Caterwauling

Mirror at DaDa

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This photo has nothing to do with anything, other than that it’s cool. And given that Lady L and I calculated that we’ve dumped about $5,000 into booze and brie at DaDa in the past 10 months, it’s only necessary that I share the decor of the restaurant that we (should) have part ownership in!

I leave for Mexico on Monday. (Yes!) Doing laundry right now. Stayed up late at a Halloween party, so I woke up late. Ah, luxurious AND glorious!

Yesterday was a funny day. My driver’s license got suspended because I didn’t pay a $60 fine. So I had to pay a $150 fine BECAUSE I didn’t pay that fine. Since, you know, I sort of need identification to travel!

I had driven past the Den of Iniquity to the courthouse. As usual, I gave it my double-barreled-salute. Then I got to the courthouse and realized I forgot my fucking wallet. Grr.

I went back to the office, and once again headed past the Den of Iniquity to the courthouse.

I did my double-barreled-salute when … whoops … I noticed my two least-favorite people out on the steps. I think one of them saw my salute and recognized my dented-up car. But I didn’t care. Fuck them, indeed!

Just to see the leader — in the same stupid blue shit/black pants uniform that he wears seven days a week — made me ill. He was, in true form, ranting and flailing his arms and mind-fucking and aurally raping his victim.

God, I don’t miss those days.

I think the other idiot was the one who sent me 3,000-word manifestos every Tuesday on exactly why I suck as a human being. And although I could have matched him word-for-word on any given day, I refrained from answering because I knew that NOT engaging him in dialogue pissed him off more.

Grr, fuck you idiots. FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!!!

I did have a point here.

As I watched some episodes of “Medium” and “Paranormal State” on the DVR this afternoon, I remembered that what we focus on, is what we can’t get rid of.

DailyOM.com said it best: “Giving all of our attention to the unwanted aspects of our lives allows what we resist to persist.”

And hello, UEOEH!

I felt bad for her today. She wanted to go to the Farmer’s Market that is literally a block and a half away.

I had just awakened and had barely had a sip of coffee. She asked me to go. I said no. (I say no to everything in hopes that she will do it herself.)

And true to form, she stayed in the house and missed out.

She said she was afraid to walk by herself because she’s feeling funny and woozy. So I told her to drive — parking is free for market-goers. And she said she’s afraid “about the car.”

I can’t figure that one out. I’ve paid it up. I’ve insured it. I own it. What’s the problem here? She couldn’t answer, other than that she’s “afraid of everything.”

This has been my eternal problem here. I realized many years ago that her problems were too big for me. I can point her toward resources but I can’t make her better.

And I don’t know how to motivate her to take care of things. I can threaten her all I want with eviction and being dropped off at a women’s shelter. But then she worries about what will happen to her, and it paralyzes her, instead of saying hey — maybe I need to follow my little action plan to KEEP me from the streets.

Alas, the point here is that she worries about everything. And does nothing. I don’t worry that much anymore. I probably SHOULD. But meh.

If hanging around with Lady L has taught me anything, it’s that dreaming big means getting bigger things than you have. So I spend a lot of time dreaming that I should spend, oh, working. But it feels good to get out of the here-and-now by looking straight past it and on to the next thing.

Speaking of life being way too short…

There was a woman’s body found in a car at our favorite pizzeria this week — we were drinking there the same day the body was discovered. *shudder* Of course, all my friends started inquiring about the UEOEH’s whereabouts. 😉

Well, I have two parties left this weekend. And a photo shoot. And a shitpile of work. And packing. And trying to catch up with people before I shut my phone off till the 9th.

I really need this escape, but I need for it TO BE an escape. And I am not gonna be that lucky. I am also not confident that I’m not going to shove someone’s Bumpits up their butthole. But that’s a story for another day. …

HAI!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I was babysitting my fur-nephew all weekend. And I was all set to go home last night when I found out his mom couldn’t get to Florida until today. So I bought a new dress and enjoyed having one more night with my beloved boy. Life’s good!

The UEOEH had e-mailed me Friday, to say she wanted to see Lady L’s apartment. She also wanted to visit George one last time before they leave us for Maryland. (Sigh — the 10 months they’ve been here has saved me; I’m only happy because she’s moving up in the world … AGAIN.) And that I will be along for the road trip back to our old world!

