Caterwauling

Anudder treat, plz?

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I realize all my cutest George photos are on Facebook, but I couldn’t resist this widdle face. I just spent the last seven days with this adorable little wonder, and it’s my first night without him and I feel lost.

I do have a cat who is eyeing me contentiously, smelling the puppy on my hands and remembering the one time I brought said puppy home to meet her. He ate her food, peed in her dish and pretty much peed everywhere else, too.

This is the same dog who chose his least-favorite copywriter and shit in his office on Labor Day. What can I say — the dog is regular!

I took this lovable ball of fur to PetSmart on Thursday. We loaded up on treats. He’s such a little diva — when I fed him a treat courtesy of the store (read: free bowl o’ treats), he spit it out. TWICE. But Aunt Dawn found some things he loved and we were all good from there.

(Warning: I’ve turned into a proud parent here. I will stop. Shortly.)

I had to laugh when a lady in a hurry took her dog outside the store to pee. Of course the dog pooped. And of course she didn’t have any bags and was contemplating how long it would take to get to the car and back before anyone saw it and got disgusted.

I wordlessly handed her a poop bag. She was so grateful! Dog people in general are kind of awesome. This week, I got to know the “regulars” on the A1A — both the dogs and the owners — and I’ve got to say I’ve rather loved it. (Minus the fact that I was usually in pajamas.)

George is quite the chick magnet. I mean human women were fawning all over him. And the men who asked to pet him … wow! Meanwhile, George was all John Travolta and walking to the tune of “Stayin’ Alive” — he was NOT happy to break his strut for anyone!

But even people without dogs stopped to pet him. Hell, I took George to dinner last night and sat at an oceanside table. Everyone was calling him “Toto.” People were falling all over themselves to get him water and to pet him. I fed him crabcakes under the table and we had a lovely night together.

(I also had about two bottles of wine in two days too. So the last few nights when I got home were just fine, too! *hic* Fucking work week from hell. At least a bad week here is still better than a good DAY at the last place.)

But here’s an interesting twist. Today when George’s momma came home, I took one last walk without him. I just needed some sun. And the VERY same people who jogged past me the last seven days (and last four weekends, since we’re counting) looked straight through me. People with dogs kept walking, just trying to keep their pooch out of everyone’s way. The camaraderie had gone *poof*.

Oh well. George is a magical dog. He brings people together. He’s the new official mascot of my office. Everyone was very disappointed on Friday when I came in without him and they were all in line, waiting to see Teh Kyoot one. Nobody was happy to see ME, mind you … it was all, “You didn’t bring the dog? Bummer. We’re going back to work.”

That’s ONE way to get them to work. … 😉 Just kidding — most of them are kind of awesome. Even if they’re collectively going to put me into an early grave!

All right, we return to our regularly scheduled pet- and child-free posts. In other words, radio silence resumes in 3… 2… 1…

Matanzas Bay

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The Matanzas Bay got its name from being dubbed the “bay of blood” or “bay of bones” after the Spaniards captured a fleet of 200 French (Protestant) sailors.

The Frenchmen were given the option to join Spain in its fight against France, and to convert to Catholicism. All 200 refused. They all were forced to walk the plank, where at the end their throats were slit.

It is said that the Bay shines red at night on many an occasion. Hence the “Bay of Blood.”

From where Lady L and I stood, it was just a beautiful sight in St. Augustine, across from a charming little “Old Town” of shops and restaurants. The buildings were ancient but so properly preserved that it looked like Walt Disney’s finest architects had swooped in and designed the tiny village just five years ago. It was almost puzzling to be riding in rickety trolleys (one that blew a tire three seconds after we hopped on!) and not to be boarding the famed Monorail.

Today we pause for the annual moment of silence for the lives lost on 9/11 … and the thousands more whose vim, vigor and youth has been stolen from them on enemy territory nearly 10 hours away from here.

I don’t disagree with my conservative friends that Obama isn’t doing a great job. But do you think that this man is probably counting down the days to 2012 so he can tell those assholes, “Fine, jackasses. Look what I inherited. I tried. Why don’t YOU figure it out?”

