It has a Y!

Peeks head out to check for life

2010-07-31T16:48:00.002-04:00

Dunno if anyone's still around, but I'm still here alive and kicking. Doing some occasional work for cash, looking for a "real" job with benefits and all.

Nothing much of interest to say today, just wanted to check in now that I've got internet at home again touch base. And alert those with RSS feeds that I'm here again. Cheers!

Sign of the times?

2009-04-10T19:32:00.002-04:00

Good lord, what's up with all the shootings these days? Is this a sign of the times? I know that, historically, there was an increased rate of suicide during the Great Depression, but this is ridiculous. Shooting yourself is bad enough; taking out numerous other innocent people is just beyond my capacity to understand. I truly just don't understand it.

And I hope I never do.

Am I the only one

2008-10-14T13:55:00.002-04:00

that was flipping back and forth between "You've Got Mail" and Monday Night Football last night? Proof positive that I am, indeed, quite odd.

I also give myself manicures and pedicures while drinking wine and watching NFL football all day Sunday, including all the pre-game and post-game shows.

Sometimes I despair for my sanity. I seem not only to go to extremes, but to combine extremes. If only, just once, they would come together in a normal, happy medium.

But then I guess I wouldn't be me. Hrmpf.

Best laid plans

2008-01-30T14:50:00.000-05:00

Things sometimes have a very odd way of turning out. In my case, things almost always turn out quite differently, and more crappily (is that even a word? It is now!), than I thought they would. Or at least they did until the end of 2007.

I can’t say everything that’s going on in my life right now, but my plan to step back from “real” life for the rest of 2007 certainly has paid off, and in spades. One of my regulars at the bar turned out to be the director of human resources for a very large union, and kept pestering me to get my resume to her. So finally, I did, and went in for their silly “office skills” testing on January 2. Hey, I said I was going back to the real world in the new year, so I figured why wait, right? The testing was really just a formality; I interviewed with my boss the following Monday (the 7th), was offered the job on the spot, and started on the Wednesday (the 9th). Yep, you read that right: one week exactly to the day from my first step through the doors.

Now get this: not only is this a “real” job, but it’s pretty much perfect. My boss is only in the office about 1-2 days out of the month, so there’s no micromanaging. I start with 3 weeks’ vacation and 3 weeks’ sick leave, along with 13 paid holidays. I have to travel a minimum of 4 times a year for hearings, and it could be as much as 10-14 days a month as my boss decides how to expand the role. And we don’t travel cheap. Benefits start on Day One, pension is fully funded by the employer, and we have a great, cheap cafeteria. Even better, my daily commute is 30 minutes from door to door! I’m actually kicking myself for lucking into this job. It’s not taxing by any stretch of the imagination (which is, in fact, my only worry long-term), but I reckon I can put up with anything at this point.

Still, for once in my life, my plan worked out. Amazing, huh?

In other news, yes, there is a man on the horizon, but I need to disengage myself from my current situation before anything can really happen there. Yes, I am a trollop, you needn’t tell me that, but at least the new one’s not married! ;p I dearly love my current man, but I see how different we are, how different our backgrounds are, and I just don’t see us together long-term. Whereas the other (we’ll call him NC Man for now) has a very similar upbringing to mine and we really speak a common language, a kind of southern shorthand, if you will. We enjoy more of the same things, have more of the same expectations, and I can more see the two of us together long-term than the current man. Gah, what a predicament I’ve gotten myself into. I never intended it, but then again I did let it happen. Ah, well, I’m sure things will work out one way or the other, I just need to give it another month or so until I’m truly back on my feet and have my own living space again. And then, of course, I’ll be looking for a new furry friend to share my life. You didn’t really think I’d go without a pet, did you?

So that’s about it for today. I’ll try (once again) to be a bit more regular in my posting now that I have the time.

2007

2007-12-23T16:47:00.000-05:00

Well, 2007 has been a very educational year for me. I've dropped out of "real" life, supported myself in a series of dead end restaurant and bar jobs, lost pretty much everything that meant anything to me, including my beloved Buca, but in the end, it has been an epiphany I've learned what I want from life, what makes me happy, what makes me unhappy, what I can deal with and what I can't, and where I want my life to go. Now I just have to follow my plan to get there.

There's something about losing it all that is freeing. A certain sense of freedom comes over you, along with a heavy cloak of what you think you should be doing. The trick is to throw off that cloak and follow your heart, wherever it may lead. I was always afraid to do that before, before everything was ripped away and I had nothing left to lose.

Do I love my life now? No. But I can see now how I could, and I can see how I can get there, and I can plan for that.

2008, here I come!

Starting Over

2007-07-26T13:36:00.000-04:00

Right, so I said I'd be back when I had dealt with real life. Well, here I am! I don't quite have everything figured out yet, but am making substantial progress and moving forward on all fronts. New job (check), new place to live (hopefully check next week to move Sept. 1), new men . . . okay, not so much on that one.

Presently I am staying with a friend who was kind enough to allow me to bring Buca along with me. I'm getting a bit claustrophobic here, to be honest, as it's only a studio, even if quite a large one, and friend appears to have romantic aspirations even though he's being a complete gentleman. It's a very quick commute to my new job which is as a server at a high end Mediterranean/Turkish/Lebanese restaurant.

I know, I know, many will think I'm selling myself short by being "just a waitress." Well, fuck off. The truth is that I can bring home more in cash (mostly tax free) doing this than I ever did as a paralegal. And, to be honest, I'm burnt out on office work for right now. I need a break from the rat race. I need a supportive, fun work environment that taxes not only my mind (multitasking, upselling, generally being witty and charming) but also my body. And trust me, it taxes my body. This place is big and requires a lot of walking.

Unfortunately, I was unable to bring Chico with me, so in accordance with the contract I signed when I adopted him, I returned him to the humane society. After having to put Shelby down last year, it is quite possibly one of the hardest things I've ever done, but with time running short I didn't really have any other alternatives. But the biggest news re: Chico is that Chico wasn't a chico at all; Chico turned out to be a CHICA! During one of Chico's many escapes, she must have gotten some ghetto booty and ended up pregnant. I noticed Chico was eating a lot more and getting fat and being moodier than usual - I just thought it was adolescence. Until I saw the nipples coming out and sussed it. So Chico gave birth to 3 kittens on July 3rd; the first was in the birth canal too long and came out dead and nothing I could do would revive it. The other 2 were fine and healthy and Chico turned out to be a great mom. I understand from the lady at the humane society that they were fostered out until the kittens are old enough to be weaned, and then all will go up for adoption (after spaying/neutering). I'm confident all will find good new homes; Chico is still young enough to be kitteny playful and will be good for someone wanting a slightly older cat that's not yet an adult. Still, it scares me, so I'm tapping friends to go over and put in applications to adopt them.

Hmmm, what else? I lost about 40 lbs. during all the stress due to not eating for days on end. Not the healthiest way, I know, but damn does it look good! You wouldn't believe how differently people treat me now, both guys and girls. My black pants for the restaurant fall off me and I have to put my apron strings through the belt loop in the back to keep them up. I need new ones but can't afford them as am saving all money (just started making it after 4 days of training last week) for a new place to live.

Which leads me to that - have found a small brick 2 br rowhouse very close to work within my price range. The girl living there needs a new roommate as hers is moving on Sunday. She's okay with Buca, and the deposit is low, and the rent includes, well, everything including internet and cable. It's your quintessential traditional G'town rowhouse, tall, thin, exposed brick, fireplace. I love the pics, and the girl sounds easy-going and laidback. I'm going to see it Monday evening, so wish me luck that she picks me and Buca. I say that because it's a relatively recent DC phenomenon that finding a place to share has become a popularity contest, with some seekers going so far as to bribe the renters! I guess I can offer the 50% off at the corporation's restaurants and my cooking prowess. And Buca. Hopefully that's enough.

Now I just have to work my ass off for the next month to get the money for a) deposit, b) 1st month's rent, c) new bedroom furniture (left everything behind, long story, won't be told here), definitely to be from Ikea.

I guess that's it. I'm still interviewing occasionally for paralegal jobs that sound really appealing, but I'm quite happy to stay in the restaurant for a year.

Hope all is well with everyone out there. Cheers.

Not good

2007-07-06T20:04:00.000-04:00

Things here not good, so blog will be suspended until I get some things figured out. I apologize for worrying anyone, but I can only concentrate on so many things at a time, and real life comes first.

But for an update, IRM is out, dating others, and planning to move soon and make a new start in life. Feels like it's time.

Hope everyone else is well and I'll be back, rest assured.

Y

Oh. My.

2007-03-22T19:57:00.000-04:00

Well, I believe I'm becoming a texting convert, due in no small part to Irish Rugby Man who has taken texting naughty things to an art form. Quite fun to get graphic texts on the bus and text back saucy things, I must say. Now I know why people love texting so much! Naughty e-mails take a second to this. The only thing better would be a Crackberry, I think. Oh, dear, it really is a slippery slope!

In other news, he will be spending part of the weekend at my house, so I am crazily cleaning from top to bottom. I've been living like a bachelor in squalor for a couple of months now, so there's lots to be done, needless to say. I'm sure he wouldn't notice an elephant in the house; nevertheless, I feel the base need to prove myself a worthy homemaker, even though we all know I'm not. Why is that, I wonder? I mean, how much time are we really going to be spending outside the bedroom anyway?

IRM is seriously bringing out my debauched tastes. I feel comfortable being completely honest about it with him, too. I like it. I feel evil and sexy, true to my Scorpio self, if you believe in any of that.

This could get really fun.

Happy and scared

2007-03-15T21:41:00.000-04:00

Is it really possible to feel both things at once? It must be, because I do.

