Caterwauling

I went to the Apple Store and got a nice, shiny $100 iTunes gift card. Guess what I’ll be doing tonight?

Thank you, Steve Jobs. I love my phone and Apple, so I appreciate the bonus for being a good customer.

I think I was ticked off because I should have used the money for dental work, but instead I wanted to — for the first time in my life — join the early-adopter crowd. And I’ve loved it. It was sort of my first “status symbol” and I guess I was sort of incensed because the one time I decided to do something for myself — to reward myself for surviving this hideous fuckup of a year. But with the price cut coming six weeks after I bought the phone, it seemed like yet another message to me that no, in fact, I can’t make the right decision in any area of my life.

But alas, the world is right again. Sort of, anyway.

Time to fill the void with more purchases. But at least this time, I don’t have to float a rent check to do it!!!

Time to say goodbye to yet another summer. Had one dinner made on a grill and never once had a whole holiday to myself. Sounds like every summer for the past five years.

I’ve been sure to pack weekends full of activity, though, and this one was no different. First, everyone wish Sabre a happy birthday! We celebrated Saturday at Ned Devine’s, where we saw a comedy show, hung out at the piano bar and also danced — I like how it was a one-stop shop like that.

One member in our group gave me pause as to his man’s man uber-straightness. Maybe it was the Polo bath he’d taken, but my suspicions were confirmed when he would only dance to trance music. 😉

I must say that the suburbs attract some fine-lookin’ men, although Ned’s crowd skewed a little young for my tastes. Which was cool — I was plenty liquored up on Guinness and was happy to go dance like no one was watching because, well, no one was! I liked the mix that DJ Phenomenon was playing, although white kids + hip hop = lots of laughter coming from my table. And when the trance came on, shit, everybody but three people in my party left the floor.

It was a good night, although I had a “moment” at the piano bar when I asked the guy to play a song my grandfather used to be known for in his rock star days. Somebody who’d drank four Guinnesses at that point lost her little mind in the blue room. Here I thought we’d be comforting Sabre on the 10th anniversary of her 29th birthday, but she was my rock during those excruciating three minutes. So by the time I cried off all my makeup, it was time to hit the dance floor and show all those kids how to use their hips and not dance like they’re a bunch of fucking hitchhikers with their thumbs out. 🙂

Yesterday, I dragged my hungover ass to Rockville for Uncorked, the wine festival held in the middle of Town Center. As soon as I got there, I was pleasantly surprised to run into Princess Cat there, and we, along with her posse, probably tried every wine there with our $10 wine glass engraved with “Un-corked.” Although it bothered both of us to have the word hyphenated and, if we had full use of our faculties at the time we were discussing it, we might have tried to scratch it off. 🙂

I had mentioned to Cat about dating a guy with kids, and she looked at me so curiously and said, “But don’t you hate kids?” I’m like yeah. See, even people whom I only run into every couple of months know that about me! What’s funny is that after I left the friends to go to my car on the opposite side of the Town Center, a guy with a kid stopped to smile at me. I kept walking. I don’t care that he was cute — I felt it was best to keep movin’ on.

There’s photographic evidence of me being at this wine festival, as they got Linda and me in a shot. And the friends were laughing at me, as when the photographer asked what city I’m from, I totally froze. Because I’ve been spending more than two years NOT saying exactly what part of the city I live in. All anyone needs to know is D.C. So finally, I sputtered, “Rockville!” and yeah, that was ever-so-convincing. And the woman’s all, “Are you in Fallsgrove or King Farm? Which area specifically?” And I was struggling for the word “Travilah” because I ate pizza there once, but I’m like, you know, Rockville Rockville. LOL.

We ran into my friend J. from work, which was a pleasant surprise, too. I realized that, for all the insensitive douchebags who seem to roll into my life, I’ve got many more good people of which to speak.

Speaking of douchebags, we ate at Austin Grill, where the food was better than the service. The server kept ignoring us (all I wanted was a damn refill on my water or, better yet, an iced tea. Matt finally had to flag down another server just to ensure I got a drink … and this was when the rest of them had their meals and I was still sitting there, looking stupid. I finally got my freaking iced tea — for $2.50 — and there were onions on my Hangover Burger. Which I had explicitly asked not to have. I tossed the onions in my empty water glass, which the gang said would no doubt make the girl remember to refill our water glasses! (She didn’t. Surprise.)

