Caterwauling

After another miserable day at work (problems galore with the f’ing newspaper), I’m done till Friday. I’m now running around like a fool, shopping and doing laundry to prepare for a trip up North to surprise the family for my grandfather’s birthday dinner tomorrow. Luckily, I did a lot of cleaning yesterday, so barring the usual catload of shit in Pooh Corner, the house should be in good shape for me to return to. I just wish I were in some amount of good shape!

I was very bad this weekend and took an old happy pill that I’d hidden in the abode. I got four really good hours out of it before sleeping it off (instead of a day of happiness and a day and a half of letdown). The bad part, though, was that I absolutely demolished a box of cappuccino meltaways. The whole friggin’ box. In one sitting. Note to self: pick up more whilst in Pittsburgh!

I treated myself today to Joss Stone’s new CD. If you like Joni Mitchell (and I know one person out there who does), pick this album up. Now. This will be fabulous driving music to keep me mellow while all the idiots surround me on the highways. Speaking of which, some dumb bitch cut me off to pick up the Beltway exit. I mean, I had to slam on my brakes and so did the asshole tailgating me — she had no turn signal, no room to merge and, clearly, no brains. I almost swallowed my cigarette!

“Sex and the City” is such a metaphor for my life, and now that the last episode has come and gone (beautifully, I might add), I just don’t know when I’ll ever see “Sex” again … in any incarnation.

I called it before the show started: we’ve waited six years to find out Mr. Big’s name, and we did find out. His name is John. It’s not what I was expecting, but then again, I don’t know what else it could have been.

The episode was a brilliant tribute to Sunday nights spent on the couch, finding ourselves in all of the characters. Shawn came over for the last hurrah — we’ve seen every episode of the season together at my place. It was perfect … our characters are where they belong, their lives are exactly on the track that they want them to be on, and we are left to dream about their possibilities.

Oh, yeah, I cried a lot at the end. But that’s to be expected. And forgiven. 🙂

Au revior, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha. It’s been a glorious six years. Now just hurry up and get the Season Six DVDs out!!! 🙂

Do NOT, under any circumstances, give yourself a French pedicure when you have cats. Especially a black cat. Because, even if you had just vacuumed an hour earlier, she will still manage to rub up against your feet while your polish is drying. And you will have little black clumps of fur sticking in the white polish.

< / public service announcement >

One thing I should never, ever do in my life is lie. And I normally don’t, but I told someone at work a whopper while I was holding evidence to the contrary in my hand. *lol*

I spent Friday afternoon by going to the AMC and watching “The Butterfly Effect” (which was actually very good and Ashton Kutcher didn’t annoy me too much — he was kind of hot, if I dare say so myself). Then I went to the print shop for a few hours and, finally, because it was around 6 p.m., I went into work to approve some invoices and check my messages.

Of course I run into the one person with whom I am continually annoyed because instead of doing the work I give him, he likes to lounge and chat and say how time-consuming my project is. He’s NEVER there that late. Leave it to me to pull my keys to my office out of my pocket, only for my ticket stub to hit the floor. He said, “At the movies?” And I said, “No. I wore these jeans before and didn’t wash them.” Lie. He said, “Umm hmm.” It was only when I sat down at my desk that I realized that the big cup of Diet Coke that I’d brought in from the movie theater did not have the Coke logo on it, but rather the big AMC logo emblazoned across it. Duh! Bad, bad liar. Oh well. I got a really good laugh out of it!

I’m sad to see “Sex and the City” coming to an end (*sniff*) so I was glad to take some SATC-inspired quizzes — first one is which character I am most like and the second is who I am most like sexually. …

You Are Most Like Carrie! You’re quirky, flirty, and every guy’s perfect first date. But can the guy in question live up to your romantic ideal? It’s tough for you to find the right match – you’re more than a little picky. Never fear… You’ve got a great group of friends and a great closet of clothes, no matter what! Romantic prediction: You’ll fall for someone this year… Totally different from any guy you’ve dated. Which Sex and the City Vixen Are You Most Like? Take This Quiz Right Now! Find the Love of Your Life (and More Love Quizzes) at Your New Romance.

Which Sex and the City Vixen Best Matches Your Sex Style?

It’s Friday. It’s five questions. It’s the highlight of my morning, unfortunately.

When was the last time you…

1. …went to the doctor?

Mid-September of last year for an appendectomy that also included a bunch of pelvic exams, and I was told that I had a very healthy vagina. Of course, you could blow the dust off of it now, but I digress. 😉

2. …went to the dentist?

One year ago exactly. Fucker promised to give me a cleaning but ended up re-doing a root canal (I still don’t have a crown on it) and ripping out two wisdom teeth. And he wonders why I still haven’t paid his bill from that time — I didn’t want all that work done, I couldn’t afford it, and I was in excruciating pain while I hopped on a plane to take a business trip to California. I hate dentists.

3. …filled your gas tank?

Valentine’s Day. It was the only receptacle that had the opportunity to get filled by a nice long nozzle. 😉

4. …got enough sleep?

Last night, after being deprived of it for a coupla days.

