Caterwauling

Got up early and kicked off a full-blown, white-trash shopping day. And I LOVED it!!!

Went to Wal-Mart (“Wally’s”), Target (“Boutique Tar-zhay”) and a whole lotta “dollar stores” throughout Alexandria and Springfield. I was just one happy little dollar-store whore today. Woo hoo!!! Not to mention that SM and I cleaned out (well, she was really the one) the dollar store next to Bally’s yesterday. I have lots of new crap, and it was dirt cheap (except the damn Tampax … I refuse to buy “discount” tampons!). It’s amazing what a bargain shopper I have become in recent months.

Personal Ad Hell, Part Deux

One of the reasons I liked RK was, in his ad, he stated:

“If you call with in the next 20 minutes, we will throw in the sensitive and ‘nice guy’ options as well as YES a set of ginsu steak knives. CALL NOW!!!! Operators are standing by.”

The ad was creatively done, and it prompted me to respond (to his initial response to my ad) that he’d be sold if he just met me, and that there was a free toaster in it for him if he wasn’t satisfied.

Well. …

Inspired by yesterday’s post, I wrote to him this morning. I wanted to be more “cavalier,” but the fact of the matter is that I really liked the guy. Here’s the note:

RK,

Cavalier

Mom said that if he DOES send a set of knives, that would be the best damn real-life love story she’d ever heard of. But then again, would he really trust me with a knife? We ARE just a few miles from where Lorena Bobbitt chopped off Johnny’s proud little pecker … RK might hope to NOT inspire me in such a way!!!

I decided to hide my Match.com personals profile, and I should do the same with my ad on Kiss.com. I still haven’t gotten any responses to my Lavalife.com ad, so I am going to leave that one up for awhile. Besides, on the last one, I was a bit outrageous and asked for, well, what I really want. And that’s probably why I’m not getting it!!! lol

Match.com is being bitchy and telling me that I have to purchase a membership package in order to respond to recent letters I’ve received from other members. Humph. Never had to do that before. With Kiss.com, you have to purchase a membership before you can even read the letters you’ve received (and they keep telling me that my inbox has quite a few responses, but I have to pay to open my inbox). Fuckers. Look, I know that it isn’t some philanthropist named Cupid who is operating these sites, but based on the yo-yos I’ve either met or with whom I’ve had discussions, I am loath to pay to meet more morons, when I can do that for free at the bar at Bennigan’s. 😉

Recently, I got a response from “Robbie” (that’s what he calls himself). Seemed nice and fun and a tad bit scary, all at once. Then he sent me a link to his website, and well, the photo totally turned me off. I’m not into horror and gore and shit like that, and well, considering that I’ve never met the guy and this is my first impression of him, well, I can’t say that I’m dying to meet him in person.

But it gets worse. He said he’s an aspiring writer and mentioned that he’d love it if I’d be willing to critique some of his fiction (as I am a writer for a living). I said, sure, send me something and I’d be glad to read it. Well, he sent something two days ago that I still haven’t managed to bring myself to read. When I saw it in my email, it was named “assgas~1.doc.” Ugh. I let it sit in my inbox for half a day before I actually opened it to learn that the title was actually “ass gasket” — what the f@*k?!?! Perhaps it is a brilliant story, and I am just too prissy to get past the title, but gaaah, would a normal single man send something like this to the lady whom he’s trying to impress?

I sent a quick note late last night, stating that the title scared me and that when I found the time (and hint, hint, the inclination) to open this document, I’d get back with my critique. That still hasn’t happened. 🙂 I shared the web photo with Tiff and IKEA Boy and Mikey, and they were all slightly horrified and all of them told me to NOT e-mail back. Thank goodness, I didn’t share my last name or place of employment. Thank goodness.

With RK, I shared all of my personal stuff right away. I wanted to get to know him, and I wanted him to know me. I had such a good feeling about him, like he would be in my life for a long time to come. How was I to ever predict that he’d fall off the face of the fucking earth?!?! I’m disappointed that my intuition told me that he was special. My sixth sense usually pegs people correctly from the get-go, and it’s sad that I had a whole lotta hopes for him, for nothing.

