Caterwauling

‘And bonfires lit up the shore’

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Yesterday = Best. Day. Ever.

A severe annoyance pre-8 a.m. could have put a damper on the day. I write off said annoyance to factors at work long before that.

Did a “work from home” day that was mostly spent between Barnes & Noble and Panera at CityPlace. I find I get more done while sitting in traffic than I do in the office — absolutely productive day.

It was also a gorgeous day. 80 degrees. Sunny. Breezy. Magnificent.

But alas, as I was wrapping up my projects for the day (to be resumed Sunday night), the skies parted and Moses came looking for animals to round up. So, I caught a movie (“It’s Complicated”) at the Parisian after the official “Yabba Dabba Do!” escaped my lips at quitting time.

The rain was light when I left and I wasn’t sure I was going to head down to Lake Worth for the beach bonfire, but I did. And just for me, I think, the rain stopped and I truly got to experience why people live in beach towns.

I admit, I never understood “beach people” until now. But sitting next to a huge fire pit in the sand and having the ocean just 12 feet away … aaah. This is my heaven. This is what I will aspire to, every day for the rest of my life.

I saw someone I know there — she introduced me to her friends and invited me to hang with her group. Which was so nice. I opted to do the lone-wolf thing, though. I have far too many half-formed ideas in my head and really enjoyed spending the evening with them.

My clothes, skin, hair — everything — were permeated with firewood and salt air, and it was good. In the elevator at my building, one gentleman said, “You must’ve gone to the bonfire.” It’s that potent. I’d like to bottle this scent and make perfume and candles out of it.

Speaking of (still) smelling like a fire pit, I must hop in the shower now to wash that lovely scent off of my skin. But I am certain, that, for the rest of my life, I will never forget dancing barefoot in the sand as the D.J. spun this glorious little tune. …

“Left a good job in the city,
Working for The Man every night and day,
And I never lost one minute of sleeping,
Worrying ’bout the way things might have been.

Big wheel keep on turning,
Proud Mary keep on burning,
Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river.

Cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis,
Pumped a lot of ‘tane down in New Orleans,
But I never saw the good side of the city,
Until I hitched a ride on a river boat queen.

Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river.
If you come down to the river,
Bet you gonna find some people who live.
You don’t have to worry ’cause you have no money,
People on the river are happy to give.”

— CCR (but Tina Turner’s version), “Proud Mary”

South Ocean at Christmas

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I giggle at this Charlie Brown palm tree every night of my life. There are so many beautifully decorated palms in my area, but then there’s this half-assed wonder.

And yet, now that I’ve captured its ridiculousness for the world to see, I’ve developed an unexpected fondness for it.

I’m sure that’s a metaphor for something else.

I think back to when my grandparents were still alive, how I would not want to go back to the mother ship for the holidays, and my mother always swore that it might be the last holiday I saw them alive.

I always hated that. And eventually, the opportunities to visit evaporated, but I made sure to enjoy the times I *did* make the effort so that the regrets weren’t as bad as they could have been.

Similarly, I’m training myself to live like this is it. (Here’s a great blog entry from Gaping Void, telling us to fight like hell, because this is it.)

Like when I drive to work, do I take the scenic route or the slightly faster one? I mean, I spend the drive on the phone most of the time anyway, but I’d rather enjoy the beauty of the A1A because, hey, it could all end tomorrow.

Not to be fatalistic like Mom was, but I like to think of it as being realistic. I had $50 to my name yesterday (and none today) and should have bought groceries for Mom and me, but I said fuck it and took us to lunch at the Old Key Lime House instead.

But, can you blame me, when this was the view from my table?

Anyway, who the hell knows what’s next for any of us in this life. But just as I’d rather have one exquisite waterfront dining experience rather than a week’s worth of food, I’m taking an attitude of “don’t wait to love it or experience it.”

Because, as I’m hoping, the more experiences I collect, the more — bigger and better ones — will present themselves to me.

