Caterwauling

This Kind of Love, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Got to see Sister Hazel play in Gaithersburg at the City Hall Pavilion.

It was the second annual Taste of Gaithersburg festival, which means you spend a lot of money on food tickets and leave stuffed full of goodies from some of the midscale to higher-end restaurants. From chocolate-covered strawberries courtesy of The Melting Pot and Red Rock’s ribs to birthday-cake-flavored ice cream from Bruster’s, it was a pants-unbuttoned kind of day.

Anyway, the band was awesome and thanks to my $100 iPhone credit, I’m now the proud owner of their four CDs.

Huh?, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Perhaps tissues and Cialis go hand-in-hand (*cough*), but my feeling is that if you need one, you don’t need the other. Right?

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this angsty. And by a “long time,” I’d say it’s been about three or four weeks. 😉

I like to think I’m fairly carefree and happy, but all those cares that I’ve been trying to pretend don’t exist, well, do, and they hit you like the proverbial ton of bricks all at once after you’ve neglected them for awhile.

I don’t want all these cares, these problems, these things in my head that either don’t belong there or that I don’t know how to turn into something constructive.

I’m starting to understand why I don’t drink much, because when I do? I feel good (at least until the next morning. har har har). I return to that old self, the one that just wants to go find some trouble to get into or who can’t remember just exactly what it was that had her scandalous panties in such a twist four beers earlier.

I have been seeing a lot of signs lately, and you know I depend on them to tell me I’m in the right place. And that’s a relief, but because the signs are so few and far between, I wonder if I’m just taking the long way to get from point A to B when there are more-efficient routes that I just can’t discover because I’m not looking for them.

I think my answer to complacency is to just ruin everything. If I could wipe my credit report as clean as my short-term memory, I’d be golden. When I go out with my friends, they ask, “Whatever happened to that guy? Or that one? Or what about that class you were taking or that book you were bragging about? You didn’t go to the class or finish the book? What guy are we on now for the year?”

Don’t worry kids, I’m hardly a slut. I’m pretty much just a tease. 🙂 They say men fall in love until you screw ’em, and women fall in love after. So I prolong it as much as I can.

I’m finding that the more tired I am, the more violent the angry streak is. It doesn’t come out often, but I’ve had more fantasies of filleting people who cut me off in traffic than a girl has a right to. I don’t like Angsty Goddess. And I try not to indulge her that often. Because as we all know, Karma is one haggedy-ass bitch when she has to stop what she’s doing and pay your crabby butt a visit.

I was doing fine until a friend pointed out that I seem like I’m about to snap. Here I thought I was holding it all together so well, but like my mom used to tell me when I was little when I refused to go to the bathroom, “It’ll come out your ears if you don’t.”

That sufficiently terrorized me back then, and I wonder if that’s what happens when you don’t address the sources of your stress — the steam really does come out of your ears when you think you’re smiling pretty.

I heard a story about someone being kicked off a plane for her skirt being too short. I remember in my early career, wearing the shortest skirts I could find. I wasn’t trying to impress/offend anyone — it was just my style. I figured I’d do it while I was young. That and unless you’re stick-figure skinny, your skirts tend to look shorter because you have more ass to cover. 😉

And I always felt like, when I was being addressed for the short skirts (Harper Valley PTA, anyone?) and whatever else someone perceived was “wrong” with me, little by little they were tearing away at my individuality and, yes, even my self-confidence.

So now I’m older, and I mostly dress appropriately for my age and whereabouts. I could do better. I think any infraction I commit tends to come from a place of just trying to feel like I “won” some small battle to compensate for the bigger ones that I might be losing.

But I’ve got to rise above all of this. My motivation is sort of waning and I don’t know what to do about it. And I know me — nothing motivates me more than fear. I stay in a groove of safety and complacency (which I hate) so I shake it up with rebellion. And I have to recognize whether I’m rebelling for a cause or because it keeps things interesting.

I know the drill, though. I shape up for a while and go ADD again. Or maybe that’s my defense mechanism against knowing what I want and not going for it.

And that’s the thing with me. I ALWAYS know what I’m supposed to be doing. I know what needs to be done next. I tell everyone I have no attention span for details, but no one puts more thought into anything than I do. Their heads would explode if they thought things out so exhaustively. Which may explain why my own head is throbbing pretty much constantly.

I struggle between wanting to be comfortable/secure and purposely stirring up the pot. I don’t want to be blindsided when I think everything’s going OK, but I can understand it if something fucked-up happens when I’m veering off-course.

