Caterwauling

I might has well have just gone “out” out yesterday, for all the money I ended up spending.

Fuck you, Montgomery County “Safe Speed,” for the ticket and the late fee. You’ll get it even later now. I’d like to issue you a cordial invitation to eat me. 😉

Speaking of things that make my crotch twitch, I went to Toys R Us to get a gift for a kid who has the misfortune to be under the care of Human Services. And what a clusterfuck that turned out to be. Not just the rude people in the toy store who bang into you with their carts and can’t control their children’s screaming (why take the fruit of your loins, for whom you are shopping for Christmas, into the toy store? Leave them home. Or at least, leave them in the car. Or in front of one), but have you ever tried shopping for a kid you don’t know?

I mean, I had all kinds of educational sugar plums dancing through my head — LeapFrog and the like. But these sorts of things count on the gift recipient being in a house with a TV or a computer. And you can’t count on that. Hell, it’s not even like you can buy them a DVD of whatever popular kids’ movies there are out there because they may not have a DVD player, either.

One thing I knew going into this, you don’t want to give toys that have a lot of parts to them. Like the awesome kits with cars or dinosaurs or robots that have 20 billion tiny bits that a kid can choke on, but more importantly, if this kid is getting moved a lot between foster homes and/or between foster parents and birthparents, then you really need to focus on one bigger thing that they can take and it will sort of be one of their “constant” items as they leave old homes behind.

That said, I went with a big remote-control truck. And I bought the batteries, too. Because it’s rude to give a kid (or a woman) a product that requires lots of batteries but they can’t play with it until someone runs to the store. Have you ever turned on a toy and had no functioning batteries in the house? Gah. My grandmother always used to talk about women who “rode the bathtub rim.” Shit, I can see where that might be an option in a moment of desperation!

What I find odd about this toy drive was that we’re expected to wrap our gifts, but we can’t put a gift tag on it. Which is bizarre because when I was in human services, you didn’t want people wrapping things because you didn’t want to give little Timmy what you THOUGHT was a Magic 8-Ball and then find out that it was a delicious 8-ball of CRACK that his mom certainly enjoyed. 😉

But even though you can’t put a gift tag on it, you’re supposed to indicate who the gift is for. The hell? I bought red sparkly paper with glittery presents on it — no place to write on that. Besides, the only marker I have is RED.

Anyway, against my better judgment, I went shopping for me afterward. And I found a suitcase that matches a weekender bag and a laptop bag that I already have. I was so flippin’ annoyed, because I have been looking for this particular suitcase for more than a year. And yesterday, I found it. Yarr.

Of course I bought it. Food for the next week? Fuck it — I’m going away in February and I will be able to use my new suitcase!

And you KNOW if I didn’t buy it when I saw it (and it WAS the only one on the shelf), I’d be regretting it. So yay, I finally have a matching set of luggage again, and one that’s NOT black, because it’s nice to know I won’t be fighting with people that, “No, that really IS my bag — who the hell else has hot pink tags and purple ribbons all over their stuff?”

I was just sitting here wishing I could sit on Santa’s lap (facing him or not facing him. Whichever) and ask for the panini grill I’ve been coveting and the “Great Grilled Cheese” book that would accompany it beautifully.

In any case, because it isn’t the season of treating myself, I’ll shelve that purchase till a quarter after never (besides, when the F am I home to cook?). But I just because I can’t cook doesn’t mean I don’t know how to order great meals. Here’s some of the great food I got in Vegas a coupla weeks ago that I remembered to Memorex with my camera phone. Nom nom nom. …

Strip Steak — If you’re hungry and you really didn’t need that rent money, you HAVE to go to Strip Steak. The side dishes alone are enough to make the trip worthwhile, and we had plenty of bleu cheese scalloped potatoes, lobster mashed potatoes, truffled mac and cheese, and duck-fat fries.

Oh, where was I? Yeah. The photo is of my delicious appetizer of lobster grilled cheese and creamy tomato soup. You can see why I want a panini press — I just wish I had lobster to throw between the bread I don’t have, either. 😉

The Web site says “Average Check Per Person: $110.” Hah! That’s apparently for skinny people. Allocate about double that, especially if you want a yummy, yummy steak. And you know you do!

Circo — Veal tenderloin with grilled fennel, accompanied by a glass (or five) of Amarone chianti. Appetizer was lots of raw seafood and dessert was something decadent, if memory serves. But then again, every restaurant tends to forget my dessert, so I’ve typically learned to stop ordering it. I can take a hint!

Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill — Lamb porterhouse chops, although the real delight of the meal was the roasted pumpkin soup with the cinnamon crema and pomegranates.

All this sure makes anything I might have for dinner tonight look ghetto and depressing. Oh well — just makes me appreciate the finer things when I can have them!

