Caterwauling

My key to getting through the holidays is just to keep busy. Not that my social calendar is too full, but Goldilocks’ iCal is just right. Anything to keep my brain engaged, lest it wander too far away and decide not to come back!

Anyway, what everyone probably doesn’t know is that I was supposed to be on the road late last week, to see a long-lost friend. But I was told to be in town to launch a new product this past Thursday. I got all my work done; but guess what? Yup, nada. Was in town for absolutely nothing.

I wasn’t even unhappy. Well, a part of me was, since the phone calls just weren’t doing it for me when I was counting on an in-person visit. But I’m wondering if maybe “good things come to those who wait” is the wrong cliche to use here, when I probably SHOULD be saying, “if it takes this much effort for things to fall in place, something ain’t right.”

But giving up this little dream would probably mean re-focusing on an old one that I gave up. And I can’t have that. Not right now. It would take a lot for me to open that Pandora’s box of pain. I’m not claiming I wouldn’t; it would just take an outright miracle to get me to look over my shoulder. Or, at least, to be seen doing it.

Anyway, I’m trying to orchestrate another scheme here, but if this one falls on its face, I think it’s time to give up on this particular miracle. Although, ’tis the season for them, so hopefully Santa will give someone who hasn’t had a reason to believe, well, a reason to believe. In something. Anything.

Speaking of making miracles and the absurdity of it all, I am kind of bumming because I unexpectedly got a delightful invitation for Friday night, and I want to take it. But then there’s always that moment of, yeah, right! When have you ever been out at a reasonable time on a Friday?

What’s weird is that things have been, in my opinion, slow on the job front. I only put in 45 or so hours last week. The bulk of them were not full of panic and frenzy. (Don’t get me wrong — a whole bunch were.)

And in this time of record-high layoffs (to which my industry is sadly FAR from immune), I’ve felt downright guilty, like maybe I just don’t have enough to do.

A friend wisely pointed out to me that there are very few industries — and very few people within those — who define “normal” as rapid-fire, go-go-go, gotta-achieve-97-things-right-this-minute over the course of 70-plus hours each week. So, basically, I could kick my guilt to the curb over my “dry spell” when I worked what the rest of the world views as a “standard” week.

That, my friends, was life-changing. Especially in this craptacular economy, I know my job is safe because no other sane person would do it. But still, there’s a part of me that feels automatically compelled to look around and say, “What more can I take on?”

But while I was away in Vegas, for a mostly working trip but, all in all, it still amounted to nearly two weeks out of the office, I regained a long-lost perspective. I always wondered why we had to put in 40, 60 or 80 hours a week.

What I’ve once again come to accept as “normal,” I found myself questioning. Who cares how much time you put in, just as long as you do great work? I mean, don’t we tell our guys it isn’t the length of the wand, but the magic they work with it?

Let’s face it, we like it long and hard. In all aspects of the phrase. And even if we don’t love it, we work with it. We feel good once we’re done with it. Right?!?!

So anyway, here’s to hoping that I can get out at a reasonable hour on Friday. It’s one of those situations that’s dependent on others to get me what I need, when I need it. And I just have to be grateful that I get anything and don’t have to pull any rabbits out of my ass. (Been there, done that; those Trix ain’t for kids!)

I guess what I’m afraid of is becoming like the people I’ve spent my career despising. The ones who made four times as much money while giving four times less, effort-wise. I think I view this reprieve — and, I assure you, that’s all it is, a break between crap-a-lanches — more as something to correct and less as something to enjoy for however briefly it lasts.

And hopefully, the next time I get a few moments to recollect my myriad shards of sanity (whenever THAT may be), I hope I realize to stop, enjoy it and use the extra thinking time either to grow in other ways or to *gasp* give my poor widdle brain a damn break already!

Live music at Mandalay

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

When I travel on business, I either do my partying with my associates or I wait till long after they leave town. And on neither occasion do I act like a drunken fool.

