Caterwauling

Guest room balcony

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Today’s entry is sponsored by the words “panic” and “attack.”

I learned that not only does my current apartment need two months’ rent to terminate the lease, but there’s an extra fee of a month’s rent to break it.

Slick bastards.

The options are:

A. Leave suddenly in the middle of the night; pay 2 months.

B. Give 60 days’ notice. Pay rent that whole time plus 1 extra month’s fee.

So, basically, the good people get screwed.

I asked Ghetto Cliche Latoya (with the five-inch-long-nails with which she text-messages the owner when I ask her for something) in the rental office (she was the one who screwed up my world when I was applying here and moving in) why on earth anyone would choose to pay more. She said “more time to get the money.”

Hmm. Smartest thing she’s said to me in five months.

So that leaves me paying three rents for three months. Well, “Paying” may be overstating the issue. Where am I going to find money with which to actually move?

Also, I have to drag the cats to the vet today. Neither one is eating, and they need their shots anyway. I know Maddie needs meds for her hyperthyroidism (while mine goes untreated…). The a/c in the car is broken and Mom needs money for her bills. And I ain’t got it.

I keep telling myself that all will be delightful in three months, just as long as I don’t want cable or Internet or food. It’s just GETTING there that’s going to drive me batshit.

But I’ll get there. Mark my words. …

Moon in 3-D

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Just figured I’d write a blog entry when I’m as close to being happy to be alive as I will ever get. 😉

Nothing extraordinary is going on. My friend T is in town, which is about the only time that I feel good and right. She leaves tomorrow, so I’ll be my old surly self in no time. BUT she will stay with me next time she’s in town. YAY!

We also welcome B from Hotlanta and B from San Francisco into the fold this week, even if it’s just for a couple of days. It’s been great. Really. If every week could be as glorious as this one, I would be SUCH a happier person.

The move is not necessarily on hold, but not moving forward. For some stupid reason, my mommy has to sign MY lease. Not just for the place she will be occupying, but also the one to which she will NEVER EVER NEVER get the key EVER. I don’t get it.

I have to have her sign it and I’ll drop off another deposit (I got a deposit for my unit; now for hers). Basically I’ll be paying THREE rents for the next two-ish months.

I keep telling myself it will all be worthwhile.

My friend P gave me a job application for the Over-Extended Houseguest at her kid’s school. They’re not hiring but CAN YOU IMAGINE making this move and not only does my life change, but hers as well?

Wouldn’t it be even greater for her to pay her own damn bills/rent/utilities and I can move on with the business of LIVING MY OWN LIFE FOR A CHANGE?

She needs money for her bills. LIKE I HAVE NOTHING ELSE GOING ON RIGHT NOW. Oh, I’m so frustrated.

More frustrated, still, that she ALWAYS barges into my bedroom and asks if she can come in. Every single time, I say no. And every time she keeps flapping her jaws like I said, “Sure, come in and bore the bejeezus out of me, please!”

I haven’t scheduled movers but, again, P knows some guys who will do it for me (for a cost, of course). Seriously, this woman is heaven-sent.

I’m finally, finally starting to feel like I’m going to turn out OK. Eventually. Not anytime soon. But I refuse to wonder what if the OEH doesn’t get a job and OMG how will I afford to pay for separate lives for both of us for the longer term.

But I can’t think that way. I just can’t. I am going to get her on her feet if it kills me. I will get rid of the cats’ fleas if it kills me. I will live on wine and cat food in my new apartment if it kills me. I will GET OUT OF THIS FUCKED-UP SITUATION that I didn’t ask for and DO NOT WANT because I deserve better.

It’ll be OK. I will be, too.

Send cake. And drugs. I’ll give you the address when you arrive in the neighborhood to stay with me in my lovely new place. …

Sunset on the Intracoastal

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, OK, I got some encouragement to grab life by the balls. So I spent several hours at my friend’s condo complex today, touring apartments and otherwise losing my mind.

But in a good way, if you can believe it.

I took the Over-Extended Houseguest with me. We toured apartments for me and I basically showed her the studio apartment that’s going to be ALL HERS.

I mean, it’s not gorgeous, but it ain’t Shady Pines, yo.