At any rate, this new guy emailed me, named Brian. But I can’t respond to his charming introductory letter till I pay a RECURRING membership fee at Match.com. That’s how they screw you … they keep on billing your credit card. It’s $25/month, with different plans that go up to $100/yr. I would NEVER pay for those services for a year (in the hopes I’d meet someone sooner than that). But I don’t have $25 to spare right now (I have two phone bills on my bed, each totaling more than $60, for phone service I don’t even fucking use because all normal people on earth use their cell phones for everything and I hate wasting what little fucking money I have on a fucking landline. Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ!!!! ARGH!!!).

But I’ll never win that battle, so why even keep trying? Even IKEA Boy is trashing his landline. I’d love to show MCI (like I showed Verizon) that I can live just fine without their monthly bills.

At any rate, I have to pay $25 before my e-mails will go through to Brian (and I tried pushing them through, but Match.com keeps reminding me to pay before I try it again). I’m not sure what to do. At this point, I took down my personal ad for awhile. If I can’t reply to my responses, why even have the ad out there? Like IKEA Boy told me tonight, I should just go into a bar and pick somebody up … it’s easier and cheaper!!! Plus, you get to see what they look like in person, and if you’re lucky, you won’t even have to talk to them all that much! lol. Sounds like a new plan to pursue. Stay tuned. …

Oooh, a Friday Five that’s fit for a “Sex and the City” gal. …

1. What size shoe do you wear?

If I’m being cheap and going to Payless, I’d say a 9, but that depends on how crappy the shoes are made, because that can become a 9 wide very easily. In a good shoe, I’d say 8 1/2, but when can I afford to buy good shoes? 😉

2. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

Um, upward of 60. Maybe 75. Or more. I have boxes of shoes that I haven’t even opened since my hellacious move in June.

3. What type of shoe do you prefer (boots, sneakers, pumps, etc.)?

Mmm. Love sandals with a wedge. I’m 5-foot-3 and three-quarters, so anything that pushes me up to that 5-foot-4 mark makes me happy. Sandals rule! I love to paint my toenails and wear toe rings and anklets, to complement the shoes of the day. 🙂

4. Describe your favorite pair of shoes. Why are they your favorite?

I can’t even remember most of the shoes that I’ve bought over the last year, if that tells you how fickle I am. But I do have a pair of winter-white boots that make me look forward to inclement weather. They’re more fashionable than functional, but I love light-colored boots (because I think black shoes in general make me look shorter), especially with a two-inch-heel (again, the shortness issue is resolved). And they just go with everything!!!

5. What’s the most you’ve spent on one pair of shoes?

$29.99. I’m not kidding — I go for quantity over quality. I figure, the damn things wear out anyway, and you always have assholes and/or their bratty kids stepping on your feet when you’re out in public, so why spend oodles of money on something you’re going to eventually pitch? Although when it comes to boots, I’ve been known to spend a little more on those (at least $70) because those just don’t come cheap. Boots are worth the investment because when some trailer trash mama and her little minions come a-stompin’ on your feet, one kick with a booted foot, and you’ve just rid mama of one mouth to feed, unless she pulls Junior out of the tree that you just booted him into!!!

This workplace is reminding me more and more of Two Strikes, but I actually paid my former employer a compliment today. Here, the executives all hate each other and can’t agree on anything, but at Two Strikes, we all had respect for each other and took the care and effort to battle things out among ourselves so that we would emerge with a common message for the staff. Some of our arguments were downright brutal, but damn it, we all had our say and therefore we all believed in the messages we conveyed. Here, you get five different messages from five different execs.

At any rate, the waters are still. For now. Pussy Demure apologized to IKEA Boy for the junior high comment but could not respond when he asked why he was not included in a meeting about the editorial content of our publication — after all, he’s only the editor. She slithered away in a huff … I saw her dragging her crusty ass past my door in a dither as she exited his office.