Yes, I found a temp gig fairly quickly and have been there for some weeks. I'm learning a lot of new litigation technology that will help me move forward and the people are nice. There may be a possibility of getting on there permanently, so I'm just trying to kick ass and impress.

I'm still trying to get caught up on finances but there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I've met the aforementioned new friends, re-connected with old friends, and am learning the social aspect of life in DC again.

And I've fallen hard for an Irish Rugby Man (this is the name my friends and I have given him) that I met back in January. Took things very slowly at first, just getting to know him as friends and afraid to show my interest because I was sure he wouldn't be interested in me. Fast forward to now and we've been spending quite a bit of time together. I finally got up the courage to express my interest after an indication from him that he had interest, and am happy that it's mutual. Finally he snogged me, then finally had a first date type thing last night that went extremely well. Can't keep our hands off each other and send naughty e-mails back and forth all day. I haven't felt like this in so many years, it's just so fantastic. Naturally, it'll end in tears, doesn't it always, but I'm just going to enjoy this right now.

I'm happy. Yeah, me. It's truly shocking.

PS - thanks for the kind comments, folks. They do help when I'm down. I'll try to be more regular in posting from now on. I know, promises, promises!

A real life

2007-03-03T18:11:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I've wanted one for so long. And oddly enough, it looks like I have one again after years of being a hermit. All it took was a random afternoon stop in an Irish pub in Chinatown (how's that for a random dichotomy?) and now I have a dozen new friends and a new favorite, regular pub.

Damn shame I'm on a ramen and spaghetti diet. Along with all the Newcastle, I'm betting those 10 lbs. I lost are going to come back quickly.

Plus, my cell phone got stolen and now I have no way of contacting my Italian-Peruvian playtoy. This is a problem. What am I going to do for carnal sustenance?

Oops! I did it again!

2007-03-01T00:39:00.000-05:00

No, I didn't show my cooch or shave my head or anything like that. I just managed to lose a job totally through no fault of my own.

Welcome to working as a temp for the US govt. Every time you try to do the things you were hired to do, you are hamstrung by govt regulations. When you advise the client on how things should be done, they tell you that they have made other strategic and policy decisions and it's going to be done THIS way.
So you think outside the box and you formulate appropriate control plans for THIS way and you implement them.
Meanwhile, budget meetings are going on that you have no knowledge of, but you're being assured that you're most likely to be taken on as a term contract employee = benefits. Huge.
So you work harder, even when outside counsel brings in much needed contract attorneys that you desperately needed and another paralegal.
And then you find out that your contract is terminated after you've trained everyone and brought them up to speed on complicated litigation.
At this point, you realize that you've trained your cheaper replacement and didn't even know it and life as you know it sucks.

Yeah, that would be me 4 weeks ago. With no savings in the bank. None. Check to check.

So I'm back out there working as a temp again but at a lower rate. I need more money and benefits. I need a real job. I CRAVE a real job. It's really interesting how much of yourself gets tied up in your job, and when it's gone, you kind of wonder, what about me? Where does that leave me?

I know I will come out of this, I know I will end up in an even better job just as I always do, but the in between is so soul-destroying. I just want to curl up in my bed and do nothing right now, but I can't. The cats need food, after all, and I'd rather they not eat my toes. I need them for balance.

PS - does anybody read this crap anymore? I don't blame you if you don't. I meant it as a place to put my thoughts and dreams, and silly ass notions. I'm not quite sure what it's turned into, but I do know that things tend to take on a life of their own, mostly guided by their audience. So, audience, if you have anything to say, please, do. I welcome it, even if you hate my tripe.

Alive!

2007-02-27T07:22:00.000-05:00

Yes, I am still alive, only just barely. Most people who know me know that when I go silent, things are not going well. But they are getting better now, so I must go get ready for w*rk. Will update more later.

Possum Love

2007-01-26T19:54:00.000-05:00

So Monday morning I stepped out onto the "smoking deck" and encountered my landlord, who pointed out to me that there was a dead opossum in our backyard. No, really, it wasn't playing possum, it was really dead, as evidenced by the fact that it was still there days later.

This made me very sad, as I have a special fondness for urban wildlife. Possums aren't the cutest things; in fact, they're kind of ugly, but they are cute to me in that "so ugly they're cute" way. I had seen a possum in our front yard close up last summer, and saw one many times in our backyard. I thought there was only one in the neighborhood and that was it for possums here.

So I'm happy to report that while I was outside a few minutes ago smoking, I heard a rustling sound. Much more than our plethora of squirrels make. I waved my arm around to make the security light go on, and there I saw it: another possum. This made me unaccountably happy.

Urban wildlife survives.

PSA: Cats Are Dangerous

2007-01-25T15:45:00.000-05:00

And I've got the proof.

Monday night/Tuesday morning I awoke in the wee dark hours needing to go to the bathroom. Not all that unusual a thing. I stumbled sleepily from my bedroom into the bathroom, only to have the Naughty Crack Kitten From Hell aka Chico get tangled up in my feet, which made me fall face first onto the corner of my bathroom sink.

Ugh.

Cleaning up blood at 3 am is NOT fun.

So I ended up with a bruised and swollen right side of my face, swollen nose which was tender to the touch, and a really impressive split lip and gouge out of the inside where my teeth wento into my lip. Spent Tuesday at home on pain meds alternating trying to sleep with putting bags of frozen veggies on my face. By Wednesday things were to the point that I could cover my few bruises and go to work. Today, miraculously, the bruising is almost gone and the lip just looks like I have really full, luscious bottom lip, although it still hurts in places and is numb in places. I expect that will take a week or two to heal completely.

Just warning y'all: those furry little buggers really can be dangerous, so stay on their good side!

And no, I'm not about to post any pics of my face like this. Tuesday I looked like a Picasso - use your imagination.

Argentina Dreaming

2007-01-04T16:09:00.000-05:00

I have no idea why. It sounds like an amazing place. The people are beautiful, the land is beautiful. Horse culture is big. I can teach English. They have no quarantine on importing pets. Of course, their economy is still crap and I'll make peanuts, so that's why I think I'm just going to move down to Argentina next year, learn to tango, find me a nice polo player and fuck like rabbits. Yeah, that's a plan.

Oh, crap, first, New Year's Resolutions:

Live like an adult. Pffttt, as if. Fine, at least try to keep my house somewhat habitable and not to waste all my money on stupid shit.
Have more fun. Think I'll be able to manage this one.
Go on at least a week's vacation somewhere I've never been and that has another official language. Like, say, Argentina!
Take better care of myself.

Now, back to Argentina dreaming. Or work.

Place Your Bets Here!

2006-12-29T14:55:00.000-05:00

So, I was supposed to be going to Denver to meet up with my friend K over New Year's. We haven't seen each other in almost 4 years and, quite frankly, that's just ridiculous. Of course, she did spend 3+ of those years in Australia, and I was broke for those years. So you can understand why I'd be quite excited to be seeing her again, right? Enter Mother Nature with the second dumping of heavy, wet snow out there in a week and exit my NYE plans. Not so much liking Mother Nature right now, let's just say that. That gives me a 3-day weekend here in DC. Good, yes?

Then a former US President goes and dies on us. Okay, okay, I'll cut Jerry some slack. He was, after all, 93 years old and, from all reports, quite a genial fellow. Hell, I've even been to his Presidential Museum/Library/Whatever in Grand Rapids, MI. But now Shrub has declared that Tuesday will be a federal holiday as well, so we can all join in the Mourning. (Aside: dude, he was 93 f'ing years old, he had a good, long life, there's not really a lot there to be sad about. But I digress.)

So now I have a 4-day weekend. Which basically forces me to be productive on the homefront, right? I mean, on a regular 2-day weekend, you can get away with not really getting anything done beyond the minimum of washing dishes and clothes. On a 3-day weekend, you can get away with the same IF you a) have a huge hangover one of the 3 days, b) have a terrible cold/flu, or c) there are lots of great movies on cable or a good Six Feet Under or America's Next Top Model marathon.

But a 4-day weekend? No excuses there, I fear.

However, I'm willing to bet that I can do absolutely nothing productive in 4 days at home. On the other hand, I'm making a list of all the productive things that need to be done. They range from cleaning out the fridge (which desperately needs it - I think there are things growing in there and the smell is enough to kill small animals) to putting up a newly acquired Toulouse Lautrec framed print (thank you, Freecycle!).

So what do you think will happen? Place your bets here.

Screw Christmas

2006-12-26T15:54:00.000-05:00

I just spent an

hour detailing my Christmas weekend, but then Blogger wouldn't post the pic I wanted to (of course, now it's there), and then it wouldn't C&P my post from Word, and now I've re-read it and it's so fucking boring anyway that I'm not going to bother. Instead, you can salivate to the pic of the sweet potato layer cake with orange cream cheese frosting that I made for Christmas Eve dinner. From scratch, yo! I'm the baking shiznit!

Yeah, so Merry Christmas!

Hell, Here I Come!

2006-12-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

So this guy on the bus this morning sat right behind me. Then he leaned up in his seat and proceeded to sing hymns right in my ear in this voice like he was trying to be sexy. Hymns are all nice and all, but not on my bus at 8 am. So I turned around after about 5 minutes and told him to stop, if I wanted to listen to hymns I'd be in church, not on the bus, so leave me the fuck alone. (Yes, I really did use the F word.)

I'm going to hell, aren't I?

I am not a computer dunce!

2006-12-04T16:54:00.000-05:00

I was right! My lack of internet connectability at home has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the landlord's wireless router. It's not working.

Yay, me!

