Caterwauling

Tropical and Awesome

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The weather is Tropical and the surf conditions are Awesome. Truth in advertising, for once!

Next week is going to become stupid-busy for me, so I’m enjoying these final few hours of quietude. I got a check I’ve been expecting for a while (woo hoo!) and an unexpected bonus from somewhere else. (WOO HOO!)

Momma needs a laptop, and all the new sexy MacBooks have just come out. But Momma’s Momma needs a whole lot more, and I need to take care of her first.

Oh, if only I could sustain this revenue stream instead of hyperventilating every month around this time. I can afford the new ‘puter, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll be skipping happily to the bank at this time next month.

In any event, I need to say what I want so I can get it. I’ve found myself both returning to the same old work I did years ago, and returning to the same shitty eating habits (and lack of exercise) as well. So I’m basically back in the same place as I was in 2008. Grrr.

No more of that crap. I am declaring my intentions. I want a house in the Keys. I want a six-figure salary. I want Mom to be happy and healthy and ON HER OWN. I want a car that doesn’t answer to the name “Rattling Deathtrap.” I want a good-looking, ambitious and financially secure man.

I’d also like a cosmic tour bus to run over Allen West. And for a space shuttle to fly up Rick Perry’s butt. And for Michele Bachmann’s husband to find a more-appropriate spouse (like the Nyan Cat).

Really, is it so much to ask?

There’s a phrase I hear from time to time in my industry, “swings and roundabouts.”

Basically it’s a way of saying something is a Catch-22, although it’s more balanced. In other words, to get something, you gotta give something.

Like, you have to exchange “having time to do fun things” for “getting the money to do fun things.” They’re kind of mutually exclusive, like if you have to give up “staying in your jammies all day” to “get a job.”

You see where this is going, yes?

Anyway, I’m swinging today. (That sounds a bit more interesting than it really is!) Rather, I’m enjoying the free time and the living in mah jammies because I think my soul has grown back enough to start roundabouting. Perks of working from home aside, little things like life’s little luxuries — and the big things, too — have been a little challenging to maintain and I’d like to think about reintegrating the ones that have fallen off the “necessities” list.

Everyone, if you’re so inclined, please light a money candle (green) for me if you get a chance, mmkay? I’ll take you to dinner when it can be on me again, I promise!

Battle of the Bulge Memorial, Orlando

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

It was by chance that I stayed in a hotel a couple of months ago in Orlando that was right across the street from a memorial dedicated to those who fought in the Battle of the Bulge in World War II.

My grandfather fought in that battle. Got wounded for life as one of the fine brave paratroopers there, but I’m so proud of him that he was part of the world’s history, and not just mine.

It’s a shame that being in the army wasn’t what did him in, but that the Veterans Hospital in Pittsburgh killed him with their neglect and shoddy care and his twunty doctor “Trang” (First name? Last name? Doctor Twat to me) took an otherwise happy and mostly healthy 80-year-old and stripped him of all dignity and sent him to an early grave.

Anyway, it’s not like y’all haven’t heard that song and dance around these parts before. But Memorial Day has been nothing but full of hurt and anger and sadness since we lost him. We used to celebrate our family and our soldiers. Now we just go to Five Guys for a cheeseburger (no grills allowed here) and wish my grandfather were still with us.

I’m preparing to go into my own battle of sorts. I need a job. I don’t WANT one, and I’ve enjoyed the past six months of not HAVING one. But alas, I am feeling too calm and too good about myself. It’s time to find the next employer to ruin all that.

But I also have a side project that doesn’t pay (yet) lined up to keep my brain in gear. Thank God. You will all know my real name one of these days (not like most of you don’t know it already!).

You know, I got so sick of the ex-employer claiming I was “Gucci” or “a splurge” or “overpaid.” (To deal with that kind of name-calling? Was not compensation enough.) And others with whom I interviewed, I was told I was “expensive.”

Well, now that my savings is depleted and my heart is equally empty, I’m glad you all have reduced me to poverty. Thanks for deciding not to pay me AT ALL because you couldn’t afford what I am WORTH. Fuck every single last one of you. Now that I’m broke again — ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

That’s it. I’m going to the mattresses. And not the one that’s calling me from the next room. Not this time, anyway.

