Caterwauling

I wasn’t going to go out last night, but rare is the day I will miss a D.C. blogmeet with the usual suspects. It was a small gathering this time ’round, as April brings chaos and destruction for everyone (myself not excluded, as I should have been packing rather than guzzling cherry-wheat bear at the Cap City on New York Avenue with the gang), but the escape was worth it, as always. Even if it meant fighting through residual tourons who’d attended the parade.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to be in the company of Pat Sajak and Anthony Federov (from last season’s “American Idol”)? Although don’t hate, but I wouldn’t have minded seeing Martha Wash. Anyway. …

Thanks to the lovely Cat, who always manages to herd us cats together, and as always, I was happy to see brand-new daddy Buckethead (welcome Jocelyn!), The Wonder Formerly Known as Blogless, friend and current neighbor Neil and new neighbors (squee!) Nic and Vic. Good times, as always!

As it was a chilly night and I didn’t want it to end sooner than it had to (and as I was dumb enough to drive into D.C. — like I didn’t learn last week and every time I try that it takes an hour to drive 11 miles), I offered to take Nic and Vic home. And they humored me as I told them this long-winded story about, well, someone I don’t talk about here (as I would not necessarily enjoy being hunted down and killed or, at least, whined to about it).

SHARED PASTS

And it got me thinking more about blogging in general — how goddamned clever we all have to be to not get “caught” in this Information is King kind of world. But moreover, no matter how much we all exist independently (at least, I seem to), anything in our past is inextricably tied to someone else’s. And there’s a code of honor in protecting the shared past, even though sometimes you don’t want to respect it — you just have to.

I think that’s the underlying principle beneath so many of us getting in trouble with family members and employers past — we’ve spoken outside the family. It’s all well and good to know you’ve got the drunken uncle (or a challenging upper-management-type), but you are ordained by some unspoken code of internal ethics to never EVER mention it.

Same thing with exes and ex-friends and whomever else — even though you find a story repugnant or hilarious or something you just really wish you could have some help processing, unfortunately, you can’t talk about it online. I mean, you can, but it’s not worth opening the can o’worms. It’s like saying Beetlejuice — every time I so much as hint at someone from my past, whomever shares that past appears like an STD outbreak.

Which is why the blogmeets have become something of alcohol therapy. You get to see the faces and hear the details behind stories you’d never have any indication ever existed. Because we all have secrets, things we want to get out into the open — and we want someone who will listen and tell us we aren’t crazy (or, conversely, someone who tell us when we ARE).

Let’s face it, we all become smarter and more attuned to each other and also more informed about all kinds of neat trivia and tidbits that you can only glean from hearing someone else’s point of view about the world. Anyway, I don’t have any a lot of friends, but the companionship found at these meetings is powerful enough to tide me over for awhile and really, truly look forward to the next excuse to get together again.

IF ONLY EVERYONE WERE AS FABULOUS AS MY D.C. BLOGGER FRIENDS

Speaking of people about whom I need to blog, I am so counting down the days till I am out of my apartment complex. We have one functioning washer in the basement; I finally finally got to use it today. (I’ve had to be creative with my attire these past few weeks. And not in a good way — all my favorite pieces were in a heap on the floor because I have to either fight with 15 other units for time at that one washer or go to the United Nations laundromat. Which, ugh.)

Anyway, my load had just finished and I raced downstairs with one more, only to find a neighbor just about to empty the washer of my duds so she could use it. Ew. I ended up ripping my clothes out of the washer myself and, skipping the dryer, dragged them and the detergent and the needing-to-be-washed load back up three flights in a fit.

I of course was in a frothy fit that she was waiting to claim the machine and even though she offered for me to keep it for one more load, I was too annoyed to see straight. I did one of my usual, “I’ll be so fucking glad when I’m out of here.” (She really is a nice person; I just get mad that I can never get the fucking machine and it’s obnoxious to have to run up and down the steps 20 times to check in vain.)

The weird part? She said, “What? You’re not staying in the complex?” And she was shocked, even though they’re dicking her around because they decided to build a FITNESS CENTER instead of finishing the renovations on the first building. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.

So, what the complex is doing is evicting her but as her new unit won’t be ready till sometime in June, they want to put her into ANOTHER unit that hasn’t been renovated yet. Meaning, let’s bounce her down a couple of buildings only for her to move on up later.

