Caterwauling

Birthday cupcake

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

… as long as it comes from Passion for Pastry in Boca Raton. OM NOM NOM NOM.

Spent a marathon day shopping for my favorite person … moi. Got clothes, mostly. Also picked up a delightful bottle of Montepulciano for practically a song. Some crazy specialty market was selling it for half-off, which knocked off my little froggy socks. Hey, I ain’t complaining — I snatched that bitch up and uttered my three favorite words: “Happy Birthday, Goddess!”

The real birthday isn’t until Memorial Day. But as is the usual, the only gift I got this year was from Sephora (a package of lip glosses). So, I always make up for it in the days before and after the high holy holiday that commemorates my birth.

I remember when my friend A. and I used to fuck off from work for hours at a time (to go shopping, natch. We deserved it!). In the entire month leading up to her birthday and definitely the next three or four weeks after it, she would happily pick up something in a store and proclaim, “Happy birthday, A!” to justify the purchase. So, I’m just carrying on our blessed tradition. 🙂

The cupcake was Teh Awesomesauce. The “cheese” and “lettuce” are fondant; the ketchup and mayo (not pictured) are icing (of course) and the “burger” seems to be baked icing. Whatever … it’s fucking paradise in a fluted cup to me.

I would normally have grabbed a strawberry cake from Balducci’s in Bethesda, Md., but it’s a year of totally new traditions. So, this is DEFINITELY one that I am keeping!

It’s been monsooning here in South Floriduh — I’m driving up to the Treasure Coast tomorrow to a desolate resort to usher in my 35th (*gulp*) year with said Montepulciano. I just hope it doesn’t pour the whole time, as that would be a waste of a four-star resort at pauper’s prices (hence why I can afford it).

I will be taking some work with me, which isn’t my idea of a vacation but it’s pretty easy stuff … typically better done drunk anyway. 😉 But then again, isn’t EVERYTHING better done with a bottle of wine and nothing but cupcake in your belleh?

Thriving Ivory at Sunfest

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I should be working on my little newsletter, but I am absolutely exhausted and my mind is boggling from learning stuff I never knew from about 15 years ago so, hey, let’s blog!

I wasn’t going to go to Sunfest today. I mean, yesterday was the day I had designated to go. And today was the final day of the four-day extravaganza. I had better things to do today, yes?

Well, I went to church. (Always a better thing to do.) Had lunch. And figured I’d just drive up the A1A and see what parking might be like, since genius here parked six miles away yesterday. And lo and behold, hand a guy $20 and voila! Parking across from the entrance FTW! (In addition to $31 at the gate. Sweet Jeebus.)

I got to see Thriving Ivory, G. Love and Special Sauce, and Candlebox while I was there. Fireworks start tonight at 9 p.m. but alas, newsletter duty called. Besides, trying to get out of West Palm Beach after fireworks and having to sit on I-95 South to Miami with eleventy million others? No fucking thank you.

I had a great time there. It was nicely situated along the Intracoastal, so even though it was hotter than BALLS in South Florida today, the breeze kept it temperate.

There were all kinds of crafts and food booths there, although that crap really doesn’t interest me. I did chortle at the sign at a chicken place, advertising “Jerk in a Cup” for $6. I got a shot of it on my Nikon, although hell if I can find the battery charger and the USB cord to upload this photo goodness. That settles it — when a cord goes MIA, I just buy a new camera/printer/computer.

Why yes, I AM a girl, in case THAT isn’t readily apparent from reading this page!

I am so glad I didn’t stay at Sunfest last night; I think I walked five miles inside of it today. What I fail to understand is that the scale says I’m up two pounds right now; after hiking no fewer than 15 miles in the last two days (including beach time), like HELL that’s true or even acceptable!

I did have a bit of a giggle at Sunfest today when I noticed a number of men looking at me. Don’t get me wrong — I’m aware that I’ve shed a small person’s worth of weight from my frame, even if I don’t really “get it” in my head that I wasn’t beautiful the whole way down.

But I was sort of amazed at the male attention when I realized that I was probably one of the few chicks with real boobs in the county. And I’m sure I’ll become one of those who does become a frequent-flier at the plastic surgeon. In the meantime, though, I was glad I didn’t throw away my “last year’s tube top becomes this year’s sun dress” — it worked very well for me today!

