Caterwauling

Well, Hurricane Dawn has officially made landfall in South Florida. My girl Vitamin D had forwarded me a news story that a milder hurricane season is predicted this year. Heh. Apparently no one alerted AccuWeather to my arrival.

Land, ho!

I have about 17 million stories to tell. Which my beloveds on Twitter have had to endure. So I’ll spare the details and say it was a relatively smooth move. There, that’s simple and truthful, yes?

The CliffsNotes version, however, is that the movers came Friday morning and told me the furniture would be in South Florida on Monday morning. MONDAY MORNING. Christ. The original estimate was WAY later. And while the extra time to get acclimated to my new environment has been beautiful, I might have lost out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

OK, so everyone knows the Extended Houseguest drives me batty. And that for a portion of the time between my interview and offer and subsequent resignation from the ranch (think late January through mid-March), the EH said she was going to stay put in D.C. OMG, I had so much hope. I was thrilled. I knew better than to believe it, but hey, I don’t turn down hope when it happens.

So as she was spending the last week before the truck came, cooking and baking for her new colleagues instead of, oh, PACKING, she came to ask me if I could delay the truck’s arrival. The truck I had reserved on Feb. 11 to come on March 20. *kick*

It was partially that she didn’t have time to finish packing, for one, and two, she felt like she was going to find a place to live locally — that the right person was going to answer her ad.

Well, OK, the moving truck came at 8 a.m. Friday, yes? She put an ad in the paper on fucking TUESDAY NIGHT. And son of a MOTHERFUCKING bitch, she got a call on SATURDAY from a grandmother raising a granddaughter who was willing to take her offer to cook and clean and pay a small amount — way below the D.C. market rate for renting a room.

She wasn’t going to call back, but I begged her to. And it sounded just lovely. The woman wanted to meet her for lunch on Sunday.

Trouble was, I was leaving Sunday morning. And even though the palace is paid for through the 4th — whereupon I’d begged her to at least stay at her job and mosey down after I’d gotten settled — she insisted on coming with. I begged her to at least do lunch with the lady, but she wouldn’t because her shit was already on my moving truck.

Gah. Do you know how much I would have GLADLY paid to send the truck straight back to D.C. with her stuff? Money ain’t nothing but a number, in that case. Sure, I’ve blown my life savings in this epic adventure, but instead of buying the iMac that I’ve been saving up for, for two years now, that could have been my one-way (three-way?) ticket to sanity.

She wanted to follow me to Florida, all 1,000-plus miles. Because she was afraid to do the drive alone. Now, I’m someone who LOVES to drive long-distance, but not when I have someone either tailing me or failing to match my speed.

PLUS, because she kept falling asleep at the wheel (because I didn’t give her any extra days to pack. Because I HAD to drive Sunday. Because of the other 35 reasons of something that I supposedly did), she insisted on driving in front of me for much of the trip. So when the rest of the highway was going 85, she was doing 60. So I’d pass her and then she’d floor it and cut me off. Grrr.

So anyway, here we are, and the same patterns are emerging. I couldn’t go anywhere in D.C. without her because she was too scared to get out and learn the area. So she’d sit home all day if I wasn’t driving. She’d go without eating if I wasn’t paying. And I don’t type all of this to put her down — I know what it’s like to have nothing. But she CHOSE to leave her job and leave a great living opportunity. She CHOSE to drive exhausted.

Oh, one more story. To break up the drive, I rented a hotel room in Savannah on Sunday night. We got there late and I wanted to leave early. I could hear her kvetching on the cell phone/plan that I paid for to her friends about me, not that I cared, but still. She was whining about why I needed to be up so early. To make it to the fucking rental office before it fucking closed, if that’s OK with you. Gah. Who’s the one organizing/footing this trip? No questioning the master here. NONE.

So she fell asleep pretty quickly. She had put on the TV and gone into a coma, so I figured she wanted to sleep with it on. So I grabbed the remote, turned on “The Soup,” and went into my own la-la land for an hour.