Anyway, I said I was planning to walk G around 7 p.m. if she wanted to come along.

And she showed up promptly at 7, as I was starting to fall asleep after another exhausting workweek.

So I took the troops for a walk; we ate dinner outdoors at a chi-chi place on the A1A, and George sat on a big-boy chair all by himself. I fed him the bacon off our bacon-wrapped scallops, and he was so happy after a long day at the office with me. 🙂

So, the UEOEH was “more grateful than (I) will ever know” for the night out. And for the food. Probably mostly for the food.

Anyway, now that she finally knows where Lady L lives, it only makes sense for her to want to push her way in and come back, yes?

So she e-mailed me yesterday to say she wanted to make a pan of pasta, and drop it off so Lady L would have some food to come home to. Which is lovely. That’s the mother I remember. Always thinking of others.

Starving herself and blaming it on me, however, is the mother I know now. But since she suddenly had money (that I gave her for food), she wanted to make food for Lady L.

Not for ME, mind you.

So I e-mailed back, hey, look — that’s thoughtful and all. But this is my last night of living alone until you move out. (I left out the “when hell freezes over, apparently” part.) So, please let me have it.

I thought that was pretty tactful of me, considering that I felt strongly that she was pushing her way in and, let’s face it, ruining my calm.

I went to a movie. (Saw “Hereafter.” And LOVED it.) I got a migraine from the high volume of the speakers. It was old folks’ day at the theater — every retirement community in the county, it seemed, dropped off a busload of blue-hairs.

Anyway, G and I took a nice walk and went to bed early. I got to my e-mail today … only to get a very snippy reply from the UEOEH that I “can HAVE IT!!!” in regard to my freedom.

And this is why we will never get along.

I wrote back to call up her one friend in Pittsburgh — the one whose daughter just moved to D.C. a year ago — and stay for the holidays. They have an extra bedroom. She’s clearly miserable living with me. 🙂

And damn, I was actually feeling kind of bad after Friday — after seeing how sad and broken down the woman is. How much she really needs therapy and health care and good, old-fashioned TLC.

But then the claws come out. And I figure, if she has enough fight in her to challenge the asshole paying the bills, well then she can make a fucking phone call to cancel her car insurance or to drive to the DMV and get her license so she can get healthcare locally.

Oh, George. Give me one reason why I should stay in Florida and not stay with you and your mom when we drive to Baltimore next month. …

Dawdling

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The president isn’t the only one with idiots for advisers. That is all I’m going to say about that. (Fuckin’ Snooki!)

George and I are watching “Grey’s Anatomy.” I’m fairly certain my fur-nephew is one of my soulmates. He’s pretty much the love of my life, at this point.

Apparently the idiot maintenance dude flooded my apartment while putting in the new hot water tank. I always say that place is one safety violation from falling into the Intracoastal. Apparently parts fell out of the wall that we didn’t even know existed.

I got some weird news today. (No, not that my bouquet of bribery flowers arrived safely to my cousin. Which they did. I hope she wonders how she can ever thank me. By taking the UEOEH for the holidays would be a nice start!)

My sixth-grade history teacher died a few years ago. He was awesome. Loved that man. I had had his wife for a class somewhere else along the line. Didn’t love her as much. Can’t remember what she even taught, for that matter. Apparently she was found in her basement, dead, having hanged herself in her grief. How friggin’ sad.

I can’t imagine killing myself over losing the love of my life. Hell, one of my boys just told me today that clearly I hate foreplay — I must be a “wham-bam thank you ma’am” type. I couldn’t really argue. A girl gets bored while a boy tries to Google-Map her G-spot!

This is probably the last chance I will have to babysit George. So I’m trying not to be sad. We’re curled up on the floor while Aunt Goddess drinks her hard cider and avoids work.

Change is afoot here in so-called paradise; George is moving back to Maryland soon. And it pisses me off that my beloved fur-friend is going away, yet my Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest is like a burr nestled up my ass for the foreseeable (and even the unforeseeable) future. NOT FAIR. Waaah.