She’s fighting it; she wants to stay here till the intended unit is ready. Which, I don’t see why McManagement is being weird about it — per the memo I received, they’re acting like new tenants are coming into my unit. Because they were dumb enough to pre-emptively and foolishly forfeit rent on a third of the complex for an undetermined amount of time.

I get the feeling that I can leave this place spic-and-span and I still won’t get a fraction of my deposit back, as they are hemorrhaging money into repairs and not making it back because they’ve exiled a third of their tenants. What a brilliant scheme!

They say nonprofit organizations survive despite themselves; clearly, the adage can apply to big, dumb realty companies. And my neighbor wonders why I want to leave here — I really can’t come up with a reason NOT to!

HISTORY REALLY DOES REPEAT ITSELF

In sum, though, when I was looking at moving into my current place back in 2003, there was another place I loved down the street. But I didn’t want to pay the higher price, even though I adored the layout — that was a “you pay utilities” situation and I wasn’t making any money and I also wasn’t stupid — I took this nice enough place that had everything included.

And now? The situation has presented itself again. I had an all-utilities-included place on backup. It was OK, I guess. The woman I worked with was wonderful. But I wasn’t in love with it. I like having utilities included for obvious reasons, but now that I’m moving closer to work, I’ll have more time, oh, *at* home and thus I need to love love LOVE it. And ironically, the new building is SO reminiscent of the unit I decided to walk away from, three years ago.

I didn’t invest in my current place. I didn’t even order checks to reflect this address. I didn’t buy any new furniture because I didn’t like the layout so I didn’t want to get anything that would only work here. But now, I am looking at new couches and bedroom furniture — not that I can afford it right now, but I’m slowly but surely getting into the groove of making big plans.

And I’m saying it right now — this is the last time I move before I move in with somebody. So either I’m going to DIE in my new apartment, or this is the last time I am going through this aggravation by myself. I always say “speak it into existence.” So now it’s out there. Blessed be.

In the meantime, I have a thousand things left to pack and only two boxes left. *argh*

I haven’t looked at my SiteMeter stats since God was a small boy, but given a recent troll infestation, I was trying to track down a parasite when I saw that someone else had gotten here with the search term:

“I’ve got the feeling for the flavor of the coochie.”

*bwahahahahaaaa* Methinks you were looking for the “Wash the Coochie” song. Enjoy!

There are days when you feel as though the world is sucking out your soul through a coffee stirrer jammed into your jugular, and then there are days when all finally feels right. Today? Is the latter.

I’m on my way to see my friend (finally!). We just got off the phone. Normally, when she’s on the phone, her little girl will squeal, “Talk Aunt Dawn!” and we will talk and she will tell me she loves me and then she’ll kiss and lick the phone. Ew. But today, she took a nap here on the same coast and in the same city as me, and when she awakened, she said, “See Aunt Dawn!” And I got the call to come visit. Which, squee!

I have a doll for Alex that’s as big as she is. I wasn’t sure what to get for Jordan, so I settled on a sleeper that says “I’m crawling and I can’t get up.” Stupid, yes, but he’s outgrown the very cute sleeper I bought him six months ago that’s still wrapped in Sesame Street paper and sitting in my desk drawer. Mom says that can go in my hopeless chest, although she’s worried that with me being around a toddler and an infant, her dreams of grandmotherhood will be shot in half an hour. And she’s probably right. 😉

Anyway, I could tell when Shan’s plane landed. The air felt different. Even though I’ve been sort of inaccessible since then (Tuesday night), I’ve still felt better because we’re finally in the same city again, even if only for a few days.

It’s cruel how the universe has placed me in a city that’s not-convenient to my family (although I might argue that it’s just far enough away for me) and insanely far from my friend — she’s like the sister I never had. (Incidentally, I do have a half-sister with the same name, but I’ve never met her and don’t need her.) Shan’s the sister I was meant to have, and while I get frustrated not seeing her as often as I want to, I’d be a hell of a lot worse off if we’d never met at all.

And tonight, it feels amazing to go not only see people I’m dying to see, but who are equally thrilled to be in the same room with me. This is what I’ve missed most, living on my own in D.C. Having a family or something close to it, having people around whom I can drop that ever-present guard of barbed wire and electric fence.

A number of you have written to me and asked about my new apartment complex — why I had to be in that particular one. Why I didn’t look around more and compare amenities and prices and even neighborhoods. It’s because the place has a concierge — a freaking activities director. Because they organize social events and outings and dinners and parties and all kinds of stuff I don’t get to do due to time/effort/will to live constraints. I’ll have that time again. I’ll have that spark again. And I will hopefully be able to network and light up again instead of only knowing the difference between each day by what’s on television that particular night.

