Caterwauling

I’m fortunate enough to get to do some traveling throughout the year, and now that I live in a “big city,” I realize how small the world has become.

When I stepped on my first airplane 15 years ago (ironically, to come to the same city I’m in), it really was like landing on a different planet. There were so many things to see and do — so many stores and restaurants that just weren’t available to me at home. The travel bug had bitten me.

These days, I’m rolling through stores and thinking, meh, I’ll order it online. Suitcase space is at a premium because, unlike the old days, I’ve got to accommodate a laptop, camera, iPhone, and chargers for each. Hell, electronics get their own suitcase. But that’s the good thing about it — I can find a Disney store at my local mall and online. Sure, perhaps the cutest stuff is in the theme park shops, but if I go home and wish I’d gotten something, I *can* get it.

And when I get hungry, again it’s like “meh.” I try to look for things that I can’t get at home. Not that I go to the Planet Hollywoods and Hard Rock Cafes of the world by choice, but I COULD if I wantetd to. Instead, I chose to eat at Tutto Italia in Epcot’s World Showcase and have the best glass of wine a girl could enjoy there. (Incidentally, everyone in the Italy section of Epcot’s World Market is required to speak with an Italian accent. Even the Asian waiter. Talk about being in character.)

My hotel has a stunning view of Sizzler, Shoney’s, IHOP and Waffle House. Now, most aren’t available to me at home, but I don’t really care about those. 😉 I just hope that folks don’t arrive here from Idaho and think *wow* that must be some good Southern eatin’! (I admit I did partake of the Waffle House — I call it the colonic of the South, although that was yesterday and I’m still waitin’.)

I once thought this city was too big, too fast, too unfriendly. Now I’m used to it. Six-lane highways don’t bother me anymore. I’m impatient now, too. I’ve had more than one hotel worker ask me if I’m from New York. (Was it my awesome matching luggage in a color other than black or the fact that I abhor INVISIBLE COMPETENCE?

Y’all might have heard my rent check bouncing in D.C. as I decided to go on an unbudgeted theme park extravaganza. I did Epcot, Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. I’m not a theme-park girl but hey, it beats working. 😉

What’s also different now is that if I want to do something, I do it. I think I did my last Orlando adventure for about $400 — and that was saving up for several months because I made four bucks an hour. This trip was a total whim and I spent that much on the hotel before I even got here. No doubt I’ve spent that much on cabs and theme park tickets, too.

But the film on France at Epcot made it worth it. (The usher was awesome — in his fake French accent, he wished us “Buenos Noches” as we exited the theater. Hah!)

Last night, dinner was at Universal’s City Walk. And yes, I’m 8 years old and say “Shitty Wok” like they do on “South Park” every time I see a sign for it. Heh. 😉 I was between Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville or Bubba Gump’s Shrimp. Co. I opted for Bubba Gump because the drink menu was better, oddly enough.

It’s good to be a grown-up; I mean, I’ll be doing some VERY creative financing to recover from this trip, but at least I can. I figure, I’ve been pretty unhappy for the past five months, and not spending if I didn’t need to. This week? I needed to!

But no good times go unpunished, unfortunately. I managed to twist my ankle somewhere in there too, which is awesome because I have to wear heels for the rest of the trip. ARGH.

My foot is swollen and I had to take off my toe ring (I can’t find where I threw it, either.) I had to break down and buy a pair of Crocs, those ugly motherfuckers, and let me tell you — those are the most comfortable shoes I have ever owned. Of course I paid premium Disney prices for them, but insofar as souvenirs go, getting the feeling back into the bottom of my feet is a win. Unfortunately, that feeling is PAIN, but if I can wait till I get back to D.C. to seek medical attention, I suppose I will live.

