Caterwauling

Prince Needed

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Well, thanks to being up half the night, I missed most of the royal wedding. For somebody who is under-employed, I sure am awfully busy at the least-convenient times!

I cried when I read via US Weekly’s iPad app that the last time Elton John was in Westminster Abbey, he was watching the young princes following behind their mother’s coffin. And how joyous it is to see them at the altar, celebrating a new beginning. How glorious it is to see them come full-circle.

Damn it. *sniffle*

I keep getting texts from CNBC — economic growth down! Inflation up! ExxonMobil beats earnings estimates! Consumer sentiment is up right now but you know it’s going to be revised downward on Monday like it always is!

*yawn* Same old shit. Different day.

And I ask the universe, where is my prince who asks me to quit my stupid little job so I can plan my wedding full-time? Lord knows I’d pick a better dress than Kate did.

And how on earth did she get away with doing her own hair/makeup when she supposedly had six hairdressers on site? She was cute, but not princess-like. I wanted her to show us some bling and sparkle and pizzaz.

In any case, I hope I can get out of the house well in advance of my 7:30 to 11 shift at my favorite local event so I can actually enjoy it.

I know Kate’s — er, Catherine’s — life as a princess-and-now-duchess is anything but easy. And I rebel against pomp and circumstance and rules and expectation like the best of them. But if I’m going to do something that, in the end, really doesn’t matter, I’d like to have access to a palace and haute couture. Is that really so much to hope for, for me?

Going swimming!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’m sure I’ve told you about one of those people in my life who’s a zit on top of a boil that sits atop a hemorrhoid. (And I’m sure you’re like, you’ve got a TON woman. Which one?)

Anyway, I was left alone for a couple of grand days. But I have about 40 emails (I kid you not) that are keeping me up right now. The coverage of the royal wedding starts in three hours — I’m horrified to say I will still be awake at 4 a.m. to see it! (And I have to be at my volunteer gig at 7:30 p.m. Whee!)

The thing is, the position itself isn’t a fit, long-term. It’s easy and I tend to not treat it as life-or-death. It’s the skill level that I bring to it that makes it a no-brainer for me. Which, it’s nice to have a few lay-ups to counterbalance the harder work.

This is vaguely reminiscent of my Graceland days, of how the stuff I was the only one prepared/skilled/savvy enough to do was what got criticized most by those who had no friggin’ clue.

Although, I don’t miss their vitriol-filled e-mails about what a horrible person I was and that was a fate only punishable by insults and death. This is WAY better in comparison, although I miss that lovely paycheck that came with the cutting words.

These days, the cutting words are baked inside over-the-top compliments about dumb shit. You did a GREAT job spelling things right! Super! Everybody applaud! Now if this project isn’t done by 8 a.m. tomorrow I want answers and you’d better have them. Don’t we work GREAT together?!?!

I start off each week with so much enthusiasm. Like, I can write my own TICKET here if I play nice. Yet by this point, I’m deflated. Like, OF COURSE I’m capable. But one of these times you’re going to make me so flippin’ mad that I’m going to change my phone number, my e-mail and my Skype. And my identity, for good measure.

So, I’m hiring an intern. Any takers for free work? lol. I get to do what I love, which is lead, and I can blame somebody else for everything. It’s perfect!

Damn it, woman!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Had the weirdest dream last night.

The last official ex-employer hired me back, totally on the downlow, just for one day. She approached me and said, look, nobody knew what was going on better than you did. And I want you to scope out the place for a day and tell me all of your recommendations on how to move the business forward.

Hmm. Well, finances being what they are, my dream self knew better than to say no to what would be a cakewalk.

So, I get there, and I remembered what my days once felt like. But pride also being what it is, I figured hey, it’s only a day.

No kidding, I was put into this GIANT labrynth and had to find my paycheck. Which was fine. I knew I had to solve some riddles along the way. It’s all good. I can tap-dance like a good soldier when there’s cash involved. Or cheese. Whichever.

I finished the maze in two hours. But I was committed to doing a full day’s work, so I sought out the old boss to answer some questions so that I might achieve even more.

At the end of my day, I gave my assessment of the state of the union. I unfurled a scroll (what the hell century was this?!?!) full of recommendations. And got blown the hell off every single time I opened my mouth.

I don’t mean disregarded. I mean being so submerged in double-talk that I had to fall silent so I could keep listening and not be talking over her and miss anything.

And my trademark stubbornness being what it is, I handed back the envelope containing my pay, unopened. I don’t know what the job was worth, and I didn’t care.

I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel like I stood for any principles. I just felt like I could have done something else with my day.

It’s not one of the psychic dreams I was hoping for, but it provided some retroactive insight that I really didn’t want or need, but thanks anyway.

In my waking life, I started making a list today, of what I *really* want to do with my life. It doesn’t look a whole hell of a lot like the past 20 years of my life have looked. I’m grateful for it all, but I want the next 20 years to be VERY different.

I spent Sunday afternoon with a 90-ish woman. And that’s how it all ends up, you know? In a hospital bed where nobody takes care of you and nobody really misses you.