Chocolate Bacon S’Mores and other delights

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I snuck out of the house yesterday. At age 36.

I have to do it every once in a while. It gives me new appreciation for the Ultra Extra Over-Extended Houseguest. I mean, full-time caregivers at least get the occasional night off or unsupervised grocery store run, right? It’s amazing what a little air will do.

I’ve tried to associate my leaving with “getting something in return.” If I go out, I always bring back dinner. (The chance of NOT eating dinner around here is around 86% any other day.) Or a souvenir, if it’s a longer trip. Anything to show that YOU BENEFIT when I unshackle my ankles for an hour.

Last night I went to a Meetup where one of the little villages was hosting a Wine and Art Walk. I located neither wine nor art, so that was quaint. Seriously, where was the wine-glass-decorating booth? Where were ANY vendors other than about a dozen steel-drum players? (And that rock cover band — Van Halen tunes still rock my world.)

One thing I’ve realized with this blog is that I don’t use it effectively anymore. Before I started getting stalked by a psycho nutjob, I used to review the restaurants and other activities that captured my attention. But I didn’t want him to know that I was lying when I pretended to be living (wherever).

My whole life revolved around Rockville, Md., my last two years in the D.C. area. So I reviewed restaurants EVERYWHERE ELSE. It was probably obvious, the omission. But I didn’t care — I didn’t want that crazy fucker showing up at my favorite haunts. (Oh Growlers and Dogfish Head Ale House, how I miss thee. …)

Even now, I’m fairly ambiguous about where I spend my time. Although, that’s mostly because I don’t want to play “Name That Employer.” I rather like being able to snipe at them with only my closest friends in the industry knowing to whom I’m referring.

Anyway, I’m coming out, since it’s Pride Weekend here and all. 🙂

Last night I went to Relish in Northwood Village. Although there was no free wine in the streets as promised, there was free beer … and the sample of Milk Stout by the Left Hand Brewing Company reeled me in.

OMG, can you say “orgasm,” boys and girls? It’s a sweeter Guinness without the double-pouring business. NOM.

I could have had four beers during the (long) wait for my food. And despite one of the items being MISSING from my order after the 35-minute wait to take it to-go (“to go” is synonymous for “doesn’t always ‘come with'”), I was going absolutely apeshit and didn’t bother checking the bag.

But … the Pear and Blue flatbread? To DIE for. The lamb burger with the tzatziki relish? Divine! (There are like eight types of burger, from chorizo to buffalo to lobster, and a couple dozen “relishes” you can choose for them.) The mahi-mahi with chimichurri wasn’t too shabby, either. And the polenta fries with rosemary-garlic salt were lovely.

Believe it or not, it’s hard to find somewhere “cool” to go down here. Everything’s overcrowded and overpriced. EV-ER-Y-THING. I didn’t notice it so much when I had a job, but now that I’m being careful with money again, it’s rather appalling. I mean, I’d rather take guests to the Keys than keep them here.

But this is making me get creative and find wonderful little nooks in the neighborhoods I otherwise just pass through. I mean, like in D.C., I still think the best food I ever got there was at this dive of a Chinese place called Ho King. (Ask me why I was attracted to the name. lol)

Don’t get me wrong — if I went to D.C. today, my ass would be at CoCo Sala tonight. (Or Matchbox. I do love the Penn Quarter area best.) But that was for friend nights, for special occasions, for splurges.

Most of the time, though, it was just me (usually leaving work at an unreasonable hour), so I had to find my favorite cheap places. And I have yet to find a Five Guys that was better than the one by the Northern Virginia Community College.

I miss the peanut shells on the ground there. That place was dirty and tiny and awesome. We have Five Guys in Florida, but they are all so very pristine. If they offer peanuts (and there are about 30 signs warning you about nut allergies), you get a little paper dish for them. Don’t go littering shells on the floors down here, yo. God, I miss NoVa. 🙂

I just got an e-mail from Kimpton Hotels with insanely good D.C. rates. I think it’s time for a pilgrimage back to the mother land. I miss my friends … my urban-tribe family. I hate myself that I didn’t spend enough time with them. Shit, one of them just moved to New York and another is in Charleston. And two more are in Arizona!

