Caterwauling

I love Virginia because there are dozens of license plate designs and unlimited options for cutesy saying on your plate. I’ve been wanting to get a personalized plate for awhile, but I’m also thinking about whether or not I want to move across state or District lines, so I don’t want to make the investment if in fact I should be fucking insane enough to want to pack my shit and pay people to, like, move it and stuff.

I’ve gotten accustomed to the drive — I’ve found that spacing out and not noticing how fucking NUTS everyone else is makes for a way more pleasant twice-a-day commute. When I do feel like focusing my eyes, I am often entertained by the license plates of the people I almost hit when they cut me off. My favorite is I-H8-495 and its counterpart, I-H8-395 (I travel both of those highways every day — priceless!)

In any event, check out some rejected license plates in the metro area. I decided I want to apply for “SMRT-S” (smartass) because it’s the only thing that will fit on a plate that doesn’t involve “Get off my ass, you psychotic fuck.” And as far as not issuing some plates of questionable taste, I think we should give the plate to anyone who applies for “Asshole” or “Dumbass” or the like because, well, the first step is admitting it. Most people who are Oxygen Thieves tend to fail to realize it, but the rest of us don’t need to see their vanity plate to know that abortion isn’t just a choice — it’s a necessity sometimes.

On iTunes: Arthur Loves Plastic, “Persona Non Grata”

Said after I’d mumbled something through a mouthful of orgasmic French toast with Grand Mariner whipped cream:

Tiff: He has a 12-inch what????

Me: P … owerbook.

😀

Filed under: Things that sound dirty but totally aren’t. 😉

In any event, Happy Heart-on Day!

On iTunes: Minnie Driver, “Invisible Girl”

I didn’t give up anything material for Lent — last year I gave up carbs and loved it. But I don’t have the means to do South Beach right now, so I looked for something easier to live without.

During typical Lenten seasons, usually, I give up dating (oh, the stories I could tell as to why. …), but this year, I’d like to give up celibacy, if I can! 😉

After a long talk with my dearest friend Shan last night — and laughing more deliriously than I have in months, BTW — I have decided to part with the following … permanently:

Self-doubt
Ain’t nobody gonna believe in me if I don’t. I always figured I don’t have the life or the love that I’ve wanted because, even though I know I have a lot to give, I also have a lot to hide. I tend to forget that I earned my scars and, while there is no reason to flaunt them, there’s also no reason to pretend that the road wasn’t long and weary. I had one of those revelations this morning in which I realized that I pretend nothing is wrong when everything seems to be — and maybe I need to have a little more faith because I know how to make better things happen to make bad things pass. One good action generates an instance of good luck, and these green Irish eyes are way prettier when they are smiling!

Self-deprecation
I always figured that if I insulted myself first, then I’d beat everyone else to the punch. (Years of having my spirit stomped on are talking here.) Unfortunately, during my weak moments, I fall susceptible to believing my own bullshit. And, quite honestly, I don’t give a flying fuck what people do or don’t think of me — I have better things to worry about. Say what you will about me and get over yourself, because most of the nasty comments I’ve heard have veiled a touch of jealousy. Yes, I am capable and smart and sometimes even witty about it — I’m not full of myself and I don’t have to prove to anybody anymore that I am just average. I’m not. And never will be. Nor do I have to disguise my abilities and feelings and insights because others aren’t comfortable with someone who’s so in-tune with the universe. And, I will change the world someday. That time hasn’t come yet. In the meantime, I will be gathering my strength and not wasting it on pretending I am nothing.

Self-imposed limitations
I can do anything, and I know it. And, some things, I can do a thousand percent better than many others. I guess, as a girl, I’ve learned to not do things to the best of my ability because girls aren’t supposed to show off. God, that sounds archaic, but it happens sometimes. There is a part of me that is very content to fly under the radar in certain situations, and that’s fine. But that’s no reason to fade into oblivion in other areas. And, while I’m never afraid to try as many new things as possible, I sometimes put up a mental block and can’t excel at certain things because of it. Why do we do that? Am I really that afraid of erasing the cache of Bon Jovi lyrics in my head to make room for new, more useful knowledge?