On my last night in Vegas, I saw “Mamma Mia!” at the Mandalay Events Center and spent the remainder of the evening at the J-Pop Lounge (pictured) where the service is fantastic and the live music is nothing short of amazing.

I was sitting alone at a table when a gal came up and asked if she could pay me for a cigarette (as Vegas is the last town where smokers can take refuge, even though they removed the smoking lounges at the airport, YOU BASTARDS). I gave her one and she invited me to join her and her friend at a table by the stage. And what the hell, right? I took her up on her offer.

That was my first mistake.

So I sat with Ashley and her friend Ward/Wyatt/Weirdo/Whatever and she tried to help us bond over the fact that he and I both live/work in D.C. So he said to me, “What do you think of the new president?”

I wasn’t sure what kind of company I was in, so I said casually that I was really a Hillary supporter but I was still pleased with how the election turned out.

At which point they groaned and said, “You can leave the table now.”

And believe me, I wanted to but I was hoping I just didn’t know how to read them at that point.

So these two go into a full-scale attack on Obama and why he’s not qualified to run the country. They said how much they hate him and Biden and they just KNOW that someone’s going to take out Obama in the next two years and we’ll be stuck with Biden as our president. And they will be thrilled in 2012 when their party resumes office again.

My head was spinning. I’m getting tired of forgiving every sore-pawed Republican who feels the need to tell me how much they hate my candidate. They aren’t the first, they probably won’t be the last, but you’ve got to do what I did — quit whining and go support your party in the next election. Period.

And I don’t want to call them racist because that’s a powerful word and certainly not a nice one. But if the shoe fits, please to allow me to beat you with it.

So Ashley wanted another smoke (she couldn’t smoke in front of this guy who she swears was not her boyfriend), so I pretty much just slid her the pack under the table and decided to keep the idiot company. There were football highlights on the TV and we actually had a very pleasant discussion about the sport. But then Ashley returned to the table with some latent comment about Sarah Palin and I decided it was time to change the subject. Since Weirdo works at Andrews Air Force Base (locally), I asked if he were a Redskins fan.

His answer? “Redskins SUCK! Go Cowboys!”

At this point, I’m thinking great, here’s a redneck Republican who loves Dallas. Please to be shooting me soon, yes?

I opted to ignore them for the rest of the night in favor of watching all the crazy white people trying to dance. Which, I assure you, is always good for a laugh.

There was a guy who had tried to pick me up earlier in the night, whom I had pretty much run screaming from (pickup line: “Your first baby’s going to be black!”), and he was there with someone he had managed to pick up. Awww. Barf. Does that line actually work or was she even drunker than she looked?

I was laughing my ass off at them trying to dance — it’s a pop-music lounge, and he was making this poor girl slow-dance to Fergie and Gwen Stefani tunes. I mean, come on. I was glad I had passed on that sorry sap.

I did tell Ashley that he had tried to pick me up earlier. And since his hue was similar to Obama’s, she almost crapped in her seat. At this point the cogs in my head are starting to turn to figure out how I can offend them by trying instead of my mere presence making them sick.

And opportunity presented itself when the sorry sap came over and grabbed my wrists to pull me onto the dance floor.

I shot a terrified look toward at Ashley and Weirdo, and they said go have fun.

Yeah, not likely. You know WHY this idiot couldn’t pick up a girl and keep her? Because he’s an asshole. We were on the floor no less than 60 seconds when he starts trying to pinch my nipples.

Seriously? The hell?

I started slapping his hands and shouted, “This ain’t the hokey poke-me!” But I don’t think he was smart enough to get that.

I kept smiling because I wasn’t about to cry rape on the dance floor. But what the fuck is it about Vegas, or business trips in general, that makes people think they can act like total douchetards in public? Clearly he can’t get laid at home, wherever that is, but trying to molest classy ladies such as myself (shut up!) isn’t going to get you very far either, cowboy.