Anyway.

I’m off to have the best night that I’ve had in a looooonnng time!

As I could not bear the thought of yet ANOTHER day of soup for lunch, I said fuck it and ate half a box of Samoas. Next time I whine about the size of my ass, I will be ashamed of this post. And likely, I will also long for more Samoas. … 😉

I’m just shy of 60,000 words in my NaNoWriMo novel (upward of 200 pages). I’ve tried to sneak back to it here and there, and I’m always thinking about it. Writing books is my first love, and I hope that this coming November’s endeavor is equally exhilarating!

I haven’t gone more than a week without blogging since, well, 2001. So, please excuse the twitching as I try to overcome my withdrawal — I’ve blogged in my head all week and now that the site is functional again, I find myself with a lot to say and no idea where to begin.

I did, however, write in my paper journal and I have been adding to my NaNoWriMo novel. (I hit my 50,000 words on Nov. 30, and I am just a sentence or two shy of 60,000 as of today.) I can’t go TOO long without writing!

FOR ALL TWO OF YOU WHO NOTICED MY ABSENCE

I stopped blogging three times in my life. Once was in 2001, three months after I set up my first Diaryland blog (*sniffle* — memories!). I was trying to cope with something I really couldn’t talk much about, and I set up a private page. Then I sort of left it unupdated for awhile (I worked a stressful, all-consuming job. And my boss? At first we thought she was Satan’s Handmaiden. But then we realized that nope, this was in fact Satan — the daily hot pitchfork in the ass should’ve been a dead giveaway.)

What I didn’t know then is that blogs go dead if you don’t update them after awhile. Whoops. Diaryland was NOT helpful in my request to restore my heartbreaking entries. Which, while that was some of my best writing, it was the healing that it spurred that I needed to take with me.

Then there was that pesky incident in 2004 when I ripped the blog down after I realized it had been found by unfriendly eyes. After going into hiding, the “other parties present” trailed me again, so I gave up on that and started the MyName.com blog, which morphed into this one.

But seriously, THANK YOU for the e-mails. But no, the very vocal webhosting group did not give me the boot (although I did migrate elsewhere to a host that, while the tech support isn’t as superb, my new package doesn’t come with offensive name-calling in the comment box, unwanted e-mails or “interestingly worded” cease & desist letters).

Nor was the blog found at work (they already know about it and we spend so freaking much time together that they have no need to read it — it’s not like I have enough time to come up with new material that they haven’t heard already!).

Christ, it occurs to me that I move apartments as much as I move websites! (And yes, that’s happening in May, too. Gah.) But I can’t think that far ahead — I have enough disasters in progress.

ONE DISASTER AT A TIME, PLEASE

So I was driving to work at 6 a.m. the other day (I had this Big Project that I could seemingly only accomplish during off-hours — early/late at the office and latER at home) when my phone died.

Cingular and I haven’t been getting along. Moreover, it was the former AT&T Wireless that’s been getting my goat. I renewed my contract (AGAIN) in December (I’ve been with them for five years), at which time I bought phones and got a paltry rebate. I’d asked at the time of purchase if they could just apply the rebate as a credit to the account, but that was a production (as was everything else) and ultimately a no.

Two months went by — no bills, no nothing. My old account was suspended immediately and I couldn’t create a new account for weeks. When I finally could set up a new account online, I saw that my bill was $11. Whatever. I paid it.

Suddenly, I owe them a shitload of money. And they’ve called every fucking day and sent a letter every two days, wondering where I am. And where was my stupid rebate? It got here yesterday. So what did I do? Went online and paid the fucking bill WITH THE REBATE. LIKE I’D ASKED TO DO IN THE FIRST PLACE.

I still have to settle the former AT&T account, but at least my phone won’t be turned off now.

So, I was driving to work during that 6 a.m. morning when the phone died. I was listening to my MP3s on it, and the thing, although fully charged, petered out.

And as I drove along the Potomac River, I looked up at the sky and pretty much did a, “Look God, I get it. I understand all the trials. I will overcome them. But I am NOT as strong as you think I am. You’ve got to throw me a bone because I am CRUMBLING.”