I must have walked 40 miles in a brigade of boots, flip-flops, cheap Wal-Mart sneakers and now finally mah Crocs. My grandmother used to insist on buying good shoes, but I became the poor man’s Imelda Marcos and if there were no Payless or DSW, I’d never be able to afford them. But for saying I own about 120 pairs, I cannot name one that makes me look AND feel good. Perhaps Gram was on to something after all — she always said you can always buy new shoes, but you can’t buy new arches. I get it now. After this trip, where I’m ready to cut off my feet at the ankle, her advice finally makes sense.

Anyway, the fun ends first thing tomorrow. I’m doing some laundry now (who the fuck doesn’t put a change machine in the laundry room? I had to cart my gutchies and laptop around the hotel to find someone who could give me five bucks in quarters!) and am hoping for the best for the rest of the week.

But at least I had a couple of days of sun and fun and good food. And I’m not allowed to complain about going back to being overworked, because that’s what’s going to pay for this epic adventure after all. 😉

Via my favorite Boston Creme sweetie.

You Are a Caramel Crunch Donut

You’re a complex creature, and you’re guilty of complicating things for fun. You’ve been known to sit around pondering the meaning of life… Or at times, pondering the meaning of your doughnut. To frost or not to frost? To fill or not to fill? These are your eternal questions.

Somethin’ Chocolate indeed, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Had a lovely dinner with an attractive gentleman from out-of-town this evening. (Yes, we know each other and no, it wasn’t anything skeevy or questionable. Unfortunately!)

We hung out at the Red Rock Canyon Grill, and while my date was certainly photogenic, I instead captured the dessert, a lil somethin’ called “Somethin’ Chocolate.” Because every girl likes a lil’ chocolate. Well, more like a big, heaving heaping serving of it!

This included two brownies that tasted like they had some amaretto in them, surrounding vanilla ice cream, and topped with real whipped cream and cinnamon. Died —> went to heaven. Nom nom nom. …

Skipped church today. I am sort of bummed about that because it usually means I’ve gotten up early, scrubbed mah butt and gotten some religion before noon. Meanwhile, it’s close to 3 p.m. and I’ve finally done the daily butt-scrubbing, although I’m not exactly “going out” ready just yet.

I did, however, get to watch “The Soup” and the preview of “Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant,” not to mention finally catching up on “Celebrity Rehab,” so I do think it’s fair to say this has been my most-productive Sunday yet.

Spent last night in Kensington, Md., for a full evening of Dave & Buster’s for drinks and games, dinner at Bertucci’s and dessert at The Cheesecake Factory. White Flint blows for shopping, but as an eating destination? It’s a freaking dream. 😉

I made friends at D&B. I always do when I go out. It was mostly because we were contemplating the drink menu (my appetizer was a “tall” Guinness, which would have been enough to flood a small country) and I was spouting entirely too much knowledge of drink combinations and pop culture references. So we ended up befriending a couple who were listening to me babble and we started talking about the ’80s.

Which, if I may say, the female half of the couple? Wasn’t even on this planet for the first portion of the 1980s. And her date was older than me. I chuckle at these guys who pick up girls who are 20 years younger than them. Hey, no offense — more power to them. But he was telling me about his kids and I’m thinking, uh, they are probably your date’s age. 😉

In any case, my friend ordered a Sno-Cone drink, and it really did have a pretty gradient of colors, from pink at the bottom to purple in the middle to blue at the top. It tasted like a Now and Later (and of course the younger girl was all, “What’s a Now and Later?” and my friend and I had to walk away before the (gray) hairs stood up on our heads!

So I got the “Scooby Snack” drink this time around. I was sort of surprised when they handed it to me, because it wasn’t what I expected. It had coconut rum and banana liqueur in it, with a dash of Blue Curacao for color. The menu had said it would have whipped cream, but it didn’t, but oh well. As long as they don’t forget the booze, right? It was all good.

Anyway, the drink was delicious. But just as I was finishing it, my server found me and handed me another drink. I probably sounded like Scooby tee-heeing at getting two drinks for the price of one, as she said they made it “right” this time (she was out of whipped cream earlier).

