Caterwauling

Hey now, I’m aging fast enough, thanks

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I was out with some of my boys at Mix in Las Vegas recently, high atop THE Hotel for a tastily overpriced meal.

All the boys had ordered dessert but I was happy with my skim cappuccino. But apparently before our order was taken, we were talking about some injustice or another, and one of the boys had said to me jokingly, “Well, happy birthday to you!” And we’d laughed and I’d said “No kidding.”

Well, our kidding turned into our server giving the boys their desserts, and then presenting me with this beautiful plate with a candle, candied nuts and “Happy Birthday” written in chocolate.

AND I got serenaded — the boys sang along because they honestly thought it must be my birthday. The server charmed me with his “Happy birthday, dear Mix guest. …”

But wait, there’s more! I was also treated to a free glass of their best champagne, a Muscat imported straight from France. OMG, yum. Yeah, I won’t be drinking any cheap-ass Asti Spumante or anything like that again — once you’ve had the real stuff, seriously I think it’s better to just do without any until you can have it again.

So once all the fuss died down, my oldest friend in the pack asked what the hell just happened. The newer friends in the group asked how they knew it was my birthday. I thought about it and said, you know, my REAL birthday is in exactly six months … technically the celebration was an accurate one if you’re into half-birthdays.

Which, I’m sorry to say, sent me into a very mild panic attack and I snarfed in that Muscat like someone was gonna snatch it out of my sweaty little palm. (My palms don’t sweat. Just an expression.)

I’ve babbled ad nauseam on this blog that “34 is my year! 34 is my year!” and OMG, it hit me that “34 is halfway over! You’re almost 35!” and I’m lucky my $100 entree only consisted of two lettuce leaves and three scallops or else I would have thrown up in my lap.

Anyway, I’m not quite ready to see that landmark birthday and I wish I had more than six months to prepare for it. I suddenly have this weird pressure to achieve everything I’ve ever wanted to do before I turn 35. Maybe I should just declare that “my year,” too, but I’ve wasted far too many years to keep putting off living, truly living.

In any case, my half-birthday party in Vegas is going down in company lore as “that time when Goddess managed to score a free dessert at a five-star restaurant.” At least it’s a Vegas-based antic that I don’t mind being talked about for!

Christmas at DCA

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I went to see “Four Christmases” yesterday and pretty much loved it. Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn’s characters are living exactly the life I want — surrounding themselves with expensive things, taking exotic vacations and avoiding all things family-related. Ah, to dream. …

Without spoiling it, the question does arise whether that’s all there is to life. And my answer would be “That’s fine by me!” but nobody’s asking what I think.

I’m making a conscious effort to not go all manic-depressive this holiday season, but this one is testing me more than most. (Minus the one four years ago. Just, don’t ask.)

I just want to know what a good holiday season feels like. One that’s not reminding me how financially fucked I am or how significant-other-challenged I always seem to be at this time of year. And now that I’ve got a built-in roommate (whoever said it’s cheaper to keep her, needs to get smashed over the skull with a brick fireplace) who is either clueless to, or simply ignores, my absolute discomfort at the situation, well, what’s the point of surviving the holidays when nothing looks to be getting better?

I skipped church today — I tend to do that when I need it most. But the bathroom was occupied when I woke up to start getting ready, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. That and, hey, it’s raining. I hope the baby Jesus will understand.

My recent vacation was my Christmas present to myself. I didn’t do nothin’ but shop, eat, drink and lounge in the tub. No cat fur, no intrusions, no sharing my oxygen.

And no answering the phone or looking at the e-mail, during the latter part of the trip. I’ve been so caught up in the details of making other people’s dreams come true, I’ve forgotten how to contribute my vision to the executing of others’.

I’m at this weird place in life where I could continue the career I have — I can get really good at it and do this forever. Or … maybe I’m at the point where I’ve learned enough and maybe it’s time to learn/do something new — preferably something that’s more immune to the recession at hand, if such a thing exists.

I dunno. I’ve always been happy to let my fate find me, whether it’s job, career, friends, family (or urban tribe), pets, boys, etc. I don’t actively seek anything.

And what I seek now — to have my house to myself again, to not be worried to death about losing employment in this tough economic conditions, to enjoy a healthy and functional relationship — seems downright impossible at this moment. I know everything’s within my power to obtain/achieve, but at what point are you just too beaten-down to pursue anything other than the occasional scrap of peace and quiet to simply exist?

Anyway, I don’t wanna just exist. I don’t want to “get through” the holidays, the next fiscal quarter, the next year of the lease.

I don’t want to keep putting off a computer purchase till my meager savings is dwindled down to nothing to pay all the bills.