As for me, I had my heart set on this GORGEOUS corner unit. Very private, very high in the sky (for this building, anyway). My bedroom has a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean. I mean, it’s top fucking notch.

But …

The unit smells a little funny. It’s lovely otherwise. The Roman tub and wraparound balcony had me at hello. Or, at “O HAI.” Whichever. 😉

But then …

They showed me a couple of penthouse apartments. And I was in lurrrve.

See, the best penthouse was actually lower in my price range (my price range is twice as much as I was paying in D.C. *faint*). But that would mean keeping the OEH so I could get the world’s most-gorgeous view.

Fuck that. Seriously, I will sacrifice more money and beauty, but no more skimping on sanity. No fucking way.

But there was a tiny penthouse — about 1,000 square feet for a 2BR/2BA. The unit I wanted downstairs was about 1,300 square feet and $100 less. BUT … THE VIEWS.

*happy sigh*

Now, the catch was to get approved. Because my credit score sucks and all.

But not only did I get APPROVED for a motherfucking PENTHOUSE, but I don’t have to pay any weird triple deposits like I did at this shithole I’m in now.

God is good. Nay, God is GREAT. I don’t mean to sound like one of those turds who praise Jesus when they win an MTV Music Award, but seriously, it is by the grace of God that I could get my shit together to go look at apartments, let alone GET APPROVED FOR A PENTHOUSE.

The OEH and I will be five floors apart. In a lovely building on a freaking peninsula that overlooks EVERYTHING.

Sure, I’ll give her a key to my place. Sigh. But to come home to my own space? Priceless.

And did I mention the private beach to which only residents get a key? Chairs and umbrellas provided courtesy of the management?

Seriously, last week I wanted to die. Today, I’m getting ready to LIVE.

I’m holding two apartments for me though — the smelly big one with the rockin’ tub and the twee penthouse with far less privacy outside (HUGE balcony, though) with the brand-new stainless-steel appliances. Shitty twee tub but did I mention the VIEW?!?!

Lots to think about this weekend. Like whether to write “So Long, Farewell” on my bare ass when I go tell my current apartment management to sit and spin, or whether to suck dick at Comcast and the electric company since I’ll have to pay for two sets of utilities.

And THOSE are GREAT problems to have!!!

Operation Beautiful

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My contribution to the Operation Beautiful cause.

“Even when you don’t feel beautiful, doesn’t change the fact that you are!!!”

Fireworks in 3-D

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I had put 3-D glasses over my camera as I watched the Fourth of July fireworks from the beach, and this is one of the many intriguing shots I got. It’s neat to look at things through different eyes. Maybe I’ll staple those glasses to my head for a week and see if I don’t generate a total new outlook.

The Bad Mood That Never Ends^TM continues to make my heart too heavy to carry around in my chest. I remember feeling this “meh” when I first moved to D.C. I figured I’d get over it. I figure I WILL get over it. But what, exactly, am I getting over?

More specifically, where is the light at the end of the tunnel? Even if it IS an oncoming train, a girl needs some light, yo.

I’ve intimated that my glumness is rooted in part in missing my friends. It’s a trifecta of total desperation that’s got me by the ass, but let’s focus on that factor today.

I was asked if I could bring any 3 or 5 people to see me in Florida (from D.C.), who would it be? Four of the five people I named were old colleagues.

Nothing against the “non-work” friends, but when I had to keep giving up social event after social event, who was I spending that time with? My work friends. AT WORK. Whose company I was very lucky to enjoy.

So as I was talking about people and places I missed today, the revelation came out of the mouth of this particular babe, “What’s the big deal, really? I’ve been missing my friends FOR FIVE YEARS.”

I think that’s what’s stuck in my craw on the friend front. That, jeez, I had all these incredible people in my life that I didn’t see.

Sure, I had my weekends off and there were lots of group events with my different groups. But one-on-one time? Hangout time? Go shopping time? Just chill time? Not so much.

Was it my own fault? Absolutely. Sure, a lot of things were out of my control, with great events happening on weeknights but me being another state away, captive in a cube, didn’t help matters. The ability to gnaw at the restraints was there; just not always the magical opportunity of energy + ability.

I guess it’s been obvious to more than just me that I haven’t smiled in a good six weeks. I don’t even try to fake it anymore.

