Caterwauling

From this month’s T-Shirt Hell newsletter:

“Kanye West said that President Bush doesn’t care about black people. I think this was an incredibly insensitive statement. It was especially hurtful to the hundreds of millions of other people the president doesn’t care about.”

*bwahahahahahaaaa*

And from the lovely Swirl-a-licious one, if the media says it, IT MUST BE TRUE!

During my 95-minute drive home, I promised myself I wouldn’t blog till I had something witty or happy to report.

So, see ya next year, right? LOL

But seriously, I have been on this quest to make the perfect CD. I’ve put it through about 47 incarnations since May, and I still don’t have it down yet. But I keep trying. Today I wasn’t feeling it, because it’s predominantly concupiscent (that’s for you, Ted!) and that wasn’t exactly my driving mood.

But listening to the few sappy songs I liked at the time of the last CD burning, it occurred to me that I’ve never really had those “our song” types of tunes in my world. Don’t get me wrong — I’ll hear a song now and again and associate it with a time in my life or with someone from that time, but not intentionally — I don’t make “mix tapes” for that purpose anymore. LOL. But I’ve always loved when people told me that they heard a song and thought I’d love it and/or always think of me when it pops up, even if I didn’t care for said song in and of itself otherwise.

I’ve been aware that associating a song with someone would eventually come back to bite me as, let’s face it, more people than not drop out of our lives. And even if it’s good riddance to be done with them, it blows to have them pop into our minds. Like, I was once told rather snottily by someone, years down the road, that he couldn’t stand hearing Bon Jovi because he will forever associate that band with me. Heh. Well, all the shitty bands HE liked evaporated 10 years ago, so I can’t say that I have occasion to reminisce over the bile in my throat like he does.

But I also don’t have any songs that come to mind that make me feel giggly and stupid and remembering better days, either. Or maybe that’s because my better days have yet to HAPPEN.

And don’t think I won’t have a few songs handy for when those days arrive.

On iTunes: Gina Rene, “U Must Be”

Do you ever have a day where you want to call off and play with your blog all day? I’m working on moving this page back to its original home (yay Tiff for conquering my server! Farging PHP switch — seriously, I can set up a MySQL database but not know to flick a switch), but it’s gonna take awhile. Unless, of course, I rush home and don’t get any sleep tonight in favor of template-building — which is entirely possible.

I might keep Maddie on Blogger, but I’m moving on to WordPress. Other than the install not being as easy as they claimed, it’s ridiculously simple to use. Like, so simple that OF COURSE I’d screw it up.

On iTunes: Garbage, “Cup of Coffee”

So here I am, back at Caterwauling. *sniffle* I’ll move my Goddess Dawn blog back here at some point soon, so hang tight and see me there in the interim. Feels good to be home!

updated

Spent last night with Three-Buck Chuck. Tonight? Had LOTS of good shit. How I drove 32 miles successfully? Beyond me. Really.

Afraid to blog more, I am incoherent and folks have finally realized that the nutjob with the “IBlog” plates happens to be moi. *waves* Welcome to the abyss, boys!

Admittedly, I’ll miss those Virginia plates when I move to Maryland. But then again, I won’t have to drink-and-drive so freaking far. But Mary-Land — UGH!!!

No lectures, kids. I’ll be hatin’ myself in just a few hours. But that Silver Oak red wine? To fucking DIE for.

Update
Mornings. Hurt.

Ow.

Where the hell did I park my car?!?!

On iTunes: Ivy, “Let’s Go to Bed”

updated

Because I paid my rent, oh, five minutes late and even overpaid the late fee, I got an immediate-eviction notice. Can you tell me WHY they would give me an eviction notice … but with my RENT CREDIT scrawled at the top of it? Fucking idiots.

Bonaventure Realty, people. Public service announcement: Stay the hell away from them. Love and kisses from the bitch on the second floor with the cat who wipes her ass on the walls. I hope the housing bubble bursts all over their faces, and no I will NOT pass them a tissue. Hah.

Adding to the morning’s auspicious start, I was coming off a ramp onto 395-North today and, as you local yokels know, if you don’t merge left, oh, IMMEDIATELY, you’re regaled to going right back off the highway ’cause you’re barreling toward the exit that’s about 10 inches from the ramp that put you ON the highway.

My dumb ass tried to generate good karma and let somebody in front of me so I could take their spot in the other lane. I did not count on an 18-wheeler FLOORING it and not letting me merge. *sigh* Guess who had to drive around fucking East Jabip to get back on course?

Oh, but wait — there’s more. A blood vessel in my right eye BROKE during all of this. This is my eye that twitches when my nerves are in overdrive, but alas, now it’s dry and sore and, um, RED. Hooray.

In better news, the troops at work have been coming up with many potential apartment sources for me. Although the one wonderful lad who asked his landlord about rental properties was told by said slumlord rather gleefully that they can charge any damn price they want because this area is in such high demand. Again, hooray. Something tells me the next place will cost me about $1,300, rats and mice included.

Update
Here’s a list of things landlords can deduct from your security deposit when you move out. Me? I don’t get mine back, but given what the puddy tats have doneo to assault the place, I wouldn’t be surprised to get a bill. …

On iTunes: Black Lab, “Keep Myself Awake”