I don’t want to be where I was four years ago, missing a job I hated with all my heart because I needed the (pathetic amount of) money it provided.

I don’t want to look back on this time where I alternated between anger and passivity when I could have been nicer to people who are rubbing my nerves like a fluffy cloud of steel wool.

I don’t want to believe that this is as good as it gets.

I don’t want to find reassurance in that there are plenty of others who have it way worse than me.

I don’t want to feel like my best days are anywhere but in front of me.

I want to see how great others have it and continue being happy for them. And I also want to feel that I can achieve that level of joy and love and accomplishment and completeness for myself.

I spend a lot of time in denial, of avoiding the things and people that stress me out. I guess I just want them to know how miserable they make me, that I have to pretend they don’t exist in order to get through a day/week/whatever. I also use that exhaustion as an excuse for not keeping up with the people with whom I very much want to share my time and love.

But now that I’ve had a week to myself, I’ve had a chance to chill out and look at the big picture again, instead of being mired in all the details that mean so much to seemingly everyone else but me. And I feel like I can continue in this path and rise to the top of it. But what’s going to motivate me in the meantime, other than fear and obligation?

I know I’m going to end up where I’m supposed to end up. But how am I going to recognize/fulfill my own dreams when I’m so busy tending to everyone else’s?

Pyramid

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

There’s a thing called time decay when you’re trading stock-market derivatives, in that not only do they have a limited shelf life, but their level of deterioration accelerates most rapidly as their lifespan zooms to a close.

In that vein, the time decay of my vacation is making my head spin.

I got an alert from my bank today that I’d fallen way below my designated balance. (Did I mention I didn’t pay bills — mine or anyone’s — this month?) So I took that as a sign to use the remaining funds to go book a show ticket for tonight!

Now, every hotel here hosts some sort of live production. I was particularly interested in the show at my hotel — especially because they keep leaving me voicemails to tell me that I can get 20% off tickets by stopping by the box office and showing my guest card.

So today, I said what the hell and went to the box office. I picked the 10 p.m. show, I picked my seat and I asked for the discount.

You’d think I’d have asked Twatzilla behind the counter to go kick a puppy on my behalf.

She asked what kind of discount I thought I was entitled to. ! I said I kept getting these voicemails telling me to get my 20% off, so that’s the discount. She asked whether I had gotten any discount books when I checked in. I said yes. She asked me to show them to her. I said look, I’ve been here for a few days — I’m not carrying around all the crap I was handed on day one.

So I had to show her a credit card, room key, room charge card, and a driver’s license and she said she needed to verify with the front desk that I was entitled to the discount I claimed I was entitled to.

HUNH?

Look, I get that maybe there are different levels of discounts for different guests. I have a suite at the top of the hotel, so I presume the fact that I got a really good room must have opened me up to some spectacular offers. Great! Give ‘em to me. God knows I’m usually considered to be the riff-raff (see previous entry on WHY I FUCKING HATE RUM JUNGLE).

But gah, this was turning straight into a production. And I don’t do productions. I took back all of my cards as she got on the phone ,and she said, “What, don’t you want the discount?” And I said, “I did. But there are other shows in the area that won’t require this kind of effort. Thanks anyway.”

I was so angry — in fact, when I got back to my room, there was ANOTHER voicemail from the front desk, telling me to stop by the box office and ask for my 20% discount off my tickets.

Look, had I waited, I’m sure I would have gotten it. But seriously, this is my vacation. I don’t tap-dance for anyone and NOT for box-office monkeys. Sorry.

Before I returned to my room, though, I wandered over to a neighboring hotel to see about getting a ticket to its featured show. I would find out later that I had a coupon to get $30 off a seat to that production, but I had stomped there in a huff and didn’t exactly think to look at my pile of coupons. (Including several 2-for-1 dinner offers, which I found myself unexpectedly not needing, so you can see my reluctance to look through my stuff.)

Anyway, not only did I buy a ticket to the neighboring hotel’s show, but I also paid less than I would have for the one at my hotel.

And the best part? I said I wanted to pay the least amount possible, and I was shown my choice of seats. So I picked one and when the woman ran my credit card, she said, “Hey, I upgraded you to the $90 section but you’re only going to pay $50. The seats are better there. Enjoy!”

So, holy shit, I had to practically give blood and piss samples to get the guest discount at my hotel, but the other hotel (where I have stayed before — maybe that’s why they were so nice to me) automatically gave me a great deal WITHOUT ME EVEN ASKING.

I know they all deal with dipshit tourons all day long, but man, to have someone do something so nice for me — without it even being within the realm of expectation — was absolutely exquisite.