My friend Jeff posted an amazing blog about growth in China. seeing as though he’s traveling from Hong Kong to Singapore today, it’s appropriate and timely. And something he wrote struck my bleeding Socialist heart:

“Two scenarios. Tell me which one makes the most sense …

Scenario 1: China’s national, regional and local governments are throwing gobs of incentives at companies that are building the technology and infrastructure for tomorrow. The aim: to position China as the global leader in alternative energy, regardless of whether it’s solar or wind or biomass or whatever.

Scenario 2: America is incentivizing the production of cars from automakers that, had the laws of economics prevailed, would have died. America is keeping overleveraged, financially incompetent homeowners in houses they never should have afforded. America is throwing money at banks that made boneheaded financial decisions and, as a result, should have perished in a financial reckoning. America is incentivizing consumers to buy new cars they otherwise would not have purchased, new homes they clearly don’t need, and new appliances to replace otherwise fine appliances they already own.

Hmmm. I don’t know … the strategies are just so close …”

Wow, is our country fucked up, when you look at it that way!

I miss living in Washington, and having discussions like those. I am thrilled, however, to have worldly friends with whom we can talk like this until my liberal blood curdles and I have to walk away.

I still have to read “Atlas Shrugged” for work. Then when I finish that hot mess, I have to move on to “Fountainhead” and something else. I’d sooner get a sex change than shift my political leanings! Good God, who can READ that shit? I’m on page 4 of Atlas — Ayn Rand is a shitty writer, by the way. The fact that she’s also fucking crazy is the only thing that makes her interesting.

However, given that my house has become a welfare state, maybe just maybe I can drink enough tequila during the next week to get me through that stupid book. Maybe there *is* something to this “not giving to those who didn’t earn it” that is clearly apparent in Jeff’s blog and in my master bedroom. *Grr* (And Mom has the nice Roman tub while I have a tiny stand-up shower. Fuck me.)

Maybe that loony Ayn Rand was on to something after all. …

Gastown Steam Clock

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

“You’re askin’ her to dance now
She spins a solid white light
She gonna make love to you today
Today and every night.”

— Beth Hart, “By Her”

T-15 hours till we pull outta this joint and head to the Great White North for 48 hours of … well, I don’t know what, exactly. Not being anywhere near home or work or anything like that. *Squee!*

I haven’t packed. Just gave myself the world’s hastiest pedicure. And really — it’s all good. Nothing that can’t be overcome with a little sleep and a LOT of hustling to get my work done in the morning.

The UEOEH actually washed all my clothes. I’m shocked. I rarely wash clothes because the W/D is in the master bath. And who has the master bedroom? Ain’t me! And I stay as FAR away as possible, lest conversation is engaged and I get to hear in person how mean I am instead of just via e-mail.

I have two new pairs of glasses. That my optometrist is about to staple to my head like I’m Eric Cartman. Sigh. I hate wearing glasses. But I’m not a candidate for Lasik because I’m farsighted and he said it’s only for nearsightedness.

Crap.

The glasses are cute. I have a brown jeweled pair for casual, and a black jeweled pair for dress-up. I surprisingly don’t have a headache, but my eyes are ready to defect from my head from being corrected all day. Yeesh.

I moved into a new office this week. It’s nice having a door, even though the walls are paper-thin. It actually feels like I have some amount of authority, especially because there are only two offices in our whole building. 🙂

Of course, I find I have a lot of free time, being down one employee. Which is not the way it’s supposed to be, right? Which means I made the right decision. But, alas, le sigh nonetheless.

Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day, indeed. And I look forward to the road trip, the ghost-hunting, the cozy hotel, and (I’m sure) the world tour of restaurants that we will pack into our weekend away.

And it will feel good to be about 250 miles closer to someone I miss, although I won’t be truly happy till we’re sharing the same breath again. But that will come soon enough. I am sure of it.

“She may be waiting
‘Round the comer of your mind
But still you know she’s there
You can feel her inside.”