Dontcha just hate it

2006-12-04T15:08:00.000-05:00

when people you thought actually gave a shit ignore you?

Yeah, me, too.

Why I Hate Computers #882914038

2006-11-30T13:03:00.000-05:00

So apparently while I was gone for my long weekend break, something happened to my laptop at home. It will connect to the wireless router, but I can't get online. I've tried shutting down and restarting, I've tried using Dell Support to walk through the settings, but nothing works. I'm pretty sure something is screwed up with the settings but I'm not knowledgeable enough about this stuff to know exactly what. And because I'm a cheapass, I didn't buy the extended service package from Dell that would enable me to call them and have them help me out.

Any ideas on how to fix this, aside from bringing it in to work and begging the Help Desk guys to help me? Anyone?

I'm a Comedienne

2006-11-29T15:35:00.000-05:00

I mentioned to one of my internet freak friends (you know who you are!), while we were roaming around London, that I think I should start learning Braille now because I'm pretty sure I'm going to go blind one day. She thought this was quite funny.

I think I may have missed my calling.

Post Mini-Holiday Whine

2006-11-28T13:06:00.000-05:00

I don't want to be home yet. I want to be back in London. Or somewhere else. Anywhere but behind this desk. I will admit to missing my own bed and my cats, but as for everything else - not so much.

So what's the solution? Start planning another mini-holiday, of course! But first I have to get through Christmas and New Year's and impossible work deadlines.

Check back for London stories in a day or two. I have lots of notes scribbled down waiting to be turned into full-fledged stories, but no time, and my internet connection at home isn't working so well right now.

I just might live after all

2006-11-17T16:03:00.000-05:00

and my teeth don't hurt anymore either!

So, seriously, I have spent the last week fighting off the worst headcold I've had in years. It snuck up on me overnight between Thursday and Friday last week. My ambitious plans for my 3-day weekend were ruined. I had planned to leisurely clean the entire apartment, top to bottom, spic and span. Instead, the most I managed was washing dishes, a few loads of laundry, and making my own chicken stock (first time ever) and then making a big pot of soup. And let me just tell you, leaning over the sink washing dishes while your nose drips snot isn't half as fun as it sounds like it is!

After a restless night Friday night, by Saturday felt like I should be euthanized. Not only was I one continuous snot factory, but my left eye felt like it was going to explode, the entire left side of my face was throbbing, I had a horrid headache, my eyes were extremely sensitive to light (moreso than usual even), my left ear seemed to be blocked, and even my teeth hurt from the sinus pressure. In desperation, I went through one of the few remaining boxes which I never fully unpacked (yes, from a year ago now) that contains extraneous bathroom stuff, and scored Tylenol Allergy/Sinus and my lovely Tylenol with codeine OTC strength from Canada.

So for the rest of the weekend, I medicated every 4 hours religiously, and lay in bed, dozing, watching tv and movies, dozing, forcing myself to eat, and dozing. And for the last week, that's what I've been doing when I'm not forcing myself to at least pretend I'm working. (BTW, did you ever notice that when you're swallowing all kinds of snot that drips down the back of your throat, you're not really hungry? No? Maybe it's just me then.) I get up, force myself to come to work, go home, make myself eat something, and am generally asleep between 8:30 and 9 pm.

But today, I almost feel normal with no medication. None. No drippy, snotty nose. I can almost hear properly again. And my teeth don't hurt!

So, now it's time to do some serious London trip planning this weekend. Along with the apartment cleaning that didn't get done last weekend, so I can come home from my trip to a nice, clean house. Well, we'll see.

I'm just excited to be getting over this cold before I get on a plane. Because flying with sinus pressure is definitely one of the lower levels of hell and does not make for a happy Y.

I'm sure you're all happy to know I'll live, just don't get too excited. I could still be run over by that stupid Porsche Boxster guy any day.

Hit and Run Posting

2006-11-09T19:24:00.000-05:00

I'm really busy at work, and about to get crazy busy, plus I've got the cold that will not die, so am going to bed early tonight. But just a quick update:

I got my purse, makeup, and keys back, but no cell phone. So if I had your number, I don't anymore, so please e-mail it to me or call me at home and leave it on the machine. I have a new cell, same number, but can't use it until next week due to temporary shortage of funds.

New York was fabulous, as always, even got a little smoochy smoochy from a hot young Irish bartender who was hitting on me. Love love love the city. I've even got the subway figured out, so now I'm working on the buses. Look for me there again in April. Fair warning.

Looking so forward to my short trip to London. Not sure what I want to do yet, really must get a guide book out and look at it. Too many choices, not enough patience or time.

That's it. K. and B., please send me your phone numbers! I want to put something together for early December!

Celebrating birthdays, Y style

2006-11-02T00:25:00.000-05:00

So I went out after work to find the salon. And if you're a girl, you know what a new salon entails. Anyway, I find it and am only slightly upset that the shampoo apprentice is young enough to be my kid. Don't act like you don't know what I mean.

Anyway after a beautiful color and cut, I emerged into Chinatown DC and called a friend to meet met, whereupon I spent an hour by myself in one of the hottest bars (apparently) in DC waiting for her. And the rest of the evening was all about waiting for her. Blah.

Which might explain my early exit. I just wanted to go home.

And once I got there I realized I'd left my purse, keys and cell phone in the car. I was, in short, screwed.

I ended up sleeping on our steps because I thought the hovelord would be home, but it wasn't to be

In the middle of the night, I had to go pee, so I went out back. This is not as easy as you think. There are motion sensors there, and I had to fool them.

Luckily, I"m smarter than they are. For the rest, never mind.

There is more to this whole weekend, I just don't have the time to post it now. Check back after the weekend - I'm going to New York!

The phone call

2006-10-27T16:21:00.000-04:00

Every year on my birthday, I could count on the phone call. It always came in the morning, because that's when she wasn't drunk yet (or at least still mostly coherent). It always made me late for work. It always annoyed me.

{bbrrrrnnngggg}
Hello?
Hello, Jayne, this is your mother.
Yes, I know it's you. What's going on?
Well, I just thought I'd call and wish you a Happy Birthday.
Ummm, well, thanks, but I've rea . . .
And the reason I know it's your birthday is because I was there.
. . . lly got to get going, I'm late for work.
And the reason I was there is because I was having you.

Whereupon I had to sit through the torturous story of my birth, complete with her eating chocolates in the delivery room, sending my father off to work because he was hovering, and me for once actually being on time, just after my father arrived back at the hospital. Nobody, but nobody could tell a story like my mom, full of pathos and humor all at the same time.

I don't get that call anymore, and it's one of the things I miss most.

But at least now I'll know how to completely annoy my kids on their birthdays. Thanks, Mommy.

2005 vs. 2006

2006-10-27T13:46:00.000-04:00

Instead of waiting for the end of the calendar year to look back on all that's happened in my life in the past year, it seems like my birthday is the right time. So, let's compare and contrast last year's birthday and this year's birthday, shall we?

Last year: worked 12+ grueling hours
This year: working 8 easy peasy hours
Last year: nobody recognized my birthday
This year: okay, not so much better in this category, but it's far from the end of the day
Last year: was making subpar money
This year: am making more than I've ever made for easy work
Last year: received a card from Auntiemomma saying not to call her if I got arrested (you can look back in the archives, I'm sure I posted about this)
This year: haven't got one from her yet, which is unusual, but the one I got from another aunt is tres cute
Last year: was in a hovel in Arlington and about to be evicted
This year: am in a hovel in DC, but at least I'm up to date on the rent and the hovelord is a cool guy
Last year: was living with The Cuz
This year: living alone again
Last year: went home to an overly al dente Hamburger Helper meal with burnt meat, but it was at least cooked for me with love by The Cuz; she tried
This year: going to get my hair done tonight, then out for drinks with a friend, then out for sushi and drinks tomorrow night with a group
Last year: basically wallowed in self-pity for my birthday's lack of anything
This year: made my own plans to do fun stuff
Last year: couldn't afford to breathe
This year: had a small, gorgeous, perfect, elegant pair of diamond earrings made

To sum up, this year's birthday is one helluva lot better than last year's already.

It's my Birthday and I'll blog if I want to

2006-10-27T12:33:00.000-04:00

Despite the fact that I've only received one birthday card in the mail (and that one not even from the aunt who raised me), that now my washing machine appears to be unplugged so I can't even have crunchy clothes, that my toilet won't stop running, that taking some time off one job and quitting the restaurant has left me in a wee bit of financial trouble again, that I was harassed on my fucking birthday on the bus this morning, that I was over an hour late for work today thanks to Metro (well, not entirely thanks to Metro, but they certainly didn't help), that almost nobody has recognized my birthday, and that I gained back a few pounds that I'd lost . . .

I'm in a pretty damn good mood.

I also have done a lot of thinking in the past few weeks, and I foresee lots of blogging this afternoon. Just thought I'd warn you.

But for now, research calls.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Hey, ASSHOLE!

2006-10-13T16:03:00.000-04:00

Yes, you, the one in the silver Porsche Boxster racing down 17th Street at approximately 9:13 this morning. The one who blew through the red light and almost killed me while I was minding my own business crossing the street legally, in the crosswalk, on the walk light. If I ever find your punk ass, you are MINE, you fucking shitstain of a human being.

Yes, see in the pic, how the scenery is rushing by? That's about how fast this guy was going this morning. In the second lane of 3. While the other cars were stopped. While I was crossing in the fucking crosswalk.

I was not a very happy camper. I mean, he could have really messed up my hot ass suede boots. I sprayed them with that waterproofing crap, but I don't think it works for blood or brain matter.

