Caterwauling

I’m pretty sure the Thunder Bunch drugged the kids last night. No constant stomping, vase-rolling or glass-dropping that would rouse the dead. Win. 

I did hear them as I left the house today. But it was more annoying listening to residents’ unleashed dogs going after humans and their leashed dogs last night. 

Huge kerfuffle with “Amber” and her attractive asshole owner. Per usual. It’s a shame all the cute, single guys are either mean to their dogs or lax in taking care of them. 

When this “toodaloo Thundercunt” countdown ends, I plan to start a new, positive one. I don’t care to do NaNoWriMo anymore … all the cool writers and writers’ groups were up North. But I can manage a positive post a day for 30 days. Right?

Christmas at DCA

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I went to see “Four Christmases” yesterday and pretty much loved it. Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn’s characters are living exactly the life I want — surrounding themselves with expensive things, taking exotic vacations and avoiding all things family-related. Ah, to dream. …

Without spoiling it, the question does arise whether that’s all there is to life. And my answer would be “That’s fine by me!” but nobody’s asking what I think. 🙂

I’m making a conscious effort to not go all manic-depressive this holiday season, but this one is testing me more than most. (Minus the one four years ago. Just, don’t ask.)

I just want to know what a good holiday season feels like. One that’s not reminding me how financially fucked I am or how significant-other-challenged I always seem to be at this time of year. And now that I’ve got a built-in roommate (whoever said it’s cheaper to keep her, needs to get smashed over the skull with a brick fireplace) who is either clueless to, or simply ignores, my absolute discomfort at the situation, well, what’s the point of surviving the holidays when nothing looks to be getting better?

I skipped church today — I tend to do that when I need it most. But the bathroom was occupied when I woke up to start getting ready, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. That and, hey, it’s raining. I hope the baby Jesus will understand.

My recent vacation was my Christmas present to myself. I didn’t do nothin’ but shop, eat, drink and lounge in the tub. No cat fur, no intrusions, no sharing my oxygen.

And no answering the phone or looking at the e-mail, during the latter part of the trip. I’ve been so caught up in the details of making other people’s dreams come true, I’ve forgotten how to contribute my vision to the executing of others’.

I’m at this weird place in life where I could continue the career I have — I can get really good at it and do this forever. Or … maybe I’m at the point where I’ve learned enough and maybe it’s time to learn/do something new — preferably something that’s more immune to the recession at hand, if such a thing exists.

I dunno. I’ve always been happy to let my fate find me, whether it’s job, career, friends, family (or urban tribe), pets, boys, etc. I don’t actively seek anything.

And what I seek now — to have my house to myself again, to not be worried to death about losing employment in this tough economic conditions, to enjoy a healthy and functional relationship — seems downright impossible at this moment. I know everything’s within my power to obtain/achieve, but at what point are you just too beaten-down to pursue anything other than the occasional scrap of peace and quiet to simply exist?

Anyway, I don’t wanna just exist. I don’t want to “get through” the holidays, the next fiscal quarter, the next year of the lease.

I don’t want to keep putting off a computer purchase till my meager savings is dwindled down to nothing to pay all the bills.

I don’t want to be where I was four years ago, missing a job I hated with all my heart because I needed the (pathetic amount of) money it provided.

I don’t want to look back on this time where I alternated between anger and passivity when I could have been nicer to people who are rubbing my nerves like a fluffy cloud of steel wool.

I don’t want to believe that this is as good as it gets.

I don’t want to find reassurance in that there are plenty of others who have it way worse than me.

I don’t want to feel like my best days are anywhere but in front of me.

I want to see how great others have it and continue being happy for them. And I also want to feel that I can achieve that level of joy and love and accomplishment and completeness for myself.

I spend a lot of time in denial, of avoiding the things and people that stress me out. I guess I just want them to know how miserable they make me, that I have to pretend they don’t exist in order to get through a day/week/whatever. I also use that exhaustion as an excuse for not keeping up with the people with whom I very much want to share my time and love.