All right, that’s all, folks. Must go do brilliant things or, at least, make them pretty enough to be published at the crack o’ me in the a.m. …

Edge of the ocean

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

“Ohhh, we can begin again.
Shed our skin, let the sun shine in.
At the edge of the ocean
We can start over again.”

— Ivy, “Edge of the Ocean”

I found my new church this morning. My beloved Pastor Barb in D.C. had given me two recommendations in this area. I tried one last week (meh) and the other today. And today’s house o’ worship was smaller and more-intimate and oh my God, so much better than the first. I was immediately welcomed and embraced by half the congregation. And the minister was just awesome. We talked about the stock market and otherwise just clicked.

Sure, it’s not a thing like my old church; nothing will ever measure up to that. But it’s got its good points, too. And since I can’t have the old church (waah), this is as close to a runner-up as I’m gonna get, and I see the potential.

But the real highlight of my day was lunch and beach time with my beloved Vitamin D from D.C. and her daughter B. (So, basically, I got my Vitamins B and D today. Yay!) OMG, so much fun. So NICE, too, to be away from that oppressive old office and just chilling and chatting and catching some rays.

What was funny was that she had brought well wishes from a ton of my old colleagues. And a job offer. 🙂 Well, that wasn’t the funny part, but what is is that she came down here to see Goddess, but Goddess doesn’t live here anymore. She got wind of the totally transformed Beach Zen Goddess, and who only knows if people who haven’t seen me with their own eyes will believe how different I’ve become.

I was a walking stress knot in D.C. Job was starting to suck, traffic always sucked, health was starting to suck, social life was actually recovering from suck, and home life was Teh Suck. So yeah, I had mentally checked out in a lot of ways, when I wasn’t stressed right the fuck out, of course.

But here, I am different. I know I’m different. I have no problem walking around in shorts and a tank top. I don’t give a shit that my makeup is melted off by the time I get into the car in the morning. I don’t quite care that my hair is windblown from driving topless. (Behave, people.)

And if I were still in D.C., I would NEVER be perfectly comfortable walking around in a bathing suit. Meanwhile, now I park on the other side of the Intracoastal Waterway (parking is free before it and costs a fortune, the closer you get to the water). And yes, I walk to my car in my sun- and water-soaked duds. So what, I say. So what?

That’s the interesting thing about a beach town. Sure, there are “beach bodies,” as they were. People don’t really diet down here — they’re active and tan and happy. And sure we have the “snowbirds” (who only flock down here for the winter) and the vacationers. And guess what? They don’t give two shits about what they look like.

You can go into any restaurant or beach shop, and track a case of sand with you. (Dear Self: Go to the car wash AFTER the beach, not BEFORE.) We all look like hell. I never DREAMED I’d become that way. It’s FABULOUS.

But the best part is the internal transformation, and how quickly it happened for me. I’ve been here, what, 10 days or so? I know I have a lot to worry about. But my brain has been nuked and paved, and it’s rewiring itself. Things will happen the way they’re supposed to.

Sure, I’m nervous that I’m not going to live up to the grand expectations of my new peers. Sure, my “goddess” title may be in jeopardy on the work front if I don’t rise to the occasion. But I can only handle one big problem at a time, and that’s my Extended Houseguest situation.

(Thanks for throwing out all the suction cups that adhere the glass table tops to the wrought-iron tables. The ones I told you to back away from. Even though you insist that you didn’t touch them.)

Or hell, maybe I was frustrated and tossed them myself. I doubt it, but anger makes me do a lot of dumb things without ever remembering them.

But in any event, I’ve left Goddess 2.0 or 3.0 or whatever the hell version I was on back in D.C. There’s a whole new goddess in town here, and just like the 58-odd pounds from my frame that I left back in my old world, I’ve discarded nearly everything else that was weighing me down. I used to subscribe to the “life is crap” theory. Meh. Not so much anymore. Life is pretty fricking awesome right now.

And even though the weight loss was pretty small at my weigh-in yesterday (2.6 pounds during the past month. A MONTH, PEOPLE), my soul seems to be floating on air.

Today was a first for D and me. For both of us, it was the first time we went into the ocean. When she comes to town, there’s usually a riptide or other warning that keeps her out of the water. And I never bring a swimsuit; I usually go in about ankle-deep and take a walk because I’ve just come from work or errands. But not today — today, we immersed ourselves in the salt water and got knocked over by waves and had an AWESOME time.