‘Ice-skimo’

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Haven’t really been around the Internet much in the past few days, mostly because the Internet has been out at Casa Caterwauling and the only time I was able to get online was when I was in Orlando for the weekend. *eyeroll*

Ask me how much I hate Comcast right now. Wait … don’t. My head will start spinning around again. Seven days without Internet, but two days FILLED with ineptitude. Shocking, I know.

Let’s talk about Orlando, shall we?

One highlight of my trip north was to the Gaylord Palms — a hotel where I have FOND memories (there’s a tinge of sarcasm there, but I really do have some damn good memories of staying there!). It was fun to show Mom where I got drunk there and got hit on here and there’s the hotel room where I made a post-midnight visit to …. O HAI TMI. *ahem*

Anyway, for the G-rated portion of this tour. …

Went to the “Ice” showcase, where the convention center was turned into a 9-degrees-warm wonderland.

Nine degrees in Florida. Little Miss here was in flip-flops and had freezer-burned toes after her 20 minutes in the exhibit.

It was very cool (pun intended) — absolutely everything was made of ice. (Photoset here.) Not worth nearly $60 for admission for two people (and $12 to park), but very cute nonetheless.

I got the world’s best souvenir from my trip there. I’ve been looking for a nativity forever — something small, modern and cute. Preferably something made of crystal. And hot damn, I found THE most perfect nativity in the “Ice” gift shop:

Big ups to the Gaylord for providing parkas. They even had hats and mittens for sale in the gift shop that you are dumped into AFTER the event. (*sigh*) Too bad they didn’t have socks — I would REALLY look like a South Floridian with socks and flip-flops! 🙂

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for tonight. I have a lot on my mind and I’m going to do something wild and crazy and NOT process my thoughts in public. (A first! It’s a Christmas MIRACLE!!!)

Anyway, ho ho ho and a bottle of pinot. …

The lovely Helen er, Shannon put out a call for another 79 of us to share our worlds — where we go, what we do, what constitutes life in our part of the planet.

This girl who was born in the projects and grew up on food stamps and government cheese now lives in one of the richest neighborhoods in America. Of course, since I pay for two apartments here, some food stamps would be very much appreciated right now. 🙂

This is a little area called the Port of Palm Beach, although it’s also known as the Riviera Beach Marina. Reminds me very much of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, and I love it so:

I’ve only been there twice, once to volunteer for my church (more on that later) and once yesterday, to have a lovely lunch at the Tiki Bar. Some of you on Facebook were envying my bacon-wrapped scallops with the apricot-horseradish dipping sauce yesterday. 🙂

Speaking of church, I attend one of the four campuses (five if you count the Internet) of Christ Fellowship. There’s a main campus in Palm Beach Gardens, and they broadcast their services to all the other locations except mine.

Well, it’s complicated — they do broadcast to my campus for the 9 a.m. service.

But I attend the 11 a.m. service because I love the on-site pastor and he does his own thing then, aimed at people our age and younger. He’s 39 and very easy on the eyes. (Hey, it doesn’t matter what my reasons are for going to church, just as long as I go, right?)

This is what my church looks like on the inside:

This is the outside:

The city where I work has been named the No. 2 beach in Florida for sandcastle-building. Only, I have yet to see a sandcastle. But I’ve seen exquisite creatures like this guy on random mornings in which I happen to squeeze in a quick walk:

I lost most of my summer because of an all-consuming project. But these days, I’m trying to get out as much as possible and not miss what my area has to offer. I mean, it is Christmas, after all. …

I currently live in an adorable little penthouse apartment with updated, stainless-steel appliances that break. My a/c is turned off, thanks to my first month’s bill being $500 because the unit is old. So, it gets hot up here. But since it’s “winter” in Florida (80 degrees as a low, anyone?), not only is the weather gorgeous, but the winds are incredibly strong up here.

My condo sits on the Intracoastal Waterway …

With the Atlantic Ocean across the street …

This is as close to paradise as it gets, kids.

I work here. It looks like IKEA but is simply only furnished by it. 🙂 The John Lennon poster is not mine, but I love New York and that makes me happy. Next to it is my calendar of Paris, because that’s where I want to be:

In this area, the homeless are quite creative. They use palm leaves to make “roses” and other souvenirs:

I’ve started spending my Saturdays in Fort Lauderdale. The weather has been for crap the past couple weeks and I couldn’t get a good picture to save my life.