Jackie Chan not only edited the “fired” portion of the past president’s quote, but he pretty much deleted a quarter of the article and softened another percentage of it. Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ. I emailed SM to ask for us to make appointments together at IKEA Boy’s psychiatrist … it seems as if she and I are the only two people in this building who aren’t medicated. Perhaps we should hop on the bandwagon before it’s too late.

Lest it not be obvious, I have NO DESIRE WHATSOEVER to do any work. Today was a waste of a perfectly good suit. 🙂 And the scandalous underwear — I should’ve saved ’em for Oct. 7 (see post below).

Wear your best red guchies on Oct. 7, okay? You KNOW I’ll be wearing some scandalous red knickers myself!!!

Red Panties for Reproductive Choice

… But it sounds like an old George Carlin skit to me!

C’mon kids! Let’s play “hide and go fuck yourself!!!”

Proper English Usage of the ‘F’ Word

IKEA Boy is ready to quit, and I can’t blame him.

Pussy Demure said something to the effect that maybe he needs to look for another job. Like her miserable, 80-year-old crusty ass has any room to talk! Jesus H. It was HER FAULT that the bullshit about being “fired” went through, even though it was a direct quote. But apparently she met with Jackie Chan and H.R. and Howard (WTF?) before meeting with IKEA Boy (sneaky bitch, I knew she was going to do that). She completely made this seem like his fault, which it wasn’t.

Plus, she also made some catty remark that in the 1990s (the topic of his story that’s in question), he was in junior high school. What a cunt! We were out of college, actually, during the events in question, but that was just nasty of her, to imply that she thinks he’s a kid. He could sue her for that. IKEA Boy, if you’re reading this, document that conversation!!!

Now he has left the building, and he just phoned me to say he’s going to quit. I will absoutely freak if he does that … I know I made this 250-mile move for myself, but I am not suffering through this crappy pay and zombie-like work environment if he isn’t here. I swear, if he’s going to New York, I’m stuffing myself in his trunk and going with him. Like I said two posts ago, I can take or leave D.C. — I’m a better person for having lived here, but it isn’t my endpoint.

Blah. I’m being selfish. But I don’t know how to make things better for him in this working environment. I’ve tried to share my knowledge and the hard knocks that Two Strikes gave me. But even I had to know when it was time to walk away from a displeasing job situation. It’s just a shame, because IKEA Boy really throws himself into his work, and he’s always treating the gals in the Pub Club to breakfasts in his office (he knows we have soft spots for Krispy Kreme doughnuts and also for bagels-n-cream-cheese). It just sucks that we work for assholes. But isn’t that the story of our lives?

I just hope IKEA Boy comes up with maybe a revised game plan … it would suck to have to leave on their terms. I’d rather see him demonstrate that today’s debacle made it seem like his professional reputation was questioned, and that he is truly a professional who just wants to end this mess so that we can start the new issue without the specter of this one hanging over our heads. I disagree with our superiors completely, but hey, it’s their money and aggravation, not ours. We’ve done our jobs.

At any rate, just got a quick call from IKEA Boy that he’s meeting with Jackie Chan tomorrow morning. Kiddo, stay cool and say your peace. Do NOT let your (quite justifiable) anger see the light of day. Be the better person. Be better than these assholes — believe me, it’s not hard to do. 😉

Pussy Demure, IKEA Boy’s boss, put her Depends on sticky-side up today. Or do they even have a sticky side? lol — at any rate, somebody’s panties are in a bunch, and hell will be paid.

We have to get our publication reprinted because of one word. One fucking word! IKEA Boy wrote a story about our association in the 1990s, and a former president talked about having to fire an executive director. Well, even though the talk of firing the man was a direct quote, Pussy Demure made us collect all the newspapers that had been distributed, and after a meeting this afternoon with the current executive director, Jackie Chan, we’ll give the go-ahead to the printers to burn $20K to reprint. I think she’s just nervous because she gave us final approval on the article — Jackie Chan didn’t, and he’s usually the final pair of eyes.

