Caterwauling

My life is rated NC-17.
What is your life rated?

Whored from the fabulous LeeAnn (and go read about her wrong number!

On iTunes: Candlebox, “You”

Fuck the Vote, where liberals do it better and sex is the capital we are encouraged to use to take down the conservative machine this fall.

And apparently there’s a Fuck the Vote Halloween party in Pittsburgh. I know they say it isn’t a sex orgy party, but pleasuring oneself doesn’t count in the orgy category, does it?

Shamelessly whored from the illustrious Cope.

On iTunes: Kosheen, “Hide U”

My ultra sexy ethnic stud-muffin name is Adriana Apasionado.
Take The Ethnic Stud Name Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey‘s Name Generator Generator.

*Whored from the alluring Veronica Amante.*

On iTunes: The Sundays, “Summertime”

The title is not aimed at you, darling readers. It’s just what pops into my mind because everywhere I turn at work, people are asking me how it’s going. People who don’t even talk to me that often. Word is getting around about Shan leaving town, and the automatic assumption is that “Dawn must be next.” And if I had time or inclination to go through the song and dance of interviewing for a job, honey, I’d be doing it and I wouldn’t be talking about it!

Certain people are just being more and more conspicuous — it’s like the McManagement huddled together and nominated those members who would be most likely to squeeze information out of me to follow me around and say, “How are things? No, really, how is it going?” No, really, I never divulged shit to you before, and I ain’t starting now — assuming, of course, I had anything to divulge.

I just got home from work. Meetings tomorrow and Friday. Proofs somewhere in between. Graphical elements keep disappearing during the conversion from Quark to PDFs. The CEO still hasn’t turned in his column, and I sent the file to the print shop half an hour ago. I guess, in comparison, the “How are you really?” question infintely surpasses the one I am accustomed to hearing: “What’s your real deadline?”

On iTunes: Abigail, “Falling”

Just because I can juggle a lot of balls in the air at the same time doesn’t make me a trained seal.

*sigh*

Told Demure!TM (via e-mail, which she hates) I am too busy to meet today. Because, oh, I am. She chose not to acknowledge my e-mail, instead disturbing me in-person to tell me that she already had another meeting scheduled during our time slot so SHE is the one who can’t meet with ME.

Um, OK. Think she would’a told me that in advance, in the (odd) event I might have actually needed to meet with her? But I digress — she always has to one-up me, to show that it’s she who’s too busy for me. Yeah, whatever. Not the first time, not the last. But in any event, she insisted I need to find time to meet with her. Why? Isn’t my job to produce a magazine? Doesn’t the magazine go to press this week? Didn’t she get the paper proof yesterday? Doesn’t she realize that with Angie out sick all week, I am doing double-time to make miracles occur?

Like Ted says, just because murder is illegal doesn’t mean some people don’t just need killin’.

On iTunes: Tori Amos, “Silent All These Years”

Inspired by Erica’s memory of the first penis she saw, I remembered when I first lay eyes on a real one.

I was a freshman in high school, and I’d gone to my local Carnegie Library branch. (Yeah, that was back when we actually had to go hang out all day in a room full of dusty books when we had to do research — how old this makes me feel now!) I was doing some research on journalism careers (amazing that I would end up as one!), and I saw movement over some books in the next aisle. Sure enough, there was some greasy old dude stroking himself, watching me. It took me a few seconds to figure out what exactly he was doing, but duh, I was slow but not stupid. Ick. I ran out of the stacks and found some other people to hang around. Shortly afterward, skeevy guy came out of the stacks, and from then on, I went to a different library. I never did tell anyone what happened that day, and I feel dirty even remembering it.

*shudder*

On iTunes: 20 Fingers, “Short Dick Man”

OK, so I’ve been hot for my downstairs neighbor for about 10 minutes. I saw his girlfriend and realized that I am way cuter, so it wouldn’t be too hard to get a lil upstairs/downstairs action going, right?

Until I actually looked at his car. Nothing wrong with it per se, but the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror didn’t exactly make me wet my pants. But now that I am in the house, overlooking the parking lot, I see the “Bush/Cheney” sticker on the bumper. Oh HELL no! I’m gonna go write another ode to my vibrator — looks like we’ll be spending even more quality time together. …

On iTunes: ‘Til Tuesday, “I Could Get Used to This”

1. Checkmate: Anti-semitic ex-pat chess-playing nerd Bobby Fischer was arrested in Japan this week, under the grand charges of attending a chess match in Yugoslavia against the U.S. government’s wishes. If you were to discard your patriot status, where would you go, and what board game would you play when you got there?

I’m going to France. Half of the United States hates our friendly cheese-eating friends anyway, so I need to keep up my reputation as a rebel. What board game would I play there? Honey, I’d go ride Johnny Depp up and down the Cote d’Azur like a parade float — the only games I’ll be playing are hide-the-salami or stick-your-pole-in-my-Swiss-cheese-hole!

2. Dear Santa: In addition to loving McSweeney’s because it’s brilliant, the Writers of the Friday Five especially love their open letters to things or people who will not likely respond. The Friday Five challenge today is to fashion your own open letter, or at least tell us to whom or what you would write it.

Oh, now that’s some funny shit there in those letters! We all dream about whom we would tell off (I’m sure we can all come up with “an open letter to that motherfucker who screwed up our lives”), but it’s way more creative to come up with something positive. And while I cannot match the ode to a Playboy poster, I certainly owe a thank-you to my favorite vibrator.

