Caterwauling

Just a few lil photos of my journey, from where I stayed to where I played …

Okay, first things first — can anyone tell me why the blog is looking screwy? (i.e., the sidebar is gone, and previous entries have evaporated)

And secondly, life is back to normal. I have enjoyed being away from my medicated employment establishment, although the coming weeks will be hell because of my time off. That’s OK — my boss, Pussy Demure (whom I might also call Ronald Reagan because she starts off every sentence with a confused, “Well …”) approached Shan sometime last week and inquired why I hadn’t been showing up at work. Shan reminded her that Demure herself had approved my vacation leave, and Demure was stunned. Unreal — and didn’t she think to, oh, I don’t know, call me if she thought I were on strike?

It’s good to be home, though, even though I have no real attachment to Alexandria or the general D.C. area. It’s just nice to be in my own bed, nice to have had a wonderful week with people who mean the world to me, and nice to now be in a city that isn’t 20 years behind the times. Tiff and I had a long conversation yesterday, and we marveled at how hard we have worked and continue to work on building our new lives in an unfamiliar setting. And we have done pretty well, despite countless trials that have oft left us wondering what the hell we were thinking when we left the comfort and affordability of Pittsburgh and the safety nets we had woven whilst there. But we have woven new nets, have brought new people into our lives and, sadly, have gravitated away from many whom we thought would be permanent fixtures. Neither of us really expects to stay in this area for more than a few years, but we really realize that, damn it, we rock and continue to do so. 🙂

And no entry reflecting on the past few months of my life would be complete without a reference to relationships, in whatever form they have taken. On that note, to close the Brat chapter, here is yet another song lyric to capture my mindset:

“I am only here for a little while

Would you like to take me out tonight

Maybe we could talk for a little while, baby

Don’t hold back, it’s time for a love affair

Take my hand, lead me to anywhere

Maybe there’s something in the air, baby.”

— Kylie Minogue, “Love Affair” —

It was good to have him to go home to. And after leaving him, it was nice to have a home to come back to that has nothing to do with him. I loved him so much for so long, and it’s both strange and comforting to be out of love these days. We are so right and so wrong for each other, all at the same time. But when all is said and done, we really do make for good friends, and I hope that is something we can retain, no matter where our paths may take us.

He is my ultimate Catch-22 — I take 10 steps forward but run back to him in a heartbeat. But I’m more realistic in my expectations of him as well, so there is nothing wrong with doing what we do best. 🙂 And now that I am home, sure, I want him to come down here and visit me, but I will also be on the lookout for that special person who can and will want to be everything to me … whoever that person may end up being.

What’s really strange is that while I enjoy being a hoe-biscuit, I have experienced these strange nesting instincts — perhaps it has come from all of my friends having babies. When I was at her house, Susan kept telling me that I need to be a mom, but I had to declare that while I enjoy her little girls, I am not sure that I should be having my own — at least, not yet, not with my crazy lifestyle. Children are cute when they’re pint-sized and sleep all day, like Chloe does. But what would I do with a little red screaming thing that will eventually learn to talk back? 😉

I have oodles of photos of Chloe and Courtney, but as the digital camera pooped out in the middle of California, I have to revert to the stone age and scan photos in. Dread! Too much work!

As I was leaving Susan’s house — to go sneak into Brat’s apartment across town — she said she loves her girls and her husband, but what she wouldn’t give to be me, climbing into my little sports car in search of one last wild night with my favorite boy toy. I kind of smiled and said, what I wouldn’t give to have someone coming home to me every night instead. Funny how we always want the opposite of what we have, even though we do in our hearts appreciate the way things are going for us. We really do make our own realities and our own miracles — just not at the same time or the same ages as our friends.

Closure: I finally removed my black underwear that somehow found its way onto my backseat when I left Brat last Sunday. That’s my life — a series of one-night-stands and heartache if I allow it to happen. I had sworn off boys for Lent, but well, it’s time to book the room in hell. 😉 But now that I am here in Alexandria, with a summer full of changes and adventures headed my way, I realize that I am finally ready for more. While holding Chloe and showing Courtney how to wear a watch, I realized that yeah, maybe I do want to have a kid before all is said and done. I’d love it if I could be married or in a serious relationship first, though, because it would help both emotionally and financially. But I also have a weird feeling that I will probably do it backward, just because that’s my luck. (Although I did threaten My Hero that I might end up chasing after him with a Dixie Cup and a turkey baster one of these years!)