What bothers me is that I CAN’T fake anything anymore. When I started at my last job, I was as broken as a human being could be. Five months without a job, no money and one foot off the cliff toward losing everything, and I hid it from everyone.

Maybe I didn’t do as good a job as I thought in hiding my metric buttload of pain, but it was onward and upward, y’know? And even though things weren’t ideal for that first year and a half, they became OK.

Things were never easy, but I was cool with OK. Good work, great skill set, excellent team — all blessings worthy of counting twice.

Of course, I had about a minute and a half of happy, when I got an apartment I liked and even though I was a state away from my friends, the alleviated commute actually did wonders in curing my then-high blood pressure.

Fast-forward to inheriting the OEH, and I was never the same again.

So here I am in this whole new life that looks EXACTLY like the life before. So why am I so violently down in the damn dumps? Because unlike then, I can’t just go see a familiar face or do a beloved pastime.

Not that I really did much of that, especially toward the end, but that’s where a big part of the mental blockage is taking place. That when I had the opportunity, I either couldn’t or just didn’t. That maybe in my own way, I wasn’t necessarily circling the drain, but I was definitely running the water.

Especially when it came to dieting in the last year, I gave up all my “favorites,” thinking I’d get back eventually for special occasions. But man, what I would not GIVE for some carrot cake from Balducci’s right now. :9

A good friend gave me some great advice: That I don’t have to let the elevator go all the way down to the basement. Get off at the 10th floor while I still can.

To that end, I’m getting mass encouragement to take the new apartment and a studio for the OEH. Let’s say the financial worry can go away if I want it to. People are willing to help. Nay, people are THAT willing to get me out of this funk that they will MAKE IT HAPPEN FOR ME.

On one hand, a girl wonders what she did to deserve that. On another hand, a girl feels like shit that she can’t get her fucking act together and at least lie to the world the way she used to be able to.

On yet another hand (what am I, an octopus?), everyone’s right that not only do I deserve some happy, but that I owe it to myself and everyone invested in me to really give this new life a fair shot.

I just don’t know that I have enough left in me to add ONE MORE THING to my plate. Is my mental health worth one last investment, or is that going to be what finally decimates me into a flaming puddle of goo?

Balcony view…aaah

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I took the day off yesterday to go look at a new apartment. Sure, I’ve only been in this one for a little over three months and it would cost a fortune to break the lease. But when my friend said I had to see the view, day-um she wasn’t kidding!

The rent is $200 more a month for a more-prestigious ZIP code. AND a wraparound balcony.

The downside is having to bring the over-extended houseguest along … I can’t believe I’d have to drag her ass with me to a THIRD apartment. (*suppressing murderous rage*) Plus I’d have to give her the master bedroom and its GORGEOUS Roman tub because princess won’t take showers. (There’s a small shower in the guest room.)

The benefit of the guest room is that it’s floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, as it’s on the corner of the unit. (Hence the wraparound porch.) I couldn’t fit shit for furniture in there but seriously, me + bed + small TV = waking up to sunshine and Intracoastal Waterway views plus a beach view if I walk outside? WIN.

I haven’t made a decision yet about this move. Lord knows I don’t have enough free time to duck into a restroom before scratching my butt in public, so packing and whatnot? After relocating only in March? Is SO not appealing right now.

Less appealing, again, is dragging the OEH along. I was actually looking at getting matching studio apartments, but why should I live in a $900 closet just to get away from her? (I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it — I just wouldn’t have this view!)

We hung out at the pool all day yesterday and surprisingly, I only acquired some freckles. God bless SPF 70, is all I’m saying. Well, also bless red wine, HUGE oysters (and dozens of them), ceviche and the company of new friends.

It’s just been so long since I’ve had anybody to talk to, I feel like I bitched my friend’s ear off. She gave me the advice I didn’t want to hear — take some time and get the OEH a job because she’ll be living with me for the next 20 years if I don’t get off my ass and do it myself. (I almost did a swan-dive off the fourth-floor balcony into the Intracoastal after she said that.)

She’s right, though. I can ignore the pest till the exterminators come to take her away, but she ain’t goin’ NOWHERE on her own. And clearly she doesn’t care that I’ve been at the end of my mental tightrope since a month after she moved in (although it can be argued I’ve been at my wits’ end since about 2001).

