Caterwauling

Delayed by at least a dozen years but no sense in waiting any longer:

Hey Psychofag,

Just because you comment doesn’t mean I have to read it. The “mass edit” mode helps me to make you disappear from my Web site the way you need to evaporate from my life.

You hate me? Sorry to hear it. You want me to die? Believe me, if it rids me of you, it’s apparently not the worst option. You wanna keep making fun of a dead man who was loved more than you’ll ever be? Have at it — you can’t hurt him and therefore you can’t hurt me.

Since unsubscribing from my blog feed or, gasp, not visiting Caterwauling.com is clearly above your intelligence level, too bad — so sad.

I was through with you in 1993. I was through with you in 1995. I was through with you in 1998. I was through with you pretty much the whole period between 2002 and now. And what, do you think I miss you? I miss someone who doesn’t exist anymore (and hasn’t, for some time now). Or maybe that person was an illusion you showed me to try to get someone like me into your clutches or that vicious circle inside your head.

I admit, all those times I came back? Were because I was afraid. Keeping one’s enemies closer, blah blah blah. I spent too much time being afraid and settling for sub-par scraps of so-called friendship. You were so afraid of me finding better friends, because I’d leave when I did. You were right. So stop punishing me for it and start changing to be someone that others would WILLINGLY hang around.

Get help. Get healthy. Unlike your latest directive, no I’m not going to die. But as I once again have to be the better person (you haven’t made it difficult to do that), I want you to LIVE. I want you to THRIVE. I want you to see how AWESOME life can be without anger and hatred bubbling out of every pore.

My pastor says sometimes you have to keep forgiving people, even when you’ve already done it a million times. Let’s make it a million and one and cap it there.

When you look back on your life and realize how much time you spent trying to make people supposedly regret not being your friend — instead of trying to be a better friend to those who were within arm’s reach — you’ll realize all the love you missed out on (that you willingly sacrified).

Stop using people and start loving yourself. Ask God to help you change, and even you will be amazed at how truly great He can help you to be. And even for those times that I couldn’t forgive you, maybe He will. …

Goddess (and don’t you forget it)

So thanks to Craptastic Comcast, I’ve had spotty Internet connectivity for two weeks and the modem was dead as a doornail for the past two days.

I finally called to talk to a rep last night, who was just a rude little thing. She was mouth-breathing into the phone and giggling at whatever her coworkers were doing.

I knew there was an outage in my area but I was trying to reassign IP addresses and figured I’d effed something up. But, alas, I was fine and the rep should thank her lucky stars that she’s still employed. (She asked if I’m running XP and I said, no, I’m on a Mac. And she said, “Is that new?”)

My favorite moment was when she said, “I have 29 minutes to go and I can not WAIT to get out of here for the night.”

God forbid we talk about MY problems! She went on to say her brother locked himself out of the house and that he works there too and she had to go by his place before she goes home. Huh?!?! The fuck? Who gives a shit?

She wasn’t able to give me a reference number for the call because her computer froze up. I had full intentions of complaining. But then again, at least my call wasn’t outsourced to India this time and, minus the mouth-breathing, I could sort-of understand what she said, even if it was pure nonsense that has nothing to do with all the money I pay these morons each month.

Good to know that the world may change, but Comcast customer service has no shortage of suckage when there’s an outage.

Went to work early this morning, cut out for five hours to go shopping, and just came back. I’m usually at my best past 7 p.m., but I’m having a hell of a time getting started again. But it just goes to show — the only day I can take a lunch break is on a Saturday!

At a time when I’m really starting to see that people cross our paths at certain times for a reason — and that we exit each others’ lives for a reason, too, because God’s comic timing is apparently impeccable — I thought I was put in someone’s path yesterday to be a blessing. But I’m scratching my head over what her purpose was in my life.

I went home last night (past 8 p.m.) and found a woman who had been locked out of her unit. She wasn’t wearing a coat and looked panicked. She asked if I knew the emergency number at our complex, and I said I did. I pulled out my phone and asked if she had a phone or if she wanted to use mine.

She had a fanny pack (!), which she was riffling through and ended up dumping out all over the sidewalk. I figured she really didn’t have a phone and didn’t want to say it, so I dialed the main office and told her to listen to the recording and choose the right option.

She listened for a minute and it occurred to me that she might have been drunk or just plain loopy, because she said it was an advertisement and there were no options to get lockout assistance.

Now, I’ve called the number enough times to know that yes, it says where we’re located, but it also says to press 2 for emergencies. So, I called back, pressed 2 and handed it to her.

She left some bizarre message for them and handed the phone to me. I hung up and asked if there was anything I could do.

I was thinking of offering a blanket or a sweater; I was already planning on letting her into the building to wait since she was in a T-shirt. But she said, “Got a smoke?”

And since it’s been a rather challenging couple of weeks at work — not to mention that Sabre and I have professional meetings over a cigarette because she’s bustin’ her butt for me right now — I had a pack in my pocket. (I’m only smoking one or two a day. I promise to quit again after this BIG FREAKING PROJECT dies already.)

I thought it was a little presumptive to ask for one, but when I handed it to her, guess what? She said, “Can I have two?”

You know, when I’ve been locked out of my place, I NEVER asked anybody for anything. The one time I had to borrow someone’s phone, I went back outside and waited till help came. I didn’t ask to have a smoke or anything because I had assumed I had intruded enough.