And MAN was she awesome. I don’t have my own grandmother anymore, so I appreciated having the next best thing.

When I left, she grabbed my hand and told me to marry a good man. “You deserve it, honey. Don’t settle for what’s out there. Hold out for the real thing, and I hope you have the best time of your life with him.”

That caught me so off-guard. I don’t know what I was expecting. Nothing, really. Certainly not the wisdom of the ages.

I’m surrounding myself with love these days. I’m succumbing to the whole royal wedding production. I’m looking at wedding dresses. Lingering over platinum and diamond rings. Debating the personals. That sort of thing.

And normally, when people say things to me about love and relationships and marriage, I scoff. “Not for me,” is usually my response. But when she asked my age and I choked on, “I’m turning 37,” I felt the cold air gush through that tiny little hole in my heart that I’ve stuffed full of disbelief and sarcasm.

This is the year for love. I’ve all but given up on the career. And weight loss. Might as well ask the universe for something that actually has a shot at lasting — something I want to be a part of, unlike the workforce or the non-pudgy-pork-roast-assed set.

(What fun is that? Let’s hear it for the fat girls! I was born overweight — why fight fate?)

It’s all good. It just has to get better. I might be lying about my age going forward, but being honest with myself about what I really want out of life might mean I actually GET it. Gasp! Who knew?

‘Violent Torpedo of Truth’ ticket

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’m saving you a hundred bucks here. You’re welcome.

Things I learned from the Charlie Sheen “Violent Torpedo of Truth” tour:

1. One of his “goddesses” left him. Pity, because the combined age of the two almost added up to his.

2. Jeff Ross? Is hysterical. Lisa Lampanelli has wanted to do a Charlie Sheen roast, and I think she would have been fantastic, but Jeff brought a lot of order and sense (and laughs) to a trainwreck of a show.

3. Otherwise, the real humor was taking place in the audience. Oh, Greg Giraldo, I would rather have heard you than that drunk bitch behind us!

4. Charlie, problems aside, seems like a nice guy. He hugged everyone who came up on stage (fans were allowed to ask questions — and those were all too damn stupid to be planted) and kissed an 82-year-old woman from Key West who was looking for love advice.

5. I would have regretted missing the show if I hadn’t gone. It was the closest I’ll ever get to an acid trip. Charlie has a sense of humor about himself, albeit not much in the way of comedic chops. Like most performers, he’s situationally funny but not so much in the execution.

6. The cutest merchandise was being sold inside. (I coveted a pink “Goddess” T-shirt.” But we got shirts in the parking lot for five bucks that were good enough. Mine says “Charlie’s Angel.”

7. Donald Trump is not only an asshole, but a cheap asshole. Charlie ain’t voting for him, and neither am I. Holy shit we have something in common!

I recorded the “official” roast portion of the show. Give it a moment if it hasn’t finished rendering yet — I promise it’s worth the watch….

Sunset in Sunrise

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Despite getting a friendly (personal!) e-mail reminder from my ex-pastor, I didn’t go to chuch today. I need to. I want to. I just … don’t.

But I did do a good deed today. Two, if I really think about it, but I’m not one to serve and tell. The way I see it, you can either go listen to the message or go out and live it.

The big news ’round these parts is that I went to see Charlie Sheen perform last night. It was … interesting. He was smart enough to hire Jeff Ross as moderator/roast-master/comic relief. I video’d Ross’ roast of Charlie Sheen. That made the ticket price worthwhile right there.

Well, that and the fact that we had SWEET seats. We were upgraded because the section we WERE supposed to be in was closed due to not-so-great ticket sales.

Charlie really should have rented out one of the Improvs down here and made it more exclusive, instead of us only taking up a little less than half of the arena. But, whatevs.

I may have a full report back on the show. Or I may not. I still don’t know what the hell I just saw. Domestic violence issues aside (as if they could ever be pushed aside, but bear with me for a sec), he seems like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders — much of it from his own doing — and not one single effective coping skill.

But he hired great talent to amuse us, so maybe he really is #winning after all. Or, he will, someday.

Anyway, hope the bunny was good to y’all. Since we don’t have any relatives and we’re definitely low on friends, we adopted someone as family today. And it kind of reminded me how shitty my mom’s life really has been and, yet, what a good person she remains committed to being.

Speaking about the metaphorical “we” as in “we as a society and not just here in this house,” it’s sad how easy it is for us to be good to people who are NOT related to us. Well, the sad part is really how hideously we can all treat each other when we’re bound by blood or law or moral obligation.

Alas, it’s a day for the slate to come clean. Well, as clean as it can — Lord knows even the best glass cleaners leave some streaks. Easter is a reminder to (try to) dump the dead weight, to let go of the petty crap and to focus on doing whatever it was that God let us come here to do.

We can all do better. Personality-wise, effort-wise, skill-wise and relationship-wise. It’s hard to time those resolutions around the New Year, but at Easter when we’re reminded of what has been sacrificed for us, it seems to be the least that we can do is to find our own small ways to honor God and, therefore, ourselves.