Caterwauling

My boss ran into a friend of mine last week, of the single, attractive male variety. She immediately texted me, “He’s really nice! Do you have a type?” I said, “Yes. How’s his 401(k)?”

Yeah, he doesn’t live nearby. But you knew that already. Why on earth would the universe put me in the same city with anyone?

I’m just glad and thank God every day that He gave me a friend in my own community. We work for the same company, just a few streets away from each other, and get together at least weekly.

Lady L is the reason why I’ve gotten to try all my favorite restaurants, go on awesome adventures and, really, get a job that I’m growing to love.

And I guess I’m musing about this right now because the universe has its way of kicking you when you’re down, but also lifting you as high as you want to go. And I think we could all use a reminder of that when it happens, so we don’t forget what’s possible.

I heard a rumor out of Ye Olde Workplace yesterday (not the Den of Iniquity), right about the time we’re all sitting around and evaluating who our A-, B- and C-players are here at the Tinfoil Hat Compound. (Don’t ask.)

And it occurred to me that the last of my beloved team has been officially disassembled. Any evidence of the magic that once was, is no more.

Sigh.

And not to offend the handful of talent there that remains, but as I sit here and evaluate myself and my own team, I realize that clearly Ye Olde Workplace is happy with a bunch of C-level players in control of what’s left of the asylum. That the people with the ambition, imagination and talent either left of their own volition, or were given a running start before the freight train rolled after them. Fucking stupid, is all I can say.

I won’t name names, but when Foot Fetish Guy and Stop Impregnating Your Poor Wife to Prove You’re Straight, not to mention the three-headed hydra that I described to someone today as those “who have no life, no sense of humor and absolutely no regard for anyone else’s ideas/talents/ambitions than their own. (And that’s not saying they HAVE any of their own)” are the only ones left standing, well, you won’t get a whole lot of sympathy from me when the devil returns to collect their charred little souls.

That’s their A-Team. A as in Assholes, that is.

Don’t get me wrong — they did a lot of good in the world. When they stayed out of the way of greatness. But in the grab for credit, for glory, for dominance and, ultimately, for ego building/preservation, they killed something that was downright invincible back in its glory days.

It’s almost worse than the Den of Iniquity, whose evil stench you could smell from five states away. There were no real surprises there. It’s the ones who polish up real pretty who you’ve got to worry about.

And it is kind of funny how I’ve risen past all of it. I am in a power-player position with the leader in the industry. I remember when I jetted the fuck out of town, one of those five had said to me, “I may be coming to YOU for a job someday!” And I remember thinking, heh, oh HELL YEAH when I get to say, nope, your dreams mean as much to me as mine did to you, Fuckhead.”

Methinks I just burned some serious bridges with this post. But I’m pretty through with cow-towing to people with the business acumen of a double-dong dildo. In other words, if I can just remain an A-minus-ish player where I am, my life will turn out JUST fine.

And so will the lives of everyone they crushed along the way.

Butterfly

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I saw this tiny orange wonder on Friday morning. I wondered if it were my grandmother, whose birthday would have been Saturday.

I know the dearly departed don’t have the same concept of time as we mortals. So when my mother insists on buying birthday cake to celebrate what would have been my grandmother’s 83rd birthday, it doesn’t necessarily mean my grandmother is celebrating at the same time.

Milestones and millennia are the measures of time on our respectively different planes.

Which is why my UEOEH thinks she’s welcome in my house for ALL TIME and the past few years have felt like a MILLENNIUM and THEN SOME for me.

This past weekend, I started doing what I always do when I’m unhappy at home. I started buying stuff “for my next place.” My hope is that THIS is my next place. I don’t want to move. I LOVE living on the water. I ADORE having all this space. I just want to get rid of my mother and my (albeit beloved) cat Kadie so that they have each other, wherever they end up.

I bought a cute little (overpriced) “dresser” for hairthings. And I found the duvet set that I bought two years ago for $150 on sale for, yep, $14.99. Dollar-cost-averaging, yo.

I bought another comforter that I liked, too. I have two bedrooms, after all, when the UEOEH goes away. All I need is another bed!

I also found a CUTE rug that matches my old/new comforter set. Two, actually — a small one and a 4′ x 5′. Since I have no carpets — and I will have gotten rid of Kadie who likes to wipe her pissy ass on everything, it is sitting on a shelf in my closet.