Self-righteousness
I don’t think I’m full of myself — if anything, my faith in everything around me has been sufficiently shaken, of late. But, among my many recent revelations was that things are not going to happen the way I planned them to be, and this is opening me up to so many more possibilities. There will be a lot of risk involved, but something tells me the reward will be so much sweeter. It’s amazing, opening one’s mind up so much that the heart can’t help but follow. I guess I’ve never had anything in my life that made me happy, and I figured that if I could surround myself with people and things that were “just so,” then I’d find that long-elusive bliss. But, the picture shifts over time — the clarity you had in your youth was just your limited worldview in action. Eventually, you start to dream in color and sway to different rhythms … ones you never knew existed until you opened yourself up to acknowledging — and, ultimately, appreciating them.

Grudges
Hoo boy, can I hold a grudge. And, I’m tired. It mentally and even physically exhausts you when you can’t forgive someone. But, as of this moment, I forgive anyone who has ever pissed me off and I acknowledge that they might have been pissed off by something I said or did. This is not to say that I want rainbows and roses and reunions and such. I just want for everyone who is holding onto something destructive to let it slide. The memory has a funny way of lessening the pain of what really hurt you and letting the better memories shine through. Take it from me, you can’t go back to a situation that caused you stress, but you can hope that everyone else saw it as a teachable moment, the way you have. And, often, that’s the best you can do. Every relationship has its time in the sun. Don’t let the clouds of unhappiness keep you from getting a tan (or, in my case, freckles) again. Sometimes, you just can’t go back. But, you can always move past it.

Unrelated, the quote of the night (and no, I will NOT qualify it!): “Aww, Alex will get her Aunt Dawn laid yet!” 😀

On iTunes: Bloodhound Gang, “Fire Water Burn”

I have been thinking about going incognito again, and I think I found the perfect domain name. On the other hand, having a blog attached to my real name does serve to keep me in check (well, sort of!). Just keep that in mind if you ever come here and I’m AWOL … it will just mean that I am somewhere else.

Why I say this today is because, well, I’m feeling a bit … um, distracted. I spent five months worrying about money. And not to say that I still don’t lose sleep over the lack thereof, well, I’m starting to breathe again and can fit other things into my head, too. And today, well, it’s Friday night and I’m all dressed up with no one to do nowhere to go. And for some reason, it’s affecting me and the imagination has kind of gone on an open-ended field trip.

And THAT, my friends, is all the detail I will be giving out tonight!

See why I need to move the damn blog? 😉

On iTunes: Janet Jackson, “Throb”

*updated*

Banner day. w00t! Haven’t had one of these in a looong time, so bear with. 🙂

Heard from someone today whom I’ve been missing. As usual, he built me up and said everything I needed to hear — and, considering how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, it amazed me how in-tune we still are with each other. I actually cried … big, warm, happy tears. I wish I could have hugged him, for as happy as his words made me.

Have had a couple of really good, busy, triumphant days at work. Cool Boss said that another team member was praising me to him. That felt ridiculously good, and I was appreciative that he passed the compliments along. Fuck, a past boss only told me when she determined that I was an “embarrassment” or a “disappointment.” (Reason #450 to hate female bosses.)

I have an e-mail from someone who offered me a BIG freelance assignment. I went into hiding because, even though I REALLY need the money and I think the assignment would totally rock socks, I don’t know where I will find the energy at this time to take on this project. It’s kind of interesting — I just spent the last few months interviewing like a fiend for the right job, and after all the assholes who didn’t have the courtesy to call me back, it’s now my turn to decide whether or not to return the messages. That’s an awesome position to be in.

Speaking of interviewing, I keep debating about posting what a hellish crusade that was. Because, of course, I want to name names and let people know what I really thought of their pathetic jobs/personalities/offers and how glad I am that I either turned them down or that they weren’t smart enough to snag me.