What I have been lacking in my life, of late, is passion. I am overflowing with it, but I want someone who will basically ravage me during every available moment of my day. I’d like to be one of his top priorities, and I have never been that for anyone. But sadly, I could have been. I spent time with CTL during my vacation (those of you who’ve been around for the past year might remember that Brat, CTL and I were the original Bermuda Love Triangle), and even now — after all that has happened — he would still do anything for me, whether to help me or simply to make me happy. He is such a treasure. Yet I always felt/feel guilty because my attraction — and therefore my affections — always gravitated toward Brat. And sadly, one of CTL’s first questions to me was whether I keep in touch with Brat, and I admitted that we had seen each other over the weekend. He didn’t ask what we did, and for that, I was grateful. But he probably knew.

Every time I leave Pittsburgh, I become stronger. I become more fond of my new homeland, and I realize that sometimes, it’s OK to walk away from a situation you have done everything within your power to try to resolve yet will never truly be resolved. Had I stayed in Pittsburgh, Brat may never have grown to miss me, because I was always there, no matter how tense things were between us. And as for the Bermuda Love Triangle, it’s strange and it’s sad that, a year later, its complications still exist. The time and distance has been good for me, and it’s good to once again put that distance between the other points in the triangle. I love them both for very different reasons, and I will always maintain that if I could just meld them together, I’d have the perfect man. But I can’t, and that means that the perfect man must exist somewhere outside of Bermuda. 🙂 Where is he, and when can I meet him? 😉

Anyway, I lost an hour today, which means, according to Shan, that work comes creeping up on us an hour earlier than usual. Shit! I’m going to go scrub my butt and get outside to enjoy this sunshine! Hope y’all have a wonderful, albeit abbreviated, Sunday, and have a toast to yourself for making it through whatever trials have placed stress on your hearts. Tomorrow begins a new week, and here’s to hoping we all find or keep the loves we so richly deserve.

“Here in the moment I belong

In a waking dream

The night is young

But isn’t long

If you know what I mean

Oh it’s beautiful

The thought of what might be

Close your eyes so you can see

Now we’ve only just begun

We’re running out of time

I don’t want to think about the sun

No not tonight

Oh it’s wonderful you being here with me

Close your eyes so you can see.”

Rejected title: Mix tapes rule

“I had to escape

The city was sticky and cruel

Maybe I should have called you first

But I was dying to get to you

I was dreaming while I drove

The long straight road ahead, uh, huh

— Celine Dion (or Cyndi Lauper, take your pick), “I Drove All Night” —

As I promised myself to not divulge so many details of my personal life as I may have done at times in the past, I’d like to present a “mix tape” approach of my time in Pittsburgh as it pertains to Brat.

What I can say outright, though, is that it is possible to pick up where you left off with someone — we were laughing and teasing each other and, yes, kissing like not a day had passed. But on the other hand, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Would he have contacted me had I not moved four hours away from him? Would he have missed me the way he said he did? And is there anywhere to go from here? I went into this with open eyes — for a change, as I was always kind of purposely oblivious where he was concerned — and I walked away with those eyes open and focused on returning to the new life I have built — one that may or may not come to more fully include him.

We seemed to fall together so easily, so naturally. I believe it was after a round of darts with two other couples (not that I would ever call us a couple) — which he won for our team — that he grabbed me and kissed me. I was stunned and receptive all at the same time. And I will leave the details to my own memory and to your imagination, but I thought the following song summed up the nearly 24 hours that we spent together appropriately:

“Seems like such a long, long time

Since your body crossed my mind

But I think that you should know

It wasn’t I who had to go

 

‘Cause I would give everything that I own

I’d give you my love and this heart made of stone

The sun, the moon, the Earth, the sky

The motorcycle that I like to ride

I would do anything; I would give everything

To be your everything

 

But if ever you should stray

Just sing along and I will play

Or look into your hands

I’m slipping through them like a tiny grain of sand

 

I remember you

Do you remember me too?