Boo Boo

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I’m babysitting my fur-nephew/furry godchild George. And I call him a lot of names — Giorgio, G, Munchkin and The One Without Opposable Thumbs. (The latter name has won me a few arguments with him!)

But the one name I think fits him best is “Man About Town.” Because everybody KNOWS him.

I can’t walk down the A1A without hearing a, “Hi George!” at least once a block. I have to put on my damn makeup ’cause people stop to talk. And since George’s mom is a beaming ray of sunshine, I don’t want everyone seeing my surly ass and wondering how we got to be friends. 🙂

And even if they (or, for some of them, their dogs) don’t know George, the walk isn’t complete without people stopping to pet him. He is that damn cute, I have to give him that.

People think I’m the dogwalker. I don’t even stop them and try to explain my actual career. As one of my employees noted when I took George into the office yesterday, it might not hurt me to put a bell on certain employees. It would be way easier to keep track of them. (Someone else said it, not me!)

I did have an in-depth chat with Boo Boo (pictured). I’ve run into him twice. He’s from Honolulu. He has a big story, and it’s consistent so I believe him, and I did tell him mine.

In fact, when he saw me today, he said, “I know you — you’re the girl who publishes that shit that don’t make no sense!” And I said, “I’m putting that on my business cards!”

He’s the nicest person. Has a smile and a compliment for everybody. I took this photo of him making some art for me and George — he’s using a magnifying glass to burn words into a palm leaf. On the back it has my name and George’s with a fish for me and a bone for him. On the front is where we met him.

Boo Boo says he has made millions of dollars in his life as a corporate motivator. And I can see that — he’s got bright eyes and a million-dollar smile. Conversation comes easily.

He’s been married three times. Says he hasn’t seen his last wife since 2003 and they never got divorced.

He got sick of the corporate world a few years back and became a beach bum. Lost all his money and makes a few bucks here and there with his art.

What I loved about him is that he just needs enough to buy Budweiser, cigars and the occasional steak. He lives on the beach. (His nice way of saying he’s homeless.) The corner of A1A and Atlantic is his “office” where he does his leaf-burning art.

He told me a story about meeting a woman down here over a year ago. They had a long-distance relationship for a couple of months, and she invited him to come up to the northeast to live with her.

He said she fell in love with the long-haired free spirit who had had enough of corporate life … the guy who takes pleasure in smoking and drinking and shooting the shit with like-minded people.

But then, she got him into her family business and yelled at him about his hair, his drinking, his smoking and pretty much everything that she had fallen in love with.

One day, he quit the job working for her brother in law. Changed out of his shirt and tie. Lit up a smoke and cracked open a beer. She started yelling at him and he said he was going out to the convenience store.

He left and never came back. And, he says, he always finds himself back in Delray, although his heart is in Honolulu.

Boo Boo told me his real name but I like keeping his cover. He doesn’t want anyone to know where to find him. He prefers it that way. He said he’s been featured on CNN. I can’t find it but I admit I haven’t been looking too hard.

But, I just had to re-tell his story because I loved it. I love that he says he made a half-million dollars last year, and pissed it all away. That he works just enough to get what he needs. And all he needs now is a bus ticket to California so he can get home to Hawaii to see his dog.

He said they are partying down at the beach tonight, him and two of his buddies. He wants me to come. He said he was going to go to Publix and get three steaks — well, four, now that I was invited. I said I don’t eat meat (a lie. Sigh.) because I wasn’t sure if I’d go.

I’m not afraid — I just know that I was meant to meet him, for the amount of time we met. If I run into him, I do want to pay him for his art. I of course carry no money on me whatsoever. Hell, I’ll buy him that bus ticket. Or a case of Bud. Whichever. 🙂

I guess he had a wild night with some woman he met. I asked a question about her, and he said it happened somewhere between “Bud” and “Weiser.” Hah. I’m stealing that line!

Anyway, while I love me some George, I’m definitely cured of my curiosity about wanting a dog.