Today brought more work. Shocker. Finally left the house at 8 p.m. to get dinner that included a bruschetta burger and garlic-cheese fries. And then after the heart attack. … LOL, just kidding, although I really can’t move my left arm after THAT meal!

Anyway, just watching Justin Timberlake on HBO this evening. (Actually, watching Timbaland. Easier on the eyes.) I’d say the perfect end to the perfect weekend, but I’d do so with the caveat that the “perfects” cancel each other out and it’s just another average, ordinary day fading into another. …

Fair day, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

It’s official — it takes a three-day weekend to recover from one week of my job. I almost feel like I accomplished something for a change!

Nothing says summer like the stench of citizens cow and horse poop at the MoCo Agricultural Fair, which was on today’s agenda. It runs through the 18th, so if you want to experience a little bit of country in the city, head on up to Gaithersburg so you can overpay for pretty much everything. 🙂

I really wanted to hang out for the night to see the rides all lit up, but man, I’m just too exhausted. I may go back, although between parking and entry, that’s $12 out of pocket before they rape you for five bucks for a lemonade.

I’m trying very hard to be nice, but walking through a county fair reminds me of the movie “Idiocracy”. We were sitting on a bench, chewing on a delicious funnel cake drizzled in chocolate, and I cannot tell you how many kids either almost walked into the plate or flat-out tried to grab some of the sugary dough because, well, they have no manners. Gimme the six bucks for it and I’ll gladly share, Junior. And don’t think anyone even noticed their children on the loose, let alone apologize for them.

Another thing I noticed, although it happens at more than just these outdoor summer events, is how men will stop to ogle you — regardless of who YOU are with, let alone who THEY are with. I don’t care — I smile and lick my fingers if I’m eating. And even if I’m not, although that’s a story for another day. 😉

My belief is that people aren’t really looking at me but instead at my food. Seriously! I’ve been to a lot of summer festivals with various men (*cough*) and you have to act like you’re not hungry ’cause you get the feeling they’d rather gnaw off their own arm than offer to feed you. I know, I know, you could get a steak at Bobby Van’s for what you pay for a coupla corn dogs, but damn.

Speaking of corn dogs, it says something about the evolution of the all-American county fair when you can find three burrito stands before you can find a freaking corn dog. You know where the corn dogs are hiding? At the goddamned taco stand. It was tasty, don’t get me wrong, but something just doesn’t sit well with me when you have to look hard for the stuff you would simply just expect to find anywhere else.

Anyway, before I get myself in any more trouble here, I just want to laugh at the ATM situation. Because when we got there, there was no money in the fucking cash machines. The irony in that statement was that Bank of America was a sponsor of the event. How do you run out of money when there should’ve been ATMs at the BoA booth at the front of the fairgrounds entrance?!?!

Today was a pseudo-hooky day from work, and to ensure I shut off the e-mail and cell phone once I was truly done, I took my happy ass to the cinema.

A friend had been streaming the “Once” soundtrack over iTunes at work, and spoke highly of both it and the movie itself. I heard a couple of songs and bought the soundtrack immediately, and I didn’t even read a review of the movie — the music alone compelled me to find out where it was playing because I was spellbound.

Had I read the reviews, I would have known that the two lead characters are never actually named. Even in IMDB, it’s “the guy” and “the girl.” I was wondering throughout the movie what their names were, but at some point I realized the lead character was the music, and maybe you could even list the lyrics as the secondary character.

And they don’t need names. They are everyman and everywoman. I was sitting there assigning my own names to the characters, from my own life. When I’m creating my own fiction, I am very much insistent on the names that mean something to me. The antagonist in my stories is named after the most obnoxious person I’ve ever known. The heroine is one of my alter egos. The heroes are named not necessarily after the people who inspired the characters, but instead names they may recognize or appreciate from things that remind me of them. Names are crucial to the writer, but when the viewer can assign them, well damn, all the better.

