Caterwauling

I was just trying to remember the last time I had a healthy meal.

I can’t remember back that far.

Ate out Saturday. Ate out Sunday. Saw a movie Sunday; had popcorn (lots of butter). Fueled up at 7-11 Monday morning; ramen for lunch; Chinese for dinner. Drove through Burger King Tuesday morning; no lunch; had dinner from Checkers. Drove through McDonald’s this morning; no lunch; had Mexican tonight.

I suppose I shouldn’t go to Krispy Kreme tomorrow like it had crossed my mind. 😉

And gallons and gallons of coffee at all hours of the day. And Diet Cokes. Lots and lots of Diet Coke. No WONDER I haven’t slept in three nights! Even last night’s 2 a.m. cocktail of two Tylenol PMs and milk didn’t do the trick. Boy am I edgy. I haven’t been this wired since I first quit smoking and paced the house at all hours of the night, worried and weary and having nicotine withdrawal fits!

Any insomnia tips?

The usual six-minute drive apparently just isn’t long and superiorally FUN enough otherwise. *sigh* Construction on 395-North, kids. Be warned.

I’d spent a lovely evening in Mary-land and didn’t get to D.C. proper till 10 p.m.-ish. And with Bon Jovi and Sugarland coming on CMT’s “Crossroads” at 10:30 p.m., well, I was a bit late. But the night out was worth it and I’m sure the episode will air to death like everything else does.

My two least favorite Bon Jovi songs (*gasp*) are “It’s My Life” and “Wanted Dead or Alive.” Guess which ones they are performing? I didn’t vote for those!!! Oh well, I’m just waiting for Sept. 20 for when the “Have a Nice Day” CD ships — anything to give them some new songs to beat to fucking death. It’s the little things. 🙂

Aside: Bon Jovi’s gonna be at the MCI Center on Dec. 17. Who wants to come with?!?!

I am slightly fascinated by the chemistry between Jennifer and Jon. He recently said in an interview that he’s sick of sitting at home with his wife, as that’s what he’s been doing for two years. Hmm. Hey, if she can get him, good for her. I don’t normally go for blonds, but him, I’d do in a heartbeat. He doesn’t seem all that bright, but he’s pretty. Which explains most mens’ attraction to most women.

In other news, today wasn’t necessarily One of Those Days, but it sure had its moments.

I actually managed to sneak out for lunch (OK, a zip through a drive-thru). I was halfway back to the office when I decided to check said sandwich — yup, I order one widdle item, and it’s fucked. And I was in Just Enough of a mood to do a big, fat U-turn and go right back. When I went in, I was like, “Look, you guys have YET to get one single, solitary order right for me. I don’t mean to make a scene, but please humor me and either fix it or give me a refund.” They fixed it. And I won’t be going back there for a LONG while. 😉

I also forgot my f’in cell phone at work. Like, I remembered it when I was already on the interstate. *boo, hiss* I did the world’s fastest circle and have it now. It’s not that I ever answer the damned thing — I just like to have it to ignore it. 🙂

Unrelated, when I’m not terrorizing highways and restaurant workers, I am patrolling the retail establishments. Recently, I was pondering a really cute LEI jeanskirt (like I don’t have 60 others to choose from at home) when some chick yelled over her shoulder at me, “You GO girl! Boys love them hoochie-mama skirts!”

How does one respond to that? Seriously. I could out-trash-talk anybody, but when I’m trying to ponder whether I can get my fat ass into said hoochie skirt without applying olive oil to my hips, I’m not altogether sociable. I did see the items in her hand, and it occurred to me after the fact that, had I said, “And those items shall make you look like a perfect whore yourself!” perhaps she might have even taken it as a compliment.

At last, however, I did pick out some scandalous underwear and felt MUCH better. Cures what ails ya, I say. Throw ’em on the floor, and if they look good there, then they’re keepers. Trust!

I also had a Sep(w)hora odyssey the other day, too. My lips need some resuscitation, literally, and I was willing to spend Money on something to whip them back into shape.

And I found that No One would wait on me. Like, the hell?! I only got acknowledged after I’d put down my handful of shit and walked out. Meanwhile, I saw 12 sales associates fawning over this chick who said she’s going to be in a beauty pageant. Honey, unless she was competing in a drag show (or a horse race), I wasn’t going for it.

In any event, I know this entry is all over the f’ing place, but that’s the state of my mind. I don’t have any neutral thoughts tonight — just strong ones in opposite directions. It’s like when — for those of us who control the action in our dreams or are at least otherwise hyperaware of them — you know that it’s a toss-up whether you’re going to have a dream or a nightmare.

While of course we want the dream to prevail, ugly things happen to throw you off balance. And I don’t know why — believe me, I’ve got some unanswered questions submitted to the universe on this topic. Till then, I’ll just keep rooting for the good guys to win in the end and the good dreams to outnumber and, ultimately, overshadow the remainder. And I’m pretty sure tonight will be one of the better ones. 🙂

On iTunes: Michael Tolcher, “Sooner or Later”

I have been on this ridiculous quest for the perfect bloody mary. I figure, I used to be on the warpath toward finding the best amaretto sours drink (Alexander’s Pasta Express in Pittsburgh — theirs are frozen and to simply die for), so I have needed a new goal.