I understand that “fired” is an incorrect term, and that as part of the paperwork that documented the man’s exile from our organization, no one was to speak about his leaving on bad terms. Oopsie. But really, that wasn’t our fault internally — the past president who flapped his yapper is of sound mind and knew that his statements would be used for publication. Further, as far as I am concerned, Pussy Demure KNEW she was the last pair of eyes to see the story, because Jackie Chan was out of the office and we had to go to press that day. Furthermore, the story was late because Jackie Chan and the past presidents were late in submitting their interview quotes to IKEA Boy.

As Sheela and I would have said when we were at Easter Seals, “WHAT A PRODUCTION!!!”

From what I’ve gathered, more than 20,000 copies have dropped throughout the country already, leaving 40,000 in limbo at the print shop. Oy vey. We might as well drop the rest and take our chances.

I’m just hoping that this is the worst of it. I can think of a few more things they may question, but as far as I am concerned, any issues dealing with a person’s dismissal should be handled with kid gloves, especially in print. But for the fact that we’re squabbling over a direct quote, well, it seems a non-issue. I just can’t believe we’re going to drop $20K to change ONE WORD!!!!! ARGH!!!!!!!!!!

“Well my time went so quickly,

I went lickety-splickly out to my old ’55

As I drove away slowly, feeling so holy,

God knows, I was feeling alive.

Now the sun’s coming up,

I’m riding with Lady Luck,

freeway cars and trucks,

Stars beginning to fade,

and I lead the parade

Just a-wishing I’d stayed a little longer,

Oh, Lord, let me tell you

that the feeling’s getting stronger.

And it’s six in the morning,

gave me no warning; I had to be on my way.

Well there’s trucks all a-passing me,

and the lights are all flashing,

I’m on my way home from your place.

And now the sun’s coming up,

I’m riding with Lady Luck,

freeway cars and trucks,

Stars beginning to fade,

and I lead the parade

Just a-wishing I’d stayed a little longer,

Oh, Lord, let me tell you

that the feeling’s getting stronger.

And my time went so quickly,

I went lickety-splickly out to my old ’55

As I pulled away slowly, feeling so holy,

God knows, I was feeling alive.

Now the sun’s coming up,

I’m riding with Lady Luck,

Freeway cars and trucks,

freeway cars and trucks,

freeway cars and trucks…”

— Tom Waits, “Ol’ 55” — (covered by Sarah McLachlan in 1995)

Went back to Pittsburgh this weekend and am dealing with a mixed bag of emotions right now about it.

First of all, I’ve been sick for a week and am feeling no better. But I needed this trip. Had to see the family — god knows when it’s going to be the last time you hug them, given their frail health and general lack of wanting to live this life any longer.

I’ve come to enjoy the drive — I’m still a bit of a tense driver, but the scenery was just beautiful. Throughout Pennsylvania, the leaves — which are in plentiful supply — had already begun turning crimson, orange and yellow. The trees in Virginia that aren’t brown and/or dead from dry weather are still green.

Made it a point to actually go into Pittsburgh instead of just hanging out in the ‘burbs. Drove to the South Side with Wobin on Sunday, went to Fat Heads South Shore Saloon, which has the best damn food on the planet, and then we drove up to Mount Washington for old times’ sake. Went past my old apartment, where there used to be a life-size Garfield, which Wobin had made out of construction paper for me. The new tenant had some stupid “Happy Halloween” doo-dad on my door. I know my strange next-door neighbor Tom had kidnapped Garfield, to give him a home because I had been planning to drag him to the curb, along with most of my clothes, books and furniture during those hellacious moving days.

At any rate, I took Wobin to my favorite place on earth, Grandview Park. It’s a tiny park, one that you’d miss it if you blinked, but it has one overlook where you can get the best panoramic view of my old city. I stood there and just sobbed. I realize that the city will always be there for me when I go back, and that’s a big thing for me. Not a building was out of place (post-911 jitters — when I lived there, I always checked the skyline every day and was grateful that it was still intact), nothing seemed different. Only I was different, the oddity. I haven’t explored my new city all that much, but all I can say is that my old city seemed smaller than I remembered it to be. But it was just as beautiful and inviting. The people were so much friendlier and, well, the people who love me most still live there.