UPDATE

If you want to read the rants, I can make them available again, but those have been live long enough and the vitriol is out of my system. I was frustrated from having applied for 120 jobs over the course of five months and was getting sick of being talked down to, sized up and otherwise made to jump when they said so. The bottom line is that I got a lot of experience with interviewing and even more familiarity with the D.C. Metro area — not to mention a whole new intimate knowledge of myself and insight into my previous actions — and those are the plusses that I am taking with me after all is said and done.

I am, however, leaving the following part of the post intact, because I mean it wholeheartedly:

Dear Everyone Else in D.C., Virginia and Maryland,

Thank you for not making me an offer. Also, thank you for not PISSING me off like the aforementioned. But, most of all, thank you for ensuring I was available when Cool Boss called and said he wanted to hire me right away before someone else was smart enough to get me first.

On iTunes: Staind, “It’s Been Awhile”

In honor of blogstalkers who are out there hiding in the bushes (*waves, with one finger*), I submit to you the following post. If they want to read, then fine, I’ll make it interesting!

I’m used to working with women. And I hate women, especially those in authority positions. Now, remember, I am a female with authority and always have been, but I’ve surprised my charges by being cool and not making their lives miserable — I don’t punish people for who they are, especially when they have aching ovaries every month that provide pain enough!

These days, I work with men. It was very important for me to enter a male-dominated environment this time around. I am the only chick on the immediate team, and one of three in the grander scheme of things. And, I adore it. I adore them.

You know why? Because I always bumped heads with women in charge of me. I’ve never had a pleasant experience with female supervisors or others in charge of something or other. It’s this unspoken competition — on their part and, reactively, on mine — to be Alpha Bitch. When I was fresh out of college and brand-new to this surreal place called an office, my supervisor and I used to go 10 rounds over whose ideas were better. Because hers sucked, from my view, and because I was too young to have anything constructive to contribute, from her view.

Fast-forward a few years later, and the situation is intensified — I worked with someone who just always had to be right. You could have made the exact same decision in a given situation that she would have, but she somehow managed to find fault with it because she wasn’t the one who got to make the call. She was also hard on the men on her team, but we women were the ones who really got pounded with frustration and anxiety attacks. Luckily, I ended up getting out of harm’s way and reported to the coolest guy on the team, who acted as the “dry-weave” shield between me and Psycho Bitch. I love him, and we are still buddies to this day. 🙂

Without pointing fingers (figure out WHICH finger!), I can easily say that women in the rank-and-file have a tough time in the workplace, in general. I cannot name ONE job (save for this one) where I was not harassed or ridiculed for the length of my skirts or the fit of a shirt or how much cleavage they thought was too much or, in the case of the last crown jewel, for my hairstyle. Yes, I had to change my hair to please THEM. My hair, of course, being a sore subject for me my whole life, but that’s a subject for another day. But, did any of these armchair judges ever cough up extra wages or a bonus to PAY for having to accommodate their requests? Hardly.

The thing is, when you start a job, you’re nervous because you don’t know how the system works, nor do you know who is eyeballing you in search of reasons to talk about you (or give you a talking-to). You don’t know the best driving routes or parking places or where to go for lunch. And, certainly, you don’t have any fluency in the job that you so eagerly wanted because you just haven’t had time to get into your groove yet. But when you work with women, those issues are the least of your worries.

Luckily, for me, where I am now, I am starting to get comfortable with the environment and the tasks, and I know enough about it to figure out more things when they arise. I still have a long ways to go, but when you feel good about yourself and know that others are happy to have you there, well, that’s the best feeling ever. That’s all I have to worry about, and I know that everything that seems so confounding right now won’t always be. And, I am pleased to not have the pressure anymore of having people looking down their noses at me — nobody’s scrutinizing my outfits, nobody’s commenting on whatever shade of eye shadow I wear, nobody’s said word one about my hair (hell, nobody even noticed that I dyed it! If I were dating any of these men, I might have been offended, but if they don’t notice such an obvious detail, hell, I’m happy!). And, I love it. Love it to death, I say.