I don’t know what point I’m trying to make. I guess as I’m trying to get healthy again, with the doctor’s appointment looming this week, I wish I hadn’t let things go for as long as I did. But I always get a chance to start over. The recovery is harder, when it comes late in the game, as opposed to catching/treating something early. But why do something when it’s easy to address, when you feel a sense of victory when the challenge is so much harder?

I need to reverse that way of thinking. I have a lot of damage to undo. And I’ve always been able to start over again, right from where I’m standing. I count on it. The past scares me so much more than the future ever could.

I don’t know why I lapse into these funks. Maybe to remind me to be good and be grateful and to get my shit together.

Maybe one of these days I will unpack my boxes. I don’t know what it is with me that I allow myself to live so uncomfortably. I don’t know where anything is, and I don’t want to know. But wouldn’t it help me to move forward if I knew that everything from that scary past has its permanent place so that I can build from there?

All right, I’m about to explode. Getting some stuff off my heaving bosom today:

1. Don’t correct me if you’re INCORRECTLY correcting me. I do know what I’m talking about sometimes!

2. Don’t be nice to me after being a total jagoff. Granted, some of y’all lack the gene that tells you that ya fucked up. But it’s your fault we’re not buddies anymore; it’s not my fault for not wanting to spend time with you like a freaking delta doesn’t exist between us.

3. There was a question I didn’t answer. Wasn’t for any other reason than to want an extra few seconds to think about it. And even then, the answer was probably going to be, “If you really want to know. …”

4. This goes out to a whole lot of people: Just get on with it already. Move in, move on, move up, move away or move closer. It kills me to know how things are going to turn out but everybody’s delaying the inevitable. And I’m not immune from being “yelled at” in this section, either. I know it.

And as a bonus that’s not about me, because it should ALWAYS be about me but I can make an exception when I can’t actually SAY everything I want to:

5. Holy crap, did Madeliene McCann’s parents kill her? That story always sounded fishy, leaving the kids at home alone and in bed and all. Now everyone’s wondering whether they drugged the kids and they might have given too much to the “missing” 4-year-old and later hid the body.

Interesting. I mean, I’m no fan of kids and I’m totally in favor of knocking ’em out once in awhile to get some peace. But that those parents went on an international campaign and celebrities donated tons of money for search efforts that might turn out to have been wasted, that sucks.

They could get a couple of years in jail for manslaughter, but is anyone going to make them liable for fraud? I know they’ve been grieving and regretting what may turn out to be their own stupid series of mistakes, but damn. Meanwhile there’s no fund-raising being done for the people who REALLY need it? If something happened to any of our families, would anyone launch a worldwide effort to save us?

Hey, I know. Why don’t we use the rest of the money on a search-and-rescue mission for my sanity? Although at this point, it’s more of a recovery effort, but I’d like to know where it all went. …

Since it’s going to be a stupendously long day, I don’t feel bad about taking a blog break. So, here goes nothing (literally!).

I’m a firm believer in destiny and things working out as they should. But I read something in Cosmo this weekend (it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a bible — shut up) that it’s all fine and swell and stuff to expect things will turn out the way you want them to, but you can’t get lazy and just expect all’s well that ends well without actually DOING the work necessary to achieve those predetermined goals.

That sort of served as a kick in the ass for me, because while I’ve never been afraid of hard work, well, I do enough of it all week, thankyouverymuch. When it comes to the trainwreck that is my personal life, I sort of tend to rest on my laurels because, well, why shouldn’t SOMETHING come easily for a change?

But then again, while I know I’m destined to weigh less than I do now, I don’t see me stopping the ice cream diet anytime soon. I may skip dinner in favor of a lovely waffle cone at my friendly neighborhood ice cream joint (the birthday-cake-flavored ice cream is my weakness– dear god, it’s frozen frosting. *slurp*)

Where was I?

Oh, right. Destiny and all that jazz. Anyway, I think I’ve let a lot of opportunities pass me by as I’ve “waited” for something that might or might not never come to pass. Maybe it will still come. Or maybe I didn’t evolve enough for it. Maybe I’ve been afraid of evolving TOO MUCH and growing away from it.

But this pseudo-inertia in the interim certainly hasn’t been helping matters, either.

I guess I should just go about running in place before the direction becomes clear. At least I’ll be in motion for when I need to jump on whatever it is that I’ve been missing and/or that I SHOULDN’T be missing either in the meantime or even going forward indefinitely. ‘Cause it’s pretty hard to get up off my ass when it gives me time to reconsider.