You know what? The drink sucked with the whipped cream. I might have liked it had I not tasted the other version first, but meh. Now I know how to order it next time!

At dinner, my friend ordered a tiramisu martini at Bertucci’s, but wasn’t pleased with it. But before the server could take it back, I tried it and decided I was in love with it. It really does taste like tiramisu and if ever you should find yourself on a liquid diet, it would be divine. Next time, though, I’m sticking with “real” tiramisu, but in a pinch, the drink would definitely do.

I was thinking wow, I don’t remember much else about last night, but after all that booze, is it any wonder why?!?! 😉

Happy New Year, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

So there’s this new “Simply Vera” line at Kohl’s, and I picked up a pair of shoes for New Year’s to go with a cute, tiny Nine West purse of the same ash color that I was planning to wear. (Yes, I start with the purse, move on to the shoes and eventually find an outfit.)

Anyway, I had to buy the shoes a full size up because those bitches hurt in every other size I tried on. Yee-owch. Simply PAINFUL, people! Don’t you know how much hoofing around you have to do in D.C. to bar-hop on New Year’s Eve?!?!

We started the evening at La Tomate, which was lovely although speed of service is definitely not their specialty. As I was with a white-wine drinking crew, I ordered what turned out to be an ass-flavored Pinot Grigio — I was really salivating over the Amarone and the Sangiovese, but our bill was already a few hundred bucks without adding another buck-and-a-half for the chianti.

Anyway, it was an abbreviated menu, as restaurants are apt to do on such busy nights. Which SUCKS because I knew exactly what I wanted, going in, but had to make do with the limited selection. They kind of gave my vegetarian friend the run-around because there were no vegetarian dishes on the menu and it clearly said “no substitutions.” And the point was made very clear to them that their Web site made no indication that there were any changes to the regular menu for the holiday, so figure it out.

I had to laugh when they gave me the wine to sample before pouring it for the table. I asked my friend what they would have done had I said, “Holy shit, this tastes like battery acid!”

My dessert was sort of dismal, too. I ordered what, in Italian, sounded beautiful for pears and Parmesan cheese, but talk about truth in advertising — they cut up some pears and a few hunks of cheese and slapped it raw on a plate with a couple of leaves of lettuce.

Anyway, the slow service made us an hour late for the New Year’s Eve countdown performance at the D.C. Improv, which set us back nearly $80 each. We missed most of the opening act, Paul Morrissey, but he seemed pretty cool. (Did I mention that we were LATE and had the front-row table at the edge of the stage? Gah. That seating nightmare didn’t make it easy to slip in unnoticed.)

The headliner was Jeff Caldwell, who was awesome. Hell, he made fun of North Huntingdon, Pa., so he was all right by me. 😉

At 20 minutes till midnight, some drunken asshole yelled out, “You’re not making me laugh!” and we were ready to burn him at the stake. Sure, he’s no George Carlin, but still — give the guy a break. I mean, 300 people paid to see him, so he can’t be all bad, right?

We all yelled “Leave!” to the heckler, and out he went. Good luck finding another place to celebrate midnight — there were lines of people outside of every bar we passed between La Tomate and the Improv.

Anyway, we were given dollar-store party favors and the world’s WORST bottle of champagne EVER. It was by J. Roget, and a quick Google search says it’s about $3.99 a bottle. The “light straw” color is the same shade my urinalysis tests produce, so to say that the champagne tasted like it was transferred from a catheter bag to a bottle is probably the kindest thing I can say about it. Asparagus pee probably would taste better. *gag*

That’s how I know I’m getting older — I used to be able to drink ANYTHING alcoholic. And my championship boozing days have prepared me for nights like this. I’d already had a bottle of Pinot and some Riesling on top of it, so this champagne that put the “ass” in “battery acid” was just a chaser. The problem is, I had heartburn all damn night. Bah. No fun getting older!