Don’t get me wrong — I have LOVED stopping to see all the trees and flowers that I have walked past no fewer than four dozen times in the past year. I saw black-eyed Susans and calla lillies and, thanks to Boo Boo, smelled the awesome fragrance of burning palm leaves.

I’ve stopped to smile at people, to have conversations I would never have had, to pet other dogs and wave at babies who call out “Woof-woof!” when they see my furry little four-pawed wonder.

But I’m still selfish. I don’t mind going at the puppy’s pace. But after I carried him home for four blocks because he was hot and tired and so very over our world tour, I realized that I’m perhaps not ready to be on anyone else’s schedule but my own.

I’ve lived for everybody else. It’s kind of like how my mom took care of everyone in her life till they all died off. She doesn’t know how to take care of herself now. I thought she’d thrive once all her dependents (of which I never counted myself) were gone. But she’s withered.

Not me. Once she’s out of my house (whenever the hell THAT will be), I think I’m OK with finally starting to live for me. And whether that involves a puppy or adopting a kid or, hell, walking away from it all and living on the beach just like Boo Boo, all I know is that I will have earned it and, probably, not a soul will question my reasoning.

English Bay

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, the photo may be of Vancouver, but I’m back in my souper-seekrit location in South Florida. Mom-cation, the revenge!

I’m puppy-sitting the most-adorable four-pawed wonder I’ve ever met. (Of the canine variety — I still think my Maddie was, paws down, the coolest kitty ever.) In the past 24-ish hours, we’ve gone for three walks, met no fewer than 25 people who knew him on sight and eaten an untold amount of treats. (And that’s just me!)

I quipped that picking up dog poop, oddly, wasn’t the lowlight of my day. Everybody knows my Tuesdays suck. Today was a Thursday masquerading as Tuesday. And didn’t Mercury just hop back into retrograde? Sure feels like it.

I had a Big Work Situation today. And it was mine, all mine, to take care of. And I did. I’m so damned relieved, but so very exhausted.

I didn’t have a lot of anxiety going into it. (It begins with “T” and ends with “ermination.”) Of all the people I’ve let go in my career, this one was the most-talented. But there is a LOT to be said for it not being a fit … and for the fit changing over (albeit it a short) time.

I’d been documenting and agonizing out the wazoo because it was a delicate, delicate situation. But I hit a point where it was just time to eliminate the position — trying to save it and morph it was just ending up in disaster, and I don’t have time for disaster. I have enough disasters to address on my to-do list, thanks!

Also disappointing was the fact that I’d left a vintage Far Niente in my trunk (in the HOT Florida sun) for far too long. Not that I was planning to do this event today. Tomorrow was my planned day. But when I’m through, you should just stick a fork in me and run for the hills before I stab back. Because I will. Hard.

Anyway, my wine is kinda skunky, but I don’t care. This is NOT the day to be picky.

All in all, it was a good day. Productive. But exhausting. Even though my nerves were fine, I was just good and mad. And then I had a few moments of “please, please don’t let us get sued for this.” But I had done my due diligence. The whole company (well, just Corporate, which was in the know) was standing behind me.

I’d done everything I could … for the company. And I will always wonder whether I did right by the employee (I tried. I don’t know whether I was met halfway), but in this case, the one thing we agreed on was that this was for the best.

Was it that easy? Apparently so. But I refuse to breathe a sigh of relief just yet. My heart is still pretty broken at the way things turned out.

Life goes on, though. I have a new employee — whom I recruited, recommended and cannot WAIT to see perform — starting in a completely different position soon. I have work that I just couldn’t part with that now I will be able to relinquish. That’s exciting for me. I won’t get calls when I’m out of the country anymore. Yeah!

So, I got to play Glenda the Good Witch with her on Monday. Then I pulled on the striped socks and played the Wicked Witch today. Tomorrow, I’ll bring Toto (er, George) to the office to entertain the Munchkins. And I will ROCK my ruby-red stilettos from one end of Oz to the other.

