Caterwauling

So I sent Frosty the HR Queen a note just now via e-mail. If IKEA Boy can rant and rave and be pissed off about his own situation, well, then I am going to fight for myself, ’cause I’m the only one with enough passion to do it. Here goes nothin’:

Hi (Frosty),

Thank you for your consideration,

(The Goddess Dawn)

Shan and I are going to see her (our?) new office at lunch today, so she can sign the lease. Woo hoo! We have so many plans, so much to do. She’s so on-the-ball — already has the phone and insurance stuff worked out. Even if it starts out that I work there as a support to her existing business, so be it, although I do want to get my own business license this month, too. She has warned me that the space is small and kinda crappy, but that the owner has pretty much given her carte blanche to go nuts and spruce it up. IKEA Boy should be an interior designer, he’s so damn good at making spaces livable and lovable, so I plan to haul his ass up there and tell us what we need to do to make it a place to call home.

IKEA Boy is down in the dumps about no tuition reimbursement for him, but while I feel bad for him, I am for once going to indulge my own dismay. I wonder why we can’t take it out of our own budget to give me the $5K increase I was promised — god knows we keep tightly to our budget and don’t spend unnecessarily. That, and our expenses are predictable — printing, mailing, address quality, supplies, etc. I am certain we can squeeze my own $5K out, and maybe another $5K for his tuition. It’s very difficult for me to see him depressed and poopy and wallowing in his misery when I am sitting right in my own puddle of grief, with no one throwing the ho’ a tow to get me out of my personal abyss.

I am hoping that Shan’s office is the ticket she and I need to make things happen for us this year. Once I have a business license (and can earn a little bit of money), I can finally invest in an iBook and write it off as a business expense, and I can move on to building a website and a corporate image and all the other fun stuff that will accompany the venture. Stay tuned for the update on what the office looks like!!!

Oooh, Maddie’s kitty sofa just arrived! So much for it arriving in time for Xmas, but granted, our office has been closed for two weeks and it’s not the retailer’s fault. It seems small. I hope it supports that fat furry ass of hers! 🙂 Perhaps I can bring it (and her) to our new office to keep me company on the weekends that I anticipate working. 🙂

I missed the last one, and I’m wondering WTF Question 5 has to do with the theme, but oh, well. Here goes nothin’:

1. Do you wear any jewelry? What kind?

Oh, I am the Imelda Marcos of the sterling silver jewelry world. (I used to work in a jewelry store, so I stocked up.) While I’m a trendy gal and have tons of hemp anklets and fimo bead bracelets and the like, I always revert to good ol’ sterling silver. It lasts forever, it’s simple to clean, and it’s cheap to replace when you lose or break it (as I tend to do when I have stones in my jewelry).

I used to be big on stones (hematite, topaz, malachite, lapis lazuli, azulite, etc.), as well as their meanings (i.e., hematite promotes good blood circulation), but that has faded over the years. I swear, my memory only has so much capacity — either that, or I’ve done enough drinking and smoking to blow away some of my functioning cells). IKEA Boy gave me this great, heavy silver bracelet with stones, which might just be tanzanite (I’m still checking on this), and there are neat markings through the stone that are presumably made by sand (it creates gold swirls). But for the men reading this blog, y’all are probably asleep already, so I’ll quit. 🙂

In summary, though, I love shiny silver, not matte, and I while I am wildly attracted to jewelry with stones and crystals and other funky adornments, I know that I will wear each piece to death. And I’m really pissed, but I had this gorgeous ring with crushed opal that got lost in my last move. I’ll bet it’s on the moving truck, ’cause everything else was intact (broken, but intact). I miss that ring. 🙂 I didn’t wear it that often because I didn’t want to break it, and look where THAT got me!!!

2. How often do you wear it?

I am NEVER without my trusty silver earrings, rings, bracelets, necklaces, toe rings and anklets. Yes, I’m one of those hippie freaks who wears toe rings year-round. 🙂 I love my jewelry and have about a thousand pieces, at least. I just also painted my armoire black with silver panels, and I stenciled silver stars all over the black — just paying homage to all the silver contained within. 🙂

3. Do you have any piercings? If so, where?

You are going to have to turn me over to find out the answer to THIS one!!! 🙂

4. Do you have any tattoos? If so, where?

See Question 3. LOL. Actually, I’ll save you the trouble. No. My weight fluctuates way too friggin’ much, so I don’t want to have a butterfly turn into a catepillar and back to a butterfly again, just ’cause I changed my eating/exercise habits. 🙂

5. What are your plans for the weekend?

Being pissed off because my job doesn’t pay enough for me to even make the rent this month. Take that, Club Med(icated)! Fuckers. I guess I’ll be sitting my impoverished ass in my room and cleaning it, as well as making sure that the shared space stays clean. And if I’m feeling particularly ambitious, the tree’s coming down, although that’s a lotta crystal and lights I just DON’T feel like dealing with!