For the record, it’s cold in the casinos because they pump in fresh oxygen to keep the smoke at bay and to ensure everyone’s nice and awake to keep gambling all night. Ergo, I don’t wear anything but padded bras when I’m in Vegas. So nyah, no titty-twisters for you!

Meanwhile, I had given this guy all of two minutes on the dance floor, if that, and I decided to make my escape. I looked toward the table, only to find that Ashley and Weirdo had taken the fuck off.

Which, I was perfectly fine with — he’d bought me two drinks and it was definitely a great substitute for intelligent conversation — but to leave my pocketbook sitting there with my credit cards and room key? NOT COOL.

The idiot on the dance floor asked me to stay but I said I needed to find my friends. Fuck that, I grabbed my full glass of wine and went over to the next bar, where I moved on to tequila and lots of it. (Yay $20 half-yard mojito with extra shots!)

Luckily, I had kept one cigarette for myself and definitely celebrated being free again.

Anyway, I don’t really know what to make of that night. Clearly that alcohol plus destination city equals freedom to be an idiot. But what of Ashley and Weirdo? Maybe if what I saw of them was who they really were, maybe they could stand to act like different people when they’re on the road.

I had liked Ashley instantly because she, like me, is accustomed to traveling alone, and she said she knows how hard it is to go into a bar by yourself and she always wished someone would invite her to sit with their group. But that’s where my admiration began and ended.

I mean, you don’t ditch a fellow female, do you? I’m sure she was even more disgusted than I was by the idiot pawing me up, but I was the one getting molested, thanks much. If she’s so concerned about women having to fend for themselves at the bar, why did she think it was OK to run in the other direction?

Just goes to show why I’m mostly happy to hang out by myself when I travel. I can handle myself just fine, and I’m the same person you meet at the beginning of the night as you say goodbye to at the end. Just a little drunker, that’s all.

You know what victory is? It’s wearing a vest that used to fit you perfectly — maybe even snugly, if you’re being honest with yourself — and putting it on to find that not only does it button, but once it’s buttoned, you can look down and see the FLOOR between you and the fabric.

In other words, w00t!

Am a half-pound away from being down 40 pounds. It was a good week, at least in the de-pudgification world. Maybe it was all the STRESS that did it to me — and it certainly wasn’t my proximity to the office Candy Corner, where last night’s dinner was a peppermint patty, five peanut M&Ms and three organic animal crackers. *sigh*

I’m going to have to miss the next two Weight Watchers meetings, although I may try to pick one up on an off-day to keep myself motivated.

Tonight we talked about Anchoring as a weight-loss tool. In other words, what is the thing that keeps you motivated, whether positive or negative?

Molly showed us a ring her parents bought her when she was halfway to her goal. And the ring is now too big, since she reached her goal.

(As for me, I’ve started wearing jewelry again — I have no fewer than 100 necklaces that I’d been ignoring that I suddenly can’t get enough of. And I’m wearing all my former-ring-finger-sized rings on my index and middle fingers and they’re STILL too loose. Yay!)

Our leader showed us a photo of himself at his biggest when he was in Italy two years ago. Not pretty.

As for me, I have two anchors, a positive and a negative. The negative is my corporate headshot. It’s awful. I can’t stand it. I hated it when I saw it but when someone offered to take another photo of me, I said, “What’s the point? I still look the same.”

And being down nearly 40 pounds, I’m ready to take another one, should opportunity arise. I mean, that I agreed to speak in front of a live audience AND a virtual one without even thinking to hesitate because of how I look, dude. Seriously. Wow. It didn’t even occur to me to think I wasn’t cute enough to be on camera.

And in that, maybe is the greater anchor — I am starting to see the person I was meant to be. I see what I want to look like, how I will look in a great pair of jeans, how small I will be when standing next to others, how I won’t automatically search for someone bigger in the room than me so that I feel a little bit better.

