Caterwauling

They say the No. 1 rule of surviving a convention — and 14-hour days on your feet — is to flush your tootsies. Yes, stick a foot in the bowl and flush away. Something about the pressure and the coldness is supposed to reduce the swelling.

Well, I am not so sure I endorse this practice, but last night, I was ready to try anything. I laughed the whole damn time — I think that part alone was the best therapy possible!

Met some new friends — Karen and Chrissy — both school counselors from Philadelphia. We were at the “Peter Brady” luncheon yesterday — we’d all slipped in late and ended up together at a front table. We were chatting for awhile before Chrissy put it together that we actually knew each other from before. Turns out, my publication — The Veggie Patch Gazette — gave away a free registration to this conference, and it was Chrissy who was my winner. I hadn’t put it together because her name tag had “Christina” on it. But she asked if I were the Dawn who had left her a bubbly little message a few months ago, and we ended up marveling how cool it was that, in a convention center full of at least 3,000 people, we would end up sitting next to each other at a luncheon we each attended on a complete fluke.

The three of us went to dinner at Napa Rose last night. It was over $60 a person (let’s say I blew my lousy $42 per diem!), but we got to visit the California Grand Hotel and ate exotic foods. Our goal was to go somewhere new and try something new. I think I’ve made some very good friends who will be good contacts for me in the future.

Seventy-five degrees and balmy. Am stealing a quick minute to blog, as I am twitching from withdrawal. 😉 Flights were fine, although six hours in a pressurized cabin did not help my dry sockets in my mouth, but I’ll live.

Haven’t done anything touristy. Am working uber-long days and blogging only in my head. Walked around on Friday night — through Downtown Disney — and took some photos. LOVE the palm trees and breezes and flowers-o-plenty. Am so bloody tired — keep awakening at 3:30 a.m. because my body is on East Coast time.

J-Ho is such an asshole. Luckily, she is staying the hell out of my way, but she has been whiny and pissy and bitchy to all. But she’s surgically attached to her boss, so we’re all happy to be rid of her. Other folks (Town Crier and someone else from her hallway) are creating much drama for others who are actually working for a living. ‘Tis a shame.

I’ve been keeping to myself, and that’s the best thing I can do for myself here. I wish I could stay longer — long after these jokers leave. But next time I come back, it will be for vacation and vacation only, I promise you that.

Photos coming in April!

Well kids, the day has arrived for me to drag my ass (and Samantha’s, too!) down to Reagan National for the first of my flights to/from Anaheim, via Chicago. Tooth (or lack thereof) is still screaming with pain. Dentist told me it’s a dry socket … honey, I never knew any socket on my person could ever be a dry one!

Maddie has been sullen and suspicious the past few days. She knows I am either abandoning her or taking her with me — she hasn’t quite decided which, and both are equally worse, in her opinion. But I bought a feeder that will keep her stuffed and happy for four days, and I think she will revel in having unlimited servings of Mow Mix from the second I leave the house this morning.

I’m not looking forward to my trip with the Club Medicated Cruise Lines, and J-Ho seems to think we’re going to become friends or some shit like that. Ha! I know she’s pissed that she didn’t even get a second interview for the job she wanted — the job I now have — and she’s got her nose so far up King Kumquat’s and all the other men’s asses that she’ll hopefully leave me the hell alone, for the most part. I think she’s either slept with, or wants to sleep with, most of the (few) men in our (dis)organization — you should see her flirt with them! But she recently put on like 40 pounds or something, so I am pleased that she looks more like a Macy’s day float than, well, a Macy’s day float. Tee hee.

Well kids, don’t pee in the sandbox while I’m gone, and be good! Hope that my little Samantha is safe at the airport without me, hope that Maddie doesn’t shit on everything that doesn’t move in my absence, and hope that our country and our troops are safe and secure during these uncertain times. And hope that I kick Town Crier into the Pacific Ocean or walk in on J-Ho sucking Kumquat’s dick — and hope that I have my camera on and flashing for either instance!!!

Ever feel like this?