To date, I think Jack Stack’s serves the best bloody mary, but as it’s in Kansas City, Mo., and I am (happily) not the slightest bit close to that area, I have found a more-than-suitable first runner-up in that department in the Red Rock Canyon Grill’s “ultimate bloody mary.”

Let’s just say that was dinner last night. I mean, those come with grape tomatoes, olives and shrimp. *full-body orgasm* I also had a Yuengling for dessert.

Speaking of full-body orgasms (just kidding), there are actually some attractive men in Maryland. Really. I was just in Pittsburgh, where I actually had men approaching me and talking to me and flirting with me, and here I live in this body-to-body yet barren wasteland known as Northern Virginia where I couldn’t pick up a man with a dogcatcher’s net. But then again, with most of them, I wouldn’t really want to. 😉 Perhaps this is yet another reason to expedite my move — for the scenery!

Speaking of scenery, I loved the restaurant. The food smelled good (but I will never eat in public. Really. I usually end up with more ON me than IN me, so why make an ass out of myself when I simply have my verbal dysentery to take care of that for me?). But what I loved was the crackling fire outside of the restaurant — I dig that smoky smell and wish that someday I can actually have a fireplace of my own (those things are fabulous at destroying evidence, too, but I digress. LOL).

And the restaurant is set in the middle of a man-made lake and I had to hoof across a little wooden bridge to get there. Way cute. Seriously, I need to start carrying a camera with me more — especially because I saw the sun dipping behind the trees through the walls of windows. *sigh* I might’ve been born at dawn (hence the name) but the night is my time.

Oh yeah, good conversation and all that too, naturally. It’s nice to crawl out of my hole and realize that there is in fact a life out there to be lived.

I know, you’re wondering WTF the entry title is all about. Well, thanks for asking — I will tell you. Some of us were talking about going to movies, and I inquired whether someone stays for the credits.

The reason I ask is simple — I love to watch the credits when I go to a movie. Sometimes, it’s because a fantastic song is playing and I simply cannot leave until I’ve heard the whole thing, else I’m waiting to see the song list in general so I can hit iTunes when I go home.

But why I really stay? I’m waiting for an Easter Egg. You know, the hidden jewel that’s meant to reward — some last scene or surprise tacked onto the end of the credits. Even if it never comes, I know that I didn’t miss out on a single thing.

And I think that’s a good motto for my life right now. I’m waiting for some amount of hidden joy — a surprise that’s worth hanging in there for, even if I have no idea what it is.

At this point, I am not even sure what I *want* it to be, truth be told, but I can’t give up hoping that someday, I’m going to find the point to this journey — that this blind faith that things are going to turn out OK is going to be rewarded in some fashion.

That, after all the stops and starts and aspirations and heartaches, I’m going to be smart enough and tough enough and humbled enough to have earned my happy ending. (Or, at the very least, a good climax!)

Oh, and duh, here’s YOUR Easter Egg — in the form of tunage, natch!

On iTunes: Emiliana Torrini, “Tuna Fish”

I literally flew back here to Home Sweet D.C. from the Motherland of Pittsburgh tonight — it took three hours to get from the family’s hacienda to my workplace (200 miles). It took another hour to go the remaining 35 miles, mostly because my brain shut the hell off.

I find that I have historically treated trips to see the family more like an obligation than a vacation, so I insisted on dragging the family all over creation this time, trying new foods and shopping in new places and all kinds of things that otherwise broke them out of their comfort zones.

Tomorrow’s Mom’s birthday, so I took her and my grandfather out last night to the Cheesecake Factory, where the food was The. Best. Seriously, I could have ridden the Godiva chocolate cheesecake to glory, but it was my Bang Bang Chicken and Shrimp (a Thai dish with curry, peanut and flaked coconut. Yum) that was the highlight of my entire life. The sauce was freaking amazing, and I told my mom that I suggest lube manufacturers quit making, well, lube, and bottle this stuff instead. And in true form, Mom replied that we’d give the best (well, you know) ever if we could use that sauce in the festivities. 😉

Ah, the decadence in general — I picked up a coupla bottles of port from Trax and will probably be back to add to my wine collection yet again next time I hit town. And my coffee collection (I picked up some bananas foster beans and some cranberry creme beans this time around). I just need to replenish my money supply — I have way too much fun when Mom and I are out hitting the town!

I have had this guilt hanging over my head, that I should (when I move) have my mom and grandfather move in with me. But this comes from the girl who turned 18 and moved the fuck out immediately if not sooner. I don’t know — they hate where they live and it’s truly horrible and they’d love to be closer to me, but I am one of those people who either has to live alone or needs her own wing (or, at least, her own bathroom). Not that I am rolling in money, mind you — I’m trying to figure out how I can squeeze some time/energy out of my day/week/life to take on a second job to fund this stupid move in the first place.

In completely unrelated news, it’s not only been a year since I’ve been sans Club Medicated (yay!) but it’s also been a year that I’ve quit smoking. w00t! In that year, I’ve had two cigarettes (in July) and damn, were they good. But I wasn’t inclined to pick up the habit again after that, so happy day.

Well, I’ve got 20 pounds of cat shit to drag to the curb, not to mention lovely little vomit landmines courtesy of the four-pawed wonders, so I’ve got a hot date with the carpet cleaner and a bottle of Tylenol. Oh, 6 a.m. comes entirely too quickly. …

On iTunes: Willy Porter, “You Stay Here”