Caterwauling

That number could be the amount of curse words I’ve uttered in the past 24 hours or it could also be the number of words contained in my wacky adventure of a novel that I am spending entirely too much time writing.

According to plan, however, I should really be at 25,005 words. So I’m not THAT far behind, but every day, I tell myself that this is the last day that I’m going to write. I have too many other things to do that involve survival. But the novel-writing has been so therapeutic that it keeps me from thinking about living under the National Christmas Tree this holiday season. I’ll think about that when it happens. 😉

I have this permanent lump in my throat, of late. I’d love to give more details, but there are too many people out there who love to read about me suffering (reason #216 to not use your real name online!). Suffice to say, I’ve decided for the time being that it is impossible to be both happy and financially secure. You get one or the other. I know a doctor who wishes he had my freedom from a spouse and kids (!). He envies ME? I want his fucking bank account! Screw the family — can’t he figure out a way to purchase some peace of mind?

I don’t know anybody with a combination of happiness and security, particularly in my age group — I know I’ve never experienced it. And if you are familiar with having both, well, what is it like? I watch “Maury Povich” and “Springer” and whatnot in the mornings, and I see us rewarding women who bring in 10 potential fathers for their kids, and they’re being handed trips to Disneyland and financial assistance … we’re essentially rewarding them for their erratic behavior and failure to use a condom. My business (yeah, that thing I spend all day working on!), however, is not going well at all, to the point of me thinking seriously about torching my shit and backpacking across the country.

I am at my wits’ end. I really am. I have always been one of those people who lands on her feet, but it always happens at the last possible minute. I’m thinking it’s the 11th hour and 59th minute and 40 seconds, at this point. Failure to me is losing my car/apartment and going back to Pittsburgh. Failing is something I’ve never done and don’t know how to handle. Failure is NOT an option.

The girls at my rental complex, unsympathetic to my rough patch, gave me a photocopy of a picture of St. Theresa (I am not religious and do not know her from Moses). They told me to believe in her and pray to her. So, the agnostic/pagan here at this domain had a photocopy of a saint taped to her fridge. I’d do witchcraft if it would give me one good night’s sleep, quite honestly. I haven’t seen any results, though. They told me a miracle would occur if I just believed in her. But I am reminded of a Bon Jovi lyric (of course) — “Luck ain’t even luck; you have to make your own breaks.” (“It’s My Life,” for the unfamiliar.)

*Oooh, shiny!*

OK, unrelated, how hot was Jon Bon Jovi last night on the American Music Awards? I was so totally wringing out my panties after seeing him. *swoon amd slurp*

Anyway, I still believe in miracles. I mean, I just heard that a man set himself on fire outside of the White House, and we can always hope that it was Dubya, right? 😉

On iTunes: Jane Siberry, “In the Bleak Midwinter”

So. Ridiculously. Funny. AND TRUE!!!

I keep joking with my friends that I’ve got this lovely toybox full of lotions and potions and whatnot, so I should advertise on Craig’s List that I need a “product tester.” A good friend sent me this link to kind of break my typing fingers before I could go that far, I guess. 😉

On iTunes: Ani DiFranco, “The Million You Never Made”

That’s my word count on my novel, which I started writing on Nov. 1. Only 32,712 to go by Nov. 30. *sigh* It’s all good, though. I’ll make it, and if I don’t, I will still come close. It’s been going well today, but like I told Chris last night, the only good thing about my own struggles is that I can make my characters suffer, and that makes for entertaining prose!

And because I would be kicked out of the blogging community (well, not really) if I didn’t report on it, Scott Peterson was just found guilty of first-degree murder. It’s either life in prison or lethal injection. Of course, it’s California. He’ll be cellmates with Chucky Manson and getting more financial support than the average community of homeless people. Hurrah. Not.

Did he really do it? Don’t know. All signs pointed to it. But maybe Americans (and particularly these jurors) were seeking vengeance from being duped over the O.J. Simpson trial that captivated us nearly a decade ago.

