Caterwauling

Alejandro Manzano

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Ah, home sweet hell. Vacation over. Damn, it was nice.

My friend and I got up every morning, had breakfast, walked for two miles around a pretty lake, got ready to go out, enjoyed the afternoon, got ready for our evening plans, and then had fun. So easy, so perfect.

I am now officially a Boyce Avenue groupie. (And their openers Megan & Liz rocked socks, too.) I went along on the trip just to keep my friend company. But now, I’m sucked in to the vortex just like all the 18-year-old girls who filled the event venues.

After being in the FRONT ROW at both venues, complete with high-fives and handshakes from the guys, we visited with the band afterward. Such nice guys! These three brothers hail from Sarasota and call Orlando their “musical hometown.” Since it’s a nice three-hour drive, I will DEFINITELY be going to see these guys again.

What was really fun was meeting the other fans. I have some new Facebook friends out of it, plus some stories to tell in less-public forums. Some of these young ladies are the foundation for (what I think are) some fascinating character sketches.

Best of all, this means I am writing my fiction again. (Or at least making more notes.) I always had a character in mind who was playing the bar scene as a teen and went on to be famous. I forgot how much fun it is to join the traveling circus. I followed The Inconsiderate Few around Pittsburgh, Juniper Lane around D.C. (well, Northern Virginia) and I really like a local band called Summer Blanket.

So, Boyce Avenue is my new muse, particularly adorable 24-year-old singer Alejandro Manzano, although his (older, but still not enough for me!) brothers Daniel and Fabian are cuties, too. I see why my friend brought me along — for me, it’s nice to be in the company of a fellow thirtysomething — I may be the oldest person in the club, but only by five days! (Yes, two Geminis on tour together. Look out, world!)

I’m just so excited right now. Life is starting to get good again. But moreover, I have just started tearing through my (copious) notes for the fiction series I’ve been trying to write since I was 14.

I may put my leadership book on hold for a while. It would have to be a comedy, that’s for damn sure. And I have to figure out how I feel about topics like Facebook and blogs and Twitter, and just how much employers need to know and what etiquette versus rules should exist, if any.

Frankly, I need to be 100% sure that I will never have to work for anyone directly ever again so that I can actually be myself and say what I feel (as if I don’t already). Because, really, for all I put online, can you imagine what I DON’T say? Believe it or not, THIS is the super-censored version!

And not only is my ass elephant-esque, but so is my memory. The information has a great shelf life. And while I can laugh about it, I’m not so certain that everyone else can. Not right now, anyway.

Besides, I’d rather think about boys and music and chasing my dreams around the country. Last year I got to do it by plane, and this year I’ll have to do it by car. But nothing is going to stop me from looking for that pot of gold, one way or another. This time, I’m gonna have one hell of a good time on the journey. Oh, wait … I already am!

If youve ever stayed in Disney and ordered a wake up call, chances are that you’ve been greeted at an ungodly hour with an unbearablly chipper “Have a Mickey day!”

Luckily, I stay offsite and use my phone when i need an alarm. But even the non employees are sweet in Orlando. It’s downright bizarre, considering how fucking rude everyone is in the southern part of the state.

Not much to say other than the fact that i am on a road trip with a gal i haven’t seen since high school, with the exception of watching the Super Bowl together earlier this month.

We are having fun. Lots of trips down memory lane. She was talking about some friend of hers from Pitt and I know some folks who went there and I asked his last name. I probably should not have blurted out, “Oh i remember him — I slept with him!”

Slutty teenage Goddess.

We were in Gainsville two days ago for a concert and will see the same band tonight. They were amazing and I am glad i came along on this odyssey. Last night we went to Citywalk and attended Mardi Gras at Universal Studios. It was awful and a huge waste of money, minus the cute boys who gave us beads as we drank our $65 beers.

But our dinner at Latin Quarter was superb. Besides, anything beats being at home!

