely. My patience is shorter than ever, and people are just ruder in general down here. Throw in a few hundred thousand out-of-towners who don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground, and I’ll emerge again around the time Punxsutawney Phil is dragged out of his little cave to see his television-light-induced shadow.

I missed the historic concert at the Lincoln Monument today, mostly because I HATE THIS FUCKING COLD WEATHER. I could have dealt with the crowds; just not with blue toes and because frostbite makes it damn near impossible to flip off those who so richly deserve it.

I opted to hang in Fairfax, Va., today, since all roads from Virginia to D.C. are shut off (or soon will be) and I figured Fairfax wouldn’t be hopping. Boy was I wrong there. I loaded up on groceries at Wegman’s, and I tell you, it’s almost easier to park at fucking Costco. But I’ve got enough groceries to last me till winter ends, so I won’t have to make that trek again anytime soon. Yay for cheap wine — it cost me $40 to buy two bottles of wine at the store near work, but down there the same two bottles cost $25. The hell?

Anyway, it was my reward for not re-starting the smoking habit. I’ve been cigarette-free for four weeks now, although I did find a broken half-smoke in my car the other day and I’m quite tempted to enjoy it. Especially right now while I’m watching the Steelers-Ravens game and those damn Ratbirds are catching up with mah team and that ain’t cool. We just totally dropped the ball and lost out on a touchdown. *heaving into paper bag*

I spent most of the day inside my head, wondering where I’m going to be at this time next year. I’m having a hard time making plans, because not having a plan has worked well for me. No expectations, no disappointments. But I feel like it’s time to have a plan. Ergo, it’s time to make one.

I don’t know if my roomie will ever be able to live on her own. She says she’s trying to get on her feet, but I don’t believe it. She says she’s out there, trying to get jobs. Really? When I’m home, she’s locked in her room, talking on the phone. Hard to pound the pavement from under your comforter.

She says she likes living in D.C. but she is always so fucking hurt that I don’t take her anywhere anymore. It’s partially a money thing, and partially an end-of-my-rope thing. I remember her friend’s dad, when we were all little, would throw us into the pool unexpectedly — forcing us to learn to swim. (OK, so he didn’t do it with me because she wouldn’t let him. How I wish she had — I never did learn.)

Anyway, I thought long and hard about it, and it seems like he threw her in the water, and she sits at the bottom of the pool — waiting to be rescued. Sometimes, I’ll swoop in and bring her to the surface to show her how awesome it is to see the light. (That is, I’ll get her out of the damn house, which is what she wants but refuses to do it herself.) But instead of making her want to fight her way out of the pool, she sinks back to the bottom and waits for the next time someone is nice enough to show her what’s above the surface.

She has all these things she says she wants to do, but lacks the initiative to go after them. I’m kind of the opposite — I don’t know WTF direction to go in, but I can just randomly go in any direction, on a whim. You’d think we’d be a good pair. Maybe if not for all the damn guilt trips. Who knows.

It’s such a time of hope in our city. You can just feel it — even though I’m not participating in the grand inauguration ceremonies, there’s a charge in the air. I mean, I know there’s change in the air. It’s inevitable. But the electricity within the city limits is downright amazing. I mean, if we could bottle/sell it, we could solve the energy crisis.

With all this impending change for our country, I’m looking at my life and feeling that, well, OK, what am I doing to keep up with the times?

Since I’ve been unwillingly and unwittingly thrust into the role of parenting the parent, I feel like I’ve got to make some choices this year. How do I get her out of the house to get a job and, more importantly, get a man to marry her and get her out of my hair? Do I have to go back to Pittsburgh or somewhere else that she’d actually get in the car and drive? Do I find a job in this economy that pays twice as much so I can pay for two apartments so I can get my peace of mind back?

Right now I’m looking at things like season tickets to the Nationals home games, a gym membership, concert tickets, vacations and all the other stuff that accompanies the first of a new year. Things to look forward to. Things that, if you don’t do it the moment you start thinking about it, fall by the wayside as the bills pile up and “you” time becomes a year-long April fool’s joke.

But there’s also a part of me that’s afraid to plan in advance. Because things don’t turn out the way you planned. That’s neither a positive or negative statement at this point.

I mean, case in point, I bought a very scandalous skivvy set today. I do that from time to time. Usually when I’m starting to talk to someone and I’ll have my “in case of emergency” scandalous duds. And I always feel like it’s because I plan ahead that these little flings go absolutely nowhere.

So today, I bought the set for me. I mean, of course it’s for me, but I mean it — this one is solely to make me happy. I even ripped off the tags, which I never do. And those suckers are soaking in Woolite as I type.

It’s time to rip the tags off of this life. I can’t return it — believe me, I’ve thought about it. I’ve been sort of handling it with care and not really living in it. I always catch the football and forget to run with it. (Go Steelers! Pittsburgh’s going to the Super Bowl!)

