Caterwauling

Spun sugar

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I played hooky yesterday.

One could argue that you can’t play hooky when you don’t work, but even the first day after the Evil Empire booted my fat ass to the curb, I was on the phone and polishing up my resume and treating the job search as a job.

These days, I’m back to being “alert girl,” which was why I was so eager to leave D.C. in the first place. (Read: Tied to the computer, ready to pounce the moment somebody needed to publish something because everything in this business is timely.)

There are even more alerts coming my way, which means job security. It also means, “Hunh. I came so far in the last few years. Isn’t this regressing a bit?”

But it pays. Unlike the one job that keeps throwing shit at me to do and I ain’t had a check since April. I hear one is in the mail. I hear.

My personal policy is to go on strike after two months of non-compensation, especially at the low rate I charge. It was already like a volunteer job and I already gave twice as many hours as I contracted for. I like the people (well, the owner, not necessarily the person I deal directly with).

I haven’t checked my mail in a day and I’m afraid to. (*hold me*) I forgot about taking vacation days — coming back is the worst. I have over 200 new e-mails. Most of which are probably just shitty e-letters from shitty e-publishers, I hope.

Anyway, so yeah, I spent the day with my favorite Floridian-turned-Philadelphian. (Oh, forget it — she’ll always be my Jersey Girl!) We went on a mission to find the place where she will get married. And after going all over creation and exploring every island within a 50-mile radius, we found it.

It was rather hilarious, listening to all these wedding planners grilling her on her chosen date. (Which is very soon.) Everyone wanted her to be flexible. But they didn’t say that. At one place, it was, “Well, why is that your date? No, really, why is that your date?”

My friend’s answer, “Because I’m the damn bride, that’s why!”

But when we finally found the place and came to an agreement on all the terms, the answer suddenly became (in the car of course because she’s too nice to say that to people’s faces):

“Because I’m the bride, BITCH!”

Confidence becomes her.

Seriously, I am so happy I got to go with her. We lost a lot of “friend time” after I quit the Crack Den of Iniquity and went to work for the Evil Empire. I didn’t want to have the King Crackhead grilling my old friends on my whereabouts — I felt it better that the fewer people who had any information on me, the better for THEM.

Anyway, I guess I have to start looking for a party dress. Or maybe quit eating and fit into the dozen or two that I already own.

This day out was good for me, though. These days, I pray to God with gratitude that I can pay the rent. I don’t ask for much else. I figure that if I just ask for the basics (and maybe some extra favor for Mom) that’s enough. I don’t want to push my luck.

But I need more. I need friends and things to look forward to. I can’t live isolated in my apartment with my overextended unemployed houseguest for the rest of my life with absolutely no light at the end of this loooonnnng tunnel.

I’m hoping to meet a handsome stranger at this party of the year. Maybe I’ll put that on the prayer list too. I’d be such a happier person if I had a reason to live beyond publishing alerts that only generate fifty fucking customer service e-mails apiece that I then have to deal with.

God, it’s time for bigger things. I’m ready. So very ready.

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Sunset Grille

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Had to work Saturday morning but I got to spend 24 glorious hours in the Keys with the best friends a girl could ask for.

We had a host of things to celebrate — our fantastic, favorite, fabulous Philadelphian (whom I won’t insult by spelling any “F” words with “Ph” — I wouldn’t do that to my favorite former Florida girl. Anyway…) — flew down to visit our friend who just moved to the Keys. And the other two of us who still live on the mainland came down to surprise her.

We have so much to celebrate — a new home (with the Gulf of Mexico as the backyard!), two engagements, a string of birthdays and, well, awesome friendships.

Seriously, there was so much happiness I could just shit.

We ate (brie-stuffed filet mignon for me), we drank (three, or maybe it was four, coconut mojitos — again, for me), we didn’t sleep but we greeted the sunset over the Florida Straits and the sunrise over the Gulf. There may have been another meal in there and some swimming for our earliest arrival and then shopping (and drinking Baby’s Coffee just outside Key West) for the last of us to leave. What more does a girl need?