More to come when i get home. Just trying to find some garlic Mardi Gras beads for protection and hope for the best before we roll home tomorrow. I have no doubt, though, that we will have another fun night with an amazing band. I got a hug from the super cute lead singer, so I will soon be gettin’ mah groupie on and loving it!

Imma cut you

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’ve spent the last two months catching up on my sleep and re-runs of “Ghost Whisperer.” I’ve watched all of my favorite TV programs live and not on the DVR. I’ve talked with everyone (and I mean everyone) in my field and know the gossip better than those who go to every industry show.

And I’ve got an inbox full of assignments, offers and requests for more meetings and conversations.

And I hesitate to go near that particular Gmail account.

I don’t know why — I feel like I have too much testosterone in my blood right now. Like, I thrive on the thrill of the chase. But now that I’ve gone fishing and it looks like I’ll have dinner … a nice one … I’m surprisingly unenthused.

It’s not that the pursuit is over. Hell, in the new career (freelance) that I’ve unwittingly chosen, it’s going to be a constant pursuit for new projects, as current/future gigs begin and end.

This is truly what I want, though. As I told an interviewer the other day, I’m exhausted by the idea of a short-lived (or even long-term) marriage to one employer. It’s not that I don’t WANT one awesome job. But I’ve missed out on a lot of opportunities with people and companies who might be a better fit. Only I wouldn’t know that because I already had the rock on my left hand and, I gotta say, I’m not a girl who cheats.

Anyway, I know I am just whining because I’ve become lazy. I like hanging out with the cat all day. (Although the brat kept me up all night last night.) It was a very hard transition to go from 60-plus hours a week of work to zero. That’s a fucking culture shock. Shit, it was a culture shock to go DOWN to 60, but at least it was a transition.

I guess, for me, work is my long-term relationship. Boys come and go, and I don’t think twice. But I guess I’m looking for my vocational soulmate. And just like with men, I believe we have many soulmates. And also just like with men, I’m tired. I want a break. I want to not always have to be “on” and perky and always coming up with the next brilliant thing I’ll say … at the expense of not really listening to them in the meantime.

I don’t want to fall again … I don’t want to FAIL again. So, here I am, trying not to even get my hopes up.

I know I have to, though. I can’t be out of work. If you want to kill me, that’s the way to do it. And it occurs to me that I’ve treated my personal life that way — I’ve taken more breaks than not. I’ve figured the right one will come along at some point. I haven’t really needed much in the way of companionship in the interim.

What’s funny is that I have such high expectations of employers. I shouldn’t, given my history. I don’t have the same high expectations of boys. Employers, I expect will treat me like royalty and “get” me and help me to surf the learning curve to making this relationship “the one.” Boys, not so much.

I feel like I have to flip those expectations somehow — to set the bar high for boys and stop expecting much of anything from companies other than a paycheck in exchange for services rendered.

I don’t know why I’m so damn crabby. I always do this. I always bust my butt to get to the precipice of awesomeness, and then I pull back. Do I think I don’t deserve it? Have I really let my critics into my head enough to convince me that I’m as disposable as they think I am?

Why is it that, every time things are about to go my way, they fall apart? Is that why I self-sabotage … so that at least it was MY doing that things didn’t have a happy ending or, at least, a bearable next phase?

I know I haven’t done much of anything in my life to please anyone else. But when did I lose the drive to at least prove them all wrong?

Dear neighbors,

Yes, I’m the one belting out the “Fuck You” lyrics today. And you noisy, screaming-in-Spanish, breaking-glass-bottles-at-ungodly-hours, barbecuing illegally on your balcony, pot-smoking fuckers are next on my dedication list.

Love,
Goddess

P.S. Go read Why Problem Employees Don’t Get Fired. And after you read No. 2, promise me that you won’t ever (I mean EVER) mention to the boss that sometimes teacher’s pet is a little challenging. Nobody wants your opinion on that topic. Promise?