Oh, and Baltimore? Here I come. Not forever this time, but don’t rule me out yet. …

Canada Place

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So I haven’t been to church in weeks. so I attended online services this morning PLUS I’m going to go to services live-and-in-person tonight. A double dose of Jesus couldn’t hurt right now.

The other night, I came home after 9 p.m. per usual, and went straight to my room, per usual. And the OEH texted that I could have my living room back. (As she had been in it when I flounced past without an acknowledgment.)

I replied back, “Don’t care about the living room. I want my HOUSE back.”

And she replied back, “I made pasta salad.”

Gotta love the state of passive-aggressiveness here. How does one register her car THERE?!?!

I just rented a storage unit, as this place is an avalanche of boxes that I am sick of looking at. I have gorgeous views of the Intracoastal and I can’t see ’em over the boxes. (And the closed vertical blinds, as I’m trying to keep the damn heat out.) I wonder whether it would be cruel to move the OEH into said storage unit — I would consider that 30 bucks a month a bargain for my sanity!

In attending online services today, we examined the Lord’s Prayer and the five stations of prayer. One was how you just have to keep forgiving people, the way you’ve been forgiven. See, this is where I have problems.

I’m not saying I’ve lived an exemplary life. Believe me, if there were some things (and some friends) I would have been smart enough to run screaming past, I’d go back and undo that shit in a heartbeat. But mostly, I’ve been ambling along, minding my own business … just trying to be a good person and a dutiful employee and otherwise attempt to not rain on anybody else’s parade.

Now, I know better than to think my life is terrible. I also know that it’s not the picture of grace and joy.

One thing I try to keep in mind is that I’m a good person, but maybe not a great one yet. If I do something slightly unholy, I figure I’m a better person than X. But I also know not to compare myself to a wretched piece of shit and, instead, I should compare myself to someone like Mother Theresa.

Like, WWGD? As in, What Would Gahndi do? And if that means go on a hunger strike, well, would that REALLY do my pudgy pork-roast butt any harm at this point?

So, beyond the “keep forgiving people” crap, as I’ve found that sometimes the only way to speak to people is to stop speaking to them ENTIRELY because they keep driving me NUTS, I found one other flaw in today’s sermon.

And that was the comment how many of us are on drugs to calm our nerves. That we clearly don’t believe enough in Jesus to take care of things.

Look, when I was dealing with all kinds of problems — perhaps bigger, albeit less-permanent than the ones I currently face — I had faith in God. I knew I couldn’t be unemployed forever, or that PsychoFailureFaggilicious had to run out of stupid ideas eventually. And maybe it took moving to Florida, but both problems are as solved as they can be. Woo hoo!

But that was the thing — the end may not have been in sight for either worthless situation, but I knew it would come eventually. And it did.

So here I am, starting to get kind of excited about life again. Like, it ain’t a dream job but it pays well and I have free time. And I’m starting to have faith that maybe there are single men under 50 out there worth getting to know. And maybe — and this is a BIG maybe — I might be amenable to the whole marriage and kids thing. Now, I don’t want to go out on a limb here, because that’s a HUGE development for me. But you know, I’m open to discussion. Which is a change from even six months ago.

In any case, I didn’t need meds back then. But I do now. And it’s truly because the OEH seems to think that this is permanent. That she’s entitled. That SO WHAT if I’m miserable — hey, at least she cleans the toilets and bakes, so what more do I want from her?

I think even Jesus would agree that the Paxil/Klonopin cocktail I ingest daily is keeping the homicide rate down, and that’s a GOOD thing!

Now I see why I drop out of church every now and again. I know their job is to show us the light and the truth and the way. And the truth hurts. No arguments there.

But what this yin-yang in the next room doesn’t realize is that the longer she wears out her welcome, the less-likely it is she’ll ever get a son-in-law or, gasp, a grandchild. Because I HATE sharing my space. HATE IT. There is no way in God’s green earth that any man will be moving in with me A) with her here, or B) even if she gets the fuck out of my space (into my storage unit?), I want my house back. I mean it.