It has been said and examined that the Peterson trial got so much attention because this was an attractive young couple in the prime of their lives; meanwhile, spouses are being abused every day with nary a word breathed in the media about it. (Who outside of Metro D.C. heard about Laura Rogers, who shot her husband for impregnanting her teen daughter?) But, whatever. Americans love their tragic love stories, don’t they? (Says the girl whose novel-in-progress is about one!)

What the Peterson debacle did bring, though, was controversial legislation — the “Unborn Victims of Violence Act” — that may or may not have hurt the women’s rights movement. In this trial, yes, I think it could be fair to say that a fetus at that gestational stage could, in fact, be counted as a murder victim. But I fear that this act is ultimately going to be used to chip away at “Roe v. Wade” even further.

In any event, we will remember Laci Peterson’s smiling face in haunting photographs, and we will envision the man that little Connor never had the opportunity to grow to become. We will say “good riddance” to Scott Peterson and his crazy hair colors and we will guffaw when he appeals the verdict. And our hearts will break all over again when another story of such emotional significance has us shaking our heads at the bizarreness and horror of it all.

On iTunes: Ani DiFranco, “School Night”

Well, I was a drooling fangirl as the legendary Chris Baty signed my copy of his fantastic book, “No Plot? No Problem!”

Maddie was highly upset that I had to remove the book from her paws to take it to Barnes & Noble at Metro Center to get the autograph.

He complimented what I was wearing (!) and asked questions and applauded me for being a freelancer. Basically, he also gave me that extra “don’t give up” momentum that Pratt started by giving me the book last week.

Anyway, if I haven’t said it in awhile, life is good, and I love living it in D.C. I just need to find a way to stay here that doesn’t involve a cardboard box or a street corner, because it has come to that. But Chris had lots of good things to say about staying focused on the novel, because even if it’s crap, who cares, because we are still NOVELISTS!!!

My book is marked up with my thoughts as well as where I’ve highlighted, underlined, circled or otherwise kissed passages that made me happy. I wrote down something he said tonight: “All words are good words, and everything can be fixed in the rewrite.”

I applied that as a metaphor for my life. My words got me into jams (the biggest one being a few months ago). But they were said (typed) in earnest. And while the current version of my life, well, sucks right now, I will fix it in the near future. I just need to think of it in terms of rewriting my ending instead of accepting the current epilogue.

I feel so weak anymore — it even shows in my voice. But during the ride home, I realized that I’ve got a lot of fight left in me, and I need every ounce of strength to struggle to survive. That’s the name of the game these days. But am I a stranger to struggling? Hardly. The odds are just higher now, more so than ever. I have so much more to lose than I ever did (including eight pounds acquired since I quit smoking two months ago!). I need a miracle to happen. Really. And I need the strength to set that miracle in motion.

And tonight, I might have found it.

On iTunes: Jewel, “Down So Long”

Subtitle: Have a free-for-all in the comments!

John writes in:

I’d like to know what you and other bloggers (especially from gen- x-ers) think of the “American Dream.” Is it still defined as: “Loving couple, a house, a car, 2.5 kids, a dog or cat and a white picket fence.” In essence does the “American Dream” still exist in today’s society or is it redefined?

I’ll start. I want enough money to have household expenses paid for a year at a time. I want to one-half of a loving, functional couple. A nice car and not having to pray that it keeps running. Kids optional. Cat mandatory. I want to write the Great American Novel and be able to work at home and live for the moment. Barbara J. Winter says that the goal is to have all of your days pre-paid — that means, when an emergency arises or a fabulous vacation opportunity comes up, you can handle it.

This is assuming, of course, that I have any faith left in the dream. Right now it’s pretty much a nightmare of “all I want to do is keep my apartment and car and that’s not looking likely.” But I don’t want to spit on my dreams just yet. They are all I have.

That’s not so much to ask, is it?

What’s your American Dream?

On iTunes: Sheryl Crowe, “I Shall Believe”

Because the words “strange” and “stranger” seem to be recurrent themes in my life today, I present them to you as such.

The kindness of strangers
Strangers who become great friends, that is!

I received a a thoughtful package that included the book that I need to keep me from giving up on writing my novel.

Maddie decided to read it while I was out this morning. What a talented pussy. 🙂

Thanks for picking me up when my confidence had gone splat! Can’t wait to read your your novel!