Sigh. Anyway, although Relish forgot the Extra-Terrestrial Being from Outer Space’s sea-salt fries, I still love them. They are friendly and sweet and the place has a great vibe. What I loved best was that there was no line to add a tip on the receipt.

The gal in line behind me asked why there was no line for the tip. Which just goes to show HOW FUCKING MUCH MONEY PEOPLE HAVE TO WASTE HERE.

The cashier cheerfully said that they don’t want tips; they would rather you tell your friends how much you loved it there.

And THAT, my friends, is the way it should be. Not like the asshole at the local Chinese dump who almost spit on my receipt when he examined it and realized NO TIP FOR YOU. For what — steaming some vegetables, which took 25 minutes? Please. For that kind of wait, give me a damn Milk Stout and let me people-watch, like I can at Relish. 😉

So anyway, I’m telling my friends — you’ll love Relish. And if you get the Chocolate Bacon S’Mores (just $20 for a two-person serving), let me know how they are so I can treat my next out-of-town guests to that goodness. …

If youve ever stayed in Disney and ordered a wake up call, chances are that you’ve been greeted at an ungodly hour with an unbearablly chipper “Have a Mickey day!”

Luckily, I stay offsite and use my phone when i need an alarm. But even the non employees are sweet in Orlando. It’s downright bizarre, considering how fucking rude everyone is in the southern part of the state.

Not much to say other than the fact that i am on a road trip with a gal i haven’t seen since high school, with the exception of watching the Super Bowl together earlier this month.

We are having fun. Lots of trips down memory lane. She was talking about some friend of hers from Pitt and I know some folks who went there and I asked his last name. I probably should not have blurted out, “Oh i remember him — I slept with him!”

Slutty teenage Goddess. 😉

We were in Gainsville two days ago for a concert and will see the same band tonight. They were amazing and I am glad i came along on this odyssey. Last night we went to Citywalk and attended Mardi Gras at Universal Studios. It was awful and a huge waste of money, minus the cute boys who gave us beads as we drank our $65 beers.

But our dinner at Latin Quarter was superb. Besides, anything beats being at home!

More to come when i get home. Just trying to find some garlic Mardi Gras beads for protection and hope for the best before we roll home tomorrow. I have no doubt, though, that we will have another fun night with an amazing band. I got a hug from the super cute lead singer, so I will soon be gettin’ mah groupie on and loving it!

Dave Paints on the Avenue

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I finally have an “in” with the artsy community in my area, and it’s lovely.

The guys I hung out with last night are anything but the pretentious artsy-fartsy a*holes I remember from D.C. Now, I miss me some Washington because we have a whopping two art museums in my new world and I’d give my left ass cheek for a visit to a bona fide Smithsonian.

But life in Florida is different in general — slower, more casual, definitely boozier — and my new friends live in the Keys, where “slow” life is pretty much in “damn near stop” mode.

And I love it.

Everyone was so authentic, in an otherwise-plastic community. I have long called this “South New York,” where northeasterners (from Jersey to eastern Canada) migrate and share their hurry-up-already attitudes and complaints about everything. I look forward to the end of snowbird season. I’m no longer one of them. There is nothing in this world worth hurrying toward. Really.

Anyway, I am sort of anomaly, because I think I have been very well-trained in business. I can recite human resources policies, procedures and case laws like the prim and proper professional I was raised to be. Dress codes, performance-improvement plans and pantyhose are ingrained in my psyche.

Yet I was always a bit of a rebel. I always found ways to toe the line between what was expected of me and how I really wanted to act.

No one has ever been able to silence me, though. I thought long and hard about what an old V.P. said to me last week, that I must have had a personality transplant. It was against him and so many like him that I rebelled.