In other news, I applied for (and got) a car loan. I just haven’t returned any of their calls. I know what car I want … and I know what my interest rate is. Sigh. And I’m not in the mood to pay *mumblemumble* a month when all I need to do is drop the damn car off at a dealer and spend a small (albeit one-time) fortune to fix mine up pretty.

Oh wait — there ARE no Pontiac dealers left! *headdesk*

In better news, my car is legal in Florida. I swear to God, I have to get a ticket in every damn state because I let the registration slide. Now to go pay the f’ing ticket. Whee!

In any case, the butterfly hung around me for a long time while George sniffed around. He was being good and not tugging on his leash. He let me watch the butterfly dance and dance and dance.

Was it my grandmother? Was it a sign that everything is OK, or that it will be? That I’m loved by the universe, even if it feels like I must have bullied it in a past life?

I just wish my mom would leave, so I can miss her. I wish my job didn’t have to be so much work sometimes. I wish I had more friends in the area. I wish for lots and lots of stupid, materialistic stuff, too. But perhaps my great hope right now is that, like this beautiful butterfly, I can spread my little wings and soar above it all.

Lady L and I went to church tonight. I’ve missed Sunday night services; it’s been forever since I’ve attended.

I was even telling my old pastor today that I don’t make it to church much anymore. Not sure why I said it. I do find beauty every day and everywhere, and I thank God for letting me experience it. But maybe I’m at a point in my life where I’ve stopped seeking God and started trusting him somewhat.

I say “somewhat” because the UEOEH situation continues to drive me mad. She never takes me seriously that I want her out of here. And now that we’re in car insurance hell, I don’t really care if she doesn’t have any. She’s lost everything. I guess nothing has been important to her. This should be. And of course it will go into the “It’s your fault!” and “You’re mean!” pile like everything else.

My church zen wore off after eight minutes at home, when she banged on my door to babble. I cut her off to say I wanted to move to a studio apartment, and where is she going to go? “Under a bridge” is the answer. I said, look, it’s been three years of sitting on your ass — I don’t see why this has to be a forever thing. Am I supposed to have you in my house for the next 40 years?

She said she’ll go wherever I put her. And that’s the thing — why do I have to pay for it? I don’t mind helping. I’m GLAD to help. Just get out.

So she starts boo-hooing that I’ve eroded her confidence completely and she can’t do anything. That she’s been putting in applications but nobody wants to hire her. It’s ALL MY FAULT for being MEAN to her!!!

I went back to a tune I hadn’t sung in a while — what about volunteering? Nobody turns down free help. I mean, I got each of my last FIVE jobs because I knew somebody. You aren’t going to meet anyone, sitting your ass in front of the Food Network all day. (But, alas, I’m MEAN!)

Incidentally, I’m watching “In Her Shoes” tonight for the thousandth time about sisters in Philadelphia and Delray Beach. One’s a big old screwed-up mooch who gets kicked out because she is her own problem to solve, not her sister’s. Damn, I love this movie. And the scenery is familiar so even better.

I don’t really want to move, BTW. I just want the place to myself. I want her out.

I know she’s got problems. She needs therapy. She started sobbing over overpaying for something today. I know money is scarce for her. I know she can budget like no one I know. But she’s never had the drive to make money. The rent has always been paid, you know? Someone always saves the day.

Lately I’ve thought about having kids. Damn 36. But if she gave up a life to raise me and then figured she could be dependent on me when I got old enough, fuck that noise. Think again. I don’t ever want to feel like my kid owes me. And I WOULD be old as dirt if I had a kid now.

And it seems that all my friends who are in financial dire straits have the “having kids” thing in common. Sure, they’re rewarding. Eventually. After they get a job. But what about in the meantime when they’re crying, screaming, needy little monsters and Momma doesn’t have enough money for both pinot noir AND back-to-school uniforms? Sorry kid — we’ll alter last year’s!

Anyway, Pastor Todd had said this morning that every person God puts in your life is a gift — even if you wish they came with a gift receipt. And I see mom sitting here being sad about everything — money, missing her parents, knowing I can’t stand her, being helpless, being in pain, being in debt, worrying about everything, being unemployable, etc. Fuck, I’d be depressed, too. I don’t mean to take that away from her.

But the low-cost/free resources in Florida for health care seem really good. But you have to be a resident and guess who keeps dragging her feet on getting a driver’s license? Etc. That sort of thing is what infuriates me. Take a step and I’ll help you take the next two. Sit on your ass and I’ll, so help me God, turn off the cable.