Am sitting in the Reno/Tahoe airport, wondering why no one in this city has a reasonable gift shop. Not that I want to commemorate this trip with a souvenir shot glass (however appropriate that may be), but the only thing I saw was a really cute Lake Tahoe shirt. Unfortunately, the shirt only came in size small, and when I asked the cashier whether there were any additional sizes available, she said no and asked if she could wrap up one of the ones on the rack. Hahaaaaa. Maybe if I sewed together two of them! Please. How dumb can one be?

That’s been the overarching theme here: stupidity. As a gal on the hotel shuttle noted, everyone here is in their own little world. I mean, I was driving through downtown Reno the other day, and I wanted to yell to these idiots who jaywalked on the main drag, “Don’t you know there are D.C. drivers on your streets?!?!” Lord. The right of way is always yours. Well, it’s never really yours, but you fight for it anyway.

Keeping with the “strange city” theme, we had drinks in the sports book last night (OMG, best bloody mary of my life. Or, at least, this month), and some dude was playing Solitaire at the next table. With a deck of cards. Not one of the billion, oh, MACHINES in the casino.

Upon further inspection, I noticed that the cards were the ones being sold in the “gift shop” — ones with people’s names on them. A generic “Tom’s Deck of Cards” was what he was playing with. I might venture that this was the ONLY full deck he was playing with! 🙂

Another strange sighting: The casino servers are size-zero women who are in high-cut bathing suits all day. But what’s hilarious is that they are practically naked, but they’re all walking around in black orthopedic shoes to match their teeny black panties. I don’t blame them — once I passed 30, wearing heels all day and night got REAL old — but they’re only sexy from the ankles up.

Speaking of all things sexy (that one’s for you, V!), we did a big video shoot yesterday. And after losing sleep for weeks over this thing as I scripted it, well, the talent had no desire to follow said script. And it’s OK, because we did get some good footage when he went off on his tangents. But still — I spent Sunday night scripting extra things we wanted to film, and we never got around to it. *bonk* I missed out on my Jacuzzi to work on that shit, so I am not the happiest camper on earth, especially since it was one of the nights I was paying for at the hotel.

In better news, last night we went to hands-down the best sushi restaurant I’ve ever been to, Oceano. What kills me is that I am THRILLED to leave Reno and never come back, but God damn, I will be craving that stupid Oceano roll till the end of time. Yum.

It’s Halloween and all the hotel and airport workers are be-costumed. And it’s funny how these normally surly people with whom I’ve spent the last four days suddenly cheered up once they were in their festive garb. Reminds me of Denim Day at work — everyone was so freaking peaceful. Amazing how a slight change of routine can make such a difference. Which is why I’m in a really good mood today, no doubt. 😉

Personally, I’m dressed as the hoe of Tahoe. I picked up a very tacky sparkly shirt at Ross (yes, that’s where I did all my souvenir shopping) and HOO BOY are the girls out in full force. I didn’t realize till I sat down and men started staring at me that this lil empire-waist number meant the ta-tas were so readily exposed.

But I needed a shiny, tacky frock to remind me of my wild weekend in the “Biggest Little City in the World” — and I couldn’t wear it to the Halloween parade at work today, so it’s only appropriate to get its first and only use in this neon mountain town!

The big excitement of my day was having breakfast at Jack in the Box, so as far as Reno being a destination city? Is about the equivalent of telling people they have got to visit Rockville, Md.

However, this place is starting to grow on me. I cannot count how many times I’ve been hit on. By good-looking men. FBMs, as my friend would call them. I may have to move here — it’s apparently not hard to be considered attractive. 🙂

I parted with my rental car this afternoon. I’ll tell you, that’s been one of the best pickup props ever. I’ve had men telling me they were considering buying one, and they ask me how it handles and if it’s four-wheel drive and whatever. I of course was truthful when I said I didn’t even know how to put the windows down or switch the radio channel to something other than the Sirius hip-hop station. But I didn’t admit that it took me 20 minutes to figure out how to turn on the headlights. 😉 A girl’s got to keep SOME secrets.

It may not hurt that I’ve been hanging out at the sports book. I haven’t gambled at all because, really, why lose the money when I can go spend it at airport gift shops?

Of course, it figures that I gave up the rental car. Since then, there have been torrential downpours, and all the shit that we need to go to is within walking distance. *bonk*

Speaking of, we need to leave for dinner in 20 minutes and people’s flights are being redirected and the whole party is far from being on-site.

In any event, being in a casino is literally intoxicating. I just ran downstairs to have a smoke, and I feel like I’m drunk. Maybe it’s the jet lag setting in, or maybe it’s the insanity that comes with being in a glowing neon wonderland, but I’m ready for a nap and the really grueling leg of this journey hasn’t even begun yet. I was thinking of skipping the wine tonight, as it would be my first drink since I landed. But, hell, when have I ever turned down a good glass (or 10) of wine in my life?!?!