For that old farm feeling

2006-10-12T15:50:00.000-04:00

Cruising through the craigslist ads for free pets, as one does (okay, so I got the new cat back in May, but old habits are hard to break!), I found this gem:

I have two very colorful and sweet miniature roosters. They are great because they are not aggresive and they are small, and you still get the rooster sound, although not as loud. Good homes only.

WTF? Yes, I'm sure all the urban dwellers formerly known as farm kids like myself are gonna be all over this ad!

All Work and No Play

2006-10-11T17:01:00.000-04:00

Makes Y very boring indeed. So I took Friday off (for obvious reasons, crying in the office is so not in these days) and we had Monday off as a holiday. Not that I got much of anything accomplished on either of those days, but lying around, watching tv, taking a walk in the rain, recovering from hangovers, and playing with the cats . . . well, there are certainly worse things I could think of to do.

So I've been thinking about this restaurant gig for a while now. And to be honest, I really need a break. Even though the 2 jobs are so different, I just never have time for myself. NEVER. And don't give me that shit about having every evening to myself - I don't get home until about 7:30 on average, and that barely leaves me time to do one chore, cook myself some dinner and eat it, and crawl into bed in time to watch a tv show and fall asleep by 10. I can't help it that I wake up at 5-ish and I need my beauty sleep, y'all. You don't think I look like that pic naturally, do you?

Where was I? Ah, yes, the restaurant. So I really want my weekends back, but I'm a greedy, materialistic evil slut and I like the money from the place. Cash money, baby. And every other week, a nice little paycheck, too. So I've been toying with asking the new manager (now that's a whole other story right there for another day) if I could go to every other week, or maybe do 2 weeks on, 2 weeks off. So I did. On Sunday. And guess what? She said she thinks it might be doable.

YEE-FUCKING-HAW!!!!

Now, should this come to pass, my plans fall into the 2 on-2 off perfectly. Party for my birthday weekend (the 27th, remember?), go to New York the following weekend, work for 2 weekends, then off to London and a weekend at home to relax, then work for 2 more weekends, then have off over Christmas and New Years.

Is it possible? Could something this right be happening to me?

Damn, I shouldn't have even thought it. Now I've probably gone and fucked it all up. Guess I'll find out this weekend.

But it was a nice dream while it lasted.

PS - I'm fine. Thank you all for the kind thoughts and comments. Life, as always, goes on. Obla-di-obla-dah . . .

Crying

2006-10-05T23:58:00.000-04:00

I'm so sorry, but I am. Crying, that is. I wish I wasn't, I wish things were different, but they aren't, and I am me, and here I am crying. Nobody's fault, it just is what it is. Cheers.

Failure

2006-10-05T23:34:00.000-04:00

So in the end, the truth is that I just couldn't handle the truth. Couldn't handle the fact that I would always be second best. That no matter how much he wanted to be with me, there was always a family between us.

And in the end, it's not the fact that there's a family out there that I was stealing time from, it's more that I'm a selfish bitch.

Truth is, if you're gonna be with me, BE with me. All night, not getting up at midnight to go home to your wife.

So goodbye Chepe, I will miss you terribly and the one of the hardest things I've done was send you home, but this is the way it has to be.

I really never thought I'd fail at something by being too selfish.

Dressed to Kill

2006-09-29T17:01:00.000-04:00

I love vamping it up like a femme fatale, and would love nothing more than to do so every single day of my life, except that it's so tiring and involved sometimes. You have to have the perfect clothes, the perfect hair, the perfect makeup, and most of all, the perfect fuck off attitude. While I generally dress pretty well, if a bit conservatively and traditionally, there are always those days when I just don't have the energy to put into picking out the perfect clothes, doing the perfect hair and makeup, and I certainly don't have the mindset for the perfect fuck off attitude.

But today is not one of those days. Today I have it all together, the long pencil skirt, the fitted black turtleneck, the kick ass new H-O-T HOT boots, the hair pulled up and clipped just so, the perfect smoky eyes and dark red vamp lips. Hell, my teeth are even getting whiter thanks to the miracle of modern chemistry. It is one of those days when I can't do anything else but strut, which we all know looks fan-fucking-tastic in a perfect pencil skirt and kitten heel suede boots.

Which is all kind of funny because I was lamenting to myself earlier that I had no good reason for such vamping and strutting today. No plans to go for drinks, no plans for dinner, no plans beyond hitting the grocery store on the way home, doing some dishes, cleaning a little and going to bed early. You might say, as I certainly do, that it was almost a wasted effort to be so fucking glamorous.

But I knew there had to be a reason, and it came when Chepe called to see if I had time for some coffee before he went to work at the restaurant tonight. YAY! Perfect timing. So sophisticated I am, taking time in the afternoon to go have a coffee with my lover, yes? So very femme fatale. One might say I have that perfect je ne sais quoi about me, even.

Of course the plethora of runs in my hose might tend to ruin the effect just a wee bit if you know they're there, as I do.

I swear one day I'll get this whole femme fatale thing right.

Where the hell did THAT come from?

2006-09-21T16:52:00.000-04:00

I've kind of been drifting along the last month or so, generally on a pretty even keel, even when I've been sorting through some things in my mind. Not in a bad mood, not in a great mood, but definitely in a significantly improved mood. The mornings are good, the workday is okay, evenings are nice and a chance to wind down with perhaps a glass of wine and relax before going to bed and repeating the cycle.

And then I hit a day like today when, all of a sudden, I'm so fucking irritable for no apparent reason. Seriously, just the fact that someone is breathing is enough to set me off today. And the woman who sat across from me on the bus this morning and kept moving her legs? I could have screamed!

And I'm argumentative, which isn't really me. I mean, sure, if you know me you know that I'll pick up on any slight inaccuracy or mistatement and I'll start belaboring that point, but this is different. This is me actually almost looking for arguments, picking arguments. And I'm one of the most non-confrontational people I know. (No, really, I am. Really. Fine, don't believe me, but I am.)

I have no idea where this comes from. I'm not PMSing, if that's what you think. Not the right time for that. Everything is going great, bills are paid (for a change), social plans have been made/are in the making (for a change), I've got pretty new clothes and books and things (for a change), I have my house back all to myself, I have trips to New York and London planned, I've started a self-improvement kick.

So I'm left asking myself, Where the hell did THAT come from? Does this happen to anyone else, or am I the only irrational neurotic freak like this?

Well, that's me screwed, then

2006-09-18T16:35:00.000-04:00

So yesterday at the restaurant, I found a fortune-telling birthday book in the host stand. Being the naturally curious sort, of course I had a look at what it said for my birthday (which is hereby officially announced as October 27, just so you all know to send me big expensive presents!). Most of it was pretty close, except for the bit about me being the type of person who likes to be busy all the time. As if! I'm the one who's perfectly happy to lay around the apartment all weekend watching crap tv and playing on the internet! And then the last line also was clearly crap. It said,

You should marry young.

Bit late now, I guess. *sigh*

And for the weekend roundup:

Got the cat litter cleaned and most of the house satisfactory by the time Chepe got there Fri night, but due to getting bored with it and going outside with some red wine and cigs, the dishes didn't get done. Oh, well, shit happens. I'll do them tonight.
Locked myself out of my apartment Saturday. Had to wait hours for the landlord, so took myself down to my new fave "local" pub. Only 20 or so blocks away.
I'm in love with my mailman now. I just happened to be there Saturday when he delivered the mail in the late afternoon because the restaurant had been slow and I got out early. He left his route in the middle and went back to the post office to bring me my beautiful new boots. They are HOT. I can't wait to wear them.
I waited on Chelsea Clinton Saturday at the restaurant. She's a lot prettier in real life, taller and thinner than I thought, and her hair is lighter now. Nice girl, not too demanding for a vegetarian who doesn't eat egg yolks. I'm impressed. It's nice to see someone grow up under all that scrutiny, with all the advantages and perks, and still turn out treating the wait staff well. Her boyfriend is a cutie, too. And so is his friend. So Chels, if you find this, tell your bf's friend (I remember his name from the credit card, but I'm not rude enough to post such a thing online, you know which one I mean) he's welcome to come back to the restaurant and hit on me anytime. We could all go for drinks. Yeehaw! (BTW, I do have a normal office job, too, I'm not just some crazy waitress. I'm a crazy paralegal. That's much better, right?)
Somehow I agreed to be in a political puppet show about how the public housing in DC is being sold off to private developers. WTF was I thinking? Yeah, that's my destiny in life, to be a political activist/puppeteer. It might work if I'm allowed to be obscene and abusive, too. Maybe on The Daily Show? But the best part is, I get to play a kazoo, too.
I really must cut myself off from the thrift store. I swear, I only went in for a few books. But I came out with a lovely lavender tweed wool skirt, 3 thin knit tops, a tie front cardigan, a brown sweater jacket with faux fur collar, a red glass container that's perfect for a salt cellar, and 4 books, including We Need to Talk About Kevin (for .99). And they weren't even crap books, they're good ones by good authors. All for $35.

I think that's it. Isn't that enough?

When Will I Learn?

2006-09-15T17:09:00.000-04:00

Hot date (?) tonight with Chepe. Sink full of dirty dishes. Cat box in desperate need of cleaning. Spare room still a minor mess. Clothes drying still hanging in bathroom.

Why do I do this to myself? I've been so proud of actually keeping my apartment rather clean for the past week or two, and trust me, this is a major accomplishment. Dishes have been done before they take over the counters, nothing is growing in the refrigerator, bed made every day. Well, sheets and comforter pulled up anyway.

So I was bragging to him this afternoon how clean the place has been. I couldn't very well then beg off having him in the apartment, could I? And the days are long past when I could just whisk a man through into my bedroom and throw him on the bed. Or are they? There's an idea.

