Caterwauling

UPDATED

I’m pissed.

Went to Springfield Mall to go shoe shopping. Found two awesome pairs of boots at Payless, and when I went to check out, the lady behind the desk told me that it’s a buy two get one free deal, so I should go grab another pair (let me insert that this is my favorite shoe store for a reason!). As I was debating over a pair of white high-heeled boots, the male worker in the store accosted me (we’ll call him Al Bundy for the rest of the entry).

Apparently, Al Bundy has waited on me before and has developed a thing for me. He came right up to me and asked me out. I told him I was flattered but that I had to decline. Yadda yadda 20-questions-cakes. He wasn’t going away. So I said, look, I’m gay and I am not dating men right now.

Stupid stupid stupid. That is the WORST thing to say when you’re trying to get rid of somebody. Of COURSE he expressed interest in being invited to watch hot female-female action (which I obviously cannot provide, because I was saying I was dating someone just to be left to shoe shop in peace). He begged for my number, and I did the old, “I’m happy and I’m not looking for anyone else right now” schtick. So he asks me to stick around, and he gives me his number. He told me to call him at 5 p.m. so I could come over for dinner tonight.

Pest. Fucking pest. I took the number and put back the shoes and ran like hell. The lady at the register (who just saw me with about $40 worth of shoes that I’d fully been ready to buy) watched me duck out, and she looked startled.

I hate myself for putting back the shoes. It’s ridiculously hard to find hoof covers that I like, and it’s even harder to find them in an 8 1/2 (and I didn’t think it was a common size). The problem was, when he asked my name, I did my usual fake, “I’m Melissa!” But my dumb ass needed to pay with a credit card, and I didn’t want him having my real name so he could track me down with a simple Google search (that, and my name is NOT Melissa). I’m also mad because the Payless at Landmark Mall didn’t have the shoes in my size, and that’s why I trekked to Springfield in the first fucking place.

I called Mom when I was safely away from the store, and she said, “Honey, why don’t you just carry cash when you go out?” LOL

Now, I know I’m in for a lecture from at least one reader here, but I’m certain the next question will be, well, why didn’t you agree to go out with him? Lord knows there ain’t anybody else exactly beating down the door to come and sweep me off my feet.

The reasons are as diverse as I am (probably) bipolar. I believe in love at first sight, and all I felt was creeped out — I’ve worked enough retail to know better than to harass a customer for 20 minutes, begging them to go out with me (i.e., it’s a really good way to lose a sale, for one). Secondly, I’ve already enlighened you to my quirkyalone status (i.e., I’ve waited too long to just go for whomever’s asking at the time). Of course, it can be argued that I don’t need to be alone while I’m waiting for The One, but I’ve administered enough mercy fucks to last me a lifetime, and the person who’s less interested in the dating relationship hurts just as much as the one who’s always hoping for more.

And of course, it has run through my mind repeatedly how the types of people I’m interested in aren’t always interested in me, and this was a classic example tonight of how cruel the circle is. And the thing is, I am interested in a couple of people right now (always have a few in mind, because if it doesn’t work out with one, there is always the dream of someone else to soothe the heartache). On one hand, it is probably stupid for me to be waiting for something that may never happen, but on the other hand, if it can happen, I want to be free to let it.

In any event, I am PISSED that I didn’t just buy the shoes and take the loss on the free pair because I NEEDED those fucking boots!!! 😉 And of course, none of the other shoe stores had a single thing that held my interest. Damn it all anyway. 🙂

UPDATE

I went to the Payless website and registered my complaint:

I was just in your store in Springfield Mall (Springfield, VA) today (Sunday, Jan. 11, around 3 p.m.), and I had a shopping experience that will ensure that I never return to that store, although it is my favorite location. I had just picked up two pairs of boots (an impending $40 sale, when the woman behind the desk graciously reminded me that today is the last day for the buy-two-get-one-free promotion). I was thrilled and went back to the racks to look at another pair of shoes that I’d been debating about. Unfortunately, the male employee on the shift (who recognized me from previous visits) came up to me to ask me out on a date. I told him I was flattered but that I had to decline, and then he asked several questions about that (i.e., I couldn’t just say no but had to explain myself). After about 20 minutes, I was ridiculously annoyed and decided to put back the shoes (because I had to pay with a credit card, and I didn’t want him to have access to my name). He asked me if I would take his number (since I wouldn’t give him mine) and he asked that I call him tonight (I took the number and left the store empty-handed, and no, I did not call him). I don’t necessarily want to get him in trouble, but I did want to tell you that, unfortunately, a sale was lost because of this, and I really wish I had cash so I could have bought the boots and left the store in peace.