I tried to go to Winterfest on Saturday — the biggest, baddest boat parade in the area. I had a GREAT parking spot, which my awesome server at Cafe Bluefish turned me on to. (And the dolphin fingers at Cafe Bluefish? To. Die. For.)

But alas, it rained like fucking hell and I gave up on the idea, even though I was in a FREE parking space, just TWO BLOCKS from the event. Gah.

The only photo I can find of the Fort Lauderdale area is this one, of the Seminole Hard Rock in Hollywood, Fla. … the title of the photo is “A Bar Named After My Life.”

Regular readers of this blog know that I’m on a quest to “live this life if it kills me.” Thus, I will be heading to Orlando on Thursday to celebrate Christmas, Disney-style.

I don’t have any digital photos of Disney, but I usually stay at the Gaylord Palms. (Correction: I did while I was on my last employer’s dime!) So, here’s a photo of the view from my hotel room — yes, this was taken indoors.

Thank you for taking this tour of my life with me! This is a great scrapbook of memories from this period in my life. Shannon, thanks for including me in the project!

Christmas Tree vs. Palm Tree

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, it’s Christmas here in South Florida, not that you can tell by the weather.

There was a Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony on Thursday. (This town is so small, there isn’t even a Web site for it.)

And there I was, in a T-shirt and flip-flops, eating Rita’s Italian Ice on that 85-degree night.

Now, see, in the north, Rita’s closes around the time you have to stop wearing white shoes for the winter. (Except “Winter White” shoes. Those are fine all year ’round. And that statement just made my head spin.)

Anyway, I took a lot of better shots of this 100-foot tree, but I wanted to share this pic of it next to a same-size palm tree. That to me represents the dichotomy of Christmas 2009 in my world.

I don’t have any big plans for Christmas. I did take my first days off of work (just two) and booked a very small trip to Disney World. I actually voluntarily wanted to take Mom to the Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party.

I figure, it’s the first time it’s HOT at Christmas for us, and she’s never seen Orlando. And I’m pretty low on cash so it’s pretty sad that my present to both of us is admission to Disney World for a night.

I’m hoping that, since the “vacation” falls after next payday, I can pick another park for us to visit. Disney Hollywood Studios has a “spectacle of dancing lights” that intrigues me.

I’m more of an Epcot/Universal Studios fan, but I’d rather see Christmas (and maybe even feel it) than drag Mom all over hell’s half-acre to see the places that I know and love.

And yes, this is all part of my “I’m going to live if it kills me” kick. I mean, how can I live just a few hours away from something I’ve always wanted to see, and not go to it?

I don’t have the opportunity to drive to Oglebay or the Gaithersburg Winter Lights Festival. But even though I loved those events, they are small potatoes next to what I can experience this year.

And even though I have my issues with my mother, and always will, it’s nice to be able to show her a little bit of the world. And that’s perhaps the best gift I can give of all this Christmas.

Ever since Cinderella freed herself from the castle, let’s just say, “Watch out, world.”

I did a wild and crazy thing today and bought Bon Jovi tickets. For April. It’s funny — I can barely get through days or even hours, let alone plan something six months from now.

They’re good tickets, too. Not great ones, but I’ve had it with Peanut Heaven. I consider it an investment in NOT flirting with vertigo.

How weird to be thinking ahead again. I didn’t realize how far down the rabbit hole I’d gone till I fretted over pushing the order button on Ticketmaster because, wow, I’m going to still be here? (I don’t mean alive — just in Florida, although “alive” and “Florida” don’t really belong in the same sentence, when you think about it.)

Nothing like a little progress to get a real look at how much you’ve allowed yourself to regress.

I snuck into a conference for a couple hours today. Well, I’d hardly call it “sneaking in” when I was a personally invited guest, but it was definitely “sneaking out” to go see what else was happening in the world.