I stayed up most of the night — mainly because of ongoing mouth pain — but also to watch the humble beginnings of Gulf War II. I had a brief moment of memory of a time, 12 years ago, when the air strike began for the original Desert Storm. I was with a friend, studying in his basement, when the TV news reports started exploding. The liberal that I was, I was pissed off about the war, but my friend explained that sometimes, force is needed to maintain some sort of equilibrium. And he was right, but a part of me looks back today and wonders what if Dubya’s daddy had finished the job? What if he had found a way to oust Hussein and bin Laden before they would go on to terrorize their citizens as well as our own? Would I be as terrified to step on a plane tomorrow as I am, or would the thought of domestic terrorism never enter my mind?

Unfortunately, we struck last night (or early morning over there) in hopes of bombing Saddam into the fiery pits of hell, but new reports are saying that he is alive and well. Then again, he is a clever, sniveling little bastard — he supposedly has several look-alikes that he sends out into public. He’s probably in a cave, jerking off bin Laden while the rest of us are hoping for their deaths.

Blogging will be light to nonexistent for me for the next two weeks, due to travel and lack of Internet access, but I’m sure a million others will provide blow-by-blow reports and commentary. I just hope I live to read it when I return in April. I hear that Anaheim and D.C. have been declared no-fly zones, both of which are my destinations and departure points, and it’s a good thing that security will be uber-tight, but still, it’s unsettling to be forced to go somewhere I don’t want to go, to do something I don’t want to do, for people for whom I don’t want to risk my life. Several hundred of our attendees have canceled, along with at least a dozen presenters. Do they know something we don’t know? Town Crier said they’re all a bunch of wimps — that they are afraid for nothing. (Lest I remind you that the Town Crier is a fucking moron.)

I understand that the Academy Awards are going on as scheduled, too. WTF? Didn’t we just have like eight award shows already this year? How many fucking self-congratulatory events do these assholes need? So they read some lines and wore costumes and cosmetics designed for them — why the hell are they awarded? Millions of people work harder and for a mere fraction of what those ego-trips-on-ice earn, and do they get stupid little statues and five minutes in front of a camera? Shit, Julia Roberts spends more on a dress for one wearing than I earn in a whole year. That ain’t right. Please make these actors stay home, out of respect or safety or whatever it takes to get them away from my television screen.

Susan had her baby on Monday, March 17, at 5:18 p.m. Chloe Renee came into the world at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and is 20 inches long. Expect a boatload of photos when I finally get my ass up to Pittsburgh next week! Congrats Mom and Dad!

Courtney, their 3-year-old, is revelling in her new role. Her dad Bryan said Courtney likes to pet Chloe’s head like she’s a puppy (they have two dogs and two cats, so this is to be expected), and Susan said that in the hospital room, Courtney approached Chloe and said, “Big Sister is here” and “Baby Sister is so precious!”

Susan and the new precious one get to leave the hospital tomorrow. Here’s to hoping that the little one sleeps through the night and that both mom and baby continue to be happy and healthy for a long time to come!

I was reading Bigwig’s extensive documentation on the death of Rachel Corrie, who was killed by army bulldozer in Rafah, and I got to thinking … and not just about how f*ing stupidly she allowed herself to die.

Just a note, I’m not a warblogger and never will be, and I’m certainly not eulogizing this woman who chose to devote her life to her own definition of peace activism. I do, however, wonder what drove her to believe that she alone could make a difference in the world … and what drove her to jump on the bulldozer that unquestionably would drag her to her fatal injuries.

It’s hard to become a hero these days. Everyone wants to be known for something, and I suffer from the same illusion (and some days it feels like a delusion) of wanting to put myself on the world map in some remarkable way. I guess I wonder if Rachel truly was passionate about her cause or if she were overwhelmingly motivated by martyrdom. We don’t have any real martyrs anymore these days — in America, we’re surrounded by people becoming heroes simply by making it to the final rounds of “American Idol”. And then you have existing “rock stars” trying to make political statements when they should seriously limit what comes out of their mouths to nothing but lyrics written for them by Diane Warren. Really, I hate to say it, but Ryan Seacrest will be remembered for a lot longer than she will ever be, and all he does is wear mousse in his hair and read bad lines off the TelePrompter.