If the rope or the ceiling beam wouldn’t break under the weight of my pudgy pork-roast ass, I’d hang my damn self too! Not because I’m lonely, but because I haven’t gotten the chance to be!

Dunce cap

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love this photo. As I stopped to snap this shot in St. Augustine, Fla., a guy sitting across the street asked if I knew why it was up there. When I said no, he said, “So ya don’t DRIVE up there!” Lulz!

I spent the day at the mechanic. And by “the day,” I mean THE WHOLE DAY. I’ll just say that it worked out to about $100 an hour that I parted with. But the car runs like a dream right now, so it was well-worth it.

I got a text from the UEOEH this morning, sent at 8:48 a.m. I had left the house around 7:30 and she saw me leave. It started with, “Call me when you wake up.” So I knew it couldn’t be aimed at me. Or could it?

So, she babysits every once in a while for a friend of mine. And the remainder of the text was that she didn’t have any gas in her tank so she couldn’t go to this job.

Which, as you know, is ALL MY FAULT.

She did leave me a VM yesterday. All about picking up purple Halloween lights and extension cords. I hadn’t listened to it all the way through, as I don’t have holidays up my ass anymore now that she’s here.

Hell, I showed my collection of wine, martini and margarita glasses to Lady L yesterday and she was floored at how seriously I used to take entertaining. My life ceased to exist when I started working at the Investor Ranch, but the UEOEH’s arrival put the nails in the coffin.

Anyway, months ago, the UEOEH had asked if she could decorate for Halloween. I said I didn’t care. She was overjoyed. But then she said she needed money, and I said no way. If she got a job, of course, she could decorate to her heart’s content. But when Little Miss Muffett is always sitting around with no gas in the car or food in her belly, fuck no I am not donating to the decorations cause.

So what little money the UEOEH managed to make must have gone into purple lights that are wrapped around my balcony railing. But it’s not finished and there are no extension cords. Oh well! Not my problem!

So I listened to her message all the way through, and she did ask for 10 bucks for her gas tank “in case” she got a call. I guess she either did get a call at the last minute, or else she was doing the usual passive-aggressive thing by sending the message “to” someone else but picking my number.

I don’t know. I don’t care.

After the day o’ mechanic land (I love them, BTW. It’s all good. They even invited me to have lunch on them), I decided to go shopping and see a movie. Anything not to come home.

I can’t even muster up enough energy to feel bad that she missed her job. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told my BFF that I’m “mean” … TWICE.

And I’m in the market for a good argument. But I won’t get one. So, why even bother?

I wonder if she’s just sensitive about Thanksgiving because that’s when my grandfather died four years ago. But I’ve never been what you’d call, oh, sentimental. I try to live in the present or at least just the immediate past. 🙂

And I don’t believe the dead would want us to mourn for too long. Except her. She’d probably haunt me for the rest of my life to make sure I felt properly miserable.

Like Lady L said last night, would my grandfather really have wanted this to be our lives? I remember as he lay dying, he was so worried about the way we were play-fighting. That he couldn’t leave her to me. As if she were some sort of awesome inheritance that he was bequeathing. Ugh. Please.

But I had said back then, two years is all you get … if you need it. And please don’t need it.

Aaaaaand, here we are.

I wonder if I can pay my cousin to take her. This is literally my only hope. If she were to say no, I truly don’t know what I’ll do. I just need to figure out how to ask. Any ideas for a good way to bribe her?

O Hai!

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, the UEOEH sent me the nastiest e-mail yesterday. In response to my polite request to send a postcard from the cross so I could see the view, she went CRAZY.

She told me that I have no business calling myself a Christian when I haven’t mastered basic kindness. And that she knows I only went to church because I was hot for the pastor and for that married guy I liked to sit with.

And that she only went with me because we always went to lunch afterward. She would eat just a portion of it, and then have food for the rest of the week because I don’t feed her.

Wow. Venomous, much?

For the record, Lady L and I go to church every week. She said she can attest to the fact that I am not there to slobber all over the pastor. And for the record, the guy I sat with all the time? When I Googled him and found via Facebook that he’s married with spawn, I QUIT GOING to the 11 a.m. services.