And wow, was it cool to talk to people furthering their part-time passions with full-time gusto … other crazy writers who are making it (or who think they can make it) in this world, when meanwhile “everyone” tells me what a goldmine of talent I’m sitting on, totally wasting because I’m not using that very same talent to make a quarter-million dollars a year in my “free” time.

I dunno. I guess for as much of a “writer” as I’ve always considered myself, I’ve always used it as a support for other pursuits. I never thought much about trying to make a living as a writer. I always figured it would be a part-time pursuit, or a later-in-life hobby, or maybe even a second eighth career when I’ve mastered the other interests that currently dance through my head.

It’s too bad that you only get asked when you’re 17 years old, what you want to be when you grow up. It’s a question worth pursuing at least annually … we should be doing inventories of our skills and interests on a very regular basis. A lot of us find we’re really good at certain things and that we can build careers from them, but what did you want to be when you were little? What did people talk you out of doing? What wasn’t possible back when we were twee (like working with computers) that we can incorporate into those dreams we had when it was just us and our imaginary friends? What did we like doing but left behind because we forgot or because we moved on to something else but never truly lost our passion for and would do again in a heartbeat?

These are the questions I ask myself daily. What do we unintentionally give up in exchange for what we (un)intentionally pick up? And how can we have it all … and why shouldn’t we, if that’s what we want?

Another day for the record books.

The morning project went swimmingly. Day went downhill midway through. Saved the day with a “Mini Spa-cation” package at the local Marriott, which was a 20-minute massage, 20-minute facial and another 10 minutes in the sauna. Beauteous.

Genius got out of her relaxed state when she jumped in the car and slammed straight into another one. *sigh*

I’m OK. Not relaxed anymore, but OK. Car’s fine. Maybe if I ever get money to fix the air-conditioning, as it is SUCH a joy to drive in the 94-degree Florida heat with NO AIR, I’ll get the newest batch of white paint off my car. But it matches so nicely with all the other white paint I’ve acquired over the years, really, it’s no big deal anymore.

But the real kicker today was when I got in the elevator at my new apartment building with a couple of guys. They hit the second floor. I hit the penthouse button and just felt so weird about it, like, what the hell am I doing with a penthouse when I was born and raised as close to the bottom of middle class as is humanly allowed?

It occurred to me when there was another move taking place on the day I arrived here, how the other people’s movers were killing themselves to pick me up. I was dumb enough to give my number to one of them. And he has called and texted every frackin’ day.

I guess I was in a state where I was feeling ballsy and bold … and hey, moving into a new place, I thought my social life was turning around on the very first day. 😉 But when rationality prevailed (a half-hour later. Damn), I realized that people must think I’m rolling in cash or something, to have a beachside penthouse.

They clearly don’t know that ALL my money is going into renting right now!

This is a very weird place for me right now. I’ve always been the poor friend who didn’t have enough money to go out to eat, to buy a car, to live in a nice neighborhood, to be able to afford a concert ticket or to go out with the gang as regularly as they liked to go out.

And as I’ve started to earn better wages, I *could* go out more but never had the time.

And here I am, doing well enough to support myself and my mother (although I pray to God I don’t have to do it for much longer. Two-plus years is quite enough, thanks), and it occurs to me that I’ve risen to maybe the middle of the middle class. Maybe even upper-middle-class.

It’s just freaky, you know? I don’t have a square to spare right now. But once I recover from my current financial nightmare and get back on track, and Mom actually gets herself a job or something, I guess I have to start watching out for people who are only out to take advantage of what they think I might have. (Which isn’t much, if you look at my 15-year-old furniture, what’s left of it!)

I wonder if I will always feel like the poor kid. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like, “Hell yeah, I work HARD to afford this penthouse, bitchez!” I mean, I DO. But in my head, there’s a small war going on, between “who the hell do you think you are?” and “hey, other people this age have husbands and kids and since you have NOTHING to show for your 35 years, enjoy the condo!”

So yeah, I have an oceanfront condo on a prestigious island. But I can’t afford the gas to put into my dented-up car. The good news is, I’ll never get a swelled head at this rate. 🙂

Penthouse view of the Atlantic Ocean

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This is NOT my new ocean view but rather this was taken from the apartment across the hall from one of the apartments I’ve been considering. (I swear I saw 15 units.) But it ain’t much different on the other side. I will put up some fake hedges or something to further delineate my space (other than the balcony railings that separate the apartments).