In any event, all in all I had a good night, which I believe bodes well for a positive 2008.

The only unsolved mystery is, who was it that called me with a blocked number at 12 a.m. on the nose? I didn’t hear the phone ring over all the goofy music from 1981 that the Improv started blaring at midnight, but I am definitely curious who was thinking about me as the clock struck 12.

In any case, I wish you all the most joyous of years — when this one is over, I hope we all truly have much to celebrate!

One of my buddies just Twittered something interesting, that you can make your new year’s resolution/wish and have it printed on a piece of confetti that will drop over Times Square.

And just in case there’s an online archive of this stuff, I only submitted a fluffy wish, but I know what I truly want out of this year. Right now, it’s for me to know and y’all to eventually find out. 😉

I read something somewhere, that new year’s is a time to write down all your goals (I know, SO original). But the catch is that you write down where you want to be at the end of the year, but you don’t write HOW you’re going to get there. That made a lot of sense when I read it, because as soon as I start trying to figure out the steps and resources that will make certain goals possible, I write it off as too hard or even impossible.

But nothing is impossible, really. Now is a time for dreaming of where we’re supposed to be — the life we’re destined to have. I mean, I found two pairs of workout pants today that fit — divine intervention apparently DOES exist!

I was talking to my friend last night, and I said that once we quit working at the Veggie Patch, I guess I had assumed that life would be balls-out fabulous because we had escaped the environment that was suffocating us. And while life has indeed improved exponentially, on many levels, it just doesn’t feel as celebratory as I had anticipated.

She reminded me that we still haven’t gotten to where we’re supposed to be yet. That there are strawberry margaritas and white-sand beaches and hot-looking men at our beck and call who are awaiting our arrival. Heh. That made me happy … that we’re not yet the best versions of ourselves, but we’re on our way.

Speaking of getting my happy ass on its merry way, time to get cute so I can head out for the night. Here’s to hopefully making out with a random stranger at midnight — oh wait, that’s how I’ve kicked off most of the last few years, and see how those years turned out. 😉

OK, let’s revise that: Here’s to having a kickass time and starting the new year with as much hope, health and happiness as a heart can hold. And I mean that for all of us, especially if we can serve as the source of some of that joy for each other as often as possible.

One more: Here’s to wishes finally coming true, whether we’ve carried them around for years or we just had the light LED bulb flash over our heads and realized, yeah, that’d be quite all right, too.

A friend of mine joked that 2008 is the Year of the Douchebag. And to that, I say douchebags have owned pretty much every year. Instead, let’s make 2008 the Year of the Good Guys Actually Winning for a Change. I think our time has finally come, so let’s make it count!

Genius here thought she was going to go see the special sneak preview of “27 Dresses” last night, but alas, next time she’s not going to go to a theater that lacks online ticketing because it was SOLD OUT when I got there. *stupid stupid stupid*

I did get to see “P.S. I Love You,” which was terrific but I tend to judge a movie by whether it makes me cry, and it didn’t. But hey, I got to stare at Harry Connick Jr. and Jeffrey Dean “Denny Duquette” Morgan, the latter of whom sported a delicious Irish accent that made me knickers soggy. 😉 When I say the film had gorgeous scenery, I’m not just talking about its setting in New York and Ireland!

I was watching the song credits, and it looked like Gerard Butler actually did sing all the songs he performed in the movie. He was awesome as Hilary Swank’s husband — and man, speaking of Hilary, I know I’m not a fan of hers in general but are all wives as, I dunno, cunty as she was to “Gerry”? Sheesh.

Anyway, Gerry died but beforehand had planned out a series of letters and gifts, to be delivered posthumously, to help his wife through the grieving process and to let her know it’s OK for her life to go on and to be a good one. Pretty ingenious, actually, especially when sometimes your fondest wish is to get a sign from your loved one that they’re still around you somehow.