What I will say, though, is that if I were working for a woman, then I’d have an extra layer of nervousness. A thick layer — one that would require constant primping to keep in check, at least on the surface. In the traditional workplace, presentation is often more important than substance. You are required to “look the part” and always be smiling and always be pleasing in case a guest should drop by. Work is secondary.

I’ve never subscribed to that theory. I bust my ass and do so quite happily. If my hair looks like hell (and I’ve given up and tied it in a knot) or if my skirt is three inches above my knees instead of one inch above it, well guess what — it doesn’t compromise my abilities one stinking bit. If I speak in a manner that is, um, creative or stand firm on my beliefs and opinions to the point of having to defend myself when called to do so, then I expect people to get over their sense of decorum of what they think is “ladylike” and treat me like the equal I am. My bullshit tolerance is at zero — maybe at two on a nice day. 🙂

From the beginning, I liked Cool Boss and therefore knew I would like Dream Job. There is a certain realness in the supervisory relationship that I haven’t experienced since the last time I was supervised by a male. And, maybe my thoughts set the feminist movement back a few steps, but until women with power choose to stop strangling their sense of humanity with their pantyhose, I will continue to keep it so that most of my colleagues as well as my friends are of the gender that can’t tell you what color the suit was that I wore yesterday. 😉

On iTunes: Sarah McLachlan, “Perfect Girl”

Why is it that when you don’t much give a rat’s ass about someone or something, you end up being dazzlingly impressive? Yet, when you have something you really want to do well or someone you absolutely must impress, you get some kind of mental bug up your ass that keeps you from performing at a level that you are confident you can reach? I just don’t get it — I’m smart (sometimes too much so for my own good) but it’s like I just cannot cram any more information into the old noggin sometimes. However, I seem to have plenty of room for the neuroses that I’d be more than happy to part with! Has anyone figured out a way to nuke ‘n’ pave the psyche?

On iTunes: Minnie Driver, “Everything I’ve Got in My Pocket”

I’ve been experiencing a lot of emotions of late, and no, I’m not hormonal or anything. 😉 I just find it funny that a woman with such intense feelings can even function in this world — it’s amazing I accomplish anything!

Nostalgia
On Friday, I saw someone pop up on my buddy list (we use AIM at work, so I actually have it on nowadays!) whom I haven’t talked to in forever. This person doesn’t know the *new* screenname, as I transferred the buddy list but didn’t actually alert anyone to the change because, well, I am a working girl now. 🙂 In any event, I was debating about saying hello to said person if I ever caught him online when I was at home. At the same time, I was contacted out of the blue from the past. I believe that was a sign to not contact the person who was on my mind.

The thing is, right now, I find myself missing people. I’ve gotten a brand-new start on life, and whether I’ve wiped the slate clean or it was cleared for me, the fact remains that little from my past is in my present. But I barely have time for the ones who are still around — what compels me to consider reaching out to those who haven’t been around in awhile?

One in particular, I was debating about contacting. I mean, nothing was bad about what once was. I think my only fault in the entire situation is that I cared too much. I’d reached out once or twice, with no response, which killed me at first, but the pain eventually abates somewhat. Long ago, I had asked him what would become of our friendship if our lives took us down separate paths, and he’d assured me that we’d always be connected. And I’ve been bummed because that promise was not kept. On the other hand, perhaps the connection was made long ago and it truly is still there, even if we no longer do anything to nurture it. In any event, I am grateful for the time we had and for the opportunities for me to grow and to have someone so strong to be my safety net for such a long time. And maybe someone else needs him more than I do right now. And so, I wish him well, and I hope he knows he will always occupy a significant piece of real estate within my heart.