But now that I’ve had a week to myself, I’ve had a chance to chill out and look at the big picture again, instead of being mired in all the details that mean so much to seemingly everyone else but me. And I feel like I can continue in this path and rise to the top of it. But what’s going to motivate me in the meantime, other than fear and obligation?

I know I’m going to end up where I’m supposed to end up. But how am I going to recognize/fulfill my own dreams when I’m so busy tending to everyone else’s?

Eiffel Tower, Paris Las Vegas

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love Paris Las Vegas for its shopping, its beauty and its food. Did I mention the food? I have access to world-class restaurants within walking distance and, yet, I am addicted to Le Creperie, Le Boulangerie, Le Notre and, as of tonight, Le Village Buffet.

I was contemplating dinner at the Venetian, but meh. I realized it was 3:30 p.m. and the dinner buffet was opening at the Paris. I also realized that the $25 for the buffet equaled what I paid at New York New York earlier in the day for coffee and an omelette il formaggio, so what the hell.

I tried to pick mostly healthy things at the buffet. I just so happened to pick ALL of them. And then some. And then some more!

I took a crab leg and a crab claw, the latter I couldn’t crack to save my life, and the former — while tasty — left my hands smelling like a stripper pole. UGH. When seafood smells like seafood, it’s time to stay far, far away from it.

In any case, the Food Baby is pleased. I’ve got a 13th-trimester-caliber muffin top going on tonight. Not to worry, though — I’ve spent my life savings here in Vegas — I won’t be eating again till January, if I’m lucky! It occurs to me that food has been a sex surrogate. And I’ve been sort of fine these past few months with living on salads. But when my hunk o’ man meat was unable to come (heh) on this trip, I had to compensate for one void left unfilled by stuffing another!

Anyway, it’s about 7 p.m. and I’ve single-handedly liquidated Citibank with all my spending on clothes, jewelry and food. It occurs to me that I should take in a show at some point before I hop on a plane and head back to hades.

It also occurs to me to maybe listen to the voicemails that have been left for me by people who CLEARLY know I am on vacation, or otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to reach me that way. Humph. It’s bad enough I can never find time to schedule a vacation — why you gotta take a dump on the days I’m trying to sneak in before I re-tether myself to my cube? Nah, don’t wanna set a precedent of sharing my rare days off, although I may live to regret that little rebellion.

I mean, at the rate things are going in my industry, I may not even have anything to go back to, in which case, I might just not buy a return ticket when there may be nothin’ to which to return.

Oh, on that note, if you saw what I wrote on F-Book last night, I TOTALLY blame the recession for the dearth of available men in the bars. I went out last night (and not a goddamned decent club is open in Vegas on a Sunday, Monday or Tuesday night, FYI) and was appalled at the tumbleweeds rolling through the club I DID manage to find.

Damn. I’m FINALLY allowed out of the office — my only chance to meet someone! — why God WHY isn’t there anyone out there to meet?!?!

Oh, speaking of, I have been getting my kicks by watching men grab handfuls of Trojans in the hotel stores before a night out. *snicker* I mean, if I’m the only chick available for pickup and I wouldn’t do ya, who the hell are ya gonna score with?

Oooh, I totally forgot — I was at the MGM Grand the other night, contemplating something or other around midnight. I’d just come back from dinner at Tao with my friends and who the hell knows why I was wandering the streets at that hour. I know I wasn’t lost — I’d apparently had a double-shot of stupid ’cause I could see my hotel but I couldn’t GET to it.

Anyway, a guy actually MISTOOK ME FOR A HOOKER. Which, I was showin’ the girls and all, but I wasn’t whorish or anything. He wanted some company and was trying to get me to come with him. I’m like, wow, but uh NO. One wonders whether someone like me wasn’t sniggering as he was buying condoms in the hotel probably not too long before he saw me!

So I was staying at a lavish little resort for the past week, and there were all sorts of amenities and such in the room, like a corkscrew. I bought a lovely bottle of 2004 Pinot Noir while I was there, and brought said bottle to my next (not too shabby) hotel. Problem is? This one doesn’t have a corkscrew in the room! FAIL.