*sigh*

Another quick clean in the offing. One of these days I'll learn, I'm sure. Whenever I get around to being a grownup.

I'm not leaving and you can't make me!

2006-09-15T15:15:00.000-04:00

My bed, that is. At least, once I'm in it, I don't want to leave.

See, I have this love of lounging in bed. Reading in bed. Watching tv in bed. Eating in bed. Blogging in bed. (No, you bunch of pervs, that is NOT where I am right now, check the time stamp! But I wish I was.) And, you know, generally hanging out in bed. And doing bed things. In bed.

I am aided and abetted in my love of bed time by the addition of not one, but two featherbeds on top of my mattress. I love my featherbeds. They envelope me as I slide into bed and make me feel like I'm sleeping on a cloud. They keep it warmer in the cold winters. I must mention here that I am deeply indebted to my best friend, K, for introducing me to the wonders of featherbeds.

I am also sucked into bed by the addition of cotton jersey sheets. For a few years now, they are the only sheets I've used, in spite of the fact that Oprah loves them, too. (Kind of like reading a book in spite of the fact that it's part of the Oprah Book Club. Man, I hate buying those books with that little insignia on them. I try to hide it, like every other non-sheep-like person I know.) They really are the softest sheets known to man. One of the best feelings in the world is slipping into the freshly plumped and made bed when the sheets have just come out of the dryer (which is supposed to be getting fixed next week, by the way).

Well, it's gotten even worse. Last week, friends were coming to town and the Roommate had not as yet vacated the spare room, so I was going to put them in my room and sleep on the couch. What with the dryer still broken, this necessitated the buying of new sheets. Okay, I didn't really have to buy new sheets, I could have taken mine over to the laundromat and washed and dried them (because really, you didn't think I was going to let my guests sleep on crunch, hang-dried sheets, did you? Eeeuuuwwwwww.). But again, you don't really think I'm going to haul my lazy ass and a whole bunch of stuff 2 blocks to a laundromat, did you? Ha!

Ummm. . . where was I? Oh, right, sheets. So like any good shopper, I stopped by Bed, Bath and Beyond on my way home last week and got these lovelies. Go ahead, click on it. These sheets are green! Not the color, I got camel, no, not a camel, but they're made out of beech tree fiber. Look at me, being all green and shit. Go, me! But even better? They were on sale. They are absolutely fucking amazing. That description is not exaggerating one iota. They feel so soft and silky, I don't ever want another type of sheets. These babies caress me when I get into bed.

But, of course, I couldn't stop there, so I got a new deep red comforter set (sale), an uncle for sitting up and reading (sale), and 2 cushy new pillows (sale, and absolutely needed because mine were pathetic).

The really scary thing is that when I get my new faux-wrought iron birthday bed (which Blogger for whatever reason will not let me put the pic up for you all to fantasize about), I'm really never going to leave my room. I wonder if there's a man delivery service around here?

Stating the Obvious

2006-09-15T11:39:00.000-04:00

You Belong in Paris

Stylish and a little sassy, you were meant for Paris.
The art, the fashion, the wine, the men!
Whether you're enjoying the cafe life or a beautiful park...
You'll love living in the most chic place on earth.

What City Do You Belong In?

courtesy of Karen

Turn the Page - Can You Smell That?

2006-09-14T11:19:00.000-04:00

*sniff sniff*

Can you smell that? Or is it just me that smells it? It's change. I don’t know when or quite how, but it’s there.

It’s the scent of another chapter in my life coming to a close and a new one fermenting, about to begin. Only it smells better than fermentation tanks. Yuck.

I don’t know really how to explain it any other way. It’s just a feeling, an intuition. I don’t know yet if it’s something that is happening on its own, organically, or if it’s something that I’m meant to be taking control of myself. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

Of course, it could just be the smell of autumn rain.

Edited: I keep giggling now, thinking about my life as a scratch and sniff book.

Role Model

2006-09-08T09:51:00.000-04:00

So school has started again and the onslaught of kids is back. Each morning as I walk to the bus stop, I pass dozens of uniformed kids going the opposite direction to the school across the street from my house.

Last year, it felt like I was running the gauntlet each morning. It was as if I had regressed back to that timid, shy, geeky, gawky girl carrying too many books and wearing too thick glasses and too out of style clothes with too straight hair. It felt like they were judging me. It was pathetic, and I knew it even then. I mean, these are 10-14 year olds, for fuck's sake. I'm 35. That was how beaten down I was then, how far my self-esteem and confidence had plummeted.

This year, well, this year it's all different. There's a spring in my step that I haven't had in a long time. Except I do feel bad about one thing: my last cigarette of the morning which I always smoke on the way to the bus. I thought about it earlier this week, and wondered if perhaps I was not being a good role model, strolling down the street waving my cancer stick around. Then I saw that at least 2/3 of them are carrying McDonald's bags to school and/or eating McD's on the way and I said to myself, Fuck it, they've already got bad role models, I'm going to enjoy my leisurely death.

I never wanted to be a role model anyway.

Sweet Serenade

2006-09-05T17:02:00.000-04:00

I was serenaded on the bus this morning by a gentleman singing that old romantic classic, Da Butt. You know it, I'm sure, we all danced around shakin' our booties to it in the late 80s or early 90s - it's been so long I've forgotten. It's just one of those songs that you don't hear for 5 years or more, but when you do, you remember every single word. And so did this guy on the bus.

I was too scared to turn around and see if he was actually Doin' da Butt.

Seriously, folks, I couldn't make this kind of shit up. It's some kind of surreal alternate world I live in.

What I didn't want

2006-09-03T17:43:00.000-04:00

I didn't want you to go, even though I said I did. I came back downstairs but you were already gone.

I didn't want to look forward to seeing you, but I do.

I didn't want to spend more time with you, but I realized I did want to.

I didn't want a spare hour or two here or there, but that's all you have to offer.

I didn't want someone who has to leave so soon, but that's what I got.

I didn't want this, but I do. And now I don't know what to do.

I didn't want to compromise what I want.

The girly cuteness

2006-08-31T17:14:00.000-04:00

Because you really do have to see it (and also because I'm bored out of my gourd right now):
I did stop short of the towels and shower curtain though. One can't be too matchy-matchy, you know?

Edited: Oh yeah, I forgot about the new super sharp choppy chef type knife. I hope I don't hurt myself . . . too badly.

For the Shopping Mavens

2006-08-31T16:20:00.000-04:00

I believe I may have gone just a little overboard lately. Well, not really until today, but I honestly didn't know that "confirm order" meant I was going to buy these gorgeous boots! But I really do NEED a pair of knee high boots for fall and winter, and considering how difficult it is to fit them for my wide calves, these seriously were a great deal, even with the shipping costs from the UK. Ah, well, at least I'll have something to wear after it gets too cold to wear these gorgeous red patent leather peep toe pumps. Now if I could only find a belt to go with them . . .

Oh, yes, a belt. While trawling eBay for a belt to match the red pumps, I did happen across this gorgeous red furry belt. For whatever reason, I just HAD to have this adorable, unique belt. I was delighted when I won the auction for a low, low price, and there was only one other bidder against me. Wait a minute. Only one other bidder. Does that mean that I scored a truly unique find, something only a few could recognize as a treasure? Or does that mean that I slipped in a moment of bad taste? Either way, the belt will be here soon and I'm picturing it with classic dark outfit and it as a focal point. Or maybe even a winter white outfit. Would red furry boots be too much, do you think?

And then there was Bed Bath & Beyond. I swear, I only went in there for a grill pan and a shower curtain liner (my liner was too narrow and was letting water out all over the bathroom). Well, I did well on both, got a grill pan on sale plus 40% off, and a $10 shower curtain liner, when all of a sudden I got sucked into the bath accessories. Really, all I wanted was a new trash can. But this is what I ended up with, including new shower curtain hooks.

Okay, never mind, Blogger won't let me put in any more pictures. I ended up with a trash can, 2 lotion dispensers (one will be for soap), a soap dish (that's for jewelry, of course), a toothbrush holder (and surprisingly Chico hasn't bothered them at all yet), and the aforementioned new shower curtain hooks. But trust me, they are really girly and cute. The Roommate says he can feel his girly side coming out now when he showers.

And a final, non-shopping news item for today: the Roommate will be moving out next weekend. While I'll be sad to see him go, I'll be glad to get my place back to myself, for all kinds of badness and going straight to helledness.

PS - I forgot to mention the resurrection of my Ann Taylor addiction, which so far has net me 2 pairs of fabulous trousers (brown with pink pinstripe, and grey), a frilly burgundy tank top, a gorgeous dark teal sweater, another gorgeous black and teal skirt, and a slinky teal wrap dress. They've started referring to me as a Regular. I'm scared.

*Note: Don't worry, I'll be back with more "I'm going straight to hell" commentary soon. I had to get some shopping out of my system. Now I'm ready to be bad again. Soon.

Saturday, 6:20 am

2006-08-30T16:34:00.000-04:00

Man on bus holds door for me getting off.

Me: Thank you.

Him: Damn, sexy.

Me: (to myself, oh shit)

Him: Hey, sexy, aren't you gonna talk to me?

Me: (just keep walking, Y, don't say anything, it'll only make him keep talking)

Him: What's wrong, you don' wanna talk with me, sexy? You one hot mamacita.

Me: (Jesus H. Christ on a bike, what is with these people?!)

Him: Uh huh, I see how ya are, you think you too good to talk to me, you think you too sexy for me to be yer papacita.

Finally, I'd had it. Not enough coffee in me to be patient and tolerant.

Me: No, I'm not going to talk to no fucking stranger on the street at 6:20 am!

