Caterwauling

All clear

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Went out to dinner last night with the lovely realtor who took me around here and showed me apartments on that miserable March day that resulted in me finding the place I’m in now. Her sister joined us and we had a wild and crazy night on the town — those two are a riot. Yeah, I’m not used to going out and drinking and having fun. It was nice. We’re all in the same age group and they seem to want to adopt me.

P. actually had news for me, which was that she found me a new place to live that I will love. She remembered me saying that I was a writer and I needed inspiration, and she found me a condo on the Intracoastal Waterway about 10 miles from where I am now. So, actually she moved into this building herself and she’s trying to get everyone she knows to populate it, a la Melrose Place.

Apparently the person who owns these condos found out that she couldn’t sell them in this shitty market, so she’s renting them. And P. is in charge of renting them out. I was worried about my lousy credit score, but she said fuck it — this place is open to good people, regardless of what our credit reports say.

I’m locked into a year lease here, but I vaguely remember signing an addendum that said I can break the lease for a fee of $3,000. So, while it’s not that I have that kind of cash at my disposal — plus deposits and moving costs and whatnot — but P. said she’d try to get me three months free at the new place, to make up for it. All in all, it sounds like a good deal.

She’s having a paella night this weekend and wants me to come out and check out the place. Hell, she’s pretty much taken control of my social calendar for the rest of the year — she and her sister are from Peru and they insist I go with them in November — so perhaps it was fate that brought me to her and she will be the reason why I don’t just jump in the Atlantic just to escape the sheer exhaustion that haunts me.

When she met me, she said, “You seemed so blue. I could tell you were very sad.” Which, I was. I wasn’t sure about leaving my old life behind and I really took it as a sign that I could not find a soul who was willing to rent a place to me. Sure, I had a job and the movers were scheduled, but with homelessness so imminent, I really wondered WTF I was doing.

And for as worn-out as I am right now, I wonder whether moving and getting locked into another lease is just another in my series of ever-so-bright decisions. But having a water view and a pool on the Intracoastal? Doesn’t sound so bad.

I suppose I’ll have to drag the Over-Extended Houseguest along. Since I seem to have no choice in the matter and all. I wish I had enough money to pay everybody’s bills AND pay two separate rents. Well, I wish for not having to do all that, but since I must, I might as well dream big. It’s the only dreaming I find myself doing anymore.

My friend said her heart aches that I look even sadder than I did when we met. She was hoping I’d be happy and thriving by now. And she asked whether I’d been writing. I didn’t have the energy to laugh in her face.

I feel like my life is just a series of loveless marriages, and the only real “me” time is when I’m in my car. It’s pathetic and somewhat inescapable at present. I’ll take “looking sad” as a compliment, given the circumstances.

Maybe after the clusterfuck it will entail to move, I’ll love living on the water. I’ve enjoyed the six-minute commute, given the crazy hours, but maybe it will be good for me to have a view of something that’s not construction, although it seems a fitting metaphor for my life — orange cones and caution tape should be inside my head, too.

Well, this was just a thrilling post. I meant to share the great news that I can have my dream apartment after all. But when the same old crap seems to find its way onto the moving truck no matter how far I go, it’s hard to get too excited.

Woo.

Chili Raspberry Cosmo

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I was waiting for something to come in last night that was due at noon and arrived at 11 p.m. I’d actually made dinner plans so, really, it’s not like I was missing anything.

Went to a great sushi place on the Avenue. I don’t know if folks do “Taste of (city)” days like we had in Bethesda, Md., or Restaurant Week like we had in D.C. But I saw this offer for a five-course sushi dinner and was all over that like, well, white on rice.

The highlight? A chili raspberry cosmo. I never dreamed that jalapeno would make a cosmo even better. But it does. *slurp*

I think they put a roofie in my drink, because I pretty much went home and passed out on the couch. And I found that I whipped together my daily project in an hour this morning, as opposed to toiling over it for a couple of hours late at night because I’m tired and ADD and just want to crawl into bed.

Methinks I might have to do this “working in the morning” thing again — I used to have a daily early morning project, and nothing lit a fire under my pudgy butt like the deadline being RIGHT THERE.

I’m not a fan of working in general, but definitely not daily projects. But then I heard that what I work on is required reading at West Point, and suddenly I see how what I’m good at yet doesn’t register on my radar as earth-changing, isn’t a bad thing after all. Hunh. Who knew?

San Antonio Riverwalk

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Happy Baby Daddy Day and all that jazz. And “you’re welcome” those who aren’t paying child support thanks to the loving wonder that is non-rhythm-method contraception! (That’s the REAL meaning behind “getting lucky,” eh?)

Am currently sitting in the San Antonio airport, waiting to fly home to my mommy. Barf gag and kill me now.

Actually, we did have a near-death experience on the way out here. I flew to Charlotte, where my beloved T and I ended up on the same connecting flight to Texas. The flight was fine until about 10 minutes before landing, when the captain came over the PA system with some not-so-encouraging news.

Let me explain first that about five minutes before this, my seatmate pointed out the window to the wing that we were directly over. She said, “Do you notice that we’re flying REALLY LOW and the flaps haven’t come up yet?”

Hmm. She was right — we WERE kind of busting a move considering that we were about to land. She went on to tell me she had gotten trapped for 10 hours in Norfolk, and another eight hours in Charlotte, so maybe this was her bad luck manifesting itself ONE MORE TIME before she landed in her destination city.

So the captain comes on with a, “Ladies and gentlemen, there’s nothing to worry about … but there is an ABNORMALITY with the wings, as the flaps that slow down our speed stopped working in mid-flight.”