It seems like such a long, long time

Since I held you near and called you mine

 

‘Cause I would give everything that I own

I’d give you my heart and this skin and these bones

The sun, the moon, the Earth, the sky

A brand new car that you and I could drive

I would do anything

I would give everything

To be your everything.”

— Stereofuse, “Everything” —

And leaving him that next day, the song on the radio:

“Remember the silence living in the dark

Remember the desperation in my heart

Remember how close we came, to giving up

We were caught up in our storm, I didn’t think that we would make it

We have only stood our grounds, now the storm is breaking

— Amber, “Above the Clouds” —

Not by any means do I wish to imply that things are on any track toward anything more than what it was, which was a friends-with-a-benefit-package thing. But for five minutes, it was nice to wonder if we were somehow working our way back to each other, even if only through baby steps taken somewhat backward.

I shudder to admit that I showed up on his doorstep one more time (can we say hoe-biscuit?) before I left town. All I can really say to that is that I had a little trick up my sleeve to make myself unforgettable (not through sex, although not for lack of wanting the latter!). Showers of kisses later, I left, although not because I really wanted to. One only wonders what really runs through his thoughts, but I have my theories.

And as for me, I will make one personal revelation. I have never stayed the night with anyone. I have made more 4 a.m. excuses than I care to recount, but with him, I just couldn’t come up with any. I loved it that when he slept, he held me close to him. And I can’t lie still to save my life, and I changed positions a dozen times. And each time, he pulled me toward him and didn’t let go. But only in his sleep does he do that. And he didn’t seem to really believe me when I confessed that I never stayed the night with anyone, but that’s OK. I know my history entirely too well (anybody remember G3 when I left him after saying, “That’s it?” Heh).

He says “roll the dice” a lot. It appeared in a number of text messages from him as I made my journey closer to him. So I slipped him the directions to my place, under the heading of “roll the dice.” I kept saying that I’d see him in a year (as it has been nearly a year since we last saw each other), and it seemed to bother him, because he said he hoped it would be sooner. But then he reverted to his usual smartass mode (part of what attracted us to each other, I’m sure, was our mutual quick wit) and said that maybe it’ll be a year and a half next time. Heh. He’d better work pretty quickly, if you want to know the truth, because I’ve never been one to wait around for anyone.

At any rate, I left town this morning and left him behind, but I will always smile a little bit to know that — in his own words — he told me that he was glad that I had come back. I made it clear that it took me a long time to get over him, but quite honestly, we didn’t resolve our issues. We just — finally — had fun and, well, I rolled the dice. We’re still living in very different worlds — both in location as well as emotionally — but we can come together (*ahem*) and enjoy each other’s presence. And right now, that’s what works, and I’m OK with it.

And now it’s his turn to roll the dice. I’ll be curious to see when he takes his turn.

The closing number to today’s musical is brought to you from the “Great Expectations” soundtrack — part of one of my three mix CDs that I made in his honor, many months ago, which got me through the drive home to D.C.:

“Don’t bother saying you’re sorry

Why don’t you come in

Smoke all my cigarettes again

Every time I get no further

How long has it been?

Come on in now, wipe your feet on my dreams

— Pulp, “Like a Friend” —

Roll the dice, friends. Life’s too short to wonder or to worry or to pass up opportunities — especially when they come around more than once. Just do what makes you happy, but be ready for anything. We win some, we lose some, we learn lots regardless. And between us, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. 🙂

1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life?

Too many. Moved around a lot as a kid. Probably five places before I turned 18. After that, at least eight. And unfortunately, I ain’t done. 🙂

2. Which was your favorite and why?

Lovely apartment on Mount Washington in Pittsburgh. Large place, pretty cheap, gorgeous view, all mine. The ’60s shag carpet was a bummer, but I had more area rugs than China has rice, so I didn’t have to look at that god-awful carpet.

3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why?

Both. More exciting than stressful, though. I love adventure, and I love decorating new places much more than trying to figure out what the hell to do to revamp an old place. I am a great packer and usually manage to get my shit from Point A to Point B with little to no breakage.