Would still be a dumbass, no matter what it’s named.

So this dipshit legally changed his name to Jack Ass in 1997. I’ll spare my thought that a lot of men should change their names to that (lol. oops, too late!). But he says it was to raise awareness of the perils of drunk driving. Perhaps he should, instead, have gone with Dumb Ass? Or, as my gay friends would say, Poop Dick would be rather fitting — ’cause he’s still full of shit, no matter how you look at it.

At any rate, he thinks he’s going to get $10 mil from MTV’s “Jackass” show for tarnishing his sterling name. I can’t imagine how one who legally changed his name to Jack Ass actually would expect anybody to take it any less than literally. …

‘Tis the season to be loosening your belt ’cause your Mom fed you like it was going out of style. ‘Tis also the season to take down your Xmas tree. Oh well. Before she goes back into her box, I wanted y’all to see her. Props to Mom for spending her last dime (and then some) for the cool new digital camera!!!

I need for my gal Dawn Olsen to get back into the swing of posting. I’m so damn glad the holiday is over, ’cause I miss her intelligent rants! Dawn, I hope you and Lily and your family had a wonderful holiday season!!! Now, blog, damn it!!! 😉

“You’re the first to know

That I’ve got a brilliant plan

I hope you understand

I want to meet in 2OO3

I want to see what the future can bring to me

And when I do

I’ll meet you here my darling, yeah

And when I’m free

I’ll be waiting where I said I would be

My love, will you wait for me?”

— Nina Gordon, “2003” —

Shan and I looked entirely too good to be stuck out at Bennigan’s for New Year’s Eve. She was gorgeous in a new, stylish black-velvet suit, and I was in a new light-blue number with beige lace that I couldn’t resist picking up whilst I was in Pittsburgh, and trust me when I say that we commanded the attention of most red-blooded males in Bennigan’s. Unfortunately, Renee and John weren’t working, which meant that the service SUCKED. I sat there for a half hour before Shan arrived, with no drink, and our glasses were continually empty the whole night. And don’t even get me started about the ranch dressing that was MIA. You can do a lot of things to piss us off, but forgetting the ranch, well, is simply unforgivable.

So we left early. The way I figured it, it was already New Year’s in Ireland, and therefore, these two pissed-off Irish princesses could feel good about going home and going to bed, as our home country had already celebrated the New Year. 🙂

I was kinda raring to go — I needed to be out, and I needed to see Shan, so those goals were accomplished way before midnight. I mean, I drove what turned into five-plus hours from Pgh, just to be here for New Year’s. Most of my friends who had promised to come out with us either couldn’t make it or were coming late, so I made sure that IKEA Boy and the gang didn’t bother wandering out for midnight, ’cause I wasn’t going to be there.

Shan also has my grandmother’s theory, that whatever you’re doing/feeling at midnight is what you’ll be doing all year, and like me, she’s spent each New Year’s (and each weekend of the year thereafter) crocked. So, this year, she decided that she wanted to be in a Nyquil-induced coma when the clock struck 12, to symbolize the end of a fucked-up year. I, on the other hand, bought into the idea of being at home for midnight, to allow me to wake up a bit early and to get my year on the right track immediately. I’d like to do some stuff around the house today (I nuked the shower last night, but there’s so much more to do).

So at midnight, I was on the phone with my family, which was what was what I really wanted. We have so many things to do this year — we (including Shan, ’cause she’s family too) don’t want this to be another year that we write-off next New Year’s. We want this year to count and to make up for all the sucky ones that preceeded it.

I don’t start my New Year’s resolutions till Jan. 2, because Jan. 1 always starts at midnight, when you’re intoxicated and chainsmoking anyway. So tomorrow, I begin my pared-down goals:

1. Self-preservation (emotionally, physically, financially);

2. Self-promotion (getting out of the ol’ career rut);

3. No more settling (I CAN have what I want, and I WILL have it, or have it again); and

3. No looking back (it’s all forward from here, baby!).

I think it’s going to work out that Shan gets an office in Old Town (on King Street — a prominent and impressive location) for her business, and damn it, I am going to be there every step of the way. By next NYE, we will be in business for a few months, and we will be in gorgeous ballgowns at an extravagant party somewhere. Mark our words. There’s a lot do do during the next 12 months, but one thing she and I realized when we saw each other is that the team is back together, and while we can accomplish a lot independently, we are amazing when we put our heads and our hearts together. And this year, starting this month, that is exactly what we are going to do. These Irish princesses are no longer going to be pissed off, so stick around and read about our evolution into royalty. ‘Cause it’s gonna happen. 🙂 Count on it!

I received the Christmas card today that ruined my makeup.