I went to the eye doctor yesterday. Beyond the financial annoyance that Costco doesn’t take my insurance (I’ll submit it to my provider anyway. If I remember. Which, I never remember), I realized that masturbation really DOES make you go blind. God damn. They said I’d be pretty much fucked by age 38. My eyes themselves are healthy; my vision has just deteriorated off a cliff.

Time to get a new profession, one that doesn’t involve, oh, PUBLISHING?!?!

And that’s worrisome, you know? It’s like, bitch, get outta mah house. If I have two years to catch a man before I have to wear glasses 24 hours a day till the day I croak, can a girl have a lair where she can seduce her poor victims?

And then I think, fuck her. Seriously, fuck her. My house. I shouldn’t be hiding at my friend’s apartment when she’s out of town to enjoy the quiet. I should be bringing a parade of people through my house. I shouldn’t hide in my room. I should sit my stormcloud ass on my couch and command the remote.

I’d turn the TV off, BTW. I hate the TV. Silence is lovely. The TV is only on to keep people from feeling the need to TALK TO ME.

Hm. So yeah, at this point I’d have to pay for her to stay in a hotel if I have a guest here. So the solution is to get my own damn hotel. And what’s the fucking point of that when the view here is lovelier than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in? I’m literally watching a plane land at the airport as I type. THIS is what I’ve worked so hard for. And if my vision goes and, in turn, my career goes, well then won’t we all be out on the streets?

At least we’ll be together, she says.

*head—>desk*

That’s what I’m afraid of. I can think of worse people to spend my future with. (I’d type the name again but I’m aware of the “Beetlejuice” effect.) And I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone.

But I also don’t want to spend it medicated because I have to numb my basic impulses to A) knock the Jesus freaks upside the head with their “forgive everybody BUT you are not a good Christian if you are on the psychotropic hayride yourself, and B) to duct-tape someone to a surfboard and push them out to sea.

This is why I need two doses of church today, I guess!

Good morning

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Greetings from an undisclosed location somewhere in South Florida. The photo is from the balcony — there’s an ocean back there but the morning is too bright (or the iPhone camera is too low-megapixel) to show it.

I spent yesterday giddier than an orgy participant in a roomful of naked, sweaty bodies and a neverending supply of Ecstasy. Why? Because I got the keys to my freedom … literally.

While a dear friend is traveling, I’m crashing at her place. So last night — after spending the day doing nothing but daydreaming about the absolute silence and calm I was about to enjoy — I went to my favorite Italian restaurant to buy a metric assload of my favorite pasta. I accompanied it with the wine we’d started drinking Thursday night. And I texted with my favorite person.

And did not a damn thing else.

The Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest texted that she missed me. I don’t know why. I mean, really. I go home and lock myself in my bedroom … exactly the way I did when I was counting down to my 18th birthday when I could get the hell away from what I called the Manson Family.

I’m not sure how to spend the next 48 hours. I actually forgot a lot of stuff at home. I literally packed nothing but a bathing suit, beach towel, sunscreen, PJs, a sundress and a toothbrush.

But see, that’s the glory of not having anyone nestled up your ass. I really don’t need much. When I don’t have someone who’s financially and emotionally needy, not only do I not need my medication (which is one of the things I forgot at home), I don’t need to be out shopping both to be alone as well as to find a new toy to reward myself for another week that I haven’t inflicted physical harm on someone else or myself.

So, if nobody hears from me for the next 48 hours, just know that I’m happy. I’ve consumed said metric assload of pasta and can’t really move from the couch right now. I should have probably eaten healthily since I can’t do that at home. But if I’m gonna be bad, I’m doing it on my own terms. And damn, that feels good. …

Chillin’

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Talked to one of my favorite people tonight (not pictured) from one of my favorite spots on earth (pictured).

I had a couple of odd moments when two kids, about ages 4 and 3, approached me to talk. I was on the phone but I did chat with them. The little girl, the younger of the two (the boy was older — he came over to me first with a ball he was playing with), asked me for a hug. She told me all about her friend and her brother.