5. …backed up your computer?

Wednesday night around 4 a.m., I dumped a bunch of shit on my web server — my computer screen is going dark and is ringing the death bell, so I figured I’d put put all my shit in a safe place just in case.

Jeezus.

Left work after 3 a.m. last night. I have HAD it with our fucked-up computer. HAD IT!!! It’s pretty bad when I have to have my designer come in and bring his fucking computer in so I can make PDFs to FTP to the print shop.

I had to be at work this morning for a meeting, and afterward, I pulled in the CEO and my boss and went apeshit. I said I’m fucking tired of talking and nothing is being done to make my life easier. Not to mention, but I had to re-do the front page to include breaking news (Queen of the Underworld was elected president for next year. Fucking kill me — she’s got an ego the size of Russia, and she has a bug up her ass where I am concerned). This information is embargoed until tomorrow, but fuck it. Hell will start freezing over shortly — grab yer sweaters!

Anyway, I enjoyed blowing a head gasket. It’s like having a goddamn orgasm — I feel like I can conquer the world now (because I’ve had a veritable shitload of caffeine to keep me awake to this point, too, I suppose). I got them to commit to fixing this situation post haste. And don’t think I wasn’t on the phone immediately, taking care of the next steps to get them to spend the lousy five grand to upgrade our systems. I told the CEO that I am going to hold him to every word he said, and either he’s terrified or amused by me at this point. I’m not sure. I told them that I’d be in an insane asylum if it weren’t for my designer continually giving up his free time to save our asses month after month. And I said that if any of us (including Angie, who is a real trouper and stuck it out till the bitter end with us) had kids, this shit and the crazy hours we are required to work, they’d never get their fucking newspaper. I’m tired of killing myself and only getting rewarded with furlough days.

I had theorized (with my friends, not my superiors) that they always shoot down my ideas because I can never get the paper stabilized, and my boss actually said that out loud today. She said that once I iron out the problems with the paper, maybe I can do some of the side projects I keep proposing. I said that pissed me off to no end, because I propose till I’m blue in the face ways to save time and money so that I can do my job more efficiently, but when they can’t accommodate my basic requests, they’re wasting oodles of talent and experience that might be able to help them reverse the trend of losing 1,000 members each month, and that all my ideas ultimately justify my job by showing that the newspaper isn’t just the only benefit they get by buying a membership.

Oooh, the tangents I can start.

In any event, if you’re reading this, Scot, you’ve saved our lives. Again. And we don’t pay you enough. Don’t quit on us till they quit on us completely, mmm kay?

After I got done with work today, I went over to Boothe Park (my favorite) and swung on the swingsets till I was dizzy and delirious. It had the cleansing effect that it always does when I go there, and I am happy again. It’s 50 degrees outside, I have my windows open, the kitties are lying at the entrance to the balcony, enjoying the breeze, and I am going to take some nice drugs and knock myself the fuck out when my energy level wanes again.

Remember this entry? Please forget it. It was indigestion. Yes, that was definitely it. Or that large crack rock I must’ve been sucking on.

Shoot me. Now. For the love of Christ. Hopeless, I tell you. Hopeless.

“American Idol” sucked. I think am going to break my history and not vote for a single performer. Blah. I had high hopes for Matt and Bri, but they were dashed. The idiot twins Jesus and Noel didn’t have a single spark to offer (not that I expected it). Lisa did a good job — I was thrilled because Simon really tore her apart last year AND this year, and she was clearly one of the judges’ favorites. Their other favorite was Camile, and they said Marisa was their third favorite. Everyone looked really good, but their voices seemed thin tonight. I still can’t believe they got rid of Scooter Girl. …

Speaking of unremarkable, I had a moment yesterday in which I was caught belting out tunes at work. Ugh. I thought nobody was there (as it was a holiday), and I was working between Angie’s office and mine. Well, somewhere between a Sinead Lohan/Carole King/Beth Hart/Joni Mitchell/Melissa Etheridge medley, I heard someone rustling about nearby (but all the hallway lights were off). I went to the ladies’ room (aka Toilet Town) shortly afterward, only to find our past-president in the photocopy room. Bah. The next “American Idol,” I am not. But my mortification only lasted a moment — I’m an only child, and I’m used to playing alone and amusing myself. And what the hell — it definitely kept him away from me, ’cause he sure as hell didn’t acknowledge me!

Okay, I did cast a vote for Bri. Thought I’d go for the long shot. …

Song of the day: “Everything Around Me is Changing”.

Lack of public bloggging doesn’t compensate for the internal blog that’s rolling through my mind.

God.

Did you ever find yourself standing on the precipice of … something … and your heart is telling you to just take that huge flying leap, even if it means landing splat on your face? Even when you’re certain that this is the right time to seize that moment and make it yours? What about those little voices that tell you that this could all be a figment of your imagination and that the warm, confident feeling you’ve suddenly acquired is probably just indigestion? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE PASSION EFFERVESCING INSIDE OF YOU?

“And isn’t this always what I wanted

Isn’t it just what I always wanted

This is only what I want

Everything around me to be changing.”