4. What’s more important, location or price?

Used to be location, in inexpensive Pittsburgh. Now in pricey Northern Virginia, I’m all about trying to not break the bank with the place to live. Although I must say, I love being located two miles from work — it’s nice to have a four-minute commute.

5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)?

I have always been a city dweller, so I appreciate having on-site maintenance, which you don’t get with a house. But as I get older, I think more about not pissing money down the drain on rental units and actually buying a permanent residence — in which case I would love to have a yard and a jacuzzi. In any abode, I look for a good-sized tub that will permit happy, roomy and hot bubble baths.

Thanks to everyone who left me comments and sent me e-mails, wondering why the hell I dropped off the earth. I went back into the 1980s — back to Pittsburgh to visit the family and friends I’ve been nearly lost without.

So without further ado, I:

1. Got laid

2. Visited Two Strikes (the old employer) and got to see all my buddies

3. Got to meet two-week-old Chloe and hold that little bundle of love for hours and hours

4. Played dress-up and colored and read books with 3-year-old Courtney

5. Went to the beach

6. Had Mineo’s Pizza with Lori (my grantwriting partner in crime), threw darts at the Oregon Grille with Brat (see archives from September/October 2001 for the history of that entanglement, which only seems to be continuing in its own bizarre way), went to Chez Capri for lunch with CTL, caught up with Susan and her beautiful little girls (see #3 & 4), took a drive with my grandfather, took a separate drive with Mom and had a lovely chatting session with My Hero (my old boss).

7. Sat in entirely too much traffic on the Beltway and put no less than 800 miles on my dear Samantha Jones

8. Missed Shan, Tiff, and all my loyal readers!

Looking forward to elaborating on all of the above at some future date, as well as catching up on reading all of my favorite blogs that I haven’t seen in two weeks! Love you all!

“It’s good to see your face

You ain’t no worse for wear

Breathing that California air.”

— Bon Jovi, “Just Older” —

I actually cried when my plane touched down at Reagan National, just along the banks of the Potomac. I saw the Capitol building and was grateful not only that I made it safely through four flights, but that I wanted to come back to my adopted home. Even my mom, who hates it that I live so far away from her now, was grateful that if I can’t be in Pittsburgh, at least I’m in D.C. and not three time zones away from her.

The air was so clean in California, come to think of it. It was invigorating to walk outside and immediately feel the gentle breezes blowing my hair out behind me as I walked between venues, and the air smelled of the endless flowers and trees around me. I only have a few digital photos, as my formerly beloved Nikon pooped out after taking a photo of the “Brady Bunch” kid (Christopher Knight, aka Peter) with Pride Fag, our incoming association president. Yep, Pride Fag officially broke my camera! Allow me a “South Park” moment — “You bastard!” 🙂

The flights were fine — it was less than two hours between here and Chicaco, and nearly four hours between there and John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana, Calif. The longer flights were more arduous and turbulent. On the way to Cali, I was blessed to have window seats, but on the way back, I was sandwiched between passengers in middle seats. For the four-hour flight to Chicago, I was between two hot men, one of whom is the proud possessor of my contact information. 🙂 His name was Richard and was a beautiful California boy with blue eyes and sun-streaked hair and a golden tan. We hit it off and had a lovely talk about anything and everything.

On both of my longer flights, we had a set of twin one-year-old girls. The first time around, they were cranky and miserable. I suggested to a fellow convention attendee, before the flight back, that we ask their parents to thoughtfully consider seventh-trimester abortion before hopping on a plane with those little sacks of screams. Luckily, they were sacked out and quiet during the flight back to the Windy City, but that was because their mom was running them around the airport, trying to tire them out. I was going to ask the pilot if we could put carseats on the wings. 😉

Security at airports is even stricter than it was post-Sept. 11, 2001. On the flight between Chicago and D.C., the pilot made an announcement that if we had to go potty, do it ASAP, because no one is permitted to walk around for a half hour before the plane touches down on the runway. And of course we were all practically naked as we checked our carry-on luggage before we boarded — we had to remove our jackets and shoes, and even remove our cell phones and cameras and computers from their respective bags. So, it looked like a unisex dressing room at the end of the conveyor belts, as we all hurried to get our shit together and back onto our bodies. Luckily, I move 100 miles an hour anyway, and I got it together before the security guards yelled at us to shake a leg.