I mused to my friend how I have a force field around me when it comes to kids. That my boys marvel that I made it to 36 without having any of my own. And my friend said kids can sense “big kids” and they can pick someone out of a crowd who has no interest in kids.

And damn it, they were cute.

And it wasn’t lost on me that, just 10 minutes earlier, my friend was saying how he thinks kids are in his future. I, of course, was all “fuck that” for me.

OK, universe. Not sure what THAT was all about!

In any case, I don’t know what to say right now about, well, much of anything. So I will say nothing. And pray that all’s well that ends well, or some shit like that.

I escape into my mind a lot more than usual. I guess that’s good. I used to immerse myself in work. That doesn’t happen much anymore. In fact, I almost got the stirrings of a solution for a “problem” I created awhile back for one of my book characters.

I didn’t write it down. But that’s OK. That I even thought about my long-since-abandoned book series was enough of a breakthrough for me.

I may not be closer to making a living as a novelist, but with the novelty wearing off of other areas of my life, it’s good to know that my creativity hasn’t committed suicide entirely.

I’m tired. And the one part of my life that never goes well seems to be the only thing giving me hope.

Hell, I’ll take it any way I can get it. And I’ll enjoy the change of pace. I’ve never been one to turn down a new experience!

View from my desk

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

It has been a shitty week, with a capital shit.

After I left the last job, I never dreamed I’d be anything other than enamored with my career. But alas, it was a trying, trying week.

I was out of the country last week, so there were all the crises that popped up while I was 4,000 miles northwest. And then this week was spent overcoming some of those challenges.

Toss in a nasty sinus infection caused by people snarfing all over me while I was abroad, and the wine I drank last night and the mango mojito I had for breakfast this morning are not only deserved, but damn well ordained by God to be coursing through my veins!

As some woman said while Lady L and I were wandering the streets of the Gayborhood, “You can’t say you’ve been drinking all day unless you started at breakfast!”

(OK, so it was funnier at the time.)

This week, in addition to work being a bear, I had to get both cars registered in Florida and also get the extra-over-extended houseguest her driver’s license. Needless to say, it was an 18-ring circus and the only thing I achieved was taking her car out of my grandfather’s name and putting it into mine.

We’re going on six trips to the DMV to get her goddamned license. The next one should be it. Oh, and why couldn’t I register my car in the state? Because goddamned GMAC never stamped my FUCKING title that the loan was paid off. So the tax collector had to assume there’s a lien against the damn vehicle. Which has been paid off since 2006.

It got paid off right before the OEH crashed into my life. The car payment became the extra money I had to spend on getting a new apartment with a bedroom for her. Isn’t that depressing — four fucking years of this shit?

So, anyway, I didn’t put her car into her name. I had to pay the $500 fee. (It would have been $140 if I did it in Pennsylvania, but Miss Priss over here on her tuffett never got off her ass to do the paperwork LIKE I ASKED A THOUSAND TIMES. With the car set to be turned over to the state by yesterday if the conversion wasn’t done, I had to pay a steep premium.)

You know, tomorrow’s the one-year anniversary that my beloved Maddie left the earth, and man am I an angry bitch about that. But just as one of my friends said she’d love to come back in her next life as my cat, apparently my mom has no motivation whatsoever to get off her butt and out of my house. I mean, she lives in a condo on the water. Bills are paid. Utilities are covered. Allowance is provided.

The only difference between her and my 23 other “kids” is that I am at least paid to deal with them. And she costs me dearly.

One of my boys e-mailed me after he saw the position for which I’m hiring. Because, I need someone who’s not a dipshit. And the job description make me seem like I must be smart, to supervise said position. So he says to me, “Wow. Can you be my sugar mama?”

And I replied back, “No more freeloaders allowed. At capacity, thanks.”

That ended THAT conversation!

Now she says she can’t use her car now that it’s in my name. Because I told her that if she gets a fine or a ticket, I ain’t paying it. So she won’t take any chances.

Good Christ, isn’t that how teenagers think? Well, someone else will pay for it. Oh, honey, I’ll sell her into the drug-mule business to get my money back. Just you wait!