I wanted to love this movie. Really, I did. I liked it a lot, but other than probably watching it one more time when it comes to HBO, I’m mostly done with it. Then again, if I’m in a different state of mind and in a place where I can let myself cry, it might end up as a favorite after all.

In a form of rebellion not even seen in my teenage years, I left work! At 4 p.m.! While the sun was still shining!

I am killing time at my local Cosi, where my skim eggnog latte tastes like dry-roasted ass, they lost my order and the table full of teenage girls next to me are loudly snarfing in their food. And yes, they arrived after me. And don’t forget the speaker above my head that is BLARING Christmas carols. One of the workers said my sammich was going to be delayed and that he’d bring some bread for snacking on, but that was 10 minutes ago.

No big. Didn’t need the carbs anyway.

It’s like the universe punishes me when I take some time to myself. I decided I really want to take in a 7:30 p.m. movie without checking in at home. I never actually check in at home; I didn’t realize it was a requirement at age 33, particularly when I wasn’t all that good about it at 16. It’s just that I only have a few bucks left to my name and I either have to buy two movie tickets or one ticket and one sammich. You see which route I chose, and yes, I will probably choke on my Chicken TBM (tomato, basil, mozzarella) melt out of guilt if and when it arrives.

Wow, someone just turned down the radio volume AND my sammich came. And the six kids at the next table left. Hallelujah!

I was talking with one of my colleagues today about roommates (he has small kids). And I actually said I’d RATHER have kids than roommates. I said it was nothing personal against anyone I lived with, but the thing I found wrong with all of them was the fact that they were born — they were/are all lovely, lovely people, but I just don’t deal well with people being in “my” space. Another of my colleagues did my astrological chart and told me, point-blank, the same thing.

I was talking with Sabre today about my previous entry (i.e., I shouldn’t date Cancers). When she took the test, it told her clearly that she needs to stay away from Geminis. (And if you knew the history? Not only would you not BLAME her but you would FORGIVE her if she would never want to so much as SPEAK to someone with that sun sign … self included!)

I told her I think there are two types of Geminis, given that we all have two personalities. There are the drama mamas and the drama haters. I fall in the latter category but, unfortunately, you never know where the next Gem you meet is going to fall. And the less we like drama, the less tolerable we become, I think. My quest to be left alone has superseded all my other goals, of late, and I’ve become downright cantankerous sometimes when I don’t get what I demand. And that, in turn, qualifies me for the “drama mama” category. *sigh*

Before I snarf down my sammich, here’s a text-message conversation that celebrates the snark:

Friend; Merry freakin’ Christmas.
Me: Ho freakin’ ho.
Friend: I would KILL for a drink right now.
Me: Speaking of killin’, did you get through Xmas without acquiring a rap sheet?

I’m still waiting for an answer. I hope that isn’t a “no” … !!!

Speaking of, I just had to look at my phone for the conversation and see that I’ve missed some voicemails. Bah freakin’ humbug. …

I’d like to thank the City of Alexandria for refunding part of the income tax refund they robbed from me earlier this year due to my supposedly owing them property tax even though I only lived there for a half-year in 2006.

What irks me, though, is that while they did acknowledge that I spent the latter half of ’06 in D.C. proper, the fuckers kept the $25 decal fee (property tax sticker, for those not lucky enough to live in the Commonwealth o’ Virginia at any point in their lives) even though they never sent me the decal. (Not that I needed it, because again, I was registered in D.C.) These states will do anything for a buck and boo hoo if you disagree with how they’ll spend it.

I understand that sales tax is going up in Virginia and Maryland, which pfft. I do lots of shopping/activities in those wonderful areas, and again, anything these governments can do to anally rape you, they will. Happy freaking new year to you, too — isn’t it bad enough that everything already costs more here to begin with?

In any event, Christmas came and went at the Caterwauling chateau. I bought a turkey breast from Harris Teeter, which was yucky and dry, but luckily there were plenty of awesome side dishes to take its place. And sweet potato/cream cheese pie, also from HT. Proof positive that the universe really doesn’t hate me!