I read somewhere that optimistic people lose weight faster than depressed people. I wonder if the corollary (or whatever fancy-schmancy word fits here) would hold true, then, that depressed people fatten up faster? Because the shrimp and cheese omelet at the Stuffed Pig and pie from the Key West Key Lime Pie Co. went to my ass faster than a normal person’s, I swear!

I want to move to the Keys. The pace is slow, the people are sweet, the island life is so detached from the mainland that it’s like being in a different country.

But I wonder whether I would grow to take it for granted. Or go nuts because civilization isn’t a 10-minute drive away (since I already live on the beach but in a way-more-populated area).

But then you look at a sunset like this, and know that any commute you have is on a highway like the one pictured, and it’s no wonder that the literary figures who also served as the characters in “Midnight in Paris” inhabited this charming area. I wouldn’t mind being the next Hemingway (without the tragic, gory demise, of course).

This is my happy place. I can’t wait to go back. Next weekend, anyone?

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Reflections, Atlanta

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Oh, freelance life. How you suck sometimes.

Since one company just can’t pay right now, I figured I wouldn’t work on their stuff, at least for today.

Today of course was the day that the phone, e-mail, text and Skype would not cease ringing from that camp. *sigh* So of course I had to put out all those fires. Eight hours that were supposed to go elsewhere … to people who know how to write a check.

I suck at time management. I really do. I honest to God don’t know how I’m going to do everything I took on. Everybody’s got their ass on fire. And I know I tend to have my creative bursts at the last minute, but every minute BEING the last minute is pretty hard to work against.

I think I actually worked harder when I was employed, truth be told. But it was easier when everyone knew the workload and could stay away; this juggling of different people and projects is making me wonder whether I can get that damn Paxil prescription renewed.

But I’m having as much fun as I can. Sure beats having to sit in meetings 25 hours a week and pretend I don’t want to slice my wrists vertically with an X-Acto knife.

Lord give me strength. And extra hours in the day. And, maybe if I’m REALLY good, the ability to reach through the computer and smack the shit out of someone, even if it’s just their avatar and they’ll never feel it.

Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Goddess AdrasteiaSome Rights Reserved

Margaret Mitchell’s ‘Gone With the Wind’ Manuscript

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Not just an anthemic song for the working poor, but my declaration. I don’t want to work. That could be why I ain’t got no job.

I’m chasing after a couple of clients for about four grand in back pay right now. It is just not fair that they are traveling the world and I’m counting myself as lucky enough to afford Wal-Mart yogurt. Seriously.

I have piles of work to do though. I am not going to jeopardize my back pay by not working now. This is fun. Not.

Bottom line — I don’t 100% trust anyone that there will be pay given after services rendered. And frankly, everything cuts into my “sitting on my ass” time, which I’d rather be doing if I’m not making money.

Whatever happened to the girl who worked around the clock (certainly for no additional pay) just to impress?

So in other news, I now have three — wait, four! — friends who got engaged in the last couple weeks. I couldn’t be more thrilled for all of them. They all found fantastic men and will have great lives with them.

And don’t get me started on gay marriage legalization. Great — even more reasons to feel sorry for oneself for being single. I can’t even claim to be gay anymore!

I’m trying not to have the pity party here. I know I could have gotten married here or there. No, no proposals or rings to my name or anything (damn!). But I know I could have been shacked up with someone other than my mother by now. Or, more likely, very happily divorced.

Speaking of, a voice from my LONG ago past sent me a note this morning. He chased me for a while in college. Then he moved to the city I always wanted to live in. We lost touch till the miracle of Facebook brought us back together.

The story is short. We talked a lot. Made plans for me to visit. And when I finally said OK, I will be there for New Year’s Eve on whatever year, and I’m gonna go buy the train ticket, somebody evaporated from the earth … until after New Year’s.