OMG, what a cunt.

I’ll spare you the rest of the vitriol she spewed toward me, but let’s just say that SHE’S the saint for living with ME.

Same cunt stole my last roll of toilet paper. I have not a square to spare, and not a roll left under the sink because, as usual, she takes and takes and takes till there’s nothing left.

True to UEOEH form, though, she offered to cook Thanksgiving dinner before she leaves because she “wants to feel included, even though (she’s) not wanted.”

As she noted snidely, “Since you don’t cook.”

She also graciously said that she will gladly go wherever I put her. In other words, once again it is on me to solve the fucking problem. I hate her SO much. Because, of course, guess who has to arrange it and pay for it?

She said that I can go back to my so-called life that basically sucks but if I think I’m missing out on something, far be it from her to keep me from it. And that I can “parade (my) derelicts through” to my heart’s content.

Keep supporting my case, bitch.

So this morning she’s being nice and asking me all sorts of stupid questions. I can’t even look at her. Because this is EXACTLY what happens. We have a blowout; her memory gets erased; and things go back to “normal.”

I’m not like her in that respect. I’m good and mad. I want change. I just don’t know how to reply to all of that.

I mean, I’m helpless here. I know she looks to me to solve all her problems. And I guess I’m looking around, too, like, “Do you people hear this shit? Halp?”

And I guess that makes me as utterly useless as she is. Sigh.

Nite nite

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This photo got upward of 200 hits in the first hour it was up on Flickr, so why not share it with the four and a half readers of Caterwauling.com? 🙂

That’s my buddy George, snoozing away. He’s had a “ruff” couple of days, with a vet appointment yesterday and an emergency vet run today. But he’s doing OK and probably lying in that same spot at this very moment.

It was a DaDa’s night in Delray. Lady L and I have now gone probably every week for the past two months. I’m still not the mayor of it on Foursquare (although I keep trying)! But I *am* the mayor of my church, which means I am the holiest woman in Palm Beach County and must be worshiped accordingly.

Every week, we celebrate making it through however many days it took to get to our midweek escape. Some weeks, we had to convene an emergency DaDa session on a Monday. Sometimes, we even made it to a Friday or a Saturday. Mostly, though, it’s a Tuesday through Thursday event, with Wednesday most often winning the “this week sucks — we need DaDa’s NOW” award.

It’s been a long week already. I’ve been opening and closing the office for days, and despite the added hours, I’m no less behind than usual. That drives me apeshit. I’m awash in a sea of editorial (and I swear the Muck Monster’s in there somewhere) plus numbers and goals and org charts and “B” players and OMG, who the hell put me in charge?

I got some … ah … news today. It’s not bad. It’s rather good. It’s not my news, per se, so I’m not sharing it. But it will affect me in a huge way. Not right away. But it will. I just hope all the progress I’ve managed since January doesn’t just evaporate.

Anyway.

I discovered some old anger over the past few days. I have a friend with a not-so-nice boss, and it opened up a lot of old wounds for me. I remember being treated the same way. And it sucks to see people I love going through that same pain.

I also found myself picking at a scar I hadn’t thought about since my college years. It’s related to that woman who lives in my house. I forgave her for everything as it happened, of course. But I can’t forget how angry I was that she let everyone walk all over her like a doormat. I mean, they wiped their feet AND their asses on her. And she LET them.

It kills me that she let everyone in the world have their way with her. And all she did was die a little bit inside each time. So I inherited a warm corpse, essentially, both physically and emotionally.

And it pisses me off to high heaven that she let everyone else use and discard her, but that I can’t get her out of the house for 15 lousy minutes. Why did she oblige people she dated, yet she can’t do anything that would — if not endear her to me — at least not piss me off?

It’s like there’s nothing left of the person I used to know. But that, with the latest memory I’d thought I’d squelched, I wasn’t all that fond of her decisions, anyway. I remember being GLAD to live far away. That her dumb decisions weren’t my problem.

I also remember fearing the day that I WOULD inherit those problems.

I remember the friend who proposed to me, just so I could take his name and detach from this wacky family. I’m glad I didn’t marry him, but I loved him for the offer.