My feeling is that Santa got stuck in the chimney but he decided to crawl back up and not land with any presents. I did buy myself one thing, and as usual I find myself strapped for cash and feeling guilty about the purchase, so it might go back. It was the T-Fal/Food Network 4-in-1 Grill Station (in red!), which I’m sure is half-off at Kohl’s today but meh, ask me if I feel like fighting crowds today.

Actually, I do have to make a return today because I have something purchased 30 days ago and, alas, today is day 30 and that’s the return policy. Unfortunately, everyone’s so damned stinky — I was in line for an hour on Christmas eve and the woman in front of me was farting up a windstorm. *gag* Seriously, between the B.O. and the B.M.s that people are apparently making in public, the case for shopping online exclusively is pretty airtight.

But anyway, I wanted this stupid grill because I have this wild hair up my ass that’s making me crave panini sammiches. ‘Tis the season for grilled cheese, too. Mmm. But guess who never has any groceries in the house? Which means the grill is destined for the tower of boxes in the dining room that includes about four different coffeemakers, an iced tea maker, indoor grill, outdoor grill, sandwich maker, toaster, blender and whatever else I have but I’m forgetting about. What can I say: I’m a Gemini — I like gadgets. Preferably vibrating ones, but ones that are edible or contribute to making edible things work, too.

In any case, Christmas is over. Yay. The tree remains undecorated — now to pack up the fucking thing for another five years (*sigh*). But for the first time in my life, I heard/understood the story of the nativity. I guess I’d always written off the Bible as being equally non-fictional as Santa Claus, but this year I tried to keep an open mind. I guess I needed to believe in some magic, and it was actually kind of comforting to get why we celebrate Dec. 25 as we do (or should do).

I love how the angels came and spoke to people directly, and that they believed it and did what they were told and that they were rewarded with a miracle. I guess I wonder why the angels don’t talk to us anymore, but I figure they gave up because we all stopped listening.

Guess I should do some work or shower or something useful like that, speaking of avoiding the voice that’s telling me to hop to it, already. Hope y’all had a Merry Little Christmas!

My tree stands undecorated, the house looks like a hurricane went through it, I left work at 10 p.m. and I’ve got another hour to devote to it today so I can enjoy my damn holiday already, and I’m supposed to go to a Christmas party tonight.

No complaints — just too brain-dead to keep plugging when all I want to do is eat and sleep. And eat. I’m very stressed right now. And I stress-eat. (Five Guys burger for breakfast, anyone? Don’t think I didn’t.) I was too tired to eat “real” food last night (although the office was filled with sweet treats in all our myriad kitchens), so yum.

Anyway, I just bought my ticket to go somewhere on New Year’s. We’re looking at nearly $100 for the honor of being “somewhere” and getting a glass of champagne and maybe some cheese and crackers. We’ve also got dinner reservations beforehand, which I am looking forward to. (And will probably cost as much as the midnight event!)

The way I figure, there is no Christmas in my house this year, but if there’s one holiday I need to celebrate, it’s New Year’s. I am a firm believer that whatever you’re doing at midnight will set the tone for the year. Last year I was with friends, and although my year turned to absolute shit, I figure it at least started off on the right foot.

I also made reservations on New Year’s day for a nice restaurant. Yeah, I’m starting off the new year broke as all hell but at least I won’t be hungry. 😉

It was a struggle to decide to go out because there are so many obligations (read: guilt trips, mostly self-inflicted) to overcome. But I had the choice to greet the new year wishing that I were somewhere else, or else I could go out and be overjoyed that I was out doing something fun and hopefully memorable. A friend gave me the advice to buy the ticket and make a commitment for the next day to balance the skipping out for midnight.

In that, everybody wins — and I win twice.

And that, my friends, is an occasion worth celebrating. If the new year brings double the wins, then it’ll be a delightful year, indeed.