Speaking of wits’ end, I had to make an emergency Tar-zhay run today. Like, “Oh shit, gotta run NOW,” and I went out in my unshowered, stank-ass glory. Whereupon I got a text message immediately, “Would it have KILLED you to invite me?” from the OEH.

The REAL reason why I don’t want to take this gorgeous new condo on the water? Because with an ugly view, the OEH doesn’t leave the house on her own now. If all we saw for miles was beauty, she’d have even less incentive to go out on her own. (If that were at all possible.) And I just can’t have that, yo.

I love my apartment itself but I won’t love anywhere that isn’t MINE … ALL MINE.

The unit next-door to my friend was available when I agreed to see it but the manager said that someone just put money on it. Assuming they’re approved, I’d have to wait in line for the next similar unit to open up.

So my deal with myself is this: If and when a comparable unit opens up, I will re-evaluate. Meaning, I don’t want any other unit than the one with this view. So I won’t be making any sudden moves.

And if something else opens up in my price range, closer to my lease expiration, even better. And please God PLEASE let the OEH get a job before my next abode is the state penitentiary. …

Isolation

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I can’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep. For that matter, I don’t really recall the last proper day off — one without e-mail checking AND without piled-up errands.

When I snuck down to the beach last night, it may sound bizarre, but I felt closer to God than I have been in a while. Maybe if ever. I know I’m feeling guilty over not having been to church since (*gulp*) early May, and it really affects me when I feel like the divine connection is weak.

Not that I pass for anything remotely resembling a good Christian. But when I feel like my creativity is in the toilet and my heart is circling the drain, that I’m going against the very reason I’ve been put here. When I’m unable/afraid to connect with God is when I need Him most of all.

In my small moments of self-rediscovery this weekend, including some reading on making dreams come true, it occurs to me that one must define the dreams before they can be put on the official “to-do” list. When you do what I do — getting out of bed, check — not ending up in federal prison, check — every day, no wonder greatness never comes my way. I don’t put myself in a position to receive it.

Life hasn’t turned out the way I thought it would. And I found myself briefly thinking, “And it never will,” and it made me sick. But where did all the dreams go? I always figured I’d end up in the right place at the right time. I never wanted to force traditional life milestones on myself. I always figured I had to pay my dues and the payback would come in time.

And that small voice pipes up and asks sometimes, “What will be left of you when it does?”

Usually I give that voice a nice dose of Pinot Noir till it passes out. 🙂

I found myself wondering the other day about the road more-traveled, and why I always have to pick the unchartered one. And how not a one of them has led me to my life of leisure, writing trashy romance novels based on my salacious exploits.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some exploits. Not enough to write about. 😉 And the only really creative thought was that I should throw out my thousands of pages of notes for my fiction series and start over. Maybe use Wall Street as a setting. With names changed to protect the innocent and all. 😉

I guess what I’m looking for is that guarantee that my happy ending is in store, before I quit believing in fairy tales altogether.

I took this photo as my “skinny jeans” for the soul. Let’s not talk about the 10 pounds I’ve gained since I quit going to church. (OK, God, I HEAR YOU NOW.)

But just like I always keep a pair of jeans handy that are a size smaller for inspiration, this beach chair is my mental equivalent, for when I can take more than an hour or day or week or even a month to park my pudgy pork roast ass on it and everyone/everything else BE DAMNED.

Leave a message, ’cause Goddess is dreaming right now.

And just like in the old Corona commercials that inspired this shot, I may toss that first-gen iPhone into the ocean to stop it from ringing. (Also because I want the 3GS.)

Well, I’m going to bed tonight with about six hours’ of work left undone. No big deal — I like the project but it’s just dragging. I just wish weekends were for getting AHEAD and not trying to CATCH UP, whether it’s work or home or personal or whatever.

Maybe I’ll throw that phone into the ocean after all so I can stop feeling guilty for not using it for what I bought it for. …

Trippy

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I was just thinking about my favorite Fourth of July. It was in D.C. (of course). But I spent it at home.

It was 2006, just three months before my grandfather died. This time of year is pretty crummy for me anyway — it was my great-uncle Stan’s birthday on the 2nd, my beloved great-grandmother was born on July 3 (she would have been 101 this year), and my grandmother passed away on the 4th. (She’s been gone 10 years this year, and I’m still broken.) Uncle Stan died on the 5th.