Until …

OK, so she’s a Pittsburgh girl. And has these metal hair rollers that were made before I was born in ’74.

AND SHE STARTED CURLING HER FUCKING HAIR AT GODDAMNED 1 A.M. IN THE LITTLE FUCKING HOTEL ROOM WE SHARED. IN FRONT OF MY BED. AND WAS PUMPING OUT CLOUDS OF HAIRSPRAY.

I woke up, pissed to death. She said she couldn’t sleep with the TV and couldn’t turn it off because I had the remote in my bed somewhere. I said, No. 1, you could have awakened me. Or, No. 2, DID YOU NOT SEE THE BIG FAT FUCKING “POWER” BUTTON ON THE TV?!?!?!

Well, guess who didn’t sleep the rest of the night. This guy!

Yaaarrrrrrr.

Well, she also said that I’d TOLD her to be ready early. So she was just trying to be up and at ‘em for when I wanted to leave.

Always my fault. I refuse to accept it and SAY that repeatedly. But yeah, she honestly has no idea why I’m so freaking through with this shit. She will, however, GLADLY tell you how mean I am.

Speaking of shit, er, piss, Maddie had pissed up her cage during the Arlington, Va., to Savannah drive. (And Maddie got to roam around the car for seven hours on Monday from Savannah to Miami; she was a fixture in my rearview mirror as she watched the traffic go by.)

In Arlington, Tom and Tiff had given us a lovely send-off brunch at the Boulevard Woodgrill. Which was so fitting. I’d moved to D.C. with Tiff seven years ago and that was one of our first favorite restaurants. Now for her and her awesome husband to take me there one last time to send me on my way was nothing short of appropriate. Life has come full circle — at least, my life in D.C.

I lost mom on the way there. (Yes!) She couldn’t keep up with me from the get-go; I lost my shit and told her again why I thought it was a bad idea for her to travel with me. But she doesn’t listen. Which is why I keep reminding her that she’s in the guest room and that she can decorate her own place when she gets one. But I digress.

But yeah, I took her out twice here (tonight was a third; I finally got cable and had to miss out because she was up my ASS about taking her. I can’t do the fight more than 15 times in a day) and now she refuses to go out on her own.

This is the only vacation time I’ve had in years, you know? Dragging her everywhere I want to go just sucks.

And I am happy to sit on my ass and tell her to go out her damn self, but she resurfaces every 45 minutes to ask again if I will take her out. And every time, I say your car works; use it. I will even write directions for you. Just LEAVE.

And as I sat in the house last night because I was not going to entertain her (and I’m running super-low on cash for feeding two). Seriously. I miss the days when my roommates paid bills and rent and also had cars or bus passes and would do their own fucking thing. I can’t take another minute of this shit, especially not knowing that she could have stayed in D.C. and had a place to live and did NOT have to haunt me here when I’m trying to start my new life.

Well, fuck everybody; I’m going to the damn beach tomorrow. I know she’s been begging me to take her to the beach; I showed her how easy it is to get there. Make a right, follow the street till it hits the ocean, and turn left. How much fucking EASIER can it get?

I know a lot of people are praying/rooting for me, and I wouldn’t have made it this far without all of you. And when my guest room is freed up, anyone who wants to come and hang out had better do so. And if any of you want to hang out longer and are willing to split some bills, I’m totally up for negotiating!

The purse contents of a shameless hussy

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I don’t know if it’s that I’m between jobs or that I actually had some mind-blowing action this week, but my Twitter feed today is reading like something out of, well, a novel that I would write!

Today was moving day. My shit is now en route to Florida. I slept 90 minutes last night after no sleep Wednesday night. (But for more-interesting reasons, natch.) And hallelujah, I was ready when the movers got here at the dot of eight.

I had a nervous breakdown, at least in my head, when they said my shit will be delivered Monday. Um, I was planning to start driving on Monday. START DRIVING. As in, arrive Wednesday to be there for Thursday, the date of the original estimate. Since it took a fucking WEEK for my shit to get from Pittsburgh to D.C. (400 miles) and, holy crap, it is only taking two fucking days to go 1,000-ish miles from D.C. to Miami. LORD.