(*Line stolen from Sandra Bullock in “Hope Floats.”)

OK, it is fucking FREEZING outside. And of COURSE I couldn’t find parking in my lot when I arrived home 10 minutes ago. Bah.

Busy day. Kidnapped Shan from her evil mother-in-law long enough to go sign up for the National Body Challenge down at the Discovery store in Old Town. The MIL kept us waiting for hours, so I did some light shopping and picked up some ridiculously cute outfits for Alex while I wandered Landmark Mall.

I did get to visit with Alex — it’s so funny, but as soon as she hears my voice, she turns to me and is all smiles and giggles (she just turned five months old yesterday). I held her and fed her and we sat and chatted for the longest time. She’s quite the talkative one — she’s always got something to say when she isn’t eating her fist. 🙂

She’s a strong one — she loves to stand up on your thighs. Even though, of course, we’re holding her up, she’s really doing her part to ensure that she is standing up. She’s probably going to start walking before she crawls (apparently Shan walked first, too). I can’t get over how much I love that kid. Shan of course yelled at me for buying clothes for her (she gets mad when I spend money), but I couldn’t resist this ridiculously cute fuschia polar fleece sleeper (to match this adorable fleece hat her sister made for Alex), and of course a lovely blue sleeper from Carter’s (my mom bought her four sleepers and a bib last weekend, and we were bummed that her store didn’t have the blue sleeper in her size, so I grabbed it. Mom was pleased). Then I found this awesome black onesie with a lettuce-edged turtleneck and lettuce-edged sleeves (for $2.99 at Old Navy), and I had to have it. Shan loved it all — Alex has officially outgrown almost everything (13 pounds and counting!) she has, and Shan loves anything that has bold colors. I took a risk on the black, but she flipped and told me how much she has wanted to find black baby clothes for Alex (to wear under her cute, colorful polar fleece vests), so she was happy.

It is hysterical how easily Alex took to me (of course, she was hiding under the table every time Shan and I went out while she was baking). Shan always says that I saved Alex’s life — I practically dragged her to the hospital myself the week before she was born. As it happened, Shan went to the hospital (after my begging) and never left because they did a sonogram and saw the umbilical cord was wrapped around Alex’s neck. I would never in a million years take credit for saving Alex, but it was sweet to hear nonetheless. 🙂

What was REALLY hysterical was when the MIL arrived (hours late and with a friend who was not invited to Shan’s place). The friend snatched Alex out of my arms, and Alex began to really fuss and whimper. She kept looking at Shan and at me like, “Save me!” And the woman refused to give her back to me. Instead, she gave her to the MIL, and Alex (I’m not kidding) looked at her like, “You are SUCH an asshole!” And she fussed and whimpered again. It broke our hearts to leave Alex with her, even for the short period we were gone.

We were glad (although scared) to sign up for the Body Challenge. I certainly don’t want my story to be broadcast on the Discovery Channel, but there was something serious about having to get weighed in public and to now have my moves tracked by their fitness experts. There will be another weigh-in on March 31, but I’ll be out of state. We didn’t have to see what we weighed (it was written down), but I did look and I said, “Holy shit! Damn holiday feasts — all 18 years of them!” Everyone was laughing at that. I told Shan, “Damn, I’ve never seen quite that combination of numbers before — maybe we should play the lottery?” We both walked out, kind of disgusted with ourselves (we’ve both hit an all-time high weightwise). But this was the kick in the ass we need to start dieting. Tomorow, of course. 🙂

After the weigh-in, I was stuffed senseless by Carlos and Todd at a lovely dinner party, along with Shawn, Bryan, Paul and the adorable Mickey who is in from Canada. And of course we drank enough alcohol to irrigate the Sahara. And of COURSE I got my drink on the second I walked into my apartment. 🙂

I suppose that, tomorrow, I should get rid of all the cookies, licorice and other bad stuff that I always have in the house. *sigh* It’s going to be a riot to start to undo the three decades of rotten eating habits that I’ve perfected. Weep for me.

Well, not really, but here’s the Friday Five from last week, since I missed it and there isn’t a new one up today. And forget this “one thing” shit — I will list as many things as apply.

What one thing are you most looking forward to . . .

1. …today?

Leaving work early.

2. …over the next week?

Paying my bills and learning/implementing a weight-loss plan with Shan (starting tomorrow).

3. …this year?