I know she misses her parents. I wonder if I’ll be the same way when she’s gone. I forget pretty much everything about them, sad to say. She reminds me of little things, which is nice. But in the grand scheme of things, aren’t we supposed to move on and live our lives? Like the whole Sept. 11, 2001, adopted motto: “Never Forget.” As if any of us can help but remember. But it hurts a little less every year. Wounds do heal, even if they scar.

I was realizing the message at tonight’s sermon was sort of aimed at me, and sort of not really. I told Lady L that when I first appeared at the church about a year or so ago, I was in a bad place. Spending a year working in the Den of Iniquity will do that to a person. Couple the mom situation and it’s a wonder I didn’t get ammo at Wal-Mart and blow my widdle brains out. And every sermon felt like it was aimed at me — get thee out of despair, child.

And today, I realize I don’t have much to despair about. Other than the seemingly permanent presence of the Food Network-watching gargoyle, I’m good. I have a great friend in Lady L. I <3 her fur-child George. I am in a position of power at work. I’ve got someone looking out for my emotional needs and providing much-needed daydreaming material. I’m about to get another stamp in the passport book in less than six weeks. And we’ve got a road trip planned for Saturday — after I attend a dog-adoption event. It’s all good, really.

But I see how happy I am when I’m by myself in Lady L’s palace with George. Or, of course, when she’s there with us. Naturally! Without her, I would never have gotten to try all the restaurants in the area. Or gotten in the car to visit the Keys or St. Auggie’s. Or to see New Orleans, which we’re doing later this year. Or, for that matter, to have had the fateful happy-hour meeting with my boss before she became my boss.

Lady L has been my lucky charm. Thanks to her, not only do I not have to stare at the UEOEH every fucking day and minute of my life, but the UEOEH recognizes that I’m just not available to bother anymore. I probably have plans with Lady L, she assumes. And, well, she’s right!

Is it so wrong to want to have a perfect life? A robust 401(k) — that is, a prayer of retiring — money, love, travel, peace, social interaction when I want it and silence when I don’t, a job that I actually kick ass in, and a voluntary relationship with my mother without her forcing herself down my throat. Do I really ask for that much?

So, as Pastor John was telling us tonight, Joseph (of the Technicolor Dreamcoat variety) had a shit life. Sold into slavery twice, Pharaoh’s wife kept seducing him and he kept avoiding her in the name of staying true to his God, and all kinds of other crap. Yet he had God’s favor. And everyone around him and even the crops were blessed because of him. Am I Joseph here, without seeing the blessings and simply feeling cursed for the aggravations? If I’m so blessed, why doesn’t it rub off on UEOEH? Why does her dark cloud continue to storm on me?

The good news is that I have gotten rid of all the toxic people in my life. And I’m no longer getting all the hellfire and torture that came along with knowing them. So God’s got my back there. I dunno. I guess I’m wishing the wait would pay off sooner rather than later. Even though I know we’re storing up riches in heaven with all the nice things we do here, I selfishly want to enjoy my time here, too.

Oh well. Fewer than 48 hours till Lady L and I wash down what’s sure to be another insane week with the best mojitos in town. I can’t look forward to UEOEH getting the hint and leaving, but you can set your watch by me numbing the pain with alcohol.

Anudder treat, plz?

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I realize all my cutest George photos are on Facebook, but I couldn’t resist this widdle face. I just spent the last seven days with this adorable little wonder, and it’s my first night without him and I feel lost.

I do have a cat who is eyeing me contentiously, smelling the puppy on my hands and remembering the one time I brought said puppy home to meet her. He ate her food, peed in her dish and pretty much peed everywhere else, too.

This is the same dog who chose his least-favorite copywriter and shit in his office on Labor Day. What can I say — the dog is regular!

I took this lovable ball of fur to PetSmart on Thursday. We loaded up on treats. He’s such a little diva — when I fed him a treat courtesy of the store (read: free bowl o’ treats), he spit it out. TWICE. But Aunt Dawn found some things he loved and we were all good from there.

(Warning: I’ve turned into a proud parent here. I will stop. Shortly.)

I had to laugh when a lady in a hurry took her dog outside the store to pee. Of course the dog pooped. And of course she didn’t have any bags and was contemplating how long it would take to get to the car and back before anyone saw it and got disgusted.

I wordlessly handed her a poop bag. She was so grateful! Dog people in general are kind of awesome. This week, I got to know the “regulars” on the A1A — both the dogs and the owners — and I’ve got to say I’ve rather loved it. (Minus the fact that I was usually in pajamas.)