I wonder, had I been married before inheriting my mother, would she have fought to be on her own — would she have been too proud to move in with me, and would she have been independent so as not to ruin my life?

The single children get screwed with ailing parents (even when they’re at the ripe old age of 53. Ahem). Not that I have siblings, and nor does she, but my friends’ parents don’t bother their married children. Oh, no — it’s the single ones who have to either house the parents, or make the children come back home to live with them.

Life is full of “what ifs” — I know better than to pinpoint what I would have done differently with the gift of hindsight. I just want to think about what I will do with my master suite when I hire the Chilean miners’ rescue team to extract her from it.

I wonder if I’m not simply being forced to pay for the sins of the fathers … and the mothers … and the whole fam damily. Thanks, assholes!

But tonight I got hope that all bad situations have an endpoint. Not my living situation — I’m still a half-mile below the surface there. But if others can have their pain alleviated after a quarter of the time, that means mine has to be next. Right?

Tangled

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I miss the days of catblogging for Maddie. I am glad she got “famous” organically, before the advent of Facebook and everybody in the world putting up one stupid pet post and suddenly getting invited onto a talk show. God, I miss that cat.

Anyway, no real reason for this Kadie pic other than that I get one good shot of her a year, and this is it for 2010. *scritches* I do love this fur-sack. She puts up with my mother, and claws her mercilessly when needed, and that makes me smile.

I have been running away from bad karma these past few days. Not of my own generating — and that’s the thing. I realize that the universe kicking my ass isn’t entirely my fault.

Hanging around people with bad karma is impacting mine. I think about Crack Whore. And how every time he flared up in my life, I dented my car. It was when I was jumping as high (heh) as he wanted me to that my car took the punishment.

Sure, I know I can’t drive/park/operate heavy machinery other than the occasional vibrator. I don’t blame Crack Whore per se on that. But I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that my car got crushed like a Coke can (heh. Coke.) whenever I was being recruited to carry out my portion of his Evil Plans. Coincidence? I think not.

I hung around some yin-yang in college and beyond, and it was only after I parted ways with that Freak of the Week that the black cloud over my life evaporated. Don’t get me wrong — life still ain’t perfect. But when you have someone who purposely challenges all that is good and right with the universe, that attracts far too much bad karma for one person. It rubs off on those who happen to be standing nearby. Even if we did nothing to attract it.

I have my parade of married men to contend with. Honest to God, I am a good girl (or try to be. Mostly) and, frankly, I have enough to answer to when we get to my Life Review when it’s my time to cross over. And it best be WORTH IT when I go sweat in the eternal sauna. I’m not wasting my salvation on propositions that are going to keep me from meeting/being with my true soulmate.

The bleeding-heart Socialist in me wants to help everyone who needs it. But that also means attracting varying levels of their karma, and that is the thanks I get. I am starting to see why all the Libertarian freaks are all about self-reliant living. You don’t bother me; I don’t bother you — we just peacefully coexist with the resources we each have. If I’m thirsty, I collect rainwater. If you’re lonely, well, too fucking bad. 🙂

Speaking of lonely, I’ve had my phone in “airplane” mode for what’s starting on five days. I can’t talk about it and frankly, I don’t want to. But I think it’s another example of people who tempt fate FAR too often, raining on my parade. I feel terrible knowing people are going through some shit, and knowing that I am in a position of helping them. But at some point they’ve got to humble themselves and maybe give up some of the excesses (not limited to EGO) and let the universe knock them down a few pegs.

I know many people’s darkest secrets. And again, I feel like the universe is telling me to fly above the dark clouds or else I’ll continue to become enshrouded by them.

(Exhibit A: The UEOEH. Who used MY MONEY for HER DRIVER’S LICENSE to buy ribs and cornbread for dinner last night. I asked her, why the fuck can’t she buy me a goddamned veggie burger or a salad instead? Of course, the stress from the EGO has me all kerfuffled, and I ate every last hunk of fat off every last rib. Fuck you all. Love, Goddess.)

I don’t mean to blame anyone for my own problems. But I react to the over-stimulus by freaking out (hence we upped my anxiety-pill dosage yesterday) and pigging out (sigh).