Insecurity
Even though my Inner Bitch is burning brightly, it’s such a cover sometimes. I feel like I try to entertain to cover up the fact that I don’t know where the fuck I’m going or what I’m doing. I mean, I worked very hard to sell myself to the “right” people, and I sold myself based on the person I used to be and the person who is still trapped within there somewhere. But the person I am right this second refuses to vacate the premises, and I don’t want her here. She’s unsure of herself and continually screws up everything she touches because she’s nervous that maybe she might not be able to get her specialness back and, damn it all anyway, maybe she should think about succumbing to mediocrity. What the hell? How do you exorcise such a demon? I tend to forget all that I’ve done right and, more importantly, all I’ve overcome and continue to surmount.

When you see me, you see someone who is confident. Scratch that veneer a bit, and you see a frightened little girl. But don’t handle me with the proverbial kid gloves — take my hand and lead me somewhere, anywhere and keep your expectations of me as high as possible. I will rise to them — I promise! It’s just hard to walk a tightrope when you’re not quite comfortable in your shoes, but once they’re broken in, I’ll be sailing along without the faintest memory of when I was afraid of heights.

Longing
It’s been awhile since I had any kind of, ahem, stirring in my loins. But I’ve been meeting some people (platonically, thanks!), and it occurs to me that maybe I’m not totally dead inside. This whole schtick I’ve been spewing about Valentine’s Day, well, I’m serious about it. In “The Wedding Date,” Dermot Mulroney’s character says that women have the exact love life they want. And while it sounds ludicrous on the surface — I mean, do we want to be lonely and miserable or with someone who makes us miserable? — I can relate in that I’d rather be alone than wish I were. I’d rather not have my heart broken, so I’ve kept it intact by not letting anyone even see that I have one. But it’s there. And it needs some good-old fashioned CPR to get it going again. And I am finally willing to consider giving it away to a good home. In the meantime, I guarantee it’s got to be somebody who kickstarts my imagination, because I’ve been terrified to close my eyes and dream. Help me to feel safe enough to close my eyes again, my someone, wherever you are.

I believe opportunities will present themselves, and I need to expand my vision to be able to appreciate them. In this case, please handle me with kid gloves at first. On the other hand, don’t give up on me. I will kick and scream and fight and run away. But I will be watching you in my peripheral vision. If you run away, I will say “Go figure.” If you come back, I will likely be yours — I’ve spent years pushing people out of my life (and some, granted, with good reason), and sometimes, you’ve got to tie my hands behind my head (rowr!) and take over. Make me not want to run away. To keep quoting my beloved Dermot in the aforementioned movie, “I’d miss you even if I’d never met you.” Believe me, I feel your absence. Please close that void and present yourself.

Hope
I’ve spent a lot of time faking it. Not orgasms, silly, but “it” — that special spark that people come to expect from me. I’ve always been a proponent of “fake it till you make it” or “speak it into existence.” And maybe there is some truth or magic to it, but today was the first day I felt “right” in a very long time. I’m settling into a routine again, I’ve got things to learn and do and enjoy. I’ve got people to get to know and stories and insights to share with them. And they have a lot to teach me. I look forward to all of us learning and growing together. And, with that, I look forward to finally hermetically sealing the void left by the past and learning to live with expectation, with acceptance, with accomplishment. And while I’ve had each of those things in the past, I never had them in tandem. I finally, finally think that the time has come wherein I can, in fact, have all of that and more. Much more.

2005 is my year, friends. Strap on your seatbelts and come along for the ride, because I assure you, I don’t know exactly what lies in store, but I can tell you that I’m gathering my strength to go on the ride of my life.

On iTunes: The Flys, “Got You Where I Want You”

Subtitle: ‘You. Ignorant. BITCH!’

Who hates laundry day? Nobody hates it more than my inner bitch. I swear, I am going to take a stroke one of these times when I am forced to wash my scandalous undies in public. Honestly.