I spent the last two days with my friend, and another person too. I was, for the most part, relaxed and happy. We had a SPECTACULAR night out last night, and today was damn near perfect. When I’m allowed out of the house, I thrive. Work be damned. Kids who leave shopping lists on the coffee pot for me are far, far away. Over-extended houseguests who cost more than babies (and are certainly more demanding) melt away from view.

Instead, it’s replaced by pinot noir, Brie soaked in french onion soup, crusty bread, peanut-butter-and-jelly tortes, homemade ice cream, gourmet omelets and pina coladas flavored with my favorite fruit: mangoes.

And text messages. Can’t forget those. Friends in person and far away are my only connection to the real world. And I love it.

Anyway, to continue my vehicular homicide rampage that’s soon to start, tomorrow I have to go try to figure out WTF is wrong with my car. Whose registration expired today. As did the OEH’s but I’m mean and nasty for not putting the new license plate on her vehicle — er, as she keeps saying, MY new vehicle.

So, I’m in unfamiliar territory. Not the financial escapades. I’m just glad I can foot these bills. But in my head, I keep wandering somewhere better. All it takes is one word from the right person to send me into warm fuzzies and tinglies and otherwise fantasies about cashing in a round-trip ticket to Mexico for two first-class (and one-way) ones.

And coming home to anything but, well, is kind of wearing me down.

At least the view is nice. It’s just sad how prison-like it feels from this side of the screen door.

CityPlace … from Palm Beach

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I stopped at Rita’s in Lake Worth because they are making coffee ice cream this week (NOM to the third power, yo).

I was sitting on the Avenue, snarfing in my coffee ice cream like it was my last meal on earth. (Although I’m sure normal prisoners take hours to eat their last meal — I wouldn’t. Get me on my way!) And I saw a very normal sight.

I saw two women, walking and holding hands.

Maybe I live in a world (in my head) where that’s the norm. Maybe I’m a little bit jealous, truth be told, that people find their soulmate — or, at least, someone who really stirs their loins 😉 — and they want the world to know.

It’s very rare that I find myself in the position of BEING the one having the time of my life whom everyone is watching. So, while I was a little bit envious, I was also more than a lot proud that two women can walk down the street in Lake Worth, absolutely unafraid to be in love with each other.

I guess I was staring at them, wistfully of course. And I saw this older guy behind them, trying to catch my eye.

I looked over at him and he was grinning from ear to ear, obviously at the two girls. I had to laugh — while I was celebrating love in my head, he was obviously trying not to sprout a hard-on.

Hey, whatever — at least it’s acceptance, yes? 🙂

Then of course a truck full of idiots yammering in Spanish had to roll by. They started yelling really loud. Since I couldn’t understand what the fuck they were saying, I couldn’t tell you if they were offering a social commentary on the couple who had captured my attention.

But I watched the girls stop in their tracks, for just a moment, before walking on.

And I knew exactly how they felt. Any kid who has ever been teased in school knows what it’s like to have people yelling nasty shit at you — anything to make you turn around. And most of us became exceptionally good at ignoring the rest of the world … just in case that comment they were making was about you.

In any case, my moment of pride became one of sadness — that I live in a world where people just try to be happy … try to stay out of everyone else’s way … just want a little bit of peace and maybe even respect. That’s all. And even though it doesn’t cost us a dime or inconvenience us in any way, we simply can’t give people that.

I had a dream last night that a friend I saw recently had come to town to visit me. And we were at my boss’ house for a party. And he had his arms around me, and nobody said anything other than, “Yay, Goddess,” pretty much. Nobody looked twice.

And while I was happy in my dream, I awaken to a world where as long as you fit the “norm,” whatever that may be, that you’re fine. That you don’t have to worry that some dipshit yelling out of a car is aiming their comments at you.

It’s so hard to find happiness. I’m 36 and still searching. And I can’t guarantee that what ends up being my family will be anything resembling traditional.

But I will tell you this — I’ve had it with everyone else (people who aren’t all that happy themselves) trying to define it for the rest of us.