Spent the day shopping. Oh, the bling this girl bought without batting an eye. It’s hard to buy clothes these days because they won’t fit for long (well, with the exception of this week — I keep joking that my diet has filed for divorce due to all the damn cheating I’ve done on him!), but even jewelry fitting is transient, as I managed to drop a ring size, too. Go figure.

But I did buy the cutest boots on earth, because they are awesome and I can’t find shit that I like when I’m at home. I was wearing capris with them in the store and I didn’t love how they looked. The salesgirl noticed the disapproval on my face and said they will look so cute with jeans. I laughed and said you know, there are two types of uniforms in Vegas: sweatsuits and high heels, or dresses and Uggs. And NOTHING in between.

I’m debating whether to go out tonight, since I spent my life savings already and I do have a jacuzzi in my suite, waiting for me. I already had a gloriously long, hot candlelit bath this morning (made better by a Witches Ball from LUSH) so my skin is dried out enough for now.

I’m sure I’ll roll down to the lobby for a drink at some point — I’m Internet-surfing after spending four fucking days trying to get the Verizon access card to work and after an hour on the phone with tech support at work on Friday (to no avail), I figured out the problem on my own just a minute ago). Anyway, I was wondering whether to try to get into the uber-exclusive club or whether to just find an open table at any number of the other bars that were empty when I walked by a few minutes ago.

OH! Speaking of exclusive (my ass) clubs, I bought dinner for my team at the breathtaking miX atop THE Hotel the other night to the tune of $1,000. Then two of us broke away and had a few drinks at Rum Jungle, which turns into a nightclub complete with cage dancers. Anyway, my friend and I were almost finished with our adult beverages when a server came over and rudely told us to leave the area. We were all, who the hell are you? And he said that we were sitting in the VIP area, which is a bottle-only space.

It was about to turn into a wine-glass-smashed-into-his-skull space, if I’d had my way about it. We weren’t even asked to order a bottle so we could stay — we were just told to move it elsewhere.

Now, I go to Rum Jungle about once a year. It’s usually packed to the gills. But not the night I was there. Shit, I could have counted the number of patrons on both hands and maybe a foot. B and I were taking up two seats in an otherwise-deserted space. I’m not kidding. B actually sent the little runt on his way and said to send over his manager, who swaggered over like he had a 10-foot dick. (Meanwhile, I was taller than this dude.)

So we pointed out that people weren’t exactly killing themselves to take our two seats. And, for the record, we only needed five more minutes and, if someone needed our seats in that time, we would be HAPPY to leave the club.

The manager threw his weight around for a minute and I was wishing B — at 6-foot-6-ish — would stand up and flick him in the forehead and send him flying across the club.

He did try one last-ditch, “This is a VIP area, so we need you to vacate it” schtick, but I said, you know, we just dropped a grand on dinner at the hotel so why are we NOT worthy of sitting on these stools for two more minutes? He declared, “We operate independently of the hotel so what you do elsewhere doesn’t affect our business.”

Fair enough, but fuck you, you stupid little snot. We did vacate and laughed very loudly as we counted the SIX people standing at the bar, NOT drinking bottles other than BEER BOTTLES. And of course, there was no line outside. SHOCKER.

We rolled down to the J-Pop Lounge and had a fine old time ordering drinks and being ALLOWED to enjoy them before rolling back to our respective hotels. I had a terrific night, but Jesus, I will NOT be going back to Rum Jungle EVER again!

Oh, how cute — housekeeping just came by to offer turndown service. I said no and she asked if I at least wanted the chocolates. Aw. 🙂 I said no, as my ass has already partaken of a nummy crepe and a sugar-free chocolate mousse cake and that was QUITE enough diet-wrecking for one day. Although, that PALES in comparison to the past two days, when I ate all my points AND apparently everyone else’s in the vicinity!

Oh, Jimi Hendrix would not be proud of that entry title. 😉

I’ve decided to have my mail forwarded to my perch atop the clock tower. And all I want for Christmas is more ammo.