There was an Associated Press photographer hanging around us all day. We thought he was trying to steal our stuff while we swam, but he was legitimately just standing on the beach with a big ol’ camera and a cocktail (we think, anyway).

I overheard someone asking him what his deal was, and he said he was with the AP, looking for good shots. I’m hoping that “good shot” wasn’t my fat wet ass up in the air on my blanket, showing what pudgy pork roasts American beachgoers are. 🙂 And I just realized that BOTH sets of cheeks are sunburned. I’m sure that’s a picture the world wants to see!

What a view

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This is the view from the condo I’ll probably never qualify for. Sure, the deck isn’t all that. And for what it’s worth, the interior ain’t palatial, either.

But man, to be able to sit in my living room and look out at this? Is worth any pain I may have to go through, to get there.

Even if it’s not meant for me now, it’s definitely worth having seen it, to know what to aspire to. …

Valentine’s Day ended up being all right. I have no complaints, just un-Tweeted thoughts that I knew better than to publish.

So, since I can’t say things like, oh, “How could you waste your time on her when you could have had me?” and “Against my better judgment, I’m thinking about you,” we’ll just mosey along to other topics like all the nice things people messaged to me to get me through the day. 🙂

Anyway, speaking of nice things, yesterday was all about food. But before I launch into that, I want to say that I lost 5.2 pounds last week alone, catapulting me over my anticipated 50-pound-loss mark. Go, me!

I got my 50-pound award, which is basically a copper donut to go on my copper keychain that accompanies the silver donut I got at 25 pounds down. I also got a magnet for the fridge with a star and a “50” and a rainbow. Whee!

When I was asked to talk my milestone at my meeting, they were disappointed when I called it a fluke. I think the meeting leader was looking for some inspirational words for the rest of the group, but I said, “Look, I spent four days at a trade show, standing for 15 hours at a time. When I could find 20 minutes to shovel food in my mouth, I couldn’t exactly be picky. And don’t get me started on the booze I ingested.”

Actually, that’s a little bit of a stretch. My normal meeting leader (I had to go weigh in on a Wednesday instead of a Tuesday because I didn’t leave the office till after 10 p.m. on my regular meeting night) had told me, look, when your company is paying for it, get the fish. Be picky and rewrite the whole menu, if you want to. Don’t feel obligated to get the $20 hamburger (as I was captive in my hotel for a week) when you can spend six bucks more and get something that’s good for you.

He was SO right and I need to thank him. I always eat cheap, not healthily, when I travel. I see what everyone else is ordering and try to get an entree at that price or lower. And while I will probably always do that to some degree, I realized the ahi tuna appetizer at Sunset Sam’s cost the same as a chicken sandwich, and it was huge and filling and barely cost me any WW points. The chicken sammich would have cost me 10 points without condiments.

Of course, after yesterday, I’m sure I’ve found the five pounds I’d lost, as I went to Nagoya for lunch and Guapo’s for dinner.

Judging from my increasingly angry Tweets at Nagoya, I won’t be going back there. It’s tasty and cheap. If you don’t want service, this is a great place to eat.

I was going to go to Fontina Grill, which I love, love, love. But I don’t know. Sushi sounded better. The spicy mussel appetizer and spicy scallop roll as an entree made Goddess happy, just thinking about it.

So, I get seated, and am officially abandoned for 15 minutes. I had picked up a to-go menu so I figured out what I wanted. Then the server comes for my order, only to realize I don’t have a menu. She brings one back, but I said keep it — let me order so I can get on with my day.

I ordered diet coke without ice. As it was freezing and I was sitting in a corner with two windows, I said PLEASE no ice THREE TIMES.

So when she returned another 15 minutes later, guess what I got? ICE! *junk-punch*

Another 15 minutes later (yep, I was timing it), I got my food. Both the appetizer and the entree at once. Gee, thanks.

Lowest-possible tip, can has? Can has!

I think I had tweeted that “Nagoya” means “never gonna get served.” The food was really good, and totally cheap considering where it’s located (King Farm, Rockville). But since there were only two other tables occupied and I could SEE the chef making sushi 10 feet away, one wonders if they had to go to fucking Japan to GET my lunch.

So I ran into the same problem at Guapo’s, where I ordered soup and an entree, and everything came out at once. You know, I opted not to get the veggie fajitas because I didn’t want 15 plates in front of me. But yep, I had a bowl of soup, a side plate of soup fixins, and my spinach enchiladas. (And sangria glass, of course.) I know I was the only one to order a appetizer, but come on already — why punish me for it?