But if this is living, I can’t wait to start.

I definitely took the PoorHouse — er, Penthouse. Spare me the stinky unit. Besides, the stinky unit sits over the lone road that goes through this island. I’m three floors higher and even if the neighbors get unruly, I only have four neighbors, two on each side. And three of those units are vacant.

I went to my pool yesterday and OMG, it’s nice. The one at my current unit — not the new one. (I enjoyed that one last weekend.) While the pool is prettier here, I will NOT miss waking up to construction before 7 a.m. every day of the week. Don’t ask me what they’re building. I have no clue because nothing’s getting done.

To add misery to mayhem, the cats have acquired fleas. I have a screened-in porch and good screens on the windows. I hate it, I don’t get it and it’s a sign to shove off NOW.

I agreed to pay a nasty lump sum to vacate my apartment. Thank GOD I haven’t spent any money since I got down here — it’s going away in one fell swoop. But I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just give two months’ notice (same amount) and shove off slowly. I’ll work it out once I sign the paperwork and hand over a check for *mumblemumblecommacommacry* at the new place.

I’m in panic-attack phase, of course. The OEH was talking about moving back to Pittsburgh to live in our cousin’s trailer. I mean, I want her to not be in my space and all, but NOT in a dilapidated TRAILER.

I’m under strict instructions from the employer to get friends down here STAT. Which shouldn’t be a problem when I have the new hacienda in place, judging from the thousand Facebook e-mails from destination-hungry travelers. 😉

I used to travel a lot for my last job, and that became a big part of my social life. Now, I don’t have a lot of business reasons to travel. Well, I’m sure I do but I can’t think of them. 🙂 And right now I don’t want to have to drag the laptop with me if I do get somewhere, so the temporary solution is to roll out the welcome mat to my out-of-state beloveds.

I think I’m still stuck in a mindset that since i never got to take any vacation time at the old job, when I do get time to break away, I don’t wanna work. But there’s a real cultural difference where I am now, that you can work from the fucking moon if you so desire, just take your shit with you and, like, DO it.

So, I know my firmly held beliefs puzzle them, and I will let go of them eventually. I guess I’ve never really had the opportunity to travel when it’s not for work, so it seems a waste to work on the road. Because even when I TRIED to get away from the old employment establishment, I ended up working and I could submit the bill for reimbursement.

I’ve got a lot of work to do on my work mentality, I’m aware.

I’ve got so much going on right now that I’ll probably have a nervous breakdown in short order. But my friend P, who met me when I was moving here and we’ve been hanging out lately, said she FINALLY sees a flicker of hope in my eyes.

The thing is, I have so much fire and creativity and passion and energy … somewhere. It’s all in different boxes and I barely bothered to unpack when I got here. I know that when I move, I’ll be eager to unpack and feel like I’ve landed.

I remember a long time ago when I was done with roommate-land, a friend had told me that even if I had to eat dog food to afford my own place, it would be the best damn dog food meal ever because it was in my own space.

She was right.

I love people (sometimes) but I need a sanctuary. Right now I share an office, share an apartment, share pretty much everything without ever really sharing the contents of my mind and heart because everybody’s got a demand on them and I try so desperately to cling to *something* that’s mine.

I hope the OEH can get on her feet. I’m more willing to help her now that she won’t be underfoot. I even bought her a housewarming gift. I’m contemplating giving her some of my furniture, although her studio is so twee that I’m sure her mountain o’ boxes won’t fit in there.

But I don’t think my entertainment center will fit in our new elevator, so I think I can con the movers into taking it up the steps to her apartment but they’d die in the stairwell if they dragged it up to mine. In which case, she can have my TV and I can buy a new one. 😉

This would be about the time that the meteor hurtling toward earth gets wind of the glimmer of hope in my heart and changes direction toward the Miami area. But that’s OK — if I’m gonna die, dying happy is the way to go!