Being able to wear the clothes hiding in my closet that used to fit. Maybe letting my guard down a little bit more. Maybe taking more risks in my career and personal life. To, like Erica said, quit doing my job half-assed if I’m not just going to quit entirely.

4. …over the next five years?

To, if not get married, at least get into a long-term relationship. To publish a novel or two. To have started several small businesses. To travel. To figure out whether or not to reproduce. To decide where I want to live permanently (stay in NoVa, go back to Pittsburgh or find someplace else that appeals to me more).

5. …for the rest of your life?

To plastic surgery and to living off the royalties from my publications and the profits from my businesses. To not being lonely, or, at least, to not being alone. To teaching the next generation, whether or not it is my own offspring — I may decide to adopt or to become a mentor to someone who may really need me.

Today’s another furlough day. Well, it’s a half-day, with another half-day next Friday. And a paid day off on the 19th. Why the fuck didn’t they just furlough the 19th? Oh well. At least they did listen to me when I requested that we do half-days during different pay periods, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

I’m not feeling very creative today. I hate that. I am ridiculously horny, though, and I hate that, too, ’cause I’ve burned through a pack of batteries this week and I’ve got to go buy more. Heh. No wonder I’ve developed carpal tunnel-like symptoms — it actually hurt my hand to brush all the damn snow off my car this morning!

I swear, I really do begin the workday with good intentions to work. And I really have done a lot today, but some of it was for me.

Shan and I have hatched our biggest scheme ever, and we have managed to identify and overcome every obstacle to making it work. All I can tell you is that we are designing the funniest line of greeting cards. I am in tears every time we talk about it, it’s going to be so ridiculously hilarious.

Now to get up the friggin’ energy to leave work, go home and actually work on them. 🙂

OK, so at our upcoming conference, we are having a big party with a “Wizard of Oz” theme, chosen by Pride Fag. Today, Angie noted that, instead of “Wizard,” our theme should be, “Priscilla: Queen of the Desert.”

*roflmfao* It works, since it’ll probably be a drag show anyway. Oh, I can’t WAIT to start planning the decorations!

*updated*

Dave outed me … as a quirkyalone.

Before I launch into it, be sure to buy me some “bitter”-themed candy for Valentine’s Day at Despair.com. I think the “Dejected” set fits me more than the “Dysfunctional,” although I’m willing to listen to any argument (and eat the damn candy) if the latter seems more appropriate!

Anyway, back to the Quirkyalone personality type:

I honestly have little to add, other than the fact that the book is already on my Amazon Wish List. 🙂

The search for a kindred — clearly a fellow quirkyalone — has proven an exhaustive field trip through a labrynth of false starts and dramatic (sometimes premature, but always inevitable) endings.

My theory on dating is simple: I’d rather be alone than wish I were. Even at the time of year when coupledom is especially celebrated (New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day), it’s not that I’m thrilled to be alone, but rather, I’m glad I’m not with the wrong person. I’ve been with the wrong person. And I’m pretty impatient on that front — it’s impossible to pretend that all is well just for the sake of having someone to do things with (although simply having someone to DO has enough benefits in and of itself to make it somewhat worthwhile!).

I was thinking of having an anti-Valentine’s Day party (and dressing in black, as is my tradition), but I am surrounded by married or otherwise committed couples. Bleah. I’ve never really been the one who is half of a couple yet surrounded by single friends. It’s historically been the exact opposite. And you can get really tired of the well-meaning people who want to fix you up with someone or who otherwise lecture you that you need to get “out there” in the dating field. Most of it stems from the fact that, if they’re happy in a couple, well, you should be too (not an unreasonable sentiment, but a frustrating one nonetheless). And as the biological clock is smacked into snooze alarm phase for yet another undefined period of time, you wonder what you’re waiting for. But then you date someone who clearly ISN’T “The One” and you’re reminded of why you took a dating hiatus in the first place.

To make this personal, I have a really low body image, so I really don’t feel comfortable going out to bars to meet people when I’m surrounded by anorexic types in titty tops. Trust me, all eyes are on them bobbing around the dance floors. And when I meet somebody who piques my interest, I figure that they could never be interested in me, even though I have probably achieved more in the past 10 years than they ever will in a lifetime. Not to mention, but I’ve been told that I come across as a real airhead when I first meet people (said by someone who was clearly NOT The One).