I was hugging a friend the other day, of the male variety. Someone who looked at me a couple of weeks ago, surprised, and mused, “You’re disappearing before our eyes.” I thought it was some existential reference to me being more scarce than usual, but it was a compliment.

And when I last saw him and hugged him, for the first time I realized I was smaller than him. (We were roughly the same size, maybe if only in my head but I think my perception wasn’t too far off.) And I LOVED it. I had that feeling of being small and protected and engulfed in a bear hug.

I mean, I hug my friends all the time, but to actually feel their arms going all the way around me? Wow. Just, wow.

OMG, that was a feeling that had been missing from my life for too damn long.

This is why I’ll be good when I’m nowhere near a meeting these coming two Tuesdays. I can’t explain it any better than that.

And just think, it’s only the beginning.

Today I rocked the brand-new vest that I bought last night when I went out with The Girls^TM, so I felt cute. Not only was it the only vest in the entire store, but it’s a size down from what I normally buy AND IT FIT!

Of course, I did take it off before I ate dinner today, so the buttons wouldn’t blow off and blind anyone within a 25-mile radius.

Anyway, I don’t talk about my friends much on this page (probably because they read it — *waves*). But we did have someone from outside the usual circle decide to join us for a post-shopping dinner last night. And it was fine but, man, was it weird.

With this particular group of friends, we’d started out planning most of our outings in a public forum. But given that a solid, core group of us had formed and no one else seemed to be joining us anyway, we typically plan our events off-list.

For me, it means a nice, dependable, monthly outing with people I like and trust who won’t disown me if I don’t make it to any of the other events in-between pilgrimages to the various corners of the greater D.C. area.

Anyway, our last event was planned online so that we could maybe introduce some new people to the group. Since two of our core six members came later than our original Fab Four in this very way, we are always up for finding another person to make the growing circle complete.

We’d kept membership at females-only. Which has been fine and fun but yeah, we’re still hot-blooded chicks who could use a distraction, too. So, fine, all the men who said they wanted to join the group, the doors were opened for them.

So, this one dude decides to join us last night. And he was smart and articulate and seemed to be doing well for himself. But one has to wonder why a man his age would come pal around with a half-dozen 30-ish women.

Then again, I probably just answered the question myself!

And the fact that he drove almost as far as I did, as we do a traveling circus of sorts, just to come eat with us was, hmm, interesting, I guess.

I don’t know if we were worth the drive for him, since we all sort of stared at him in curiosity.

A couple of the girls had mentioned in passing that they’d had a meal they liked at Golden Corral. (Ugh. Bleargh. Yecch. And Barf.) It was the one conversation topic that got him all aglow, and he invited all of us out to the Golden Corral this week.

(If you’re not familiar, it’s a buffet. I am not a fan of buffets in general because of the unwashed masses who stuff themselves stupid. I went to a Golden Corral in Pittsburgh a couple years ago for Thanksgiving since we have no holiday traditions. In a word, I repeat: barf.)

We all turned him down. Not to be mean at all, but it must be nice for him to be able to leave work at a reasonable hour and drive out to wherever the hell they have one of those. The rest of us work nights and holidays and everything in-between.

So, I don’t know whether we’ll see Buffet Boy again or whether we’ll continue restricting the gatherings to either ladies-only or simply just using the ol’ e-mail chain with the trusted few.

And I guess I wouldn’t say it was an epic FAIL in letting men join the group; I guess we all just had a very different idea of how it would go. In any case, ya gotta give mad props to someone who thinks he can take on six strong ladies all by himself!

In any case, I’m still waiting for evidence that there are still single, sexy bachelors in my age bracket in the metro D.C. area. I’m beginning to think it’s time to leave town to get me one of those. …

Main Entry: buzz·kill

Pronunciation: \ˈbəz-ˌkil\

Function: noun

Definition: When you’re in the middle of, ah, “me” time and your mommy knocks. And you KNOW she ain’t gonna wait for you to answer the door so you’ve got some, ah, hiding to do!

Related Words: “God, why are you tormenting me?”