I walked away, scratching my head. She wanted to stay outside so she could smoke. I asked if she had a light, because I have “doormat” stamped to my forehead apparently, and she mumbled that she could find one. I was wondering how, since she was locked out of her place and, I assume, her car. But I was doing a “last chance to go inside” and she wasn’t biting.

Now maybe it says something about who I am, but I actually thought of taking her a coat so she could stay outside. But I thought, fuck that noise. I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was go to bed. I told her what my apartment number was so she could buzz me when she needed to get in. I didn’t hear back and I hope maintenance got there quickly.

I don’t know why I’m telling the story. Lack of anything interesting to say, really, since I canceled both my brunch plans today AND my dinner plans, so I’m pretty much all out of stories. (Not like I post my social activities, anyway. But still.) I guess I’m just glad that I can always manage to be nice and helpful and patient when people are in need, even if they don’t have the wherewithal to, oh, SAY THANK YOU.

I’m trying hard not to lose my faith in people, but it’s times like this when I am reminded that others are lucky to have/find me — I have this pesky tendency to CARE. It’s not an expectation I have of people, but it’s one that’s OK to have of me.

Maybe that’s my lesson — that I can always walk away from a situation and know that I did what I could. Or maybe it’s just what comes around, goes around. It was in that very same parking lot that another neighbor gave me a jump so I could drive to the mechanic.

It’s funny. I live in a cold city where no one even acknowledges that someone is standing next to them. But where I live, where everyone steals each other’s parking spots and would step over their cold, lifeless bodies, we all really do get out heads out of our butts when it’s needed. So, hopefully the bizarre woman I helped will get her head out of her fanny (pack) and do something useful for someone else next time around.

The D.C. metro region had its first snowfall yesterday. *hairball*

Just two weeks ago, I was gazing out my office window and marveling at all the pretty colors of the leaves that were still on the trees. Yesterday? Those leaves had a layer of white powdery shit on them. Odd to see snow before the leaves have died off.

Anyway, it took two attempts to get to work. I cleaned off the cars, headed to the Interstate, and sat. I turned around at the first opportunity, parked it and did some work. Within a half-hour, I walked outside and the cars were even more covered in snow than they were the first time. *headslam*

I would like to extend a special middle finger or two to the state of Maryland for the drivers it chooses to license. It’s either “ride our breaks for 10 miles because something wet is coming out of the sky” or “I’m way more important than you; let me wipe you off the road and make the scaredy-cat drivers even MORE nervous.”

I’m somewhere in the middle, hence why I think THAT finger is appropriate to wave at everyone.

The other thing I hate about winter, outside of Maryland, is the fact that my house is cold. I took this place because the windows looked so sturdy. They ain’t. So I come home, go to my bedroom and get under my deliciously warm IKEA comforter that is supposed to be the warmest blanket you can buy there. Although I need a new duvet cover and sheets to match, I’m currently in 400-TC so my bed is comfy-cozy.

Anyway, the problem is that I turn on the TV and promptly fall asleep the second I get warm. Which means I’ve missed all kinds of good TV this week. Then again, the programs that knocked me out the soonest have been “October Road” and “Private Practice.” So, is it the bed that lulls me into a coma, or shitty shows?

Either way, those are two shows whose writers can STAY on strike!!!

Apparently knowing the city in which you are driving is an optional skill for cab drivers.

Also, apparently knowing the hotel layout when you are a hotel employee is also a “nice to have” skill.

*bonk*

Dinner tonight was at Charlie Palmer’s, which was absolutely lovely. I will rave till the end of time about my French onion soup. And I hate onions. But it was filled with delicious beef brisket and it was covered in a piping-hot puff pastry shell and a layer o’ cheese. Dear God. Yum.

Anyway, it was a centralized meeting place for our airport arrivals and those of us who were already nestled in our hotel rooms. The address is Second Avenue. Fine — I went to Jack in the Box on Fourth Avenue today — how hard would it be to get there?

So I ask the cab driver to take us to Charlie Palmer’s. He said, “Where’s that?”

I’m like, “The steak place. Charlie Palmer’s. East Second Avenue.”

He said, “I’ve been driving cabs here for 11 years. Doesn’t exist.”

“It has to exist. It’s also known as CP’s. Does that ring a bell? They have a sister restaurant called Fin Fish — it’s in the same building.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

So much for making it on time for the reservation. I said, “Go downtown,” because I had seen — gee, I don’t know — Second Avenue down there.

This is where I *~*heart*~* my iPhone even more than usual, as I called up the Web site and said, “Grand Sierra Resort.”

He looked blank. “You mean the Hilton?”

*bonk*

“No, not the Hilton. The Grand Sierra.”

“You mean the Resort? The Grand Sierra?”

*bonk*

“Yes, please.”

“Well, that’s not downtown!”

Blah. Anyway, we get to the Grand Sierra, whereupon we get lost inside.

So, I stopped a hotel employee. “Can you point me toward Charlie Palmer’s?”

She was incredulous. “CHARLIE DANIELS IS PLAYING A CONCERT HERE TONIGHT?!?!”

*smack*

No, not Charlie Daniels, you oaf. And don’t worry — I said it silently.

I’ve never had such a challenging time trying to find a freaking restaurant. But I did have to laugh when I got “Devil Went Down to Georgia” in my head — although in my mind, it was “Goddess went down to Reno, she was looking for a steak to eat.”