The neat thing is that the “guy” and the “girl” are professional musicians in real life. And these days, I can forgive any perceived flaws on film if I want to run out and buy the soundtrack. But it didn’t hurt the film at all. And maybe that’s the way it should be from now on — let people who already have a job do the acting in movies, as these cokehead starlets are riding their own ego trips too hard to be able to handle the pressure. The guy is Glen Hansard, who fronts a band called The Frames in real life. And the girl is Marketa Irglova, who did an album with Glen last year and who really had some serious on-screen chemistry with him as they literally (OK, and figuratively) made music together.

Toward the beginning, when the guy and the girl were in the music store, he playing guitar and she learning the notes to his song “Falling Slowly,” I just flat-out started sobbing. I mean, wow. Just wow.

“Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won.”

— Glen Hansard, “Falling Slowly

The thing is, I’ve probably listened to the soundtrack a thousand times, but seeing it in context, letting it push and pull the characters, brought it to life for me. Each song is more haunting than the next, mostly because I identified with something in it. Even “Gold,” which wasn’t my favorite lyrically, starts off with this fucking amazing guitar riff, and I got chills when I heard it in surround sound.

But I’m dancing around the storyline. Because I don’t know how to put it into words. I loved and hated the ending equally. The writer in me absolutely fell in love with it, because you knew that there were so many possibilities — so many ways the story beyond the closing credits could end. But the woman in me with way too many thoughts swirling around in her head was blowing an absolute gasket, wondering whether all that magic would manifest in any greater way.

I’m choosing to look at it as a happy ending. I’m hoping that what’s meant to be (in my head) will be. And yeah, I was still sobbing through the credits and even after the lights came on.

Where are you my angel now, don’t you see me crying
And I know that you can’t do it all, but you can’t say I’m not trying
I’m on my knees in front of him, but he doesn’t seem to see me
But all his troubles on his mind, he’s looking right through me
And I’m letting myself down in satisfying you
And I wish that you could see I have my troubles, too.”

— Marketa Irglova, “The Hill”

Anyway, the one thing I walked away from the movie wanting to do was write. Even if I can’t produce a fantastic story like that because I just can’t write the soundtrack that’s in my head because I have no freaking idea how to record it (i.e., can’t read or write music. Or, for that matter, lyrics), I just want to do something, anything creative. Something I love. Something I can’t live without. And if there’s anyone out there with a similar passion, just like “the guy,” all the better.

And I completely and totally have a crush on Glen Hansard now. I know, I know, probably a firecrotch and all. 😉 But dear God, that’s a man who can ignite every nerve in my body with the mere sound of his voice. To hear him imploring, “If you’ve got something to say to me, you’d better say it to me now.” *swoon* I can forgive a lot of flaws in any man if he can write, can speak proper English and can make me gush in my gutchies with an amazing tone. (Hmm, maybe that’ll be my next dating-service ad headline!)

I had to go to the art house cinema (supposedly) to see this thing. I don’t know how long it’s been out or whether it’s going into mass release or it was already in it. Whatever. Just, go see it. I would have seen it again had I not been forced to run out and feed the damn parking meter. 🙂 But there’s always another day, and yes, there’s always the soundtrack (which is only $7.99 in the iTunes Music Store) to occupy me in the meantime until I can buy the DVD!

Dinner probably would have been Wendy’s or pizza or something god-awful like that had I not been invited to the Best. Dinner Party. Evar. at Tom and Tiff’s. I’m still trying to figure out what I liked best — the shrimp, the caprese, the lasagna, the grilled zucchini, the grilled peaches with mascarpone cheese or just all the fresh fruits, veggies and herbs from their local farmer’s market. Mmmm.

I think my favorite was the sangria filled with farmer’s market fruits. Yes, I’d still be buzzed from it if we didn’t have a 40-course meal of local-grown goodness.

I’m almost inspired to host a dinner party of my own. That is, if I can hire maids and cooks. Any takers?

I had to laugh because five of eight of us had the iPhone in-hand at dinner. iPhone orgy! I had my little red condom/baby buggy bumper on mine so I didn’t lose track of it in a sea of growing market share. 🙂

The gang was in my neck of the woods last night as Tiff performed at a local comedy night. She went on right before the headliner, and their opening acts were, well, something. There was one hot guy I was drooling over, but once he announced he was married, I gave up that pipe dream of bumping into him at the bar afterward.

There was one girl who must have blown someone to be put on the guest list. Awful. I’ll refrain from publishing her name because I’m not a heckler, but she was looking for audience participation and I was all but hiding under the table, as I had to quit paying attention lest I bean her with my Sam Adams bottle just to get her to STFU.