Him: (stares at me, gaping mouth)

Me: What makes you think you can just walk up to some woman on the street at 6 Fucking 20 am and start harassing her, huh?

Him: (still gaping)

Me: Because you ARE harassing me. And I don't even speak Spanish, asshole!

Him: (trying to recover) But I need to talk to you, sexy.

Me: No, what you NEED to do is start walking away from me right now. Got it?

Him: But, but, but . . . sexy.

Me: Yeah, well this sexy ass is gonna yell to that cop up there if you don't get the fuck away from me RIGHT NOW. (Okay, so maybe it was really only a low rent security guard, but . . .)

Him: (walks away mumbling about white American bitches)

Just another morning on the way to the restaurant.

(Edited to say please excuse the poor grammar, but at 6 fucking 20 am and with very little caffeine and nicotine on board, colloquial cursing is about as good as it gets for me. I was lucky I was coherent at all, which I attribute to being very fucking pissed off.)

Let me just clear up a few apparent misconceptions

2006-08-24T20:25:00.000-04:00

And this is the last time that I will address these issues:

You don't know the whole story. You only know the bits I choose to communicate. Don't assume you know more and don't read your own choices into mine.
Regarding comments: I have the option of publishing or rejecting comments. To date, I have chosen to publish all comments (except the damn spam) in the interest of freedom of speech. I allow anonymous comments not so strangers can feel free to slag me off, although if that's what gets your rocks off, good for you, but so people I know can comment without having to register with Blogger. But if you are going to leave anonymous comments in the future, at least give yourself some kind of name or I will not publish them.
If you honestly think that anything anyone says here will change what I'm going to do, you are sadly mistaken. I am an adult and, as such, I will continue to make adult choices. If you don't like my choices, that's your problem, not mine.
My current situation has nothing to do with self-esteem. Once again, if you think this is the case, you are mistaken. Thanks for your concern, however strangely expressed, but my self-esteem is just fine.
Give up on being judgmental. Judge not lest ye be judged. While I don't condone my actions at present, I have not judged others in the same situation when they have come to me in friendship.

In short, we only get to live this life once, and I'm going to live mine the way I see fit, and nothing anyone else says is going to change that. I'd suggest sitting back and enjoying the ride, whether you agree with the way I live it or not.

Letting go

2006-08-24T16:18:00.000-04:00

Even when you know this day will eventually come, you put it out of your mind. You just don’t want to think about it. You pretend it won’t ever happen.

But it does. It has to, really. At some point you realize that it’s really in both your best interests for your best friend to retire.

I’m talking about The Bag, the city girl’s best friend. The Bag that you carry everywhere, that holds everything but the kitchen sink (which would fit, too, with just a little reorganization). It has everything in it that you might ever need. Far beyond just a place to keep your wallet, keys and cell phone, it holds the little bits and pieces that help make your life convenient. Your book for reading on public transportation, your portfolio with important papers to take care of, your makeup for touchups during the day (or the next morning, should you be so lucky as to GET lucky and stay over somewhere), emergency things like tampons and bandaids, gum, mints, cigarettes, lighter, small notepad for recording things you might forget later, pens, hairbrush, digital camera, hand lotion, and all the other detritus that finds its way to the bottom.

For the last year, Tod has been my bag. Tod and I found each other on a street corner in downtown DC, and I just knew he was the right one for me. Perfect size, shape and color, perfect heft, perfect volume. Before I had gone even a block, a stylish native New Yorker had told me the designer knocked off and that she wanted one, too. That’s when I really knew that I’d found a keeper.

We’ve been through a lot together, Tod and I. We’ve been to New York, San Francisco and Vancouver, through moving house, two roommates, and we were into our 3rd job together (4th if you count the restaurant). Through the ups and downs, Tod was right there with me, holding the bottle of wine for me, or the coffee cup as I left another office. He was there with me when I had to put Shelby to sleep, a quiet strength and repository for my snot-soaked tissues on the drive home from the vet’s office. There was something comforting about hugging Tod to me in times of hurt, anger or despair.

And then a few weeks ago, I started noticing that Tod was showing his age. I tried to ignore them, but a few nicks here and there became huge open sores to my eyes, even though I knew they hadn’t really gotten any bigger. But around the edges, Tod was getting worn down and losing his color, and it was just hard for me to watch. You never like to watch an old friend wasting away like that.

So yesterday, when I saw Gucci, I knew that it was time to retire Tod. Even after I adopted Gucci, I let Tod take me home with dignity, the last trip carrying everything I need to go about my daily business and more. And even though there’s a new Bag in my life, I’ll miss Tod for a while. I guess I’ll grieve for Tod. I hope Gucci understands.

Don’t worry, Tod, Gucci may be shiny and red and new, but he’s just not quite you. RIP, my friend.

Playing the Blame Game

2006-08-21T15:29:00.000-04:00

In today’s society, we love to play the blame game. Someone is always to blame, and in an extramarital affair, it’s all too simple to lay the blame squarely at the foot of the married party involved. But the question remains, What amount of culpability, if any, do we attribute to the single party?

There are those who feel strongly that the single party involved in the affair has no responsibility toward the marriage at all. The single party, after all, didn’t take any marriage vows, legal, religious, or otherwise. They aren’t violating a sacred or emotional trust.

Or aren’t they? Don’t we, as a society, accept a certain amount of responsibility toward all marriages when we recognize the sanctity of those vows and endow them with legal and moral rights and consequences?

I have always argued that a certain amount of culpability is imputed to the single party as well as the married party. Aren’t we taught not to knowingly do things that would hurt others? I know I was, and I've tried my best to live my life according to teachings such as this.

Thus I find myself in the unenviable position of being involved in a situation where I know that I am at least partially to blame, and it’s not something that I enjoy thinking about. But to be truthful, right now, I can’t find it in myself to really care that much or feel that much guilt. I’ve been living such a half life for the last few years, barely allowing myself to feel anything at all, and now that I actually feel really alive again I know that this is exactly what I need right now. For the first time in years, I can feel that part of myself that attacked life and wrung happiness out of it like squeezing a wet sponge. And I need that more now than I need my sense of ethics or morality.

So go ahead and blame me if you want. I know I will, too, someday when I care. And that’s when it will end. Until then . . .

By Special Request

2006-08-21T09:25:00.000-04:00

E. has requested that he be known from now on as "Chepe". I have no idea what this means. He claims it's a nickname given to people named Joseph or some such crap, which makes me wonder why on earth he'd want it, since that's not his name at all, but whatever. For all I know it could mean He Who Walks With a Big Stick Up His Ass, but I doubt it. So if you know what it really means, please let me know because I'm entirely too lazy to go look it up right now.

I do wonder now if I should have given him the url to this site, though. Not because I wouldn't want him to read any of it, but because I fear it might make me want to censor things that I may write in the future. I hope that won't be the case, as we have been as close to completely honest with each other as two people can be (note: I don't believe anybody can ever be truly, completely honest), but I guess I'll find out. It's not like I can take it back now.

I really should learn not to give my blog address out after a few drinks.

Where do I get off the bus?

2006-08-18T12:13:00.000-04:00

I've had enough of being a grown up. I don't wanna do this anymore. Work shit, money shit, relationship shit, family shit. All I really want to do is go back to that time when it seemed like life was perfect. When my biggest decisions in the day involved which horse I was going to ride, which trail I was going to take, and which sandwiches to take with me.

I'm just so tired. Where do I get off this grown up bus?

Just one of those days

2006-08-16T10:16:00.000-04:00

Almost from the time I woke up, hungover, tired and late, I had that feeling. You know the one – it’s going to be one of those days, those days when everything goes wrong. I stumbled to the bathroom, splashed around in the shower for about 5 seconds, fell into my clothes and out the door. The bus was coming and I had to run for it at the inhumane hour of 5:45 am.

The first bus that morning was full of the typical early weekend morning crowds: restaurant workers, health care workers, a couple of security guards, and the random assortment of drunk, deranged, and/or homeless, some of whom were smellier and louder than others. The second bus was waiting for me as I walked through Chinatown, and waiting on that bus was THE smelliest, loudest homeless guy, infesting it with stench. All I could do was sigh, sit up front, and hope the ride went quickly, with lots of fresh air from my newly opened window.

It was going to be a beautiful day, no doubt about it. The air was light and still had a touch of crispness to it. I wanted to stop at The Evil Empire for a venti triple mocha, but I knew I didn’t even have enough money for that, so I headed straight for the inn. As I entered and passed through the lobby and the dim front lounge, I was startled by the night desk clerk sitting ominously in a darkened corner. Everything about the inn and its restaurant had a foreboding quality to it, and the night desk clerk quietly following me around at a distance didn’t help at all.

Coffee. Coffee was what I needed, so, as normal, I went through the kitchen to the main wait station to make it. Desperately I searched for the filter basket to make my liquid gold, to no avail. No on else was at the restaurant yet, no one could help me and the stalking night desk clerk was driving me mad and giving me the creeps.

Feeling as If I was swimming through mud, I despaired and retired to the alley out back for a smoke. After that, the day started to go faster, but not much better. We finally found the filter basket and made coffee, then I got hung up on when I couldn’t promise a caller a reservation from the book to which I didn’t have access. I spilled a huge tub of homemade granola, dropped cutlery on the floor, burned my finger on a hot tea caddy, stumbled into a door and earned a rather nice bruise for that effort, and had to make about a bazillion cappuccinos (go to The Evil Empire for those, motherfuckers, I suck at making foam!). By the end of the breakfast shift, I had earned a total of $10, a few more bruises and burns, and a rather bad attitude.