Dear Purple People Eater,

Forever yours,

Goddess Dawn

3. Sending the Wolf: California ex-surfer, high school dropout achieves success by starting his own business, which is cleaning up dead people. At what job that nobody else wants would you most excel? And what job could not possibly pay enough money for you to ever consider?

Man, that story creeps me the fuck out. Reminds me of something Angie was telling me about earlier today, how some military installation collects dead bodies and trains its people on how to tell how long someone has been dead — if the flies start laying eggs and shit in a body, you know how long it’s been since they croaked, etc. Gory shit. I was turning green, just listening to it.

I can’t really name a job I’d want to do just because nobody else would want it. I’m prissy, damn it. Don’t wanna ruin my manicure unless I’m scratching up someone’s back in the throes of passion.

I would hate to be the cleaning lady who takes care of the restrooms at the Veggie Patch, where I work. At any given time, there is either shit or someone shitting in one of the three ladies’ room stalls, and I don’t think even a gas mask can prevent us from getting some kind of carcinogens in our lungs from the funk our colleagues emanate.

4. You gotta fight for your right: This ballsy 15-year-old went to his state’s Supreme Court to protect his outstanding mullet without being expelled from school. First rate his mullet, on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being highest. Then, look back fondly on your high school days. If you could do it again, what right would you work so passionately to protect in your younger, more rebellious years?

Asking me to look back fondly on my high school days is about as likely to happen as me dropping to a size zero in the next two minutes. But alas, I’ll play along and pretend I didn’t dream of gutting my then-friends (especially my gay boyfriend at the time) with an X-acto knife.

But since we’re talking about mullets and high school, OK. I can relate to that — I went to high school in the Pittsburgh area, where some still consider mullets to be all the rage. And that kid’s about a 9 on the mullet — or skullet — scale.

In my high school years, my mom got a stern talking-to from my newspaper adviser, who was annoyed with how much swearing I did. Mom, of course, told her that it’s not like I’m smoking crack; I was an honors student who said “fuck” and “shit” when I was under pressure. I found it hilarious that journalists are the ultimate watchdogs of free speech, yet my own adviser was trying to censor me. I know it’s not a huge deal now that I’m 30 (fuck!) to be swearing, but back then, it was a tremendous release as well as a shock to uptight assholes when a “good” kid like me would start cursing up a shitstorm. Pleased the hell outta me to make people’s eyebrows shoot to the sky and make them uncomfortable. I shoulda bitch-slapped that nasty cunt when I had the chance!

5. T.C.B.: The Writers of the Friday Five love Bubba Ho-Tep and recommend you see it immediately if you have not. If you could fight a mummy with two supposedly dead celebrities, who are actually not dead and living in a retirement home, who would you choose and why?

Never saw “Bubba Ho-Tep.” Sounds like a dance number, a la “Achy Breaky Heart” or something (sorry, I’ve been watching VH1’s “I Love the 90s” a little too intensely!).

*updated*

Just seein’ if I can blog. Blogger added some new features, and it seems I can’t blog from Camino. Wonderful. 🙁

Update

Damn, they’re quick. I sent a message to Blogger late last night, and I am blogging from Camino again. Hurrah!

Funny how I was on such a blogging kick earlier this week, and now, I’m out of original thoughts.

I am doing something new this magazine cycle: I am doing all I can do and not worrying about things beyond my control. It’s empowering. I always worry about what *can* go wrong, because it helps me to solve crises before they occur. But the lesson I recently learned is that I just can’t prepare for the “who’da thunk it” events — I can only take a moment to reel from them and then go about fixing them.

I’ve let a lot of shit at work slide — I am very priority-oriented, and if something has little or nothing to do with my current issue of the paper, I put it on the back burner … often, until I forget it’s back there and it just goes away. That’s not me — I am not a person who does the bare minimum to get by. Today is a big day of playing catch-up. Or, rather, it will be, after I get just one more cuppa coffee in my system.

I’ve been alternating between insomnia and narcolepsy. My wrist is killing me, and when I can attempt to sleep through the pain, my kitten Kadi starts ripping up the house. She wakes up every night at 3 a.m., and, by default, so do I.

I’ve been having dreams about the men with whom I work. For the most part, this is scary. Angie swears I need to get out more, if I dream about these guys. 🙂

Oh, in better news, Angie and I have tickets to see Cyndi Lauper at Wolftrap next month. Yay! It’s the little things, ya know?

I worked from home yesterday. Amazing how much I get done without the phone ringing off the damn wall. Not to mention, but I didn’t get started till 10:30 a.m. (much like a typical day in the office). I worked late, of course, but it was great following my body clock and not having to feel like people are clocking my hours. Got everything done at 9 p.m. in the comfort and sanctity of my apartment. God, how grand it is to NOT have your energy drained from you in an office setting!

Speaking of office settings, oh god. Queen of the Underworld just paid me a visit in my humble office. I should’ve felt the air change. She was in a meeting before coming over, and she took a break to do some calisthenics in my office. Seriously, she was doing leg lifts and bends and stretches, asking me inane questions. I was in no mood for that shit.

On iTunes: Melissa Etheridge/Shakira, “Come to My Window/Inevitable (Live)”