Everyone, keep your damn drama. I had to tell my one friend to stop contacting me for now. I am not helping that person to get ahead at my own expense. I want to use my phone again. I want to not miss important calls because he hangs up and calls back every hour (and texts in-between).

I have to make way for my own good karma to get through to me. And if you’re standing in the way of it — or the shadow of sins past, present and/or future are within a five-mile radius of me — I kindly ask that you let me have the sunshine that I’ve worked so hard to see.

Let’s face it — if all dogs (and cats) go to heaven, I damn sure want to see my babies when I join them on the other side. Please let me have that. Let me let go of my fears, my rage, my bitterness, my sadness, my exhaustion, my frustration and my indifference. I choose light. I choose peace. I choose love.

And everything else is just a waste of time.

The Options Pits

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

As a publisher, I spend a lot of time agonizing over brand identity. What is my overarching brand, how do I promote/preserve it, are my products/services continually fulfilling our mission, and are my direct reports walking/talking/breathing their individual brands as they fit within the greater franchise?

These are the things that put me to sleep during the day and keep me awake at night.

I’m not complaining — I’m in my element. This is the career path I was meant to take.

But it doesn’t come without some loss of brand identity of my own.

And that frustrates me sometimes.

I had my own “thing” I’ve been known for, for many years. I am actually pretty much an idiot when it comes to finance, but I know options like nobody’s business.

So, my knowledge base contains things that 99% of investors will never, ever learn about or use. Which makes me VERY marketable. And, as I say, that’s why I command the medium bucks!

However, I’ve always operated at somewhat of a deficit. I learned options the hard way — without knowledge of the stock markets in general. I’ve been trying to back-and-fill and spackle the holes in my financial brain for years.

But it was OK — I was always “The Options Goddess.” Any idiot can talk stocks with you. You wanna construct a broken-winged butterfly or an iron condor? I’m your girl.

And … I now have NO USE WHATSOEVER for this knowledge.

Sure, I can open up a trading account and do it myself. But I’m lazy. 🙂 I guess I always expected I would work with famous options traders like I did before.

And while I’ve always been the options expert on staff, I’m in a place where I know more about them than the actual options experts we pay. Which is fine. But I feel like that part of my brain is atrophying — I don’t use my options knowledge that much anymore.

Sure, I dust it off when I flip into “editor” mode. But as publisher, I am really trying to get out of the day-to-day and eventually just be a consultant on the editorial instead of playing all the instruments in the band when I have records to sell and concerts to book!

So anyway, when I proposed we do something options-ish, I was given a green light. And then a red light.

And a part of me died. Not because my so-called authority was, gasp, challenged. But because I thought my stupid little project would keep my widdle options brain sharp.

And I came to realize in a big way that I’m not “Options Goddess” anymore. I mean, sure I can and probably always will be. But that’s not my life’s purpose anymore. I have a broader universe of responsibilities that may include options someday. But it’s so much bigger than that now.

So, in branding my boys and my business, I have one of my many new purposes in life. And after sleeping on it, I’m OK with that.

Sure, I guess I caught the football and made my team win the Super Bowl. But I am consciously letting that moment go and moving on to own the team. Well, it’s a team in another town and it’s going to need a lot of work to run as efficiently as the one I came from. But THAT is where I get to make a difference. I get to construct my own winning team instead of playing one position.

Sure, I got good at my position. Great at it, actually. Well-known within a very broad circle, actually. Fuck it — I RULED, people.

I’ll rule again. Just in a different way. One that lets me work normal hours, call the shots and make other people into stars.

And after being a star, I know how it feels. And it’s a feeling I can’t wait to help others experience.

Cafe Versailles, Miami

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This was one of those days in which I entered the Compound and, within 12 minutes, I was searching for my car keys to drive to the nearest bridge to jump off.

But then I realized the nearest bridge is a block north and another block east. But there’s no parking right by it. And it was already 87 degrees and too damn hot to walk. So I might as well deal with the Calamity of the Day.

Whee!