I don’t have any real direction or advice for myself at this point. As I get more comfortable in my own skin, maybe I’ll feel more at-home in my life, wherever it may lead. I just need to get up enough momentum to be able to carry the dead weight or somehow leave it behind me.

I don’t know if I can but I am sure as hell going to try.

When I left work at 10:30 p.m. last night (*sigh*), the plans I’d known better than to fully commit to had already started an hour earlier. So, what’s a girl to do on a fucked-up Friday night? How about taking a prescription refill to a 24-hour CVS Pharmacy? THAT’S always good for a laugh.

So my medicine is usually $20. But we switched insurance carriers, and I almost dropped dead on the spot when they charged me $80. I don’t care that I’m non-functional without these pills. (No, they’re not mind medication, just in case you’re asking. Because I know you are.)

But there ain’t no ‘script on the planet that’s worth that much money, so I left it there. Whee totally non-productive Friday night! Which means, whee gotta go back to the doc to see if there’s something my insurance DOES cover. And yes, I’ll buy the fucking $80 meds in the meantime. Luckily there’s a coupon on the Web site for $20 off. Now to just find a computer with a printer. …

In way better news, I spent the morning cleaning out the two top shelves in my closet. Which sounds like it would take 10 minutes but it involved me trying on no fewer than 30 pairs of jeans and jeanskirts. That’s all.

I work in corporate, buttoned-up America, so most of this shit has been collecting dust over the past four or five years. So I figured, OK, most of it is too big anyway, so it’s time to donate it. And besides, if I want to move when my lease is up (judging from my living situation, that’s debatable), I’d like to not have to carry the dead weight (speaking only of the clothing) to the next destination.

Well, I now have three full storage tubs filled with pants/skirts from my biggest size. That’s it — only one size is represented. And it probably only amounts to six clothing items but damn, that’s a lot of fabric per item.

Actually, I did come across some items from “the old days” — things I kept on hand after the last time I donated clothes that I had “outgrown.” (Sigh again.) And they fit! In fact, they fit better than they did when I left Pittsburgh for the wilds of D.C. in 2002.

Most of the skirts are too short, and many are too trendy for a gal of my advancing (middle) age. But day-um, to be able to twirl around in mah hoochie-wear again? Priceless.

Now, to just rent a crane to haul these denim circus tents to the nearest women’s shelter. …

I had one of those damn-near “Best Weekends Ever” because I spent it with my favorite person, me. The shackles to the house were released, and I was AWOL for 48 glorious hours.

And even though I like to say I go to church just because it springs me from the pokey for about an hour and a half, I do listen to what they have to say. Really. This week we talked about sharing the word and doing our part to expose more people to faith.

I had wanted to ask the person who invited me to church what made him say, “This girl clearly needs Jesus,” but too many people were around for me to have any type of serious discussion.

I had spent part of my Saturday listening to self-affirming CDs as I drove all over creation. Right now I’m into Louise Hay’s “You Can Heal Your Life,” and I’ve got all kinds of companion books/meditations to accompany the audiobook. And just as it always happens, I get myself full of self-acceptance and -love, and then I go to church and hear how I have to prioritize everyone else instead, and my little “I love and approve of myself unconditionally” balloon gets pricked.

Apparently a friend of my mom’s from Pittsburgh was in town this weekend, as her daughter is interviewing for a job in my old stomping grounds. (I would love to help her pick out the apartment she’s going to miss with all her heart and soul when her mother moves in with her one day!) But the friend didn’t call till after she was back home.

So, I took the bait and asked why. The answer was of course that it’s because I’m a terrible, mean, hateful, selfish and spiteful person. Well, not in those exact words. But close enough, as everyone figured I wouldn’t drop off the roommate with her friend. Because, you know, as I’ve been hearing for a year and a half, that it’s my responsibility to make these things happen. And handing someone a Metro farecard and wishing them luck still wouldn’t count as help.

For what it’s worth, I think her friend is an idiot and should have given her the choice of whether to try to meet up. I just hate it that the excuse would have been no because I’m the twat in the scenario who only thinks of herself and doesn’t want to spend her life playing chauffeur, landlady and otherwise angry whore.

I don’t think I’m the twat in this particular scenario. As I love and approve myself unconditionally, and all. Even though Jesus would be disappointed. *sigh*

I keep having strange dreams. There’s this douchebag from high school who always comes to me in dreams when I’m at my limit — he’s usually a sign that I’m in the right place at the right time. Sometimes he appears when I’m making a big change. I’d probably clock him over the head if I saw him in person, but I have to admit, his presence during my slumber is always peaceful and reassuring.

I just wonder why he’s appearing to me now. I could certainly use change, even on the small scale, if that’s what he’s conveying.

But I also had a dream about someone else last night. And it just confused the shit out of me. I just wish that if I resolve to stop dreaming about someone, that my subsconscious would comply. But then again, if it would, then I’d never get the comfort I seek from Dream Douchebag, would I now?