What can I say about this past week except that it is ovah? The most brilliant thing that came out of my mouth, after someone pissed me RIGHT the fuck off, was “If she were a rapper, her name would be T-Wat.”

I even attempted to pay said person some (albeit undeserved) thanks. Said individual took great pride in NOT doing the favor and making someone else, who had better things to do, do it.

But before we think Goddess ain’t happy, behold the Best Morning Ever. (Not to be confused with the show “Best Week Ever,” at least, not before its pre-sucking days.) I had the house to myself for the first time in 14 months. Fourteen months!

What did I do? I danced, I sang, I cooked, I hung out in my scandalous gutchies and I left my bedroom door open. Like a grown-up!

Am all dressed up and ready to go out now. Don’t want the memory of when I was happy (ah, more than 14 months ago) to be sullied any further.

But at least I remember. And it’s why I will never, ever give up hope of getting back to that feeling again.

You know what victory is? It’s wearing a vest that used to fit you perfectly — maybe even snugly, if you’re being honest with yourself — and putting it on to find that not only does it button, but once it’s buttoned, you can look down and see the FLOOR between you and the fabric.

In other words, w00t!

Am a half-pound away from being down 40 pounds. It was a good week, at least in the de-pudgification world. Maybe it was all the STRESS that did it to me — and it certainly wasn’t my proximity to the office Candy Corner, where last night’s dinner was a peppermint patty, five peanut M&Ms and three organic animal crackers. *sigh*

I’m going to have to miss the next two Weight Watchers meetings, although I may try to pick one up on an off-day to keep myself motivated.

Tonight we talked about Anchoring as a weight-loss tool. In other words, what is the thing that keeps you motivated, whether positive or negative?

Molly showed us a ring her parents bought her when she was halfway to her goal. And the ring is now too big, since she reached her goal.

(As for me, I’ve started wearing jewelry again — I have no fewer than 100 necklaces that I’d been ignoring that I suddenly can’t get enough of. And I’m wearing all my former-ring-finger-sized rings on my index and middle fingers and they’re STILL too loose. Yay!)

Our leader showed us a photo of himself at his biggest when he was in Italy two years ago. Not pretty.

As for me, I have two anchors, a positive and a negative. The negative is my corporate headshot. It’s awful. I can’t stand it. I hated it when I saw it but when someone offered to take another photo of me, I said, “What’s the point? I still look the same.”

And being down nearly 40 pounds, I’m ready to take another one, should opportunity arise. I mean, that I agreed to speak in front of a live audience AND a virtual one without even thinking to hesitate because of how I look, dude. Seriously. Wow. It didn’t even occur to me to think I wasn’t cute enough to be on camera.

And in that, maybe is the greater anchor — I am starting to see the person I was meant to be. I see what I want to look like, how I will look in a great pair of jeans, how small I will be when standing next to others, how I won’t automatically search for someone bigger in the room than me so that I feel a little bit better.

I was hugging a friend the other day, of the male variety. Someone who looked at me a couple of weeks ago, surprised, and mused, “You’re disappearing before our eyes.” I thought it was some existential reference to me being more scarce than usual, but it was a compliment.

And when I last saw him and hugged him, for the first time I realized I was smaller than him. (We were roughly the same size, maybe if only in my head but I think my perception wasn’t too far off.) And I LOVED it. I had that feeling of being small and protected and engulfed in a bear hug.

I mean, I hug my friends all the time, but to actually feel their arms going all the way around me? Wow. Just, wow.

OMG, that was a feeling that had been missing from my life for too damn long.

This is why I’ll be good when I’m nowhere near a meeting these coming two Tuesdays. I can’t explain it any better than that.

And just think, it’s only the beginning.

All I’ve got to say today?

*flashing hairy eyeball in one particular direction*

more animals

Dear God, thank you for not making me an absolute flaming asshole. Please give those who are, exactly what they deserve. …

I had the first restful weekend in a year, and it’s totally shot. *SCREAM*

Am investing in a litterbox for under my desk for days like today when peeing! eating! not-doing-fewer-than-67-things simultaneously and on (past?) deadline! wasn’t feasible until 4-the-fuck-o’clock.

more animals

I have a friend who escapes life’s hell by spending weeks at a time volunteering in impoverished countries. Yes, in a world where THAT qualifies as relaxation, there but by the grace of God go I.