Bottom line — there’s nothing wrong with going wherever the wind blows you. But unless you don’t mind it slamming you into the occasional tree, perhaps thinking ahead and donning some protective headgear (and maybe a compass) wouldn’t be such a bad idea so that we don’t get a concussion or detoured too badly from not just being where we’re supposed to be, but also being where we WANT to be.

I gave up being political on this blog because I felt pressure to HAVE to listen to the other side. And I’d rather not have the discussion than sit here reading things that make me mad. And I’m not sure why they tweak me — I guess I just share so much of myself here that I would think it’s clear that I CAN justify anything I say or do, but I don’t WANT to have to provide an explanation for everything.

Sure, discourse can be fun, but you know what? My politics are mine. You’re never going to change my mind, and if you’re not able to expand it, either, then find another blog you agree with. It’s that simple.

Bottom line, I am overly logical at all times. And when I go with my gut/heart, that’s when the discussion is over. And damn it, I already know who’s getting my vote for the Democratic nomination. And I hope she will go on to be president. I’ll do my part to make it happen, damn it.

That said, I LOVE the idea of Chelsea Clinton getting a second stint as First Daughter.

My politics are private. You know I’m a tree-hugger for most issues. You also may know that I do have a fiscally conservative bone in my body — although it may belong to someone else, depending on the day. 😉 But today I say it out loud — I’m a Democrat. I can, will and DO vote Democrat. And unless the party nominee for the upcoming presidential election is a total abomination in my eyes, he or she will have my support.

Politics are important to me when seeking friends and mates. I get SO FUCKING BORED at cocktail parties where these windbags go on and ON about whatever. I listen to a point. And when I feel I’ve encountered someone less concerned about their fellow citizens than they are about their personal ideals, I’m gone.

A friend of mine said of her loving husband, the one thing she’d change about him is his politics. That they sit on opposite sides of the fence, and man, does it piss both of them off. It also irks her that their votes effectively cancel each other’s out. It makes them NOT TALK POLITICS. Which, while we’re all fans of each half of a couple having separate interests, to the point that you can’t share something so personal without it breaking out into domestic world war, well, what’s the point?

I make it clear to people that I’m a liberal, although most times, you can pretty much tell from the surface. 😉 And that’s not to say that I haven’t had some fascinating discussions from the people from the “other side.” I met a gal at a party recently, a devout Republican, who’s probably more in favor of abortion that I currently am.

I mean, I’ll fight to the death for the right for it to exist without restrictions, but personally? I’m inching into my mid-30s. I hear the tick-tock of the clock loud and clear. It’s no longer a choice for me. (Extenuating circumstances aside, of course.) Now boys, I’m not out to trap a man with it. I’m just saying you’d better wrap yourself tight (get it tailor-made, if you wish) because unless you’re a genetic nightmare (and so many of you are — I wouldn’t want to perpetuate the species with your DNA), well, I can probably think of worse things.

I guess I get mad when people don’t vote for the greater good. On the other hand, it’s what we feel strongest about that we will stand tallest for. I don’t know who’s right and I don’t debate the theoreticals anymore because I want action, I want a resolution and I want everyone to get duties assigned to them or we’re never going to get off our duffs and achieve anything. And if we’re not on the same team, I respect that very much but your agenda is yours and mine is mine, and I’d rather share my dreams, goals and ideals with someone who isn’t going to poop on them.

Entering Chinatown, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

So I had this super-awesome, fabulous, oh-my-god-to-DIE-for lunch at Matchbox down in Chinatown. I ordered the Prosciutto White pizza, which was loaded with kalamata olives and more garlic than a vampire’s worst nightmare. Dear God, YUM.

I topped it off with a glass of King Estate pinot gris, which was (*cue singing voice*) “heaavveennnn.” The company was delightful — a group of ladies I haven’t seen in quite some time. I had last agreed to meet up with them for the D.C. Japanese Festival, but a new male friend surprised me by meeting me down there when I’d arrived and, well, I’m not a girl to keep a date with her friends when there’s a boy involved. 😉

Matchbox is a very tall and narrow red-brick building on the same block as Verizon Center and the Regal movie theater and a bunch of non-Chinese restaurants and stores, most of which have the store names written in Chinese underneath the English version. It literally does look like a matchstick, very blink-and-you’ll-miss-it from the outside, but very modern and heavenly smelling inside.