And then the rest of the brunch shift arrived. A new start! Fresh smiling faces to joke and play with, some of my favorite co-workers. See, in the restaurant business, the other people on the floor with you make all the difference in how your day goes. The job is incredibly stressful and we let off frustration and steam in our play out of customers’ sight, back at the wait stations or in the kitchen. And on that day, even my very favorite co-worker E was on and working the patio with me. Hello, tag team! Tag team means that we both basically work the entire section, so customers get 2 servers instead of just one. Nobody gets ignored, nobody has to wait too long for a request to be filled. Tag team also means we both get better tips. However, to make a good tag team, you almost have to be able to read each others’ minds, and to communicate strictly through glances sometimes.

Anybody who has worked in the food service industry knows that it is fraught with sexual tension. First of all, there is the stress, and the sexual innuendos and joking and playing around help alleviate that. Also, the vast majority of restaurant workers in the front of the house are attractive and single. Not to mention, most are of a rather laidback attitude, fun and outgoing.

So it should come as no surprise that E and I had a very flirtatious, sexually-charged relationship. He’s a very attractive Latino man (phroar!) with a gorgeous body, flashing dark eyes, is smart, funny, and has an adorable sexy accent. And I’m, well, me, need I say more? And when it came to the end of brunch and we were relaxing at the bar with our shift drink (gotta love perks) and the manager needed someone to go buy ice, we volunteered to go. Was I surprised that as we went for ice, he asked me if I wanted to go get a drink? Yes and no. Yes, because my self-esteem has been battered for a few years. But no, not really. If I’d paid any attention, I would have noticed a certain way E had of looking at me, touching me, talking to me.

In the end, we went to E’s house (because he’d left his wallet there) and had a bottle of wine and talked for a couple hours. I learned that E was 38, from El Salvador, got his degree at U of Md., works in IT, speaks French and Italian as well as Spanish and English. I also learned that my body responded to his touch like he designed it himself. We got hungry and went out for some fantastic Thai food with another bottle of wine, then returned to the house to sit outside overlooking a huge, wooded park on a beautiful, perfect night and talk for more hours.

And in the morning, after a night of fabulous, tender, rough, dirty, sweet sex, I woke up in another woman’s bed with her husband and wondered when it would be my turn to have that life every night and every morning.

And that’s how I took a Latin lover and became that which I hate, the “other woman.” On just one of those days when everything goes wrong.

How's that again?

2006-08-15T07:12:00.000-04:00

Quick, go look out the window, are those pigs flying?

Must be, because I've suddenly got myself a new Latin lover. Fucking hell, how does this happen?

Details to follow. I've got to get ready for work. Just wanted to warn you.

Because it's all about me

2006-08-10T14:17:00.000-04:00

One thing I have learned about near disasters, or possible near disasters, or perceived near disasters, such as today's arrests/raids/whatever in London, is that airfares take a serious dive.

Therefore, yours truly will be spending Thanksgiving holiday in London, courtesy of my American Airlines credit from my earlier, aborted UK holiday. Of course, this will be a much abbreviated trip, only the long weekend, but hey, I'm not going to complain. I'm just going to drink. And eat. And drink some more. And shop. And drink some more.

Ne Fume Pas

2006-08-02T15:11:00.000-04:00

I woke up this morning after a night spent sleeping in front of the air conditioner on my big chair in the living room, and repaired outside for my morning cigarette. See, that's me over there on the right. Lovely, ain't I?

Well, that's what I felt like, anyway, and so I think I've decided to stop smoking again. I just didn't enjoy that cigarette. And if I don't enjoy it anymore, then what's the use, right?

In other news, it's been hot here, DAMN HOT. As in almost triple degree Fahrenheit hot with loads of humidity. It is disgusting weather, and health officials have issued warnings to the elderly, infirm, and young, and those with lung/breathing issues to stay inside during the day as the air outside just isn't healthy to breathe. Hopefully this will all change now that I'm not smoking anymore. Somehow, I think it will resolve itself once the temps get cooler, though, sometime next week.

I started my new job on Monday, but I'll have to wait until I get home to talk about that because I really shouldn't use taxpayer dollars for that.

But using them to find a pic of a smoking frog is fine.

And my Indian name is . . .

2006-07-29T19:03:00.000-04:00

BUBBLICIOUS. Or at least that's what the movers down the street called me yesterday morning. I can only assume this is a good thing, judging from the amount of staring at my ass that was going on and the calls of Hey, Baby.

I dyed my hair black again. Not really a big shock to anyone, I'm sure. But this time, strangely, people in the neighborhood have started addressing me in Spanish before English. Huh? I must have gotten a tan or something and can't see it myself.

I am exhausted after 12+ hours of go go go, almost all on my feet moving and doing. And I have to do it all over again tomorrow. At least my weekday job won't involve "special" customers or lugging huge buckets of ice (although my arms should soon be looking hella good).

Please remind me to tell you all about "special" customers at a later date. It deserves its own post. Or maybe just a post about what waiters actually do and how to adequately compensate them for their services and how to behave in a restaurant.

Yeah, that's it. Too tired for much else right now and feet are protesting. Not sure what they're protesting or why they would care about my typing, but I really think I should try to appease them. Maybe with some wine. Feet like wine, right?

SNAP!

2006-07-26T09:16:00.000-04:00

And just like that, everything is gonna be alright.

Well, maybe not just that fast. It's been 2 months of hell, and a lot of stress and panic and worry and fear. Two months of working feverishly to make things be alright.

So here's the story. That wonderful job that I had turned very, very sour. So sour that I was getting sick almost every morning before work, not getting any sleep, falling back into anxiety and panic and booze. So I quit. I had to, it was killing me.

Unfortunately, when I quit, I had no savings in the bank, and lots of bills and rent due. I didn't worry too much at the beginning because I figured I could just fall back on temping again like I always have in the past. Only this time, it wasn't so easy. I must have gone to over a dozen agencies, spent the time and money and effort to play their silly games and take their silly tests (typing at almost 90 wpm still, not too shabby). Then they'd blow sunshine up my ass about all the job orders they had on their books and how I'd be perfect for a few of them. And then I'd never hear from them, no matter how many times I called them.

Meanwhile, my cash was running severely low and I had no prospect of getting any more. So I got desperate and started looking around for other ways of getting some money. First, I rented out my spare room to a medical health care worker here on a 3 month contract. Second, I broke down and went back to waiting tables at a small inn for breakfast and brunches on the weekends. This involves me getting up at the butt crack of dawn . . . well, actually before dawn, every Saturday and Sunday. I basically work straight through from 7 am to 3 or 4 pm both days, with barely any time for a break.

You know, getting back into restaurant work has reminded me of a lot of things. How fun it can be, how fun and nice the people who work in the industry are. How nice it is to have ready cash to show for your hard work.

But, oh, how many things I forgot. The sore back, sore legs, aching feet. One other thing I don't remember and it must be a function of age: swollen ankles that look like they belong on a 9 months pregnant woman. Very nice, not.

So finally, after all of this, last week I was offered one short-term contract making a ridiculous amount of money. Simultaneously, I was informed that another, long-term contract was down to me and one other person. And since then, until yesterday, I've been living in limbo. And yesterday, I found out that I got the long contract, still for more money than I've ever made. That news came none too soon, as the short contract was due to start today.

And so, here I sit, enjoying my last few days of freedom before I begin working 7 days a week for the foreseeable future. But you know, I honestly am not going to complain about working all of the time. I know now how lucky I am to be working at all. Financially, I refuse to ever get into this situation again. It really scared me, because I have pretty much nobody in my life who would be able to help me. It's terrifying.

Okay, so I'm going to call my own bullshit. Of course I'm going to complain about working every damn day. But when I do, please know that I do appreciate the opportunity to work at all. It really means a lot more to me than I thought it did.

BTW, I also found out that I can feed myself and the cats on $10 a week. Who knew?

Just be

2006-07-17T19:58:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to thank everyone who has sent me supportive comments, e-mails, etc. I know that things will be okay in the end, but it's just this in between time that is so hard. It eats at me, trying to destroy my soul, and in some small measure it succeeds, but it also fails, because the soul regenerates and those destroyed parts turn into something else, something stronger and less fragile.

One day soon when things have finally turned the corner I will be able to tell the full story. One day when it's over and a new life has begun.

Until then, be good. And if you can't be good, be very, very bad.

Hit and Run

2006-07-09T16:31:00.000-04:00

Well, sorry I haven't been around much lately, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out my pattern: when I'm silent, things ain't going so well. And when things ain't going so well, I find it hard to think about anything else, and it's really just no fun to talk about the down times. Hopefully things will start looking up soon and I'll be back to posting fun, inane, and occasionally thoughtful things for your enjoyment.

The only good thing is I've lost 13 lbs. through stress and budget enforced dieting. It costs more to feed my cats than it does to feed me.

PS - if you know of anyone looking for a furnished room in DC for $550 a month including utilities, please point them in my direction.

Ciao, kids. Be good while I'm gone. I'll try to check in once in a while so don't think you can get away with any nonsense!

Truth or Dare

2006-06-20T21:23:00.000-04:00

Remember that game? from junior high? that we all played? (ok, certain people will get this and some won't)

Well, I find myself in somewhat of a conundrum yet again. I believe I posted about a year ago on the issue of truthfulness. How truthful do I want to be here? Do I want to keep certain parts of myself TO myself? Or do I want to be really open and out there, and just throw it all against a wall and see what sticks?

To this day, I'm still not really sure. What I do know is that there are things going on with me that I need an outlet for, and I can't imagine a better outlet than this. On the other hand, I'm afraid to let people see how truly defective I can be for fear I'll be seen as some sort of freak. Then again, I'm sure some of you already know I'm a freak, so what the hell, right?