It was so hard, being with my family. I love them and will forever admire them for all that they sacrificed (and continue to sacrifice) for me — they would literally give me their last dollars, even if that means that they do without something that they need. My grandfather was all bandaged and bruised from several recent surgeries, yet he handed me some money that he’d hidden away (even from my mother) because he worries that I drive the car on fumes sometimes, waiting till payday to fill it up. Told me to go out and buy myself a good meal at a restaurant instead of trying to make do with whatever I have in the house. And he wouldn’t let me refuse to take it, even though we all know he needs it more than I ever will.

That reminded me of my grandmother, when she was alive, because she would always make sure I had something in my hand when I left from a visit with her. She always made my mom set aside a particular amount from her meager Social Security check for me. She was someone who loved to go shopping and had to have the newest and best of everything, and when she became incapacitated in her final years, it was her joy to know that I could afford to buy pretty things for myself, thanks to her.

And then there’s my mom, who would do anything and then some for me. She baked two little loaves of banana bread (my favorite) an hour before I left the house yesterday (one for me and one for IKEA Boy, to say thank-you to him for letting me sneak away from Virginia for a long weekend) — and she wouldn’t let me leave the house without those. I wish her life were better, and I feel like at my age, I should be helping her out and not the reverse. I feel like I am her twin, though, and not her daughter. Our relationship was always more of a friendship than a mother-daughter interaction. I love that sometimes, I don’t have to say a word, and she knows exactly what’s going on in my head. She feels like we’re losing that ability over the miles, but I think it’s stronger than ever.

I don’t know. Emotional days. First drug-free weekend in three weeks — gaaah!!! That’s when I needed it most!!! lol.

I don’t see myself staying in Virginia for too long, but I suppose I brought back a brand-new appreciation for it. I drove around for a couple of hours yesterday before I went back to the abode. Maddie didn’t even complain all that much — she shut up after we crossed the Mason-Dixon line and only howled when I hit 65 and 75 mph, keeping us out of a ticket, I suppose. lol. I decided that it’s okay to both hate and love my old life, as well as hate and love my new life. And if I could just combine the best elements of the two worlds, I’d be set … and perhaps I can do that, in yet another city. Could I go back to Pgh? Possibly — because I’m already more worldly in certain respects, and I am satisfied with my quick venture into the great unknown. But life has got to get even better than this, and if I would remove the worries about finances, I’d be so much happier here, I know it. Changes keep happening, both good and bad, and I have to keep remembering to roll with the punches instead of trying to fight back. Sometimes, you’ve got to let life flow, even when it sucks, because that just means the rainbow is that much more vibrant when you finally see it.

Before I went on the Turnpike headed home to Virginia, I stopped at my old bank and closed my account … the one I’ve had since I was four years old. It was sad, the finality. I only had two bucks in the account anyway, but it was kind of like closing a chapter of my life.

But Pittsburgh will always be in my heart. No question about that. D.C. isn’t an area where people stay for very long. But Pittsburgh is, and it — and the people in it — will remain embedded within you, even when you think you’ve left it behind.

300 arrests and counting in the District today. Damn protestors. The broken windows, tire fires, false 911 calls and the general shitty behavior would be enough justification for police to tear gas them, but an arrest, I guess I can live with.

Tiff and I were IMing … I said I’d take them much more seriously if they weren’t wearing Nautica jackets, and she added she could also take them more seriously if they weren’t wielding Sony camcorders. I’d like to venture that more than half of them were wearing leather jackets and shoes, too — because they’re probably all too dumb to realize that corporations raise cows so we can eat them and wear their hides. 🙂 And that is why I love corporate America … for the steak dinners and pretty clothes it provides!