As you walk in there’s a fully stocked bar, and just beyond it are the wood-fired ovens in plain sight. Go up a half-flight and make a right, and you’re seated “outside” — there are maybe eight tables under huge red umbrellas. And today was just a gorgeous day — it was in the mid-80s with a nice breeze, so with the infamous dog-breath humidity for which our fair city is legendary not being a problem, we chose to sit outside. Glorious decision, I say.

Anyway, there were five of us with a 12:30 reservation. Four of us showed up and the fifth got tied up with work and said she’d be late. The restaurant refused to seat us. A half-hour goes by (yep, 1 p.m.) and we’re all mighty thirsty and hungry and dude, the waiting stuff was getting old because they REFUSED TO SEAT US.

We asked the hostesses why we couldn’t be seated when the restaurant was practically empty. They kept citing “policy.” And the thing is, two of our people are in the hospitality/customer service realm. Believe me, if they’re ticked? It’s my barometer to know it’s just not me blowing my little steam off.

I wanted to leave. Really. I was happy to go to any of the dozen-plus Chinese restaurants (ha! imagine!) situated around H Street, but my friends very calmly asked to see a manager. And they were so diplomatic with her as she stood there WITH HER HANDS ON HER HIPS touting “policy.”

You know, I get policy. Policies are made to keep the riff-raff at bay. Policies are meant to save your ass when you need to make a decision. But with two-thirds of the restaurant open, and four very hungry people standing there begging to order drinks and appetizers and not being ALLOWED to, well, fried my shorts.

I sat there and Tweeted while the manager stood there with her I’m-so-calm manner of saying, “Tell me what you want me to do to make things right.” The answer was, of course, to seat us, for crying out loud. I was tired and cranky and hadn’t eaten since the day before and I know me. I know how annoyed I was. My back was killing me, and standing in a doorway for a half-hour hadn’t enhanced my sense of humor.

Anyway, the server, Jon, more than made up for the auspicious start to the day. And we were all classy about it — we loved him. He was pretty on-the-ball with drink orders and refills and such. And I do give credit to the restaurant — they comped our drinks for our trouble (including my wine, God love ’em).

You know, as I put it, I am not a small girl. If you want me to eat as I sit at a table and wait for the rest of my party, all ya have to do is ask. I won’t say no. 😉 The appetizer list looked amazing, but we were all so ready to eat our own arms, we went straight for the entrees.

Anyway, all ended well so I’ll give the food five stars, the service four stars and the robotic “Sorry. It’s policy” that we heard seven times a negative four stars.

We ended up catching “Chuck and Larry” next-door at the Regal, and to say it was a one-joke movie is like calling water wet. Although, I admit that they managed to fill two hours with dick jokes rather well — some were even funny.

I did have to question how Chuck and Larry were around all kinds of other bona fide gay men whose “straight-dar” never seemed to go off. Um, hello, do either of them come across as the turd burglar type? (I figure they used “butt pirate” in the movie — might as well dig up all the old ’80s references!)

I am not certain how Jessica Biel managed to be half-naked in a gay-themed movie, but she managed. I don’t even know if she has acting ability — she’s half-naked in every film and quite honestly, I can’t remember her voice to save my life. 🙂

When she and Adam Sandler were out having a “girls’ day,” I almost missed my old harem of gay men. But given that I only hang out with the hetero crowd these days, I realize how drama-free my life has become.

Actually, that’s not true — it’s finally all about MY drama and I don’t have anyone else’s overshadowing it. Damn it — it’s about time! Although I really could use a good makeover/spa day and can’t get the vagina-whisperer-types to join me. … 😉

Dinner with the Pope, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

The work gang went out to lunch Thursday at Buca, where we filled up the entire “Pope Room.” All photos/statues/tapestries of our papal friends. I suddenly feel very guilty that we didn’t even so much as say grace before we dived into our 47 family-style platters.

I had a lovely dinner of leftovers tonight (Friday) of eggplant parm and a side of chicken corkscrew pasta. Seemed lonely without that big head watching me. …

“Change has begun
So cease your regrets
I make good mistakes
And I’m not over yet.”

— Jimmie’s Chicken Shack, “Smiling”

Another day that kicked my ass up and down Rockville Pike, but today I had a tiny but significant victory, so let’s call this one a win.

Most days I can’t comprehend why people turn to psychotropics or hallucinogenics to get through, but other days, I can totally get down with frying one’s brain temporarily.