So, I’m out of money for dinner but I have enough in my pocket for a big fat cocktail after the show, and damn it, I’m about to have a really fantastic night. Once I finally see the show, I shall pay mad blog props to the hotel in question.

The sad thing about my hotel, though, is that I’ve never been treated better anywhere else that I’ve stayed … with the exception of box-office twat-nozzle. Amazing what one asshole can do to crap on your day, but luckily, that day has been so very saved. And I am so very grateful!

Grand Canal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I wish I could say that being away has given me a chance to relax, clear my head and regain my long-since burned-out spark. Not so much. But I’m working on it.

I’ m having a great time, though, at an event I used to work at but now I’m allowed to simply hang and be just like the average attendee. It’s cool in that I get lunch breaks and can tool around in my flip-flops. The frequent phone-ringing and the near-continual beeping or vibrating of my phone every time I get an e-mail (1,000 in two days) is enough to drive me nuts, though. But there are worse things.

Being incognito is weird, since everyone else in the traveling circus knows me when they see me all spiffed up. Now that I’m lying low, people I have met no fewer than a half-dozen times say, “Nice to meet you” when I approach them and say it’s good to see them again.

Hunh?!?! I mean, I know I have MY groupies when I’m working the circuit (who are either absent or who haven’t found me yet), but now I’m nothing more than a groupie to people I’ve ridden in the clown car with for several years!

Oh well. At least I don’t HAVE to be nice or visible if I don’t want to be.

Had my first really awesome meal here last night. Met up with two old friends (I told you it’s a circuit!) for a crazy-good dinner of Asian fusion cuisine at a world-class resort. And someone else picked up the bill — always a sweet treat after an already amazing night.

*checks time on phone* Well, enough of a break. Gotta go get smarter, although I think entirely too much of this shit is over my head and I’ve got to do something to remedy that. We all know I hate not being the smartest person in the room, although I’ve held my own fairly well in any regard. ….

Weather’s Fine Here!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I couldn’t get into my iced-over car yesterday morning. Which would normally be fine but since I had a flight to catch, well, damn.

I tried everything. I could get into the trunk (which I’d just carefully packed with all my purple Nine West luggage, but the doors were soldered shut. I unpacked the trunk to see if I could crawl in through the backseat. But my too-loose jeans, unbelted so as to reduce my security-line hassles — kept falling off every time I tried to stick my foot into the trunk. So, FAIL there.

I was hopping around like a freaking Mexican jumping bean, as I wasn’t wearing a coat (as I was traveling to a warmer clime, as you can see in the photo. I was also pullin’ up mah pants every two minutes, in between yanking on both car doors with all my might. (I was able to get in through the passenger side. Whee.)

I did make my flight on time — and thank God, ’cause I missed the last two and I wasn’t going for a third strike here.

And how nice to go from iced-over vehicle to palm trees and 70-degree weather. Aaah, life is hard.

Of course I’m starting to get sick. Haven’t been ill in nearly a year but traveling with the unwashed masses has done me in. I tried to sweat it out on the treadmill last night, and then I parked my pudgy butt in the steam room to clear up my sinuses and soaked in the hot pool to get rid of all the body aches.

I do have to say that I blew my diet last night. I was happy to go to bed hungry, but I was dizzy from cold meds and sweating my ass off, so I walked to a neighboring hotel for cheap, fast food. (As this hotel only has overpriced, slow-to-get food.)

And when I got to my room to devour my delicious, delicious diet-busting food, the assholes in the adjoining suite were having a big, loud party. Did I mention big and loud?

My body clock was ticking that it was midnight and even Nyquil wasn’t knocking me out over their shrieking and smoking (on a nonsmoking floor), so I called security and they were all silent within 20 minutes and I got the best sleep of my life.

I’m trying to figure out what to do with myself today, as my conference really doesn’t get interesting for another couple of hours. I did buy a three-day pass to the spa, but I actually am all dressed/dolled up and don’t want to get all skunked, only to have to be presentable in short order. I just hope I have some time tonight to go park my ass in paradise and get my money’s worth.

I remember being here before and wishing I was in better shape so that I’d be confident about being in the spa. Well, 40 pounds lighter and yes, I am way more comfortable, but I still have a ways to go. I’m not sure I’ll be back here next year, since this was an unbudgeted treat, but I do hope to come back on my own and really feel like I rock.

I’m extraordinarily bummed that my planned travel companion couldn’t make it with me on this journey. Makes me wonder whether we’re ever going to make any magic happen, if the “easy” things like this can’t even come together. I still wonder whether I’ll be surprised, though. …