I never wanted to fit into anybody’s expectations, any more so than I had to, to keep my job. I cussed, I walked around barefoot. (I’ll get you on your “no open-toed shoes” rule!) I hung out with whomever the hell I respected, regardless of whether they could help me further my career. I didn’t shut up and smile when I had a flood of raw passion and frustration that I wanted someone, anyone to acknowledge.

I could write a book about how to “walk the line.” But I’d be the first one to burn it and accuse myself of selling out.

The artists, ah. Now there are some kindred spirits. They paint. They make interesting frames. They drink vodka. They are all friends who sail and travel the world together. They dress the way they want, they say what they want, and they are generous with strangers and friends alike.

I guess what I’m saying is that we are reared in the corporate culture to revere the CEO and vice presidents. That they worked hard and put in a few decades’ worth of work to get to where they are. And I am not saying that some of them aren’t respectable, hella cool individuals. But that’s not the side of them that is typically exposed to us.

One thing I learned, in retrospect, is that all supervisors are men. Even if they have girl parts. I don’t know why, as a subordinate, I felt I didn’t have to manage female superiors the same as the males of my past lives. That was an expensive lesson.

I thought that by being “friends” — with all of its honesty, patience and understanding — was the ticket. It’s not. Maybe to a deeper degree, sure. But in the end, managers are asexual. They all want to look good. At the end of the day, it’s their asses on the line, and there isn’t room in the closing credits for any other names.

That’s not always the case. I remember a female friend giving another female friend the advice that it’s the women who will help her along in her career, more so than the men in power. It’s something she has carried with her, and it was sound advice. It’s always been the women in my career that have opened the doors and held them open for the females like me who were rising up behind them.

But my friend is way more worldly than most. She was never threatened. We realized early on that when we teamed up, we were twice as powerful as those in front of us who were trying to hold the doors closed to prevent our entry. And yes, that inner circle included women who just couldn’t give up the territory that they’d fought so hard to claim.

In any case, it was lovely to hang with creative people who come and go as they please. In the middle of the party (circa 11 p.m.), they started painting because that’s when inspiration struck. Nobody was asking “Father, may I?” or worrying that the guy whose name is on the gallery would care that his buddies/partners were going to outshine him with their own contribution to the beauty that surrounded us.

While my own stick-figure scrawls will never gain me entry into the gallery crew, I loved it that they welcomed me as someone who gets them and appreciates their quirks as not just character, but as what makes them successful.

Imagine, doing what you love, making money at it, living where you want and spending your days creating beauty and sailing the high seas at will for inspiration or relaxation. (Or both.)

This bohemian life is calling to me. I remain with one foot solidly planted in my field. But I am hoping to plant the other foot somewhere in this colorful world to give me an outlet for the authenticity that seems to have no place anywhere else.

Ah, work. Sigh.

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

George’s mom and I had dinner at our favorite place tonight, per usual. I think our dinner dates save our sanity during the workweek. Same place, same cocktails, same appetizer … only I deviate with the dinner choices.

We tried a new table outdoors. We usually pick one of the couches on the porch, as it’s usually always raining. But they added a lovely mosaic table this evening — and the weather is PERFECT — so we dined under the tiki torches and the stars. Aaaah, lovely.

We’re plotting our Paris rendezvous. We’re thinking Valentine’s Day, since our collective staff members think we’re a couple anyway. 😉 Also, it is a historically shitty holiday, so why not escape to the world’s most-romantic city with our favorite travel partners?

I wish we could go now. We CAN, of course. Or we could go a year from now. But the friend-of-a-friend there will be moving across the river to Germany. Which, is fine too.

I just never dreamed I’d get to Paris. And now … it’s all a matter of booking the trip.

I can’t stand my living situation. I’m at my wits’ end. I can’t believe I can be so aloof and annoyed and, yet, she refuses to take the hint and leave.

Then I wonder why I deserve an invitation to Paris — when I’m “so mean,” according to the fixture in my house … or is it because it’s a reward for my suffering?

And because Paris is my dream — my I-can-die-happy-place — does that mean my suffering is about to come to an end, one way or another?

Busy day.