It was interesting how crowded the restaurant was. I go by there frequently and usually the two servers on duty are standing outside, waiting for paint to dry. Valentine’s Day probably singlehandedly served to boost the economy.

Anyway, as I messaged on Facebook, happy Valentine’s Day to all my boys … even the ones not smart enough to spend it with me. Especially them. If there’s a problem to having a harem (which, I’m finding, suits me JUST fine), it’s that there are no standouts waiting to swoop in and sweep you off your feet. You’d think at least one of them would be jealous that you’re out with someone else. 😉

Of course, you wonder whether the one you’re thinking about, is thinking about you, too. Or if you’re like me, you were thinking about three of them and got yourself to sleep knowing that one or more of them probably said someone else’s name last night, but thought of you instead.

A girl can dream, anyway. …

Toes

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

O HAI, this was me, baking in the sun at the hotel pool yesterday after taking a nice long walk on the beach along the ocean.

Today, I am back in my cubicle with my back to the window, where it is snowing outside. Capital Weather says there could be a snow’ice storm through Wednesday. Mmm, joy.

I got an e-mail that the next National Blog Posting Month theme is “Want.” (It’s for February if anyone’s doing the daily theme posting.) I know I’m starting the theme a week early, but I want to have my toes back in a pool in the sun.

The neat thing about vacationing in sunnier climes is that people are so flippin’ nice. Except those who think that anorexic is the new black, because they don’t have the energy to try to smile past the Botox. But when you get to the airport, you’re back with all the rude a-holes from your city who are going to be on your plane back home.

What’s really fun about being a grown-up, since there’s so precious little these days that seems like a privilege to have achieved that status, is that we used to pile a ton of us into a hotel room to travel as cheaply as possible.

Now, when you travel with a buddy, you not only fly in from different cities, but you also get your own rooms. THAT is living, my friends. And if you’re lucky, as I was, you can hear your friend talking on their cell phone, three floors down, as they stand on their balcony while you’re catching the rays on your own.

Well, I got nuttin’ else to say today. Just hoping for a good week and that I can actually get my Tuesday nights back since I haven’t made it to Weight Watchers in quite some time. Of course, after all the eating I did during the past four days, this might be a good week to NOT kill myself to get across town to hop on the scale. …

I’ve been walking around, knowing that I need to make changes in every area of my life, and not knowing where to start.

And then I accidentally turned on “Bromance” and decided that, yes, that’s what I need. Not a reality show, but someone to call once in a while and hang out with.

The rules are simple:

1. At least split the damn bill once in a while. Between the one who forgot their credit card every single Friday night and, well, those who want to go certain places and yet sit there with a glass of water until I intervene, I’m drained.

2. Pick up the phone on the rare occasion I need to talk about something. I don’t call often. In fact, I’m more likely to text or Tweet. I realized last night that I haven’t had a heart-to-heart with anyone in over a month. No wonder I’m clawing at my own skin.

3. Must be a foodie. If you turn up your nose at gourmet fare and can’t help me to cross off all those restaurants on my “must-try” list, stop reading.

4. Wine consumption mandatory. Preferably in large quantities. It goes without saying that my quota on long-distance ‘ho-mances is full. Must be local. Within stumbling distance, preferably.

5. Help me to get motivated to get off my butt and exercise. You’re not doing me any favors if you enable my own enabling ass.

All right, well, I’m no Brody Jenner so I’m not going to be throwing any parties with lingeries and pole dancers to let everyone compete for my affections. Of course, there can be more than one winner.

I can’t call it a “Bromance,” but how about “‘Ho-mance”? All right, people. Whore yourselves out and let’s see if we can put Brody and Frankie’s relationship to shame!

Thanks to a New Year’s Eve misadventure, my formerly beloved Bilbo Baggins bar/restaurant is heretofore known as Dildo Baggins.

It’s a shame, too, since the beer list is killer, the wine list isn’t too shabby, the bartenders are absolute babydolls, and it’s a special place for us because it’s where Internet friends turn into bona fide, cherished friends for life.

It’s also where I turned slightly homicidal on NYE when all I wanted to do was kill time before First Night fireworks that, incidentally, didn’t happen because it was too windy and I would NEVER have made this damn reservation had I known that.