When people ask me if I have any family beyond the Extra-Terrestrial Being from Outer Space (aka, the Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest), I say no. After all, I’m an only child and so is she.

Of course, there’s a crazy web of cousins out there whom I don’t really acknowledge. I grew up barely knowing them and, frankly, I’ve endured enough time with most of them (mostly at funerals) to understand why my grandmother kept me far, far away from them.

Now, it’s no secret that I found myself job-free at the end of last year. And even though these yahoos never once picked up a phone to see how I’m doing or ask what happened, I am apparently the most-interesting person on earth right now to two dozen people who share my last name.

A cousin went to see her sister in a nursing home over the weekend. The one in the home proudly announced, “Did you hear? Goddess got FIRED. Good for her! She’s RICH. She DESERVES to learn how hard life can be!”

Needless to say, if that bitch wasn’t lying in a bed immobile, I’d have made sure she never walked again.

Seriously? They all know I was born in the projects, sharing a tiny rowhouse with four generations of my own family and a cousin and her infant daughter. I had NOTHING my whole life. I worked three jobs at a time to put myself through school. I had roommates my whole life (and I hate roommates). Then I took on my mother and all her expenses. It was only in the last two years that I could pay my bills and have a tiny little something extra for me. Fuck her. Fuck all of them.

Rich, I am not. Nor was I. I’d like to be — I still haven’t given up hope yet. But who the fuck is that asshole to say it would be good for me to be penniless? What, because I haven’t sent her money? What the hell has any of them ever done to help me?

Before I blow a gasket, I do need to breathe and remind myself that this is why I was so driven in my life. So I wouldn’t need to beg anyone for a handout. Because I knew for the past 20-odd years that my mother would never be able to live on her own. Because my asshole cousin in the hospital bed used to drain the life out of my grandfather and mother to run all her stupid errands while she sat on her tuffet and promised compensation that never materialized.

I remember my grandfather’s funeral circa Thanksgiving 2006. Said cousin made a grand entrance into the funeral parlor in a wheelchair with her foul-mouthed, loud-ass boyfriend. She expected a queen’s welcome and was visibly (and audibly) chagrined that nobody rushed to worship her.

She tried to make the event all about her, but nobody was buying it. I didn’t even speak to her. She’d taken enough of my grandfather and mother’s time. She wasn’t getting any of mine.

And all these years later, to hear her talking behind my back, wow. I realize that even though my immediate family contained damn-near saints (for how nice they all were), I have a genetic mean streak that is a mile long. It’s a daily act to suppress it or, in my case, redirect it into something creative and useful.

But I am reminded why I don’t talk to these assholes — they will take your words and twist them, or else make up the stories that suit their evil imaginations.

To her credit, the cousin doing the visiting snapped at her sister, “If your lazy ass had ever worked a day in your miserable life, you would know that there’s a difference between being LET GO and fired. If you can’t get a story straight, don’t talk!”

LOL. Go, cousin! Of course, she lit up the family phone tree after she left the nursing home, so I won’t get too excited. But information (false or otherwise) is currency in this family.

And frankly, I’m GLAD they thought I was doing so well. Let them talk. Let all those boozers, users and abusers cast stones. You think I can’t tell stories about them? Bitch, please. If they think that I’m better than them, they’re right.

Sure, there are a couple who are pretty decent people. But it’s not worth it to reach out to them when they are securely positioned in the poisonous phone tree. It’s such a shame that my lovely grandparents are gone and yet these morons still pollute the earth.

I’ve always had my mind set on keeping my last name when I get married. After all, my mom gave me my first name, my grandmother gave me my middle name, and I have my grandfather’s last name. It means a lot to me. But to disassociate from this clown posse? I may have to put the cart before the horse and go change my name legally before I meet Mr. Right. Anything to not be grouped with the uppity trash in my bloodline.

“And although there’s pain in my chest
I still wish you the best
With a ‘fuck you.’”