Blew off work at 2:30 p.m. to attend a birthday party at a neighboring office. The birthday boy showed up close to 5 p.m. By then we’d eaten most of the cake (from Sugar Chef. NOM. Second birthday in a week that we had cake from there!) and polished off a bottle of Patron, Three Olives’ grape vodka, Captain Morgan, Grey Goose and Malibu rum.

I think only four of us were in attendance. 😉 Did I mention that I love my job?

Since I was back in my home area well-before my usual 7-p.m.-ish departure time, I opted to waste time by driving around for a few hours. The weather here is GORGEOUS. It’s about 83 all the time, very windy — just beautiful.

The winds are fierce — I was able to turn off my a/c because, just a floor shy of my old penthouse digs, the air is crazy up here. The vertical blinds are all kerfuffled, paperwork has blown into the wrong rooms, the cat pretty much lives in the closet and, any second now, I’m just WAITING for a house to fall on my mother.

A girl can dream, yes?

I was kind of giggling to myself a few minutes ago, that I officially met the third-biggest asshole in Palm Beach County. The only reason he won’t ever usurp No. 1 and No. 2 is because he, at the very least, earned his right to be a dick.

Not saying he SHOULD be as Costco-sized box o’ douche as he is … but, you know. I’m willing to respect someone who’s basically spent a lifetime successfully (and legally) scamming people out of their money. Assholes 1 and 2 are just pricks for the sake of being so.

Speaking of assholes, when IS that house gonna fall on that woman? Like my friend said to his own mom, either get better soon or decline quickly!

“Little girls don’t know how to be sweet girls.
Mama didn’t teach me.
Little boys don’t know how to treat little girls.
Daddy didn’t show me.

Face down, on top of your bed.
Oh why did I give it up to you?
Is this how I shoot myself up high,
Just high enough to get through?

Again, the false affection.
Again, we break down inside.
Love save the empty.
Love save the empty, and save me.”

— Erin McCarley, “Love Save the Empty”

Newest earworm. Enjoy!

So, I did a grown-up thing and bought a dining room set yesterday. Plus a matching baker’s rack, which is something I’ve always wanted.

Of course, that means emptying and breaking down the nine thousand boxes in the dining room without moving them to the living room, where there’s also a mighty pile of those. (Thanks to an ant problem, we have stacked boxes and put Kadie’s food dishes on top of them.)

(Another random parenthetical — I addressed my rent check to the “Ant Capital of the World.” Think that will get my message across?)

I’ve not wanted to invest any money into my apartments, but it’s time. I just thought if I could get rid of the UEOEH, I could feel free to decorate again. I mean, she never has any money or food, so anytime I spend money on myself, I feel guilty that she’s sitting around moping, lonely and hungry.

Yes, the view IS wonderful from the cross — funny you should ask!

I haven’t had a dining set since, well, I think 2003 when I moved from my first apartment in Alexandria, Va., to the second. I got rid of the chairs (Maddie had destroyed them) and kept the table. The table served many appetizers over the course of many parties quite well. But when I left Virginia in 2006, the table and the couch stayed behind.

It took me until about 2008 to replace the couch, and now 2010 for the dining set. It’s not that I have been searching for the perfect pieces but, rather, spending that much money in one transaction sends me diving toward paper bags to regulate my breathing.

Besides, I’d rather book one of those $150 Palm-Beach-to-Atlantis weekend cruises and spend four times that on booze for two days. (That’d be for three glasses of wine. Total.) I’m more about investing in experiences, in technology, in trips to Marshall’s for purses and dresses.

There are four chairs with this set. One for me, for Kadie, for Laura and for George. Like one of my beloveds said yesterday, “Oh, wow, a dining room for all the meals you WON’T be having with the UEOEH!”

I just figured it would be an impetus to get all the boxes out of the dining room. Which, worked sort of magically and I threw away 12 boxes yesterday. Score! Eight thousand more to go! (99% are NOT mine.)

It wasn’t that expensive, but I do go nuts when I make any kind of purchase. It’s a carry-over from my not-employed days (six years ago!). Oy. I remember investing in my apartment back then and, of course, all the tags had been ripped off of all the new stuff when the income ran out. That was great fun.