My breakdown came in the form of, “How will I see all the friends I’ve made plans with?” In particular, the last person I was planning to see on my way out. I’m not saying any goodbyes, but I’ve got to get my “see you laters” in there. And this is an important one. They all are, really. But since I don’t have time to see everyone, I had to make sure to prioritize appropriately.

So anyway, I’m going Sunday. Cats and all. And mom too. Fuq me running on that one. I truly think she will thrive down there, but I don’t know how much more togetherness I can really take.

I think we’ve got things juggled so that I have four “dates” in the next day and a quarter. Which, it’s sad how I had to quit my job in order to get my social life back. I even went out on Paddy’s Day! You know where I would have been on a normal Tuesday night? Guess … AT WORK.

Anywho, so this day started off with me having my big ol’ suitcase o’ dildos open (remember, I was a vibrator peddler. And I own the merchandise, so I have a nice selection) when the movers did their walk-through. I’m too tired to be humiliated at this point.

But then, I finally decided to part with the “Where the Boys Aren’t” movie that Chris gave me a hundred years ago. We’ve had a lot of fun together. But since I can’t watch a porn with Mommy around, let alone get laid in the space I’m fucking paying for because we share a fucking wall, I figured I’d say goodbye to my movie.

And I remembered why I don’t do anything in my own house anymore (because somebody doesn’t know how to knock and wait for an answer), I threw the video in the trash and she FOUND IT because she was going through my trash for something or another.

I know most people are horrified at my living situation on principle alone. But it’s this extra shit that just makes it all so very, very wrong.

(And don’t get me started on how she won’t learn how to build a box — the things I spent over $200 buying — or load a tape gun AND how I was ordered to tape all her boxes shut. AT 3 A.M LAST NIGHT, PEOPLE.)

Whew. *decompressing*

Let’s see, we’ve covered sex toys and girl-on-girl porn. What else can we talk about today? Ah, BOOBS!

Tom put up a photo of the new ceiling rack he installed for pots and pans. I went for the obvious “Nice Rack” comment. And basically whined that I shouldn’t be the one giving that kind of compliment.

Speaking of all things sexual, this photo is of my purse. Yep, shameless hussy am I, with an iPod and enough protection to shrink-wrap a loveseat. Scott had said that, for an iPod sans case, that’s one protected MP3 player. Ha!

I have been all happy-go-lucky and shit, in between stress episodes. But as I waited FOUR HOURS FOR A FUCKING OIL CHANGE today, I listened to one of the playlists on this ‘Pod.

A friend and I did an exchange, and BOY the memories attached to some of those songs left me all kinds of “whee!” and “holy shit!” and “aaah” and “uh?” all at the same time. But one thing we agree on is that music is life, and if it isn’t evoking some kind of strong emotional and maybe even PHYSICAL reaction, it ain’t worth listening to.

I guess I’m just shocked and pleased how instantly our friendship developed, and how intense it was as well. I mean, like, knock off a girl’s frog socks in retrospect on how easily it all came together. One wonders how you’ve known someone five years but never really realized how cool they were until it was almost too late.

But the magic is leaving it on pause. Not the music, but the impulse to let your mind go too far back. That’s where I have trouble. That’s where I always start to wonder. But I’m invoking Goddess 1.0 (what are we on now, v4 or v5?) long enough to know how to seize the day and look back with only fondess and no wonder other than at the serendipity of it all.

Anyway, I still have some crap to deal with before I depart. I can’t trust anyone (roomie *cough cough*) to cancel the cable/Internet so I have to figure that out. She wants to drive at the same time I do, even though this palace is paid for through the 4th. I really wanted to get there first and just enjoy the place and not feel like it’s another shotgun wedding, like getting this place was because I knew I was inheriting her. At least I got a couple of months on my own, though.

Oh well. I gave her a strict plan and my get out of jail free card is a one-way ticket to Pittsburgh.