Speeding ticket: $40
Cell phone bill: $400
Late-arriving car insurance bill: $340
Monday being a planned vacation day but now full of meetings: yarr

Knowing I’m getting the fuck out of Dodge tomorrow
and have a Jacuzzi suite in the mountains for two nights?: Priceless

Am hanging at Noodles & Co. with a bad case of PMS and a newsletter that refuses to die and a computer that’s threatening to do just that. (Have PMS or die. Whichever.)

Dude, Thai curry soup and Wisconsin mac & cheese. The ultimate in comfort foods. OMG, I would have been so much NICER today if I’d ingested all this pasta earlier. Of course, I would also have been asleep. Which doesn’t bode well for the NEWSLETTER FROM HELL’s fate tonight, natch.

Have to be on the road around 6:15 a.m. tomorrow for the first of a three-day adventure to a different city. It would be less painful if there were a hotel stay involved. Am hoping not to get carsick in the carpool, as that would ruin the hour-and-a-half of pre-meeting time before the nine-hour meeting time and hour-plus commute home. I don’t suppose I can smoke? Hahahaaaaa.

Cannot. Stop. Eating. Cheesy. Noodles. Nom nom nom zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. …

… And I don’t. …

Have been busy with work. (Shocker, I know!) Mostly it’s good but the occasional color-me-unimpressed moment tends to bug me perhaps more than it should.

Oh well. This coming Thursday is Chocolate Day (I thought it was today. Rats), in which we import enough of the addictive stuff to feed every animal in the National Zoo (perhaps not the worst analogy here) and we feed from the river o’ chocolate all damn day. Which entails a lot of bouncing off walls and unbuttoning of pants, because WHO NEEDS REAL FOOD WHEN YOU HAVE CHOCOLATE?

I was mistaken and assumed Chocolate Day was today. Because, really, a girl needs something to look forward to. And come to think of it, I’m working off-site next week, so I shall miss the delightful festival o’ calories. I had been wondering, actually, how to bake/buy for it when I get home after 8 p.m. every night. Shit, my contribution to Chocolate Day would have to be bringing a friend because who the fuck has time to assemble anything? I mean, until there’s a drive-thru that serves chocolate (oh, I can dream), I can’t contribute anything but my taste buds.

Speaking of morale-boosters, tomorrow is our very first (and only) day we can wear jeans. And it’s pretty sad — I was looking at my closet and saw 30 pairs of jeans and at least 40 jeanskirts. I used to be called “The Denim Queen” (mostly after I lost my “One Night Stand Queen” tiara although I wouldn’t say I’ve gone on to bigger and better things. *sniff*). I miss being able to either go out after work or at least wear jeans to work regularly. There’s a whole half of my walk-in closet that goes virtually ignored because it’s casual wear.

I’m hoping everybody behaves well and dresses nicely in jeans tomorrow, and I hope our productivity is as good as ever so that maybe I can get to access the far reaches of my neglected closet with more frequency. Although it is probably more likely that Chocolate Day will move from being an annual event to a daily one. …

Oy.

Returned to work yesterday with a mere 12-hour shift. You know, I had a friend in Pennsylvania who had a meeting in D.C. yesterday and made it a day trip. We left our respective houses around the same time, only he drove four hours each way AND had time to have a meeting and have lunch. And guess which one of us got home first? Yep, NOT ME.

I actually attended my inaugural and perhaps final PubQuiz last Monday, because being able to be anywhere on a Monday at 7 p.m.-ish had to require a vacation day being taken. It’s all good, although I suck at trivia. (Royal Air Force? Seriously? Why on earth would I give up a spot in my brain for Melissa Etheridge lyrics for that?)

To my (small) credit, I was surprisingly knowledgeable during the Britney Spears round. 🙂 There was a question I missed that I shouldn’t have, and I was sort of annoyed, but my friends reassured me that it’s a GOOD thing when I don’t know absolutely everything there is to know about Brit-Brit. (Who, in fact, has to give up custody of her kids by noon tomorrow. Ahem.)

Oh well. When I say it’s good to be back to work, I absolutely mean it. I mean, you know that back-to-school MasterCard commercial where the little boys are dancing to the Parliament song? Blah blah, “Backpack: 20, Being with people who understand you: priceless.” Honestly, that was me dancing around my office yesterday.