Just plain strange
Signs I’m losing my mind: Forgot to wear a bra today when I went out this morning. Didn’t realize it till I got home and took off my coat and was like, whoa, it was chilly today, wasn’t it? 😉

From the “who’da thought it — I’m normal!” files: I had to do a psychological evaluation today for an assignment I don’t think I’ll be taking. The therapist said I am at risk for an anxiety disorder. Gee, ya THINK?!?! LOL. In any event, I am otherwise healthy, normal and sane, albeit braless.

I said good, because white coats are just not that flattering on me (braless or not), so he said he’d find one in pink. 😉 I think he was looking for depression in me, and that’s far from the case (ask anyone who’s talked to me lately — I’m poor but I’m happy!). My theory is that I would be suicidal, but that would mean having to clean the house for when my body is found, and well, life doesn’t suck that much to really want to do any kickass cleaning anytime soon! So I’m in for the long haul.

Stranger (of the Everyday kind)
Just wanted to thank Helen over at Everyday Stranger for a brilliant blog post wherein she has a moan (not that kind!) and writes letters to people, places and forces of nature.

Inspired, I submit the following:

Dear (my state):

I’m sorry that you don’t see fit to help me financially with money I paid to you in the first place that was to be reserved for helping people in times of need. Clearly, my own temporary hardships do not qualify to earn a small fraction of my money back until the wind fills my sails again. I realize that I am at an age where I should be shitting out babies and staying home; you begrudge me because I have only achieved the latter. My apologies for aspiring to the wrong goals in life.

Love,
Dawn

Strangers and sayings
So I actually went to the gym the other day, and I ran into someone I haven’t seen in forever — my good friend from the West Coast used to chat with him way back in her single days. I called her to report, “I saw an old friend of yours. I think his name is Beltway, right? Because that is the stretch of the road I remember you wanting to ride him up.”

(As if you couldn’t tell, our code for “oh, he’s hot” is “I’d like to ride that up the Beltway.) And that’s quite an expanse of Interstate!

Anyway.

Unless there are any objections, I’m going to go find a bra now. 🙂

On iTunes: Switchfoot, “I Dare You to Move”

In college, our professors used to be entertained by us because we had a penchant for naming files (graded design assignments!) as anything but what they really were. I recently opened up some old disks (I can’t open the files, though — old PageMaker documents!), and I was treated to such filenames as “Ginny is a Virgin,” “Nancy is a Lesbian,” “I’m a Little Pisspot,” “Idiot Savantes on Ice,” “Heart-on,” “Dave Wears Diapers,” “Coochie” and “Penii.”

Amanita saw a big, bad faux pas at the CNN website and caught a screenshot of it before it was ripped down. I’ve had my share of in-print mistakes (*cough cough “Shithead” cough cough*), and this made me sigh fondly (as well as, of course, in dearest appreciation of the CNN staffer who is probably unemployed right now!).

Link via the beautiful Swirl.

On iTunes: Alter Bridge, “In Loving Memory”

Subtitle: Jesus, won’t you buy a friend a beer

When life starts kicking your ass up and down Pennsylvania Avenue, everyone’s got their opinions on how you should handle it.

In Bush’s Kingdom, seems like everyone’s telling me to pray. The following graphic highlights instances of where this phenomenon is occurring to others like me:

The deal is that I have exactly four days to come up with my rent money (even though I told Shady Apartment Complex that I would need an extension because I’m waiting for an outstanding invoice that will cover most of it) or they lock me out. So is it possible to pray for the sky to rain cash?

In any event, the girls at the rental office had refused my plea (that I made more than a week ago) to give me a few extra days, telling me instead to pray. I had even told them that this month wasn’t going to be a problem; it was December that was worrying me, so could we save the humiliation for one measly month?

That answer was no, BTW.

Related, my grandfather gets ridiculously shoddy care at the Veterans Hospitals in Pittsburgh. I mean, they’ve let him have a stomach aneurysm for 10 years (and about six million other faux pas that I just don’t have enough bandwith to list them all), and what did they tell him at his last appointment (wherein they spent three minutes with him)? They told him and my mom to pray. (Is this contagious?) They also told my family to go to church every Sunday and sing hymns — that this would solve his medical problems.