But I’m not always wallowing in neurosis. The other side of me (I’m a Gemini, for those who are looking for an explanation of my wide range of mood swings!) figures, why the hell wouldn’t someone want me? I have a good (although frustrating) job, I have a social life, I’m not the slightest bit clingy and I’m very much of the attitude of showing you to the door if you think something better is outside of it. Damn it, I should be nominated for Woman of the Year, when I think about it! 😉

I just figure that this isn’t my time to shine. But when will that day come? When I stop looking to find that other quirkyalone whose quirks mesh with mine. But after I’ve spent nearly three decades collecting and refining those quirks that make me so lovably me, where on earth do you start (or continue) looking for someone who will respect, and ultimately complement, those idiosyncrasies? And will I learn to fall in love with their own quirks, or have I truly become the person I want to marry? 😉

UPDATE: Tink reminded me about the quiz results. Here goes:

“How quirkyalone are you? Your score was 125. Very quirkyalone:

Relatives may give you quizzical looks, and so may friends, but you know in your heart of hearts that you are following your inner voice. Though you may not be romancing a single person, you are romancing the world. Celebrate your freedom on National Quirkyalone Day, February 14th!”

*updated*

So Cruise Director sends out this long e-mail today, kind of like a presidential State of the Union address. He asked us for ideas to increase our membership. Both Shan and I, in offices across the building from each other, started mentally ticking off ideas, but then we each stopped in mid-thought and went, “Eh. Fuck it. They wouldn’t listen anyway.” The joke arose that he should have just told us, “Give us ideas so we can ignore them.”

So much for my positive attitude. Heh.

Met with my supervisor today. As usual, the meeting occurred 40 minutes after the planned start time. I finally told her that my time is just as valuable as anyone else’s, and if I have to be in meetings, then I want them moved to a different day. She looked stunned but complied. We actually went on to have a good talk about various issues that have been rather demoralizing lately, and she checked in about various things that she knows I have been internalizing. I was rather impressed.

Toilet Town is still in chaos. I went downstairs today to the very clean restroom (so. unlike. ours), and I guess Queen Pooper was in there, because in the accessible stall, someone sat very silently with her pants around her ankles until I finished my business and left. That’s how I know it’s her — she can’t void her bowels until the room is empty, and she won’t show her face till everyone’s gone. But the shoes always give her away. That, and the trail of skunk funk she leaves behind. …

UPDATE: Apparently Fudge CAN use any toilet. I had to use the restroom shortly after the last visit (evil Diet Cokes), and damn it if I didn’t think and went into *her* stall, whereupon she had left a lovely truffle surprise in the bowl. Yech. I hate her.

Rejected title: Idiot parade

OK, so our restrooms are being renovated here on the second concentric layer of hell floor. We have been asked to use the restrooms downstairs. This is not an instruction that is difficult to comprehend.

However. …

I sit near the men’s room. The workers placed a strip of masking tape across the door, ostensibly to warn people to stay out. The tape is, heightwise, about where my forehead is. Now, knowing I work with the living dead, you probably won’t be surprised to hear how many people went into the restroom anyway, despite this little barricade (the workers don’t speak much English, so I am not surprised that they didn’t put up a “Do Not Enter” sign, although it probably wouldn’t have been effective either). I just had visions of someone walking into the tape and coming out and walking around with the tape flying from his forehead, like a marathon runner crossing a finish line. Or, like Angie put it, like a mayor cutting a celebratory ribbon. That’s one way to identify the crown idiot of the day — we can name him the Mayor of Toilet Town!

The problem got so bad yesterday that, in addition to the strip of masking tape over the door, the workers had to put an additional seven strips across and one strip vertically down the center, just to keep the morons away. Proof positive that we do NOT hire the best and the brightest ’round here.

Shan sits across from the ladies’ room. The Queen Pooper (or Fudge, you know, the fucknugget who wipes her ass on the seat) tried four times in one hour to access the throne room, but every time, it was being worked on (a memo DID go out to this effect). She stormed away in a huff every time. I suppose she just can’t shit anywhere else — maybe Shan can give her one of Alex’s diapers to tide her over till the renovations are done!

Yep, we’re back to dressing up for work. As usual, it was like stuffing ten pounds of ass into a five-pound bag of pantyhose. *sigh* It should be illegal to wear anything other than sweatpants during December and January.

I just got the funniest letter to the editor. This asshole apparently sent a letter in last month, criticizing an article that was not mine (whew!), and I didn’t run it (space reasons, friends). Well, he sends a new letter demanding that I explain the exact criterion for choosing letters (because I ran a letter praising the same article he hated). He made a snarky remark that clearly I don’t print critical letters. Hah! Did he miss the three pages of letters to the editor in the latest issue that slammed me for writing a profile of a sex offender? Are people HIGH when they decide to e-mail me?!?!