I was thinking about the Den of Iniquity, how most of the employees were “A” players. (*Resisting urge to sing “C is for Crackhead” to the tune of Cookie Monster.*)

But wow, we had such a good gaggle of employees. Whatever we were paid or whatever our (useless) titles were, we were a real team. If I had to call someone on a Sunday night, they picked up and fulfilled my request as cheerfully as possible, because I wasn’t calling of my own accord and it was ALL our asses on the line if impulses weren’t accommodated ASAP.

And then you get these kids who have it SO good, and they have no idea. They have never been forced to walk on hot coals with their clothes on fire and a little monkey banging their head between cymbals the whole way. And Satan shoving a hot poker up your ass while Jesse James tattoos your twat and his girlfriend of the week pierces your nipples using a rusty nail.

Yeah, you ain’t never experienced pain, kids. Not till you can top that!

I’m not saying that terrorizing employees is the best way to motivate them. But there is something to be said for hiring more-mature people who work well together as a team, instead of artificially putting a team together (i.e., hiring the lowest bidders, in many cases) and hoping for the best.

I ran into one of my ex-bosses at Publix tonight. I realize I have more ex-bosses than I do ex-boyfriends. It was cool. It was a decent conversation. He hired me where I work now, so I praised him for his good taste and said I hope I hire as well as he does.

(Minus that one whose mug shot appeared in my IM a week after I let her go. That was fun. Good times. I championed her, but he was the one who picked her. We all make mistakes!)

Speaking of mistakes, I had to serve as an ATM again this morning. I made sure to tell the UEOEH that she is getting thrown out on her ass if I see anything so much as resembling cake or candy in this house with my money. The end, no questions asked. So far, I see nothing. Proof that she DOES comprehend what’s said to her! Who knew?

Butterfly

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I saw this tiny orange wonder on Friday morning. I wondered if it were my grandmother, whose birthday would have been Saturday.

I know the dearly departed don’t have the same concept of time as we mortals. So when my mother insists on buying birthday cake to celebrate what would have been my grandmother’s 83rd birthday, it doesn’t necessarily mean my grandmother is celebrating at the same time.

Milestones and millennia are the measures of time on our respectively different planes.

Which is why my UEOEH thinks she’s welcome in my house for ALL TIME and the past few years have felt like a MILLENNIUM and THEN SOME for me.

This past weekend, I started doing what I always do when I’m unhappy at home. I started buying stuff “for my next place.” My hope is that THIS is my next place. I don’t want to move. I LOVE living on the water. I ADORE having all this space. I just want to get rid of my mother and my (albeit beloved) cat Kadie so that they have each other, wherever they end up.

I bought a cute little (overpriced) “dresser” for hairthings. And I found the duvet set that I bought two years ago for $150 on sale for, yep, $14.99. Dollar-cost-averaging, yo.

I bought another comforter that I liked, too. I have two bedrooms, after all, when the UEOEH goes away. All I need is another bed!

I also found a CUTE rug that matches my old/new comforter set. Two, actually — a small one and a 4′ x 5′. Since I have no carpets — and I will have gotten rid of Kadie who likes to wipe her pissy ass on everything, it is sitting on a shelf in my closet.

In other news, I applied for (and got) a car loan. I just haven’t returned any of their calls. I know what car I want … and I know what my interest rate is. Sigh. And I’m not in the mood to pay *mumblemumble* a month when all I need to do is drop the damn car off at a dealer and spend a small (albeit one-time) fortune to fix mine up pretty.

Oh wait — there ARE no Pontiac dealers left! *headdesk*

In better news, my car is legal in Florida. I swear to God, I have to get a ticket in every damn state because I let the registration slide. Now to go pay the f’ing ticket. Whee!

In any case, the butterfly hung around me for a long time while George sniffed around. He was being good and not tugging on his leash. He let me watch the butterfly dance and dance and dance.

Was it my grandmother? Was it a sign that everything is OK, or that it will be? That I’m loved by the universe, even if it feels like I must have bullied it in a past life?

I just wish my mom would leave, so I can miss her. I wish my job didn’t have to be so much work sometimes. I wish I had more friends in the area. I wish for lots and lots of stupid, materialistic stuff, too. But perhaps my great hope right now is that, like this beautiful butterfly, I can spread my little wings and soar above it all.