It wasn’t just because of the phone. It was also because my best friend from Oregon had called me the night before to say her husband has a job interview and D.C. and that she would be accompanying him. But the kicker? That they were arriving the DAY I am going to New York and leaving TWO DAYS before I come back.

I seriously was going to call in dead. There was no way I could go to New York and miss seeing her. I’m already having a wee bit of a tough time (not a bad time, just a tough time) in every single life domain, and this? Was going to be the death of me.

IN WHICH THE HIGHER BEING DOES THROW A BONE

She left a VM for me that night, saying they will be in town two days earlier than expected. Whee! OMG, holy shit THANK YOU, UNIVERSE! And my always-cool boss allowed me to take some seriously short-notice personal days so that I can see her and not be a raving bitch for the New York trip. (I’ll only be my usual level of bitch, which is too exhausted to rave. LOL)

We’ve already got plans to do our “old usual” of manicures and much beer-drinking at Bennigan’s. She’s bringing the kids, too, so well, I hope they like beer. 😉

Seriously, how cute are these two?

Alex looks just like her dad, and Jordan is the spitting image of his mom. I haven’t seen Alex since October 2004, but we talk on the phone once a week. I’ve disowned other friends for making me talk to their kids on the phone, but Alex always asks for me and she loves to chatter. She blows kisses and, lately, has taken to putting the phone up to Jordan’s ear and telling him, “Talk Aunt Dawn!”

Alex called me at work yesterday (via her mom, of course). She wanted to say, “See you soon!” Which was promptly followed by an “I’m pooing, Aunt Dawn!” At which time I told my friend I might need to go to New York early after all. 😉

Anyway, life has SUCKED and continues to kick my ass, but that we only seem to have two six inches of snow and not the 14 we were warned to expect — and that my lifeline is coming back to town and maybe someday eventually for GOOD (which she will because her husband is a charmer and he will undoubtedly win over the interviewees when they meet him!) — life is definitely looking up.

That and I do love New York.

Well, maybe I will THIS trip. At this point, there’s no reason not to. 😉

I have to tell you, your e-mails asking if my webhost shut me off like they did a certain someone else not too long ago made my day. Really. 😉

But alas, I’m the one who’s been tinkering behind the scenes in an attempt to upgrade and stuff. I can’t import MySQL for some unknown reason and I really don’t love the new WordPress, so consider this a disaster area space to be under construction for awhile.

Oh, and thanks to the idiot who hacked the site while it was down. Really. Bravo. I curse you with scab-inducing, pus-filled crotch rot.

In any event, it’s Super Bowl Sunday, so GO STEELERS!!!!!

Several of us are getting together tomorrow (Saturday) evening to wreak havoc talk shop about our plans for world domination.

Drop me a comment if you want the details and if we can reserve a seat for you (locale is Metro-friendly). Or as one participant e-mailed, “Me and my shadow will be there. My shadow doesn’t need a seat, though the voices in my head might insist on a separate table.”

Yeah, this is a fun group like that. 😉

So.

(*drums fingers on keyboard*)

Whose blog am I not reading (or linking) that I should be?

In honor of Punxsutawney Phil and Groundhog Day, come out of your holes/shells/worlds and introduce yourself or the can’t-miss blog on your list. (UPDATE: Six more weeks of winter. Thanks a lot, you furry little fucker.)

Janet asked the question for herself awhile ago, and Pratt graciously recommended me, of all people. (He won serious brownie points with me, not like he needed any more!) Anyway, that’s how I found Janet, who’s a treasure.

Now, it’s not like I need any new blogs to read — I only get to my buddies daily if they provide full RSS feeds. Even an excerpt feed is better than none at all. I’m a busy gal — I don’t get “out there” in the blogosphere as much as I used to.

Anyway, if you’d like to nominate someone (or yourself — I don’t know you’re out there if you’re not commenting!), feel free to drop a note in the comments.

And while this is NOT a test to see if anyone’s actually reading ME, I’ll feel very lonely and neglected if nobody sees/acknowledges this message. *sniffle*

OK, in reality, I’ll see something shiny and forget about this post, but this is a challenge to wow me, dazzle me, caress my imagination with come-hither prose. And I know y’all don’t back down from THAT kind of challenge. …

For those of you who’ve been following this saga, here’s the latest installment:

http://qwk.net/quibbling.html

Who knew 7-year-olds were so precocious at HOTLINKING IMAGES and STEALING BANDWIDTH? One would think that if the child were so adept at theft, a lil LemonParty action wouldn’t have offended her so.