I can’t tell you the last time I did laundry. Note that I have hundreds of outfits and that I only really do laundry every few months unless there’s some item I just have to have. I ran out of white shirts, which propagated this fiesta from hell.

OK, so I go to the one laundromat I can stand, over on Pickett Street. It’s packed, but I manage to get three washers (double and triple load). I don’t dry most of my clothes, but I figured I would need one or two dryers max. Anyway, this evil (rhymes with Bundt) who has Shit For Brains ends up claiming nine of the 17 dryers. NINE!!! She took two of them out from under me. The first one, I was making my way over to it with one of my wet loads, and she threw one single pair of shorts into it so as to claim it. I almost killed her, but alas, she was only warming up. She ran to her washer to get more clothes to throw into that dryer she claimed.

Oh, but wait, this Fish Stick on Legs gets worse. She ends up putting a piece of tape over the coin slot of each dryer she claimed. That’s how I know Shit for Brains took nine dryers.

OK, so 15 minutes later, another dryer opened up. I dashed to it with my whites. I was just about to touch the door when she YANKED it out of my hand and threw something into it. SHE BROKE MY NAIL — THIS MEANS WAR!!!

While sweet, demure (gag) Dawn had an out-of-body experience from the fury, the Inner Bitch stepped in and hissed, “You. Ignorant. Bitch!!!!” right in her face.

Her inner bitch stood there smugly, gloating that she had more than half of the dryers. Personally, I didn’t want my delicates to ever be in a machine after clothes that her ass had touched, so I knew there was no way I was going to wait around for one of HER dryers. Fuck, I ended up taking two wet loads to my car, figuring I’d just go to the bigger (yet more ghetto) laundromat over on Duke Street to use the dryers.

But my inner bitch wasn’t done yet. She knew that she was going to get her revenge and warned me to be patient.

My inner bitch rocks!

I finally got two dryers. I was very happy and went about returning my blood pressure to normal. I took my “good” clothes out to the car so that I could hang them to dry at home, and it was a sunny day and my inner bitch was positively radiant.

It occurred to me that my previous outburst didn’t affect her because she might not have had a grasp on the language. So, I set about making her life as difficult as possible, as my shit was in alternating dryers from hers. Hell, I even split a load and took a third dryer just so I could be in her way even more. Oh, and I was. Part of her language barrier clearly excluded the phrase “excuse me,” so I took great pleasure in parking my ass in the aisle and singing to myself and rummaging through each of my dryers, trying to see if maybe one single item might have been dry enough to remove before I set the next cycle in motion. She stood there huffing and puffing, trying to run over my foot with a wheeled basket, but my ass is bigger and I just jutted it out into the aisle that much more and stuck my leg out even farther. HAH! I also managed to open the dryer door and smack her husband in the head with it. And that one was pure accident!!!

AWWWW, TOO BAD — SO SAD!!!!

And if I ever see her there again, bitch is going down! Her time was NO MORE imporant than mine was — she could have given up one fucking dryer since she already had eight for her crotch-rotted underpants. *twitch*

Dear Higher Power: thank you for the great job. Now if you could just bring me some entertaining dates and an apartment with a washer, I will be a very good girl. Love, Dawn. 🙂

On iTunes: Lisa Stansfield, “Never Gonna Give You Up”

All the stars seem to be dyeing their hair dark, so I hopped on the bandwagon and, as of this afternoon, I am now a brunette, too. Yay $3 package of hair color!

I don’t love it, but alas, the usual red tends to shine through after a coupla weeks, so all will be normal. At which time, of course, I will have decided I loved the hue after all.

My brand-new bathroom rug was a casualty during the mess. Ugh. It WAS hot pink, but it’s got two lovely brown stains on it that will NOT come out. It looks like Maddie wiped her ass on it!

I also lopped off a few inches of length. I read somewhere that cutting one’s hair symbolizes letting go of the past and embracing new beginnings. I’m all for that! The sooner I can forget “the life before,” the happier I will be.

On iTunes: Eagles, “Witchy Woman”