Anyway, I find the busier and happier I am, the less I blog and WANT to blog, more importantly. Without existential crises, I’m boring. I don’t mind losing touch with the Muse if it means everything’s good. I admit to hoping for a lot less inspiration for ye olde blogg if it means I’m out living life instead of writing about it!

If this didn’t say a mouthful:

Friend, on learning he wasn’t the only one with an iPhone, “I wanted to be special!”
Me, as someone who wanted it first but was second, “Yeah, well, so did I!”

That actually brings me to a point, something more applicable to the grander scheme of life. And it is that I want to be more special than I already am.

I threw a little bit of a hissy fit the other day, for me, anyway. I emote all the time so it’s pretty rare when something is bottled up because I just KNOW it’s going to end badly if I don’t put things completely “out there,” even if only in my fucked-up blogging-style mentality in which I say what I need to say without always actually SAYING it.

But I sort of hit my, “I’ve had it,” point. I don’t mind taking shit if I can find a way to pay it back or forward, but some days you’re the fan and you just have to live with it. And I guess I got tired of being the perpetual fan that day and things, well, splattered because I was on “high.”

I am a big proponent of the “happy place.” I retreat there when I can. I have to — it’s the only place I can hide for a minute and choose my mask for when I return to the outside world. Nobody can touch me there, nor can they disturb what I’ve put in there. Because no matter how unrealistic my little world may seem, damn it, it’s MY world. Because in my world, I’m wealthy, I’m 5’9″ and I’ve had a lot of cosmetic surgery. 😉

And I flipped because, despite the ideal little universe I’ve created, I wasn’t its goddess at that very minute. Why? Because one of my storylines, I found, had a different starring character in “real life.” And man, that fucking rattled me.

What fucked with me even more was the sense of loss, the sense of wondering why all I had was a little dream and other people have it as reality. That the things I think are so far out of my grasp are probably being taken for granted elsewhere.

I’ve had mixed reactions from people because I bought my iPhone. Mostly everyone’s in awe of it and loves seeing what it can do. But I get a lot of shit, like, “You must be rich,” or “Well, good thing you paid for it — you can deal with all the bugs and I’ll get a cheaper and better version.” Or, my favorite, “It must be nice to have nothing better to spend your money on.” (Or, my second favorite, “Well, la-di-fricking-DA.”)

Well, actually, yes. IT IS NICE.

I’m not rich; I saved up for this thing. I floated my rent check till I could move my iPhone savings into my checking account. I did without a lot of little things for a long time so I could have the money to buy it when it came out.

And I almost didn’t get it. Yes, as usual, I panicked when it came time to spend the money. I let a whole week go by without buying it because I was terrified that the money should be saved for an emergency. Hell, I even called my mom and offered to pay her rent next month instead, because that’s the kind of person I am. I don’t do ANYTHING for me. EVER.

And in my happy place, I had an iPhone. At the point that I decided to buy it, it was the only goal I had that was actually obtainable.

So maybe I spent a lot of money on something others would perceive as frivolous or outrageous or even premature, but god damn it, I have something to show for busting my ass. I have something that I set my mind to and achieved, and guess what? I’M ENJOYING IT.

I was getting tired of always feeling like I’m working hard for nothing. That everything goes into rent and the cost of living, which is fairly atrocious here in D.C. That I’m always feeling like the fan but while everyone else is getting cooled off, I’m running at full capacity and my only relief is when the humidity abates and I can run on a regular speed for awhile.

No, I’m not looking for a purchase to lend meaning to my life. Instead, it’s a milestone that I can get what I want and that I can set my sights higher and higher and actually get the things I want and not have to look at everyone else enjoying their lives and their things and their experiences and me just feeling like my job is to stand by, only as an observer and not an experiencer.

That’s not why we’re here. We are not here to hope and wish and pray and wait. If we don’t get some rewards along the way — and let ourselves ENJOY them — there’s no point to any of this.

We are here to be joyful, to not just “get through” this experiment called existence. We make choices and we make mistakes, but sometimes we kick ass and we need to incentivize ourselves to keep on keepin’ on.