So, after laughing my ass off at this, I came across the best hymnal while I was at the People’s Republic of Aimless Chatter (Thanks B!). …

On iTunes: Mojo Nixon & Jello Biafra, “Are You Drinking With Me Jesus?”

I promised myself I wouldn’t rant any more about the election. Really, this is it, and I promise to return to my regularly scheduled navelgazing after this. 🙂 Not in the mood for whining? Then move along. Honest, I won’t mind. 😉

I talked to my grandfather today (in Pennsylania — a blue state! yay!). He had assumed he was still eligible to vote, but apparently he wasn’t (he last voted four years ago — for Gore, god love him). So he went to his polling place on Tuesday and asked for a provisional ballot. The elections people said they were only giving out 12 provisional ballots per polling place, and he was too late. He was very disappointed he did not get to support Kerry. Apparently, he and a number of elderly people were turned away for the very same reason.

Argue with me all you want that we all knew this was going to be a ridiculously important election year. Point out the millions of PSAs that encouraged us to update our voter information, especially if we haven’t voted in a few years. (I do vote in the general elections; I’ve not historically educated myself by the time of the primaries.) But I guess I was kind of sad that my grandfather and several others like him went to the polls, assuming that if they’ve voted for the past 50 years, then they would be welcome to do so again this year. They assumed their votes would count for something. I had no idea about the 12-vote limit. Is it the same everywhere?

And I’m not faulting the system — I’m just hurt for him. Really, if my voter registration never expired, then I’d still be be registered 252 miles from here. Even if it expired every four years, same deal. I probably would have (prior to this election) only voted in presidential races.

But it’s difficult to explain to elderly people (who just don’t get out as often as they used to) that their vote doesn’t count if they haven’t A) voted recently or B) renewed. And to see it from his POV, he’s a World War II veteran; thus, it’s a shame to be turned away from the polls because he swore his registration was still current. This is such a misconception — thinking they’re active when they’re not.

Mom always told me to never discuss politics with anyone, but he and I have always had the best political go-’rounds. And I think he has hope for me that while I live here in D.C. that I will get involved in the process somehow. And I will, believe me. Just you wait! 😉 And part of will probably revolve around how you become inactive and what happens (*cough cough four more years of nonsense cough cough*) as a result!

I do have another political wish up my sleeve, though — I would love to see Northern Virginia grouped with D.C. when it comes to doling out electoral votes. Just sayin’. I’m too tired to come up with the full argument for it, because it ain’t ever gonna happen anyway. But it would have changed the outcome of this last election.

In any event, I am out of Bon Jovi albums to comfort me. I also had four bootlegs, and each one is screwed up in some way. What I’ve had, though, has gotten through the weekend (one of the most dismal of my young existence, by the bye). And now, I’m facing one of the hardest weeks of my life — and my strength has been waning. But my first love has inspired me to keep fighting the good fight. He just needs to make a new album to keep me afloat for a little while longer! 😉

On iTunes: Bon Jovi, “Dry County”

I would like to think I looked totally cute today, but it was a waste of an outfit.

Maddie and Kadi, however, are always adorable. They wish to hypnotize you with their cuteness. …

Mom always told me that, when things are at their worst, I should just keep it to myself because nobody else gives a shit. Today, I am going to take that advice and do what I always do when I’m at my wits’ end — I am going to play Every. Single. Bon. Jovi. Album. Ever. Made. Yes, kids, I’ve got 15 of ’em (some are imports). I’m going to go curl and tease my hair, put on some blue eyeshadow and jelly bracelets, and get balls-to-the-wall pretty. Damn it. LOL.

Nah, just kidding about that last part. Maybe. 😉

And, if you’re wondering, I’m over the election — my rock bottom is pretty much unrelated. With my last few cents, though, I bought my “Don’t Blame Me: I Voted for Kerry” bumpersticker. I just hope the car won’t be repo’d anytime soon! 😉

On iTunes: Bon Jovi, “Lie to Me”