In other words, “O HAI the brakes aren’t working properly.”

Now, there was a mild amount of panic on the plane. Except for seat 12A (mine). I was channeling Ron White in an old “Blue Collar Comedy” skit and thinking, fine, let it crash — “I don’t want to limp away from this thing.”

I had probably cried during half the flight because I suddenly found myself with far too much free time to obsess over the federal disaster area that my life has unwittingly become. It didn’t help that my plane from South Florida to Charlotte was ultimately bound for National Airport (DCA), my home-away-from-home when I lived in D.C. The pending crappy landing on the plane from CLT to SAT was even-more of a sign that I should have stayed on the CLT-to-DCA flight.

Anyway, the pilot went on to warn us not to be alarmed but we were going to make a bump on the landing strip and not to worry about all the additional emergency personnel and equipment that would be waiting for us. (I never saw fire trucks on a runway before. What an epic experience.)

Meanwhile, T was talking to the flight attendant, who was telling fear-inducing stories about some recent rough landings. I am almost jealous that she was rattled by the airborne events because she has stuff to live for. I tend to find that all my traveling partners have people to call when they land and before they take off. I Tweet. That’s it. And I don’t even know why I do that, to be quite honest with you.

Anyway, we were re-routed to the longest runway and emerged unharmed. In fact, had the pilot not said a word about the faulty equipment, we wouldn’t have noticed. I’ve been through some tumultuous landings in my day and this wasn’t one of them.

God bless the pilot on that U.S. Airways flight. I know this landing won’t ever make headlines, but apparently this pilot went to the Captain Sully school of flying, and despite my overall death wish, I’m glad, because I had a great weekend ahead of me.

San Antonio is all right. I neither loved nor hated it. It’s boring and crappy in the daytime, but things light up at night. The Riverwalk is absolutely beautiful — it’s like all the city’s culture is down at water level.

We went out with a bunch of old colleagues last night — people who treated us like absolute royalty. Because we rock and all, but still, it’s good to remember where I came from and to know that certain people will always have my back.

I’m sure I could type for another 40 pages, all the stuff rolling through my head. Most of it boils down to “WTF did I just do to my life?” It’s not that anything big has happened, but rather a series of little things that have created a surmountable, but certainly stinky, shitpile.

And whether or not I’m in the right place, being with “my people” last night reminded me to be very, very grateful for the experiences I’ve had during the past five years and to kiss the ground for the relationships I’ve developed throughout the years.

I seriously need to write a thank-you letter to my old boss and the owner of my last company to thank them for every door they opened for me. Because people I thought I’d never see/work with again, are back in my life and God I am so happy that THEY are are excited to be crossing MY path again.

One of the guys did a lovely toast to us and WOW was I surprised at what he said about me. It’s all true, but my cold, dark heart warmed at the respect and damn-near REVERENCE he showed.

So, all in all, I came to San Antonio with tears in my eyes as I once again grieved for my old life in D.C. But I am leaving again with a tear or two … mostly from exhaustion but definitely with a huge sigh of relief that this very rough period is going to pass and that I have a lot of really amazing, influential people looking out for me.

And it goes without saying that my gratitude for them reminding me who I am — even if I feel my star hasn’t been shining much of late — will carry me through and will hold up my little heart if and when it threatens to break again.

I have two thoughts on today:

1. Wednesday deserves a spanking, and would receive one if the dirty bastard wouldn’t enjoy it.

2. It’s been an all-you-can-eat shit sandwich buffet. I can take long days. But the universe can stop serving me now, plz.

After the beach was evacuated for lightning

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

You know, I had about eleventy billion loads of laundry to do today. Which was made impossible by the fact that, during the last month-plus, I’ve only been home to sleep and shower. So today it was further made impossible by the fact that there was no detergent with which to do my laundry.

Wouldn’t it be nice if you had someone who lived in your abode and took care of these things and replaced shit after it was used up? Oh, wait. …

So I ran to Boutique Tar-zhay to get detergent. And while I was out and dressed for absolute crap (my weekend uniform is a tank top and shorts. And since today IS my weekend, there you have it), I headed to the shore.

I put my two hours’ worth of change into the meter, parked my ass on a lounger, Tweeted that I was on the beach and … six minutes after my arrival, thunder cracked and some sort of air-raid siren went off. Yes, the beach was being evacuated.

Meanwhile it was about 90-odd degrees and super-sunny and the sand felt like it were on fire. (TheFuckingWeather.com assured me “IT’S FUCKING HOT.”) I walked up to the water with my camera — having fully planned to walk along it for an hour or so — and some douche in an ATV nearly ran me over and shouted at me that the water was closed.

He got a double-barreled salute out of me. Hey, I’m a grown woman and if I want to get hit by lightning and float away in the ocean and wind up in Africa or something, SO BE IT. And did I LOOK like I was there to swim? Bah.

So there went my day off. Six whopping minutes at the beach and eleventy billion loads of laundry that are in progress.

I hung out on Ocean Avenue for a while, mostly just to recoup some of what I’d fed the parking meter. I finally gave up and, I tell ya, as soon as I pulled away, the thunder cracked and the skies opened up.

Four minutes later when I got home, the sun came out again and it was like nothing had ever happened. Until an hour later when the next monsoon hit and flooded my bedroom and balcony. That was almost as fun as losing power.

Gotta love South Florida in the summertime, I hear. The only thing that would save this day is an early bedtime, which would work if my sheets and duvet cover weren’t in the dryer. …