Shake a leg. That’s a term I used a million times in California. It isn’t another state to me — it’s another country when you think about it. Everyone there moves so slow — nobody’s really in a hurry, and everybody’s all smiles when you look at them. I was 14th in line at a confectionery, waiting for the best caramel apple of my life, and I was tapping my foot and flipping out at how fucking slowly the cashiers were moving. But that is their way there. Some pals of mine couldn’t get a cashier to come to the front of the 7-11 store for 15 minutes to wait on them — can you picture that in Northern Virginia? Half of the store would be shoplifted in that time! Hell, our 7-11s have police stationed in most of them here! But yeah, in Cali, everyone’s in sandals and Bermuda shorts and without a care in the world. I think the traffic is so damn bad out there because everyone’s got their cars on cruise control at 40 mph. Argh! Some vendors in Downtown Disney, where I went during my final hours in Anaheim, even remarked on my impatience with a, “Oh, you must live on the East Coast.” lol — was I that obvious? But really, is it a bad thing to want to accomplish a thousand things in a day? 🙂

At any rate, while I was sad to leave the sun and the fun of California, I was happy to see Shan in the airport, waiting for me. I ran up and hugged her, and she and John got me safely onto the highway and into my apartment complex … and back to my beloved Maddie.

Maddie was waiting for me at the door when I arrived. I was bogged down with four pieces of luggage, so I asked her to follow me to our bedroom, which she did. As soon as my bags were on the floor, she cooed and jumped up on me and wouldn’t leave me alone for quite some time. That was perfectly OK with me — I’d missed that loving sack of fur and poop. 🙂 She’s been attached to my side ever since, and she doesn’t even suspect that she and I are hitting the bricks tomorrow and heading to Pittsburgh for another whirlwind trip. I look forward to seeing My Hero, Susan and her newly expanded family, Lori and possibly Brat, if our paths should happen to cross.

Again, clicking heels three times. Blogging will be lighter than before, as I will have no computer within any reasonable proximity. But I assure you, I will be running around like a fool and loving every minute of it!

I got suckered (read: roped) into going to dinner with the boss, Pussy Demure, and other event organizers. J-Ho was there too, sucking up to me as usual. I think she wants to interview for my newly opened Managing Editor position. Heh — good luck, I don’t think so!

Anyway, my last bitch fit before the closing ceremonies of this damn convention — Demure and the gang (and we all work together) went to dinner at Tangerine’s, and we were also with a rep from the convention and visitor’s bureau from the city we’re visiting next year. Would you fucking believe that Demure refused to pay for our dinners, except for the CVB chick? She pulled out her credit card, and two of us figured that, shit, she brought us to dinner so she would pay for it. Oh, but no. She declared that she was paying only for the other chick’s meal. Dumb fucking cunt! For all the hard work we do, the bitch couldn’t pay for our meals? The bill wasn’t even $150, and she could have gotten reimbursed by the company!!! Asshole! She only makes three times more money than I do — and I’d had plans to meet Karen and Chrissy, which I had to cancel. God damn it. Cheap crusty ole biatch!

Anyway, party till midnight tonight, and a day full of traveling tomorrow. I will miss living in an immaculate hotel suite — I am so damn neat, it’s frightening. Here’s to hoping I can get motivated to retain my rediscovered passion for immaculateness when I get back to D.C.

Anaheim’s been fun — and the balmy near-80-degree weather has been charming, but it will be good to get back to having a car and a cat. My clothes look so different without feline fur!

Clicking heels three times.

The Veggie Patch Board of the Directionless passed a bylaw this past weekend to advocate for piece. One of the “Whereas” clauses included sending this new piece of hippie legislation to President Bush. It reads something to the effect that we disagree with the aggression that our country is taking out on other, smaller, poor, unfortunate countries.

!

Sweet Jesus. Luckily, one of the girls in our membership meeting created a stink, because her organization would have its funding revoked if this were actually followed through on. Unfortunately, we had our President-Elect there, whom I’ll call Pride Fag (not flag), who shot right back that we in fact are peace loving hippie freaks who need to take a stand. I was practically spitting nails and had a few choice words to say that we need to choose our political battles, and this ain’t one of them.