George is quite the chick magnet. I mean human women were fawning all over him. And the men who asked to pet him … wow! Meanwhile, George was all John Travolta and walking to the tune of “Stayin’ Alive” — he was NOT happy to break his strut for anyone!

But even people without dogs stopped to pet him. Hell, I took George to dinner last night and sat at an oceanside table. Everyone was calling him “Toto.” People were falling all over themselves to get him water and to pet him. I fed him crabcakes under the table and we had a lovely night together.

(I also had about two bottles of wine in two days too. So the last few nights when I got home were just fine, too! *hic* Fucking work week from hell. At least a bad week here is still better than a good DAY at the last place.)

But here’s an interesting twist. Today when George’s momma came home, I took one last walk without him. I just needed some sun. And the VERY same people who jogged past me the last seven days (and last four weekends, since we’re counting) looked straight through me. People with dogs kept walking, just trying to keep their pooch out of everyone’s way. The camaraderie had gone *poof*.

Oh well. George is a magical dog. He brings people together. He’s the new official mascot of my office. Everyone was very disappointed on Friday when I came in without him and they were all in line, waiting to see Teh Kyoot one. Nobody was happy to see ME, mind you … it was all, “You didn’t bring the dog? Bummer. We’re going back to work.”

That’s ONE way to get them to work. … Just kidding — most of them are kind of awesome. Even if they’re collectively going to put me into an early grave!

All right, we return to our regularly scheduled pet- and child-free posts. In other words, radio silence resumes in 3… 2… 1…

Tonight’s post is sponsored by a Jordan 2004 Alexander Valley Cab that is, shall we say, Dy-No-MITE!!!

Or orgasmic. Whichever.

It was a gift from one of my beloved boys when I left D.C. It’s freaking amazing. I wanted to save it for a special occasion, and being roommate-free is probably the biggest thing worth celebrating in my life right now.

Day 5 of my freedom has come and gone. Work has been a beast this week. I have to take off tonight from even so much as reading e-mails. I’ve had two glasses of wine (just poured No. 3), ate some chi-chi cheese from Whole Foods and smoked an Al Capone bourbon-dipped cigarillo.

Took G-Dawg into the office today. Everyone wanted me to go let him take a smelly poop upstairs, but I was profeshunal and stuck him on a chair next to me. I love me some terrier right now — they don’t jump off! Of course, he managed to jump out of the car on his own, to my utter surprise. Does that say something about my driving or the fact that the car is a rattling death trap?

We went to PetSmart for treats. It was a big day for him! And yes, a beloved male admirer noted tonight how I talk like either a dog owner or a parent about him now. My big boy!

*mmmm wine. Slurp*

So I have to put that dipshit asshole at my house on my car insurance policy. Which MORE than doubles now that I own her car. Grrr. I told her she has to call around and get her own damn quotes. Would it kill her to pay her own car insurance, for fuck’s sake? Of course it would. She pushed it back on me, I pushed back, she pushed back … etc. I’m like, fine. No insurance for your lazy ass. Don’t drive my car. Love, moi.

My friends have commented how calm I am now that I don’t live there. (For this week, anyway.) I actually had to stop one of my boys on the phone last night from talking about her. It’s like, no, do not break The Zen.

UEOEH texted me first with a photo of my cat looking miserable in a headband, and then with a note that it would have been my grandmother’s 83rd. birthday on Saturday. You know what else Saturday represents? The day she moved in three years ago. My grandfather died on Thanksgiving 2006. She spent the insurance money on living on her own till September 2007.

I wanted to text her that, really? It’s also the three-year anniversary of the WORST DAY OF MY LIFE that your lazy, dependent ass moved in. Fuck you and stuff yourself into a handbasket bound for guess where. Love, moi.

I can’t believe it’s only been three years that she’s been torturing me. I also can’t believe that a person can go three years with no purpose in life. Er, 53 … but who’s counting?

I also can’t believe how much FREE TIME I have that’s not spent hating her this week.

Fucking whore.

I was planning to walk to Ben & Jerry’s. But the last time I shoved a $20 in my pocket to walk the dog, I lost it on the street. Never did find it. I can only hope the wind carried it over to Boo Boo. In any case, I’d rather lose it on the A1A to some random person than keep funding the mooch in my apartment.

Ah, G-Dawg. Time to curl up with treats and watch some TV. …