So someone else achieved some of my other dreams. It wasn’t just one thing, either — it was a package of quite a few. Whether I still want to aspire to those goals or whether I should go find some new ones because I’m pretty burned out and pissed off toward the original ones, is anyone’s guess. But now that I can take one of those dreams-come-true in and out of my happy place, well, I’m feeling pretty good right now.

So, if I can’t be “special,” today I’m “special enough.” And I’m OK with that today. I’ll find another way to be uber-special tomorrrow. But not feeling behind the 8-ball for a change is something I would like to enjoy more often than I let myself do.

I Can Haz iPhone?, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

How much of a freaking DORK am I that I am sitting at my computer but surfing the Internet on the iPhone? I’m also listening to my headphones on it — not like I don’t have five thousand songs in my iTunes that is, again, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

And the first song I listened to on my iPhone? Barbra Streisand, “Comin’ In and Out of Your Life.” Rocking the suburbs, I tell ya. At least Kadie’s rockin’ the pop music and having a grand old time with the newest addition to the household.

Oh, yeah, and I submitted it to I Can Has Cheezburger’s photo bucket. 🙂

Keyboard’s too small. I have too many complicated passwords for this to be effective ’cause I’m typing in everything wrong.

Oh, and you can only use one Gmail account on the phone unless you go to the Web. And that’s the kicker — the only browser I hate more than Safari is IE.

And dummy here synced all my contacts and Safari bookmarks with the phone, not thinking that I haven’t used either app since 2004. Who the hell are half these people?!?! And how did that porn get in there? 😉

I’ll get it right. I’ll even love it. But today, what I wouldn’t give to have a butt-wiping monkey to set it all up for me. …

… ‘Cause I am one true sucker for a good Apple product. And the iPhone? Is now charging on my nightstand.

*happy dance*

It was Jeff’s post on how the iPhone changed his life that convinced me to go on a hunt for this exquisite wonder.

BLAME IT ON BEING IN BETHESDA

I just HAPPENED to find myself at Montgomery Mall today, fucking around in Sephora — which just HAPPENS to be two or three doors down from the Apple Store — trying on perfumes, as I do need a new signature scent and all.

I ended up wearing F by Ferragamo, and while it’s fairly delicious, it’s a little too sweet for my tastes. I was similarly impressed by the notes in Prada, which may be a better bet.

But the real decision is between Gaultier 2 and Guerlain’s Insolence. So, if you have any experience with either, please let me know!

If you love me and don’t want to spend $90 a pop, I really did love the Masaki Matsushima Chocolate scent. The product description says, “With top notes of fresh citrus layered over a rich dreamy middle of hot, dense chocolate and absolute cocoa melded with a base of sexy musk and sandalwood, this scent is just too delicious to ignore.” OMG, yum. Seriously, *slobber.*

Ahem.

THE IPHONE DIET

I was too cheap to spend $90 on some eau de parfum, but LO and BEHOLD, I get to the Apple Store and my spending discipline gets blown to hell. I asked the guy at the door whether they had any phones left, and he said the only had a handful of the 8-gigs.

So I ran to check my account balance — YES! The rent check hasn’t cleared yet! And I bought the 8-gig and a cute red skin for it and hot damn, now starts the iPhone diet.

Yes, the iPhone diet.

Work with me here.

It was a shitty week. I mean, if the Chinese named weeks as well as years, it would have been Week of the Dildo. Because EVERYONE acted like one. Plus, we had that holiday thing on Wednesday and I STILL worked upward of 50 hours. I’M A LITTLE BIT TENSE, OK?

So I decided to buy the phone as a treat to myself for staying out of jail and not putting anyone in the hospital.

But I’ve got to replenish that cash, so I’m going to stop eating until I earn it back.

Hence, the iPhone diet.

I decided I was only going to buy the phone if it make me look like I’d lost weight. So I said fuck it, I WILL lose weight with this goddamned phone because who can afford to eat? Between the $660 I slapped down plus the $120 for which AT&T makes me bend over and grab my ankles every month anyway, I’ll be sharing the kitties’ kibble — that is, when I can afford to feed THEM!

Oh well. This is why I endure all the glamour of my five-to-nine (a.m. to p.m.) job, so I can buy cool shit, right?