I’ve also lost more vacation days than I’ve used this year. NAWT KEWL.

Seems like we’ve got to launch a new product every time I want to take a day off. And on the next day I was planning to take off (seeing as though someone who was supposed to meet me somewhere now cannot. Vague much?) to go see said person in their world, I have another f’in product launch that day.

Seriously universe, please to stop screwing with me. Kthxbai!

Remember when I paid $15 for a glass of Estancia pinot noir?

I found ESTANCIA PINOT NOIR at Wegman’s (which is God’s gift to grocery shopping) for $14.99 a bottle. A BOTTLE …

… which I of course bought when I saw it. 😉

Now, I know the wine I had at the restaurant on Friday was an older vintage (I picked up a 2007 and plan to let it age), and it came from the vineyard’s “Pinnacles” collection, which seems to be worth about $30 a bottle.

You know, it’s hard trying to be a sommelier on an Arbor Mist budget!

Today I rocked the brand-new vest that I bought last night when I went out with The Girls^TM, so I felt cute. Not only was it the only vest in the entire store, but it’s a size down from what I normally buy AND IT FIT!

Of course, I did take it off before I ate dinner today, so the buttons wouldn’t blow off and blind anyone within a 25-mile radius. 😉

Anyway, I don’t talk about my friends much on this page (probably because they read it — *waves*). But we did have someone from outside the usual circle decide to join us for a post-shopping dinner last night. And it was fine but, man, was it weird.

With this particular group of friends, we’d started out planning most of our outings in a public forum. But given that a solid, core group of us had formed and no one else seemed to be joining us anyway, we typically plan our events off-list.

For me, it means a nice, dependable, monthly outing with people I like and trust who won’t disown me if I don’t make it to any of the other events in-between pilgrimages to the various corners of the greater D.C. area.

Anyway, our last event was planned online so that we could maybe introduce some new people to the group. Since two of our core six members came later than our original Fab Four in this very way, we are always up for finding another person to make the growing circle complete.

We’d kept membership at females-only. Which has been fine and fun but yeah, we’re still hot-blooded chicks who could use a distraction, too. 😉 So, fine, all the men who said they wanted to join the group, the doors were opened for them.

So, this one dude decides to join us last night. And he was smart and articulate and seemed to be doing well for himself. But one has to wonder why a man his age would come pal around with a half-dozen 30-ish women.

Then again, I probably just answered the question myself!

And the fact that he drove almost as far as I did, as we do a traveling circus of sorts, just to come eat with us was, hmm, interesting, I guess.

I don’t know if we were worth the drive for him, since we all sort of stared at him in curiosity. 😉

A couple of the girls had mentioned in passing that they’d had a meal they liked at Golden Corral. (Ugh. Bleargh. Yecch. And Barf.) It was the one conversation topic that got him all aglow, and he invited all of us out to the Golden Corral this week.

(If you’re not familiar, it’s a buffet. I am not a fan of buffets in general because of the unwashed masses who stuff themselves stupid. I went to a Golden Corral in Pittsburgh a couple years ago for Thanksgiving since we have no holiday traditions. In a word, I repeat: barf.)

We all turned him down. Not to be mean at all, but it must be nice for him to be able to leave work at a reasonable hour and drive out to wherever the hell they have one of those. The rest of us work nights and holidays and everything in-between.

So, I don’t know whether we’ll see Buffet Boy again or whether we’ll continue restricting the gatherings to either ladies-only or simply just using the ol’ e-mail chain with the trusted few.

And I guess I wouldn’t say it was an epic FAIL in letting men join the group; I guess we all just had a very different idea of how it would go. In any case, ya gotta give mad props to someone who thinks he can take on six strong ladies all by himself!

In any case, I’m still waiting for evidence that there are still single, sexy bachelors in my age bracket in the metro D.C. area. I’m beginning to think it’s time to leave town to get me one of those. …