I’d sent my old friend Jill a card, because, well, I adored her to death and I missed her and her wonderful family. And I included a note to mention the fact that she and her husband were so inspirational to me over the years, and now that I (*supposedly*) do volunteer work, I think back to them and how selflessly they gave themselves to their many causes. While Jill is a fabulous contact to have, in all honesty, I miss chatting with her and giggling and hearing her voice every morning on the phone.

Anyway, when I addressed her card, I was confounded as to how to do it. I know the names of her husband (another buddy of mine) and their three gorgeous children, but I was nervous. You see, I hadn’t heard from Jill in abuot six months or so. And her oldest child has a terminal illness called Rett Syndrome, and she’s had it since she was 18 months old. It’s a degenerative illness, meaning that she unlearned the independence she had learned until that early age. Doctors say these kids have a life expectancy of about 10 years or so, although some have gone on a bit longer.

Anyway, Chandler is nearing 10 years old. I ran a few Internet searches on her, and I saw no recent news coverage (she’s been the poster child for several children’s charities). She is model-beautiful, and one shudders to wonder where that beauty could have gotten her in life, without this syndrome.

When I opened the card, I knew it was from Jill because it had a P.S. message on the back of the envelope. No return address, though. That’s my Jill, always in a hundred different directions, spinning a dozen plates every minute. 🙂 But even though the message inside was just lovely and it told me how very proud she and her husband have always been of me, well, it was the black-and-white photo of their beautiful children — all three of them — that made my day so special. Chandler is taller and has the same wisdom in her eyes that she’s always possessed, and her two younger brothers look like each other and are quite obviously free and happy souls.

I must’ve cried for a half hour. At least. But my tears were happy ones. Jill is well, her family is well, and I still have these wonderful people in my life, backing me up and encouraging me and loving me from afar. And I love every last one of them. People like Jill are so rare in this world — with her own daughter being so frail and having entirely too many demands on her own physical and emotional health, she remains positive and grateful for every last second with all of her precious children and her large extended family. And on top of it, she volunteers full-time for no fewer than five charities. Hell, she works more than the paid staff does, I can attest to that. I know I cry about money entirely too often, but here’s a woman who’s doing well financially, yet knows she can lose her daughter at any minute. But she turns her passion into hope for thousands of other children every year. I am not a religious woman, by any standards, but may God bless her and everyone she loves. And I meant what I wrote in her card — she and her husband have made a bigger impact on me than they can ever realize.

I also keep a photo of Tommy, my old buddy Lori’s son, in my jewelry box. He has Down syndrome and autism, but Lori is another one who gave me lots of time and energy at one of my old charities, despite the fact that she, too, had three kids (including Tommy with his special needs) and other full-time commitments. I should drop her an e-mail soon (I lost her address, unfortunately, so I didn’t send a card).

We give so many awards to stupid pop stars and movie queens, while it’s women like Jill and Lori who are really the ones truly making an impact that matters. Happy New Year, girls. Sending you lots of love from my little corner of the world. 🙂

I always called my family The Mansons. I don’t know why. It just seemed to fit. We don’t have swastikas or anything tattooed to our foreheads, but we’re a strange bunch, admittedly. So we’re the Manson Family.

Mom was whining that I spend soooo much time with my friends that I don’t spend any time making memories with her (uh, I only saw one friend during my five-day stay, but whatever). But there’s one memory that I just HAVE to share and record for posterity:

My grandfather was supposed to do dishes the other night. There were only four dishes and two glasses in the sink, but still, Mom’s all OCD and can’t have a speck of dirt or a filthy dish in the house (even though I had soaked the dishes, she’s militant about having her house be immaculate). I used to be that way, at my old apartment — she taught me well. But at any rate, she was very angry at him for letting the dishes sit for a few hours (I’d had to pick something up at Leslie’s house, and I’d invited Mom along for the ride to Fox Chapel, and I also took her to see Kaufmann’s windows). So, when he saw us coming in the house, he scurried to the sink to do dishes, but she was furious.

What did she do? She flung the plates, one by one, into the trash.

Her china is older than I am, BTW. But she’d had it, and this wasn’t the first time he’d slacked on his single household chore — She was so annoyed that those dishes were sitting in the sink in her clean house that she tossed them like frisbees across the room. I loved it. Poor Maddie was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for her hourly feeding (because she’s a little piggy when she goes to Grandma’s house), and she wasn’t sure whether to run or to see if there were any food left on those plates.

Personally, I’m not sure if Mom ever removed the dishes from the trash, as she took the garbage out to the curb 15 minutes later, and I was too afraid to ask. But that’s a technique to consider adopting — if you hate seeing dirty dishes in the sink, pitch them. 🙂 Then there are no more dishes to worry about. lol. She’s such a creative problem solver! And I’ll bet that by the time I go back for Easter, there will be nothing but paper plates and plastic sporks in the house. Stay tuned for THAT update. … 😉