Here’s my Open Table review, since it killed me to write it but I’m not one to have a shitty experience and not share it with the world:

I’ve dined at Bilbo’s about a dozen times in the last two years and expected it would be a great place to spend NYE. Well, that’s the last special occasion I’m giving this place.

My reservation was for 9 p.m. At 9:36, I asked our hostess to re-seat us in a section where servers were actually SERVING people. I was in the back room that had six tables, so it was hard to miss us.

When a server finally did come by at 9:45, I ordered the “Terrine 208,” which promised prosciutto mousse and Gruyere on crepes. Really? I got ham and cheese strips over a bed of onion slices. I hate onions but I was too hungry to complain.

The bartenders are great and the hostess was apologetic, but I’m disappointed at how I had to usher in 2009: with incompetence.

Open Table also gives you the chance to write a small note to the restaurant. Which, I’ll give the longer version of the story.

OK, when I go to any restaurant, I usually start at the bar and take my drinks to the table. I had been having a great time at the bar and loved the servers. So, I wanted to order another round before I cashed out, so that I could give the bar staff a better tip because they deserved it.

Later, the hostess came to visit me to see whether I had gotten served yet, and she said it was her fault for not alerting the servers that I was arriving with drinks in hand. According to her, all the servers who were hanging around (as it was busy but no busier than a normal Saturday night, IMHO) assumed someone else was taking care of my table because there were adult beverages there.

Really? I said I was glad I had brought drinks with me since everyone saw fit to see me sitting there with MENUS for the first 40-odd minutes of my visit. After you walk past a table for the ninth time, don’t you get suspicious as to why people are gnawing on the damn table legs?

The food was good when it came, despite the stinky, oniony awfulness of the Terrine 208. (I’d wanted the duck spring rolls but my companion did not.) The filet was fabulous; the veal was divine.

And I tipped well, despite my better judgment. It was a holiday, after all. And I hope that fruity flamethrower who was ordained to wait on us (and treated us like he was God’s gift to us) realized that we were just ordinary nice people going out for what could have been an extraordinarily nice night instead of having to settle for less than the bare minimum. Maybe next time he’ll be a little nicer and, oh I don’t know, cognizant of the fact that he’s working for tips.

Since I know a lot of you like to read this page to learn from my mistakes (since I make so damn MANY of them), please take this advice to heart:

When you go see a three-hour movie like “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” please do yourself a BIG FAT FUCKING FAVOR and don’t park in an hourly lot.

See, genius here decided she would catch a matinee at Regal Cinemas, since those bastards at the AMC don’t see fit to discount prices ever.

Besides, I always get free offers at Regal for popcorn, and since my real motivation in going to the movies today was to hide my day off from my roommate nom on real popcorn (OMG, CHOMP), it seemed like the right thing to do.

Hah.

OK, first of all, my movie ticket cost $8. My parking? COST $9.

(Did I mention that the AMC has free parking? *thunk*)

Oh, and the popcorn wasn’t free. I received two coupons — one for a free small popcorn and one for a small popcorn for $1. I breezed past the ticket-taker, who had fallen asleep in her chair at the entrance (classy) and rolled over to the concession stand to meet the other employee of the year.

There, I presented the “free” coupon, but the guy still charged me a buck. Whatever — $18 plus $5 for a trough-sized drink and I could have adopted a child in a foreign country and fed them for a month with this expenditure extravaganza.

Regal must make it their duty to hire neither the best nor the brightest. Failure, they has it!

Also, note to self before attending a three-hour-long flick: Get the small Diet Coke. Really. Somewhere past hour two, your “dear God if I pee this much while not knocked up, I will need a catheter when I AM” bladder will not forgive you.

I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs to try to keep from spraying the people in the next row with piss-flavored Diet Coke. And I was so jittery from the caffeine that my phone — which I’d been using to carry on a couple of text/e-mail conversations with people at work — flew off my damn lap and landed, well, somewhere. I crawled around but couldn’t find it in the dark but eventually it did turn up.

And yeah, being nervous about the whereabouts of your $600 phone also adds to your captivity joy. Really! I was just glad no calamities arose when the phone was under someone else’s seat.

Anyway, the movie was lovely. Seriously, utterly lovely. It dragged in some parts, but it was magnificent how absolutely everything came full circle. Even the most-flippant mentions of the tiniest details in the beginning, came around to be poignant later on.