Anyway, I was in a great new apartment in 2006 — I would be in it less than a year, as my pending inheritance of Mommy precluded me from keeping my pretty little 1BR because I KNEW she wouldn’t get off her ass and find a job and keep her place in Pittsburgh.

I wasn’t even resentful about it at the time. I am now. But back then, you just did what you had to. I often wonder whether I would have been in less of a “help the needy” frame of mind had I been a registered Republican. 😉

Anyway, I usually went to Five Guys on “cookout” holidays. Always got a little cheeseburger and a cheese dog. That July Fourth was no different. (I had leftover sushi today. Goodbye tradition yet again.)

I remember sitting in my cute apartment, snug and happy as I watched the Capitol Fourth special on the local PBS channel and occasionally popped out to my balcony to see a very tiny corner of the live fireworks.

i remember typing back and forth with some dude who lived on U Street. He wanted so badly to meet me but I wasn’t ready for that. My life was great but my sexuality was a little down in the dumps around that time.

All in all, it was just a carefree time. I think it was a Sunday, which was why I didn’t brave the crowds and join the festivities. I guess I always thought I would have another chance.

Not so much.

Anyway, here I sit, three apartments later, wondering when my own Independence Day will arrive. And here’s a toast that I don’t explode into a red, white and blue blaze of glory in the meantime.

“Well, she lit up the sky that Fourth of July
By the time that the firemen come
They just put out the flames and took down some names
And sent me to the county home
Now I ain’t sayin’ it’s right, or it’s wrong
But maybe it’s the only way
Talk about your revolution
It’s Independence Day..”

— Martina McBride, “Independence Day”

Lovely yet ominous. Like the photographer

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

While trying not to be entertained by the fact that I accidentally (I promise!) locked out the over-extended houseguest last night, I was out running my 10,000 errands today (I have another billion more to do) and, oh gee.

Guess what? I locked myself out of my car.

With the ignition running. *facepalm*

Luckily I had just parked at the beach. It’s usually treacherous to get out of the car because of the traffic, so it’s always a quick exit. Usually I leave the sunroof open and I can reach for the keys when I forget them. (Yes, this isn’t the first time I’ve locked myself out.)

But with the pending storm, I figured I’d just take a quick walk to the water. Hahahaaa. Not so much. 🙂

Luckily, AAA was quicker than normal, although I had to stay on the scorching-hot sidewalk while I waited. But alas, one wonders whether it’s God’s retribution for last night. Or, as Scot said, just a run of bad “car-ma.”

*ba DUM bum*

Beach, post-evacuation

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

When I see my friends going from one hazardous relationship to another, or making the same mistakes in innovative and awe-inspiring ways, I always write off the common denominator as, well, them.

Then as I start wrapping caution tape around my world for the umpteenth time like I’m dancing around a goddamned maypole, I have that moment in which I realize, hunh, what is the common denominator here?

I often find that I feel so out-of-control in so many domains of my life that when I do have a choice — say, whether to guzzle a gallon of red wine or smoke a cigarette — I often choose poorly. Why? Because it’s my choice. Nobody can take that away from me.

Sure, I could choose right (say, instead of abandoning my diet for a month now). But in my world, exhibiting control doesn’t always mean doing the BEST thing.

I’m starting to see why instant gratification rules those tiny pockets of my life. It’s because I’m sick to goddamned death of waiting for everything else to pay off or at least mercifully end one way or another.

I often wonder whether I left my heart in D.C. But I think I did my best to take my heart with me when I left. Even if I did have a great dream last night in which all my friends from Arlington and I were at a big dinner, celebrating my return.

I don’t see going back — at least, not for any extended stay — as being in the cards. And a part of me is almost afraid to go back, in wonders whether some of the ones I want to see most wouldn’t make an appearance.

Dear Lord, one day, please let me be as happy as everyone else seems to think I am and/or that they seem to think I deserve. Because I still feel like I’m doing this life thing all wrong. Again.

“Tides and waves have kept me
Kept me going
I’m longing for the calm
I’m heading for the pastures
I can see on your dry land
Let the sea that once did take me
Bring me back safe to your door
For I long to touch the dry land of your shore.”

— Joan Armatrading, “Dry Land”