Damn it — gotta run, but I will finish this diatribe later.

I didn’t come out as a lesbian, but god only knows that the inclination is there — especially after the failed relationships and seemingly endless series of first dates and no seconds. But what the aforementioned Goddamn hippies have done for me is allow me to be free to display my longing for equal human rights in my own nation. Our hippies and our gay group have been handing out rainbow stickers, and I’ve been displaying them proudly on my name badge.

Sometimes, I wear the badge to walk down the street — away from the safety of my hippie convention — and it’s scary and thrilling all at the same time to see people look curiously at my badge, which displays a variety of symbols about me. But it’s the large rainbow that stands out — it’s perhaps the only thing that they see.

And when I leave this convention, I will never wear this badge again. But for a few days, I have known what it is like to be different — to not be accepted as a portrait of the mainstream society. And even in here in the convention hall — my colleagues and other professionals have gotten to know me as me, and it was only two days ago (of this five-day ordeal) that I picked up this vibrant sticker. And now these people look at me and see the sticker. Many look at me and smile, because they are damn proud of me for showing my support of ALL communities. Many look at me and think, “What the hell? She’s a dyke?” And still others look at me like almost dismissively, like, “Oh, she’s one of THEM.”

I know I can never truly walk in another’s shoes, but I’ve been walking around a hell of a lot in my own, and my feet hurt. I can only imagine how the feet of those with one more burden must feel. I salute the gay community, and while I may not be gay, I am still one of you. But it’s a shame that you can only feel safe in such a protected environment as this, and not in the society at large in which you are a huge part.

Went to a candlelight vigil last night, sponsored by our social justice group. I properly offended the 90 participants with my photography and my incessant need to talk during the half-hour of silence. I had to clarify that it was simply an event in favor of peace, not a protest against the war. Folks were properly horrified that I am for the war, but that’s another story.

When I was 18 and living in Pittsburgh, I was attending such vigils for a variety of causes. I had respect and passion and a sense that I was accomplishing something — even if only for myself — as I held those lit candles whose flames were contained and kept alive by their protective Dixie Cups. Now I’m 28, living in the political mecca of the country, and now a citizen of the world. And for awhile last night, I was thinking that I’d become jaded, but this morning, I realize that it might just be that I’ve become a hardened realist. The vigil was sweet and all, and it made its hosts and attendees feel good, but what did we really accomplish? Perhaps our prayers for peace were heard somewhere, and maybe those wishes will come true someday. But instead of praying solely for peace, I was sending my thoughts and my love to the soliders who are laying down their lives to fight for world freedom. I was hoping that someday, I will tell my kids about this horribly unjust world in which I grew up, and I was hoping that they would laugh and treat it like my generation treated the “I walked to school barefoot 20 miles each way. …” stories — like, damn! Things were like that? No way!

Anyway, whenever I snapped photos, I was snarled at. So I put the camera down and eventually burst into silent hysterics, waiting for them to burst into “Kumbaya” or something. And they DID!!! They started singing some Beatles-era song about peace and love and what not, and some chick with a booming opera voice started her own reprise. It was moving and laughable at the same moment. It was one of those times when, as my grandmother would say, you just didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.

The hippies staged a day of peace here at the convention center. I thought it would be a good photo op, but I lasted 10 minutes and had to leave and go indulge in some capitalism (I bought a Los Angeles shirt to sleep in). And unfortunately, their hippie-ness carried over into other non-hippie sessions — they took off their shoes and sat Indian-style, they laughed and sang and carried on, and they talked about how terrible it was for our country to invade Iraq. First of all, the smelly feet were enough to KILL me in most of the sessions (and believe me, my feet were hurtin’ too but I didn’t remove MY shoes!), but what really frosted my flakes was when our presenters were bitching about “Blood for Oil” and how President Bush is a bully who coerced his staff and his military into terrorizing Iraqi civillians so we can get our hands on that country’s resources. Let me tell you, I walked out of a bunch of sessions, just based on that alone. I came here to be educated on topics of interest to me — if I wanted to hear about the war, I could’ve stayed in D.C. and turned on the fucking news.