But for what it’s costing me to transport her 37 boxes of Halloween and Valentine’s decorations 1,000 miles, imagine the check I’ll write out for 1,400 miles. But no doubt, it will be worth every penny and then some. ….

I have no business blogging when this house won’t pack itself, the movers are due first thing in the a.m., I haven’t yet received the “help” check from the new company and my moving estimate has been revised upward by another grand.

But what I was saying about needing a ShopVac to clear out the cobwebs? Consider that wish granted. Five times over.

I have to say, moving out of town is never fun. But the people who like to send you off with a fond farewell? Gotta love ‘em.

< / shameless hussy >

OK, so I made some random Tweet last night and got a bunch of replies and direct messages to the effect of “WHY has this not been publicized on your blog?”

That’s because I’m a nice person. OK, not really, but while I’m waiting for Mr. Right to come (say it with me: “And he’d better clean it up!”), I’ve definitely found every Mr. Wrong from Rockville, Md., to Springfield, Va.

The girls and I went down to Ballston for some Guinness and shepherd’s pie at Union Jack’s. (Which, YUM.) And I happened to recall that I hadn’t been to Ballston since I was dating the guy with the three balls and the pint-sized pecker.

Which, of course, I had to say aloud to the group AND share with 120 of my closest followers on Twitter.

Not much else to say about that. I mean, sure, I thought the bag o’ marbles did look a little bit big, but I figured that was because there wasn’t much else going on.

Nothing against smaller members, but seriously, at some point it’s like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. As long as it plumps when you cook it, I can work with it. But a girl needs bun-length, and I ain’t ashamed of that.

Of course, I do have praise for the teeny weenie because they take a lot less work, if ya know what I mean. When you want your bed back so you can kick out your gentleman caller and get some sleep or catch “The Daily Show’s” Moment of Zen, I have nothing but love for the cocktail-weenie-sized schlong.

Anyway, I don’t remember much about my adventures with that one. He told me after the fact. I guess I didn’t think to do a head (ha!) count. And I’m damn good at keeping secrets (with the exception of this post) — I mean, I’m sure I have a secret or two myself. And at a time when I need a ShopVac to clean the cobwebs out of my cooter, beggars can’t be choosers, ya know?

On a more serious note, what I learned from him is that when a guy starts talking about taking you on vacations and dangling things like commitment and that ‘l” word and whatnot, RUN FOR THE FUCKING DOOR, LADIES. They don’t mean a goddamned word of it. It’s when they wear you down and get you thinking about what they’re saying that they conveniently get a job transfer to Zimbabwe.

And then that only leaves you as just someone who got dumped by tri-ball guy. Oh, the humanity.

And you WONDER why I don’t share everything here!

Days like today make you want to kick your own ass for wishing that time would pass more quickly. Because that wish gets granted at exactly the wrong moment.

And besides, I really can’t kick my own ass; my foot doesn’t really reach unless I’m pulling it in a yoga pose.

I’ve been playing with my sexy little black iPod Shuffle for the past two days. I have put together the world’s best playlist. And I crank it up loud so I don’t have to keep hearing what a horrible person I am, even though someone is HAPPY to repeat it when I finally put the thing on pause.

I’ve rediscovered a song that never really meant a lot to me before. But something tells me I’ll be driving away, humming this one for the better part of my journey. …

“Did we hide in the dark ages,
From a vengeful god above?
Were our names too unfamiliar,
To ever speak of love?
Did I cling to every moment with you,
In every parting glance?
An accidental touch,
Did we ever take the chance
For more
I know I’ve loved you before.

…

When I think of how you know me,
No doubts no thinking twice.
When your smile can be so soothing,
A familiar paradise.
When there’s no one else that makes me whole.
I’m never wanting more.
I get this feeling.
I know I’ve loved you before.”

– Melissa Etheridge, “I’ve Loved You Before“

Something tells me that, for all the tears I’ve already cried, I haven’t even gotten started in earnest yet. Or maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to. …