Here’s the video, because I suddenly love it so:

Everyone popped in to say hi and welcome back, and it was truly like, wow! I haven’t seen you guys in forevah! Thank gawd I’m home! *resolves to never click heels to be taken away again*

Of course, then you get the snotty comments and the roadblocks and just plain grief from the ones who you needed to escape in the first place, and you’re reminded of why you had to get away in the first place. But at least I’m paid to deal with them. (Note on door, peeps. Is for reading.) But it’s the dumb shit you have to encounter on your “free” time that’s really aggravating.

Speaking of, I’m being summoned to the city to the north that I’ve grown to abhor to do some dirty work. If I have to cancel my plans, as October’s a very social month for moi, somebody is going to get a pointy-toed boot up their badonkadonk.

All I know is that Monroeville’s Red Roof Inn can suck my ass for keeping my iPhone charger (even though I sent them the URL of what it looks like to PROVE it’s mine) and the Greensburg Hampton Inn can eat me — their tub was filthy, General Manager Eric J. Kubas wrote me to say they can find no evidence that my claim can POSSIBLY be true.

I wasn’t looking for a free ride, just a courtesy of hey, that sucked and maybe there’s something wrong with your pipes. Asshole. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Speaking of smoke, damn it, I’m out of Marlboro Lights. …

French Pedi, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

I stopped for a French pedicure on Friday night, which was divine. I watched last season’s finale of “Desperate Housewives” as I got my calves massaged and my claws sharpened. I had to have mah talons lookin’ fine for my first/last stroll in the sand for the season.

Yesterday was spent in Chesapeake Beach, although I preferred North Beach for the frolicking part, as the Chesapeake Beach Resort & Spa seemed to lay claim to the only patch o’ beach for its guests. Pfft. North Beach was nicer, anyway.

There was a wedding taking place at Chesapeake Beach, and we ran into the groom on the boardwalk — he was smoking a cigarette and looking like he was being led to the electric chair. Mom had come down to visit, so I took her there to go to the beach and to have dinner at the Rod ‘n Reel (excellent food, shitty service. The server named Erin? Useless. I hated leaving a tip, when the people at the next table had the most-attentive server in the world). But the crab imperial? To die for. Anyway, Mom saw the groom before the nuptials and said, “You look handsome.” And the groom? Would not stop staring in my eyes as we walked past him. I wouldn’t have minded getting married on the beach. 😉

I saw the bride. While she was tanned and blonde and looks like she hasn’t eaten anything since 1989, I had a way better disposition. Oh well. Good luck to him. I saw them after the wedding at the restaurant, as they’d rented out the Chesapeake Room, and boy was she snapping at everyone in the bridal party. *shudder* Welcome to married life, buddy. Hope you didn’t lose your hard-on for your wedding night.

Anyway, I saw their cake, and it was adorable. White, of course, topped with two tiny Adirondack chairs and covered in chocolate seashells and sea horses, and accented with tiny expanses of white-picket fences.

Speaking of men, there was a very nice and good-looking guy on the beach who offered up his bed for the night so I wouldn’t have to drive back to D.C. in the dark. I don’t think he meant it in the way that he would sleep on the couch. 😉 His name was Egan. He suggested eating at Neptune’s, and I would bet my money on him going there to see whether we actually showed up.

Anyway, this is the end of my vacation week, and at least now it feels like I did something “vacation-y” by heading to the Chesapeake Bay. It was lovely to be without cell phone coverage — I only used the iPhone for its camera.

The visit was strange. There were so many signs there — lots of familiarity, like I was meant to be there. I would kill for a condo on the water. Not to live there full-time, mind you. I’m a city girl at heart and would die without having Tar-zhay within walking distance. But to just stare at the water and feel inspired and refreshed all the time? Is one of many goals on my list to experience more frequently.

Till then, I have some happy feet, indeed!

Went to the Rockville Chili Rip-off — er, Cook-off yesterday. Blah. It wasn’t anything special. It’s simple to navigate — go buy the Texas and Cincinnati chili from Hard Times Cafe and then leave. Period. A Frito pie and a chili dog are enough to make the adventure worth it.

Other vendors are supposed to give you free samples, but nobody had any food ready. It’s a six-hour festival, people. Figure it out. One woman actually was smart enough to put up a sign, “Not Ready Yet,” but a bunch of us stood in line for one place, then the next place, then the next place, for nothing.

But it was no loss — I did get a sample of “Blame the Dog” chili, and I blame the bad taste on them cooking up dog meat! After that, I was ready to go home. (Well, I went to the beach, but metaphorically home.)

The only real saving grace was the fact that it was also a music festival, and I was introduced to the lovely Sarah Buxton. Her band members were hot, so there was something for everyone to look at, up on that stage. I was looking for a good place to get rid of that last couple of dollars’ worth of iPhone credit — methinks a handful of MP3s will be the only thing I can digest from the 20 minutes I spent in Rockville yesterday. …