And here I thought I’d successfully avoided the cameras in San Antonio. Dinner at Little Rhein on the Riverwalk …

Private beach

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I assumed I’d go a little bit nuts about turning 35, since I have gone nuts on every single birthday since, well, maybe 22.

Every year, I end up listing out goals that I never really accomplish. And then I look around and realize how far I am from where I want to be.

Mind you, I never have an *actual* definition of where I should be (i.e., I’d like to be married, but I’m also fine on my own right now; maybe I should have a kid before the egg farm explodes, but I don’t really like kids all that much anyway). But, you know, there’s always that “oh, look, another year gone by and what do you have to show for it” business.

Not this year.

I’ll leave everyone in their illusion that I’m overjoyed to be alive and that everything is perfect. Really. I’d rather everyone be happy for me than sorry. I mean, life has its high points. The only real difference between now and “the life before” is that I get a little more sun. And sun makes me happy and healthy. And at times like this, you take what you can get.

I did get away for the weekend — well, one night, really — at the Vero Beach Hotel & Spa. I needed to deposit a check and the closest branch of my bank is up there. And then I saw a great deal on Travelzoo for Memorial Day, and voila! A plan was hatched.

The town itself was crap. People were just rude. I went into four different restaurants before someone greeted and seated me. Seriously. And I’m no shrinking violet — I was ready to go into the kitchen and make my own goddamned salad.

There’s this beach shop that I tried to go into before I checked into the hotel on Sunday. The saleswoman purposely ignored me for five solid minutes as I tried to buy a cute hat that was, admittedly, only $15 while she tried to sell someone a $100 pair of jeans. I left that stupid hat on the desk and flounced out.

I did go back Monday to buy my damn hat. It was too cute to pass up and it *was* my birthday souvenir. The same old bag must have taken her Valium — either that or she recognized me — and announced how she’s here to help and can’t wait to help me.

Then she followed me around and tried to sell me on buying Not Your Daughter’s Jeans. Ugh. All right, remind me that I’m 35 AND child-free AND insinuate that I should be wearing “mommy jeans.” Cunt!

All I need to do is drop one size to weigh what I did at my lowest point in college. So nyah, whore. *thbbbpppttt*

I finally ditched her, found the hat and bought it from someone else.

So anyway, the stay at the hotel was exquisite. I probably worked for five or six out of the 20 hours that I was there. (*mumble*) But I did play on the beach and hang out at the pool and get as tan as I could in the short amount of time that the sun was out during this wacky-weather weekend. And the fact that men actually look at me now (in a bathing suit. Gah, the horror) does not escape me, either. Weird, but wonderful.

Speaking of cute boys, while I was working in my gorgeous room on Sunday night, the concierge came to the door with a big fat bottle of Pinot Noir (my favorite), a hunk of dark chocolate (to eat; no, not a man) and a birthday card, courtesy of the hotel. That was so awesome — I will DEFINITELY recommend the Vero resort to anyone celebrating a special occasion … or just simply if you’re trying to escape the ordinary mediocrity that you get everywhere else.

I won’t go into the work hijinx when all the systems borked at once, a half-hour before I went live with a project yesterday. And how I MADE the deadline, not without bothering seven different people in three different time zones. And how DRUNK I GOT while freebasing wine during the hell-sent hootenanny. Wine for breakfast, yum!

Anyway, I guess it helped to be so busy on my birthday that I had no time to wallow, reflect or worry. I’m where I am supposed to be. I’m as happy as I can be for never really having known what happiness is.

I have a few bucks in my pocket to travel and treat myself once in a while. I am an hour or two’s drive away from some of the prettiest beaches in the world … and a five minute’s drive away from one that (I think) is even nicer than the private resort where I just stayed.

So, if happiness is defined as being “not totally miserable,” then I’m happy.

And as for “where I’m not and where I hope to be,” I’ll tell ya, 34 was such a good year that if it continues on the path it’s on, I’ll be OK. That’s the real reason why I want to turn 34 again … not that I’m afraid of 35, but when you’re on a winning streak, there’s no sense starting to bet on red when black has worked for you all along!