He tried reaching out a couple times after that. Like nothing had happened. (Well, I guess THAT is fairly accurate.) I quit answering those calls. Fade to black.

Anyway, I just got a note from him saying he’d love to reconnect. I’m sure he does. I’m sure he, like me, is still single and confounded as to why. (I could share a few hints…)

I wish him well. I really do. I don’t think there’s been anyone who’s ever been in my heart against whom I would turn unless they did something REALLY hideous.

But I don’t know if I will take him up on that offer to reconnect, either. This whole “Wizard of Oz” business of everybody showing up someplace else has run its course. And unless someone’s gonna jump on a plane and sweep me off my feet (HIGHLY unlikely in his case), a nice Facebook exchange now and then is enough.

Seriously, I just wanna write my novels and have my friends and exes and even my enemies show up as characters. I imagine that I remember the best versions of them — I get my heart broken enough without the added stress of finding out that I might have been wrong. I get enough of that grief in the professional world.

Anyway, Imma try to fill my heart with love and light and do a project today that I can’t do during the workweek. And I will try not to think about just what might have happened if I’d gotten on that train, good or bad, anyway…

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A window, a river and a crossroads

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So what if I’m beating the horse as it’s being processed at the glue factory?

Everyone’s telling me it’s time to let go. I know that. But if it were me, I sure as hell wouldn’t want the world going back to normal 24 hours later. I’d want an advocate, damn it. As many of them as I could get!

Perhaps as proof of my altered state, I wrote to Nancy Grace. (I know, WTF, right?) I am shocked to say has grown on me in the last two months. BOMBSHELL!

Anyway, I said thanks for pushing for justice for Caylee Anthony — now it’s time to move on and give a voice to the rest of those who don’t have one.

I know Foghorn Leghorn Cheney Mason faults the woman for beating the drum for three solid years and, probably, until the end of time. But irritating though she may be, she has the ability to give people the smackdown in a way the rest of us can only envy.

In an ideal world, I wish I had her advocating for my mom. Maybe she wouldn’t be so sick and in so much pain all the time — she deserves to be well and to live FAR more than “Tot Mom” does.

That’s what I’m maddest about. That four therapists have offered to help the psychopath from Orlando. How about somebody donating some services to someone who isn’t famous?

I don’t have kids. I could, of course. I’ve employed all forms of population control and, therefore, don’t. And I worry if would be as bad a mother as Casey was. I don’t do a lot but I don’t want to have to give that little bit up. Plain and simple.

Caylee became America’s little girl and, thus, mine. I fell in love with her. But the thing we all have to remember is that child, in death, became more-loved than she ever was in life.

I wish we could spotlight the good parents, as well as the people who give their children to better homes where they’re wanted. I hate it that we focus on the crazies.

But that’s just it — I’m sure my Extra Ultra Mega Uber Extended Houseguest from Outer Space has given me FAR more reason to put her on the Space Shuttle than Casey had reason to kill Caylee. I know my ass would FRY if I did what she did.

Of course, now that murder has been declared legal in Florida as of July 5 (verdict day), well, maybe I have some protection under “Florida v. Anthony.” I could only hope for a similar set of jurors who don’t understand that “thinking she did it” does NOT mean “not guilty.”

Anyway, friends, I won’t be a vigilante for that homely hobag to the north. Although she said she wants to move to South Florida — maybe we can send her to Little Havana (in Miami) and strap a $50 to her (with Henkel duct tape, of course) and see what happens.

And I won’t be tossing the Mega Uber roommate into a swamp, either. But none of this will ever stop me from praying for a world where everyone will be wanted and loved, at any age and in all circumstances.

Too bad my pudgy pork roast ass is too big for me to run for Miss America. I want world peace, damn it!

Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Goddess AdrasteiaSome Rights Reserved