Spent the weekend with a friend and her husband (actually, they spent it with me!). Yeesh. It’s amazing what women will settle for. I couldn’t stand being with the man for a day; I don’t know how she doesn’t suffocate him with a pillow. *shudder*

I mean, we were out shopping, and she saw something cute and said she’d love it as a souvenir because we went way the hell out in the boonies. He bought himself a whole bunch of shit and looked at her and said, “You don’t need that.” I was so pissed off that I bought it for her myself. Which I did expressly to show him that he’s not a man, but he didn’t care. I guess I don’t understand how people can lavish money on themselves and not be able to share with the people around them.

Reminds me so much of my idiot ex-stepfather (the one who told me I’d never succeed in life. The asshole whose elder daughter got the “teen parent of the year” award from our high school this year. Loser). I remember going on vacation with him and my mom (once — we never did anything otherwise. I don’t know how Mom kept me entertained so many years as a prisoner in her own house).

Anyway, I remember the vacation vaguely. He complained about how much money he “HAD” to spend. We went to the beach but sure as hell didn’t stay in anything remotely over-the-top. In fact, I remember my mom asking to change rooms twice because the first two rooms were filthy. I remember him, after dinner, saying he shouldn’t have spent that much. Again, not quite lavish, if memory serves.

But back at home, when the only reason Mom and I had any food in the house was because my grandparents wouldn’t let us go hungry, asshole stepfather had every toy known to man — video games, hot-rod car, more bongs than China has tea, concert tickets to the best shows (I remember being so jealous that I couldn’t go with him to see Van Halen), etc. But when Mom would ask for $50 to take me shopping for school supplies and maybe an outfit or two, he’d say no — not his problem. Oh yeah, and he didn’t want her to work.

So I guess I look at my friend, who is going down this same path, and I just don’t get this “you must be barefoot and pregnant (even if you’re working) and not spend a penny unless I say so, but I get everything I want and then some and you’ll be happy because I’m happy” mentality.

I think that’s why I not only bought my friend a souvenir, but I also picked up the dinner check. Because I guess too many years with my stepfather, with me wanting something little and cheap and him always pulling rank on me, that, “Unless you can pay for it, you can’t have it,” has really worn me down. Because I was somehow always terrified that the stepfather would leave us at the restaurant, stuck with the bill and no way to pay it. He was enough of a dick to do something like that for shits and giggles.

I hated being penniless and powerless. I hate seeing other people being treated the same way. I don’t EVER want to feel like I have to grovel for something .. that I owe them something for the slightest amount of not even generosity, but simply kindness. This could explain the generally low expectations I’ve had of people for most of my life.

Typically, when I meet my friends’ boyfriends/husbands, I am happy for them. They give me hope that I could be that happy someday, too. I watch my friends just beam when the love of their life walks into a room. I showed my mom some photos of Tom and Tiff recently, and she was like, holy shit, they look magnificent. Just dreamy and happy and like they’re on Cloud 9.

And that’s what we all need to aspire to. I mean, the friend who stayed with me, I cannot for the life of me name one redeeming quality her man has other than that he put my new shower head on because I wasn’t strong enough to yank off the old one. Knowing him, he probably wanted a cash reward for that one simple gesture, no doubt. *ceremonial applause*

Anyway, I guess when all the single people of the world are sitting around, bemoaning the lack of a regular date to events, all they need to do is look around and see that being alone isn’t the worst thing in the world. Especially when you can spend your own money and time any way you like and not get the hairy eyeball when you’re supposedly defying someone’s wishes.

And don’t think I’m not wondering whether he’ll hide or destroy my souvenir when she’s not looking.

The worst part of it all? He thinks he’s a fucking catch!

OMG, look. He’s all right. He might not be the worst human being who ever walked the earth. If it were the “last man on earth” situation, I probably would wave goodbye to the species, but I’d think about it for 30 seconds. 🙂 He tells me how good a life he’s providing and how much money he makes and all that shit, and he has to one-up everything I say I did or want, although I pretty much failed to be impressed by what he thought he bested me with.

I know that all the things I experience are brought into my life for a reason — to serve as a warning sign, no doubt. But why would someone so good settle for something so … I don’t know … underwhelming? Maybe my friend’s lesson was to look at me and go, wow, she’s pretty happy without anyone’s thumb permanently branded on top of her head — maybe she can get out from underneath it all.

Sad, isn’t it?