One wonders, on a more global level, if our political leaders are chasing the same dream of wanting to be known for something, anything. My mom is a very impatient type (like me), and she always says, “Do something, even if it’s wrong.” Meaning, don’t just sit on your ass and be useless — move your fucking feet and accomplish something, whether it’s making a decision or just sucking up your courage and tackling a task at hand. Perhaps Dubya is suffering from the same syndrome — I don’t think the war on Iraq is really a multi-billion-dollar ego trip on his part, but hell, wouldn’t it be cool for him if he rid the world of Middle Eastern terrorism? Talk about heroism — getting revenge for the tragic events of Sept. 11, 2001, will certainly ensure that future history textbook authors don’t spend one paragraph on his presidency and sum up his term of office as unremarkable compared to his father’s legacy.

And Rachel — and billions of other average world citizens like the rest of us — will probably never truly have a chance to be anything more than a footnote in a college student’s dissertation, if that. I mean, really, I will never be known for doing anything to change the world, and I’m okay with that. But what was in her mind when she jumped on that bulldozer blade, especially when that driver refused to stop? Was she begging for her life, was she begging for him to consider the children in the refugee camp, or was she hoping that she will have given up her life in such a violent manner as the last act of travesty before the terrorists of the world said, “Well, damn, because she cared so much about our people, we should really call off the hounds and go have a tea party with Dubya and his friends”?

I admire her passion — I’ll give her that. No matter what was running through her head (if anything), she went with that voice and died for her cause. And she died believing that she was doing the right thing. But when ti all comes down to it, it wasn’t her war to win. She was well within her rights to stand up for what she believed in, but at what cost? The irony of her peaceful activism was that she suffered as gruesome a fate as the citizens of third world countries who aren’t able to enjoy the rights of the people of the rest of the free world. But she chose that destiny — she didn’t have to die as she did. A true martyr is the Mother Theresa type — she accepted that the world was fucked up, and she made it her mission to ease the suffering of those she could reach. And my best guess was that Mother Theresa never once knew or cared that she was known worldwide for her compassion and her own activism. And that, to me, is a hero worth remembering.

***We now return you to your regularly scheduled navelgazing.***

Tooth still hurts, worked till midnight last night, still no word from Susan about Miss Chloe’s debut into the world, tire fixed, J-Ho labeled “frigid” by Demure because she’s upset that she didn’t get my job, paper’s at press and I’m trying to get my office in order before I leave town.

Several of our attendees as well as our presenters at our upcoming convention are canceling left and right, due to the threat of war and expected terrorism. It’s sad, really, because everyone’s on hyper alert, waiting for the worst to happen. I was wondering, if I were to fake a nervous breakdown, could I stay behind and not leave D.C. (although this ain’t really the greatest place to be these days).

I awoke this morning when the Percocet wore off, around 5:45 a.m., to see a B-rate soft porn airing on Showtime. The most interesting part was when an alert began flashing across the screen. “This is a test of the Fairfax County system. There is an emergency situation in Fairfax City/Falls Church. Tune to Fairfax cable channel 16 for updates.”

I started to panic but my head was too heavy for me to shoot out of bed. I turned on channel 16, but it was an infomercial. I turned on the news and heard nothing more of it, although there was some joker in a tractor, armed with explosives, parked in the reflecting pool at the National Mall. So I took another Percocet and went back to my happy land — I can’t deal with this shit right now. Although, I think we’ll arrive in Anaheim unharmed, but coming back to D.C. will be the problem. Oh well. At any rate, can’t wait to drive to Reagan National Airport through morning rush hour traffic! (I feel that anxiety-induced seizure coming on. …)

Shan called one of her FBI buddies and told him ’bout the car. He sent someone over to dust it for fingerprints. I was worried that the rain might wash them off, but he said the oil from someone’s skin will withstand a rainfall. I’m simmering now but anxiously awaiting what I might hear. I shudder to think that Samantha has to fall victim to a childish prank.

Needed to get to work early today, so I rushed outside at 7 a.m., backed out of my spot, and stopped ’cause something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t — I had a flat tire.

Here I am at work, two hours after trying to leave the house. There was a huge hunk of metal driven into my tire. Looks like foul play, quite honestly. Samantha is devastated to have to have a tiny, temporary shoe that doesn’t match her other three big-girl shoes. I’m devastated because I was waiting till I got to work to take my Percocet, so I am in pain and, as luck should have it, I forgot the meds anyway. (shit!) The good news about having to wait for the repairman was that I got to go make a pot of coffee and feed the cat, which I had forgotten to do. No wonder she was having a hissy fit at me all morning!

PLEASE let this day get better! I am ready to crawl back into bed and stay there!