As I told someone today, I’m so crabby lately, it’s time for a bath in drawn butter. And that’s about the only preface that you can put on an “Eat me!” comment that won’t get you sent to human resources. 😉

I’m getting to a point where I’m so overloaded in all aspects of life that I’m tired enough to screw up. I haven’t, knock on wood, but I can see it happening if I don’t slow the hell down. What amazes me is how I’m actually trying to add MORE to my life.

Pressure never fazes me. I can’t get enough of the challenges and responsibilities and am always up for more. But on days like today, I’m thinking that being average wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But then I meet average people who are clearly happy that way, and they aggravate me to no end.

And I think about dating because, of course, I’m a girl and I’m not willing to hit my sexual peak alone. 🙂 And I think wow, I’ve achieved more than 10 people put together, and people might have the audacity to reject you based on some minor thing in you that they perceive as a flaw when you can run circles around them.

It’s a funny trap, how sometimes people can make you feel like you’re not worthy of their time, attention, affection, whatever — and even if they don’t try to, that’s what their actions or lack thereof can convey. And maybe that’s what pushes people like me to excel at everything else, that you just won’t miss them missing out on you.

I guess, during a rare free moment the other day, I found myself pondering whether the magic is/was only an illusion, and whether I’m dumb enough to keep trying to figure out the difference. But maybe it was only finite — maybe I saw something that wasn’t meant to last, and I was lucky to have witnessed some sort of cosmic miracle.

Like it was said on the “House” rerun from last night, apparently life is a series of rooms, and your experiences and memories are based on who’s in the room with you at any given time. But I guess we all leave those rooms, and move on to bigger and better ones. As I find myself wandering a hallway right now, I’ve got to remember that before I choose the next room to enter … and to close the door on rooms already visited or those that just don’t have a good vibe about them from the doorway.

Or maybe I just need to not stop in vacant rooms anymore and just head straight to the party. That would probably save a lot of time and effort, but for some reason, I’m afraid of missing out on something special so I’m always spelunking for it. I just hope my hands won’t be too full when I find whatever it is that I think I’m looking for. I guess I also hope that I’ll find something even better than I imagined, if I just keep at it long enough.

I don’t know. I do know I’m doing fine overall, even if I’m just exhausted and crabalicious and seemingly aimless sometimes. A couple of people have said to me recently, “Wow, things really seem to be going well for you.” And honestly, they’re right. I really have no complaints. I think I’m just imagining that I’m hitting a wall when really I’m just punching through the plateau so things can get even better.

Growth hurts sometimes, but it’ll feel good when I can overcome the fear of heights long enough to look down and see how far I’ve come. I get so focused on where I’m NOT that I don’t think much about where I’ve BEEN.

And perhaps that’s where I’ll get the strength to turn around and resume the climb with renewed spirit.

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

“Breathing is really cool, I love my life
Every reason in the world to be smiling.”

“Life is a moment in space
When the dream is gone
It’s a lonelier place.”

— Barbra Streisand, “Woman in Love”

I’ve been listening to enough classic Streisand to officially qualify me as a gay man, but Babs has me thinking today.

I realized that especially lately, although it could be true at pretty much any time for me, all I am doing is either fighting feelings or faking them.

Mostly fighting, though. I don’t have the energy to fake anything. Don’t want to reward less-than-impressive behavior with that faking thing, either. 😉

Squelching and practically disowning all the things that have been in my head and heart is, effectively, killing me. Not literally, but the “me” that I happen to know and love is crumbling, to some degree. I’m torn between focusing on what I want/think I want and dealing with either being wrong about it or not being able to get those things, whether it’s for a real reason or because I just don’t know how to fight any harder to stay the course.

I don’t think I was wrong about anything. I have great faith in my own intuition and decisions. I think the universe puts the dreams in my head and heart for a reason, and I don’t think that reason is to squash them like a pumpkin under a runaway tractor’s wheels.

But as for the faking, while I’d never say I faked any interest/desire at any point, maybe I did. Or maybe I faked being OK. Or maybe I faked NOT being OK. I don’t know. I spend so much time reconciling what’s there with what I want to be with what shouldn’t be that I just don’t know anymore.

But in either case, fighting or faking, for what? Because it might make someone else uncomfortable? Because it could elicit the exact conditions I was looking for? I don’t get it.

Do you people know what I’m willing to give up to be happy?

I guess it’ll be awhile longer before we find out.