But I always try to buy something significant to mark milestones in my life. This was a purchase I’ve needed to make for a while, yes. But I also made a major decision for the business that circumvented emotion and friendship and was truly in the best interest of the company. It was a grown-up moment. So I deserve a grown-up dining room. Damn it!

And of course, after this minor expenditure, the car rewarded me by stalling out at the drive-thru today. I went to Mickey D’s for a diet Coke and the car started drifting in reverse. It had never done that before! I didn’t know what to do. Of course, I figured it out REAL quick. But it was no rush — it took 33 minutes to get to the pickup window from the order screen. Apparently they were frying up one McNugget at a time or something!

I’ve had my phone off all weekend. Every time I turn it on to send a text, I am amazed at how many calls I’ve missed. Popular, I never dreamed I was. I’m not answering. Not in the mood. Not even listening to the pile of messages. Frankly, save for an hour on the computer today at work, I am out of commission till tomorrow morning.

I’m also laying low on Facebook. Seriously, I need a break. Not from the world, nor from everyone. Just a few people. It’s like my mom — I got a text from her the other day telling me “I miss us!” and I refrained from saying, “I miss you living four hours away!” I just have to bite my tongue and wait it out till I can choke out a few minutes of getting along.

“Sad boy, you stare up at the sky
When no one’s looking back at you.
You wear your every last disguise;
You’re flying, then you fall through.

Again, the false attention.
Again, you’re breaking inside.
Love save the empty.
Love save the empty, save me.”

I’m getting ready for church now. Apparently Foursquare coronated me the mayor of it. Say hello to the holiest woman in South Florida — the Mother Theresa of the Palm Beaches. I half-wonder whether the only reason I’m going is to retain my title. 😉 There’s no message tonight — just music. And that sounds pretty much like the perfect end to a stressful week and weekend to me!

Fairmont Pacific Rim

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Had the best night out ever last night. I was apprehensive at first. Tried on about seven outfits. Ended up going casual with an old favorite.

(Nothing fits … diet starts again tomorrow. But first? Road trip to Little Havana with the lovely Lady L for a Cuban sammich!)

I call my friend “Lady L” because, well, her name starts with L. But I was thinking at some point, she’s also “Lady Luck” as well. Because, seriously, if you want your life to be better, don’t you hang around with people who have a great attitude and to whom great things come because of that ray of sunshine shooting out of their butt? 😉

I’d love to say I’ve been deep in my head the past few days. But I haven’t. Clarity has struck me in a way that I never anticipated. And maybe my new glasses are just the right strength, but I’m seeing the world with 20/20 vision.

And I’m both loving it and hating it at the same time.

In quasi-related news, the UEOEH and I had a long, ugly talk yesterday. Lots of tears (from her). Lots of accusations. Lots of misperceptions and missing the point. I NEEDED our group night out last night to recover from it!

I won’t bore anyone with the details. But I will say I’m looking at a lovely dining room set. I also zeroed in on my dream car.

I decided not to enroll in our 401(k) plan at work. At least, I’m going to miss the Monday deadline. It’s my intent to enroll in January. I am going to save up for a down payment on my dream car as my Christmas present to myself.

It will be nice to have a car whose A/C works. That doesn’t lurch at red lights. That actually stops when dumbfuck pedestrians and bicyclists dart out in front of me when I’m speeding along the A1A.

I’m back to my “I don’t want to have kids” phase. I had a long talk with someone about my childhood. And I realize why it’s important to me to have freedom, privacy and, oh, cash. Never had a drop of any of it till I was into my second decade.

I want 1,200-threadcount sheets. I want to fly first class to Barcelona — and, hell, to Baltimore! I want to not fret that the car loan is going to be $60,000 simply because I have shit credit. I want to pay for Mom’s seat on the space shuttle to the moon. I want plastic surgery. I want the finest wines and cheeses that money can buy.

And that will be Enough for me.

I just hope to earn (or have access to) enough to enjoy the lifestyle to which I expect to become accustomed!