I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for a love story today, since I’m convinced (today anyway) that boys are stinky and stupid and also have cooties. But yeah, I needed this. Love may be imperfect and people don’t always realize it when it comes around. But sometimes you’ve just got to make your own miracles. But you can only really make them if the magic exists in the first place.

Which explains why I seem to have this harem that comes around, again and again. Always seems like someone had feelings when the other didn’t, then it reverses, then who only knows. You can’t tax your brain with it too much — you just have to focus on what’s in front of you and assume that you’re where you’re supposed to be — and that you’re not where you’re not supposed to be.

And I guess I’m not supposed to be in Times Square tomorrow night. But I’m not quite finding the point of why I’m still in D.C., either.

Anyway, I found a Barnes & Noble tonight that’s going out of business. I was on my way to my de-pudgification meeting but fuck that noise — I always have to buy my own Christmas gift, and I hadn’t found anything yet that I could afford. So, I headed straight to the self-help, metaphysical studies and DVD sections and loaded up on 40%-off delights.

Hey, if I have to ring in another new year with this bullshit excuse of a life, at least I’ll be doing so, armed with all the tools I need to make sure that when 2010 comes my way, everything that CAN be different, WILL be. …

O HAI vagina on my plate

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

My neighbors think I’m under the illusion that it is Halloween and, not, in fact Christmas … as I stepped on a scale tonight and my screaming would outdo any cartoon in which a woman jumps on a chair and shrieks at the sight of a mouse.

OK, so I’ve basically spent the last three days eating my body weight in, well, everything. It started with a lasagna (albeit veggie) lunch at work on Wednesday (preceded by about four Christmas parties and one special one-on-one lunch) and slid into the Feast of the Indeterminate Number of Fishes^TM / Prime Rib Cage Match^TM at Casa Bridge on Christmas Eve.

(Aside: NOM.)

The feasting continued the next day when I dragged my still-full self to my Christmas brunch reservation at Phillips Seafood. But as I sat there and read the menu, I found it lacking in something.

What was missing? Um, yeah. SEAFOOD.

I figured it’d either be a limited or prix-fixe menu. Um, sure. Yeah. You could get an omelet, French toast or eggs benedict. And while I am quite the fan of “make your own” omelets, do you know what I like to add to them? Say it with me — “SEAFOOD.”

So without ordering, I left a tip on the table and walked out … knowing full well that not a goddamned thing was open at that time.

I was surfing Open Table on my phone, which had given me the bright idea to make reservations on the holiday. I learned the hard way that some places were open early in the day, and some were open for dinner. (Corduroy was in the latter category, which I REALLY wanted to try. But I didn’t feel like killing six hours.)

And the only other available reservation in the area I was in, at that time, was at Legal Sea Foods.

Which, as I’m SURE you’ve picked up by now, piqued my interest since I was hungry for … ah, you know. 😉

It was my first time there, and my server was absolutely amazing. And the food wasn’t too shabby either. Mussels for a starter, woodgrilled scallops for an entree, Shandong dipping sauce (spicy ginger/shittake), jalapeno polenta, snap peas in oyster sauce, and woodgrilled calamari gleaned from someone else’s plate. OM NOM NOM.

OK, so again I’m eating all my points (and everyone else’s) in one sitting, but it’s not so bad if you’re eating one gigantic meal a day and not eating the rest of the day, right?

Well, then when you find out you have another $300 phone bill (second month in a row!), well, you might as well just go eat the four dozen cookies that the phone perpetrator baked and left in your “how long have I been dieting and do you KNOW how weak my willpower is?” line of sight, and in one sitting.

*burp*

Oh well. Maybe Santa will come next year, since his jolly ass seems to have gotten stuck in the furnace once again. And maybe he’ll bring me a damn present instead of more bills.

The good news is, I’ve been mad enough to express my angst. Quite clearly. And repeatedly. And vehemently. I’ve been simmering for far too long. So while my ass may look like two stuffed pork chops, my mind is pretty much empty at as much peace as it can be.

And it was still a calmer holiday than I had as a young lass. I just miss being able to get in the car and go back to my own world. While I don’t miss the drive, I do miss the distance.

Oh well. Maybe next year. No, definitely next year.

The new year will find me back to eating tofu and soy and veggies and all things organic and bland. But it will also find me, well, finding myself. Whoever that is.

Anyway, happy birthday, Jesus (and many more!) and thanks for all the fish.