I don't know. I don't know what to do here, or what to think. I guess the answer will come in the next few days.

In the meantime, yes, I will try to fix the pics of Chico, who seems to be chewing up everything in mouthreach, including me. Why didn't anyone remind me that kittens chew just like puppies? Gaaahhh!

He's still adorable, though. When he sleeps.

Damn

2006-06-06T22:02:00.000-04:00

I haven't been here in a long time, and it's all my fault. I told you before that I was lazy!

I could show you lots of lovely photos of Chico, but I thought that might be a little much. So instead you get photos of [sorry, it was just Fabio, my little joke, which just goes to show that when I try to be silly, it always backfires - back to your regularly scheduled programming].

Anyway, life here goes on. Chico thinks that I am his personal chew toy, while I inform him that the opposite is true. It's not easy.

Buca has, over time, come to the conclusion that Chico is his personal play toy. I like that.

Otherwise, life goes on. I miss my best friend and I hang in here.

Status Confirmation

2006-05-22T16:58:00.000-04:00

Just so you all know, it has been confirmed: I'm officially a card-carrying member of Crazy Cat Ladies of America, with visiting rights in other countries that are members of Crazy Cat Ladies International.

What this really means is that I've had to cancel my vacation to the UK for which I was supposed to be leaving Thursday after work. The reason, you ask?

Because I have to pay mucho dineros to take Buca to the kitty kardiologist and the specialty dentist. Like around $1500 worth of specialty veterinary care for a seemingly healthy cat.

Now, I know that most people don't get it. You think I'm nuts to spend that much money on a pet.

But you know what I think? I think YOU don't get it. You don't get that pets aren't something just there for your convenience and that when they become inconvenient, you just throw them away like that toy you got tired of playing with when you were 5 years old. Pets are living beings entirely dependent on us for their health and survival, and all they do is give us love (and lots of extra hair, but whatever).

Whoa. Ok, sorry for that rant, been spending too much time looking at pet adoption sites and wanting to declaw lots of irresponsible humans . . .

So anyway, I'm not going on vacation after all. I'll be taking off this Friday and the following Tuesday so I get a lovely 5 day weekend, which I plan to spend with Buca and Chico, and hopefully doing something productive, like giving away books and finding some bookcases. I also plan to do something completely unproductive, like go to the Zoo or the National Gallery of Art for an afternoon.

I still can't believe I'm spending my vacation money at the vet's office. But at least I got a nifty identification card to confirm my Crazy Cat Lady status. Laminated and everything.

And his Indian name is . . .

2006-05-22T14:20:00.000-04:00

Chico Big Ears

Chico

2006-05-22T13:50:00.000-04:00

So this is Chico, the newest member of the family. I found him at the local animal shelter and brought him home on Saturday. This pic was taken less than 2 hours after he got home and, as you can see, was already settling in. Yes, be prepared for this blog to become all Chico, all the time, for a while at least.

I know I've been a bad blogger. I've been really busy at work, and just wiped when I get home at night. Weekends are no better. I'm mentally exhausted and it's all I can do to keep up with the basics of a normal life and household, like doing laundry to have clean clothes for work and cooking food and even, occasionally, washing dishes. Crap, that reminds me, my sink is full of dishes again and I'll have to wash them before I can make dinner tonight.

Anyway, back to Chico. Buca is emphatically NOT happy with the new addition. He hisses at him and growls. He has taken to hiding out back in the spare room and in my bedroom, while Chico thinks the living room is huge and rarely ventures out of it. Mostly this all works out just fine, except that Chico, within 24 hours of coming home with me, has taken to following me around everywhere, including the spare room and my bedroom. This does not make for a happy Buca, who has taken a couple of swipes at him. I kind of forgot about all this introduction nonsense and how tiring it is.

In the meantime, I try to give Buca lots of attention and reassure him that he still is The Man. (Get it? Chico and the Man? If you do, you've just admitted either a) your age or b) your addiction to Nickelodeon's TVLand.)

For those who wonder how I came up with this name, it went something like this. Within the first hour after I brought him home, Buca was already hissing at him. I reassured Buca by petting him and telling him not to worry, he was still The Man. And suddenly, it hit me: Chico. I said it, and the little one looked straight in my eyes and bounced away. I reckon that means he knows his name. Right?

There will be lots more cuteness pics up soon, never fear. Cuteness knows no bounds.

PS - K - I left a message for you yesterday; I'd lost the notepad with your number on it and just found it yesterday when I did some cleaning. Give me a call on my cell when you get a chance.

Why, Tony, Why?

2006-05-05T14:03:00.000-04:00

Tony, you know I think you're one of the best things to come around since sliced bread. You're hip in that distinctly off-beat, geeky way, especially because you really don't give a fuck what anyone thinks, except that the food tastes great and there's plenty of booze and no laws against smoking. Sure, you're sending yourself to an early grave with all the drugs and OTT restaurant scene living in the 80s, and the drinking and smoking and eating anything you want and travelling all over the place and butting heads with, oh, just about everybody.

But did you really have to wear those JEANS SHORTS in Puerto Rico????
Some things are dealbreakers. The earring, I can take. I don't like it, but I can put up with it. But jeans shorts? Those are dealbreakers, my friend.

Yet another crush falls beneath the weight of style expectations. *sigh*

No Cash, Dude

2006-05-02T20:17:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, weird thoughts come to me. Okay, I'll admit it, weird thoughts come to me pretty frequently, but anyway, here's the latest:

What effect, if any, is the shift of our society to a cashless economy having on the homeless people who hang out waiting for our spare change? I can only imagine it must not be good.

Now, I'm not one to give cash willy nilly to every homeless person holding out a cup. In fact, I very rarely give them money at all, for various reasons, but that's another post. However, once in a great while, I'll be in a particularly magnanimous mood and I'll throw in whatever change I've got in my pocket, or a buck or two. One day, I even gave a guy a $5. I have no idea why.

But I have to think that when even I, the original cash basis girl, end up going cashless and rely solely on my bank card, that has to mean these homeless people aren't getting as much money as they used to. It's not as if they can swipe your card for a buck or two.

It also makes me think that the high traffic spots are much more zealously staked out, and that turf wars must erupt on occasion.

The Great Homeless Turf War. Yep, I'll put my money (via the internet) on that bringing down this country.

Name that dish!

2006-04-24T20:12:00.000-04:00

This is something I kind of threw together over the weekend, and I want to name it but I have no idea what to call it. Can you help? Suggestions in the comments, please.

Ingredients:
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 jar Safeway Select Peach Pineapple Salsa
1 can frijoles negro
1 cup brown rice

Method:
Make rice according to package directions, stopping the cooking a little short of done.
Cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Saute over medium high to high heat in a deep pan in a little olive oil with salt and pepper until starting to get golden. The centers will still be pink, that's ok.
Dump in the salsa, the beans, and the rice. Stir to combine. Lower heat to medium low, cover and simmer until chicken is cooked through and the rice has absorbed the flavors from the salsa and beans.

That's it. I have no idea what to call it. It's really, really yummy, though. I even ate it for breakfast yesterday!

BTW, apologies for being so absent. I've been bumped up from the second on a huge case to being in charge of it, and it's consuming all that procrastination time that I used to use to blog!

. . . One Step Back

2006-04-17T07:47:00.000-04:00

Isn't it funny how when things are going along swimmingly in almost every aspect of life, there comes that day when the adage comes true? You know, the one about "two steps forward, one step back?" Yeah, well, that's this weekend and even into today.

Work is going great blazes. I'm really busy, and have started making a reputation for myself as an excellent proofreader and citechecker, to the point where my services (as such) are being requested by certain very particular attorneys. A couple of attorneys have also found out that I have research skills far beyond what paralegals usually have, and have begun assigning me research projects that they would normally give to a law clerk or new associate. After the last few years of being a pretty crap employee, this really feels wonderful. So why then do I find it almost impossible to drag myself into work today? I have already called in sick (actually true, see below) with back trouble and will call back in a little while to have them e-mail me the big important document I'm supposed to be proofing this week so I can work on it here.

Then there's my back. It has been steadily improving, but over the weekend, I think I just did too much and it's incredibly painful this morning. Six weeks ago when I first hurt it, I dragged my hunchback Quasimodo ass into work anyway, even if I had to walk bent over. Today? Not a chance. I could, but I'm not.

And this last paycheck was the first one where I could actually start putting away significant amounts in savings. But what did I do? I went crazed on shopping instead. Aaarrrggghhhhh. I still paid my bills and all that stuff, went grocery shopping, put money on my Smartrip card for work transport, but . . .

At least I did one responsible thing and took Buca to the vet. The ungrateful sod didn't appreciate the vast amount of money I spent on him either and completely ignored me for the rest of Saturday. And I am a bit worried now. I knew he had a slight heart murmur, but it may have gotten more pronounced. He's lost a significant amount of weight, but he's still over 10 lbs, so not sure how much that is normal. He may be becoming hyperthyroid. He also may have an abscess or growth in his mouth, which can't be known until he is sedated and x-rayed, which of course is complicated what with the heart murmur. Worry, worry, worry. I'm a very scared cat-dog mom right now. I just can't lose him right now, can't imagine it happening ever, really. There are just certain pets that are truly once-in-a-lifetime pets, and Buca always has been, since Day One.

Ah, well, at least I have some fabulous new clothes and shoes. And that always makes me happy.

Something doesn't add up here

2006-04-05T17:30:00.000-04:00

You know, I realized yesterday that something was very wrong with my life. Seriously wrong. Something that could very well affect the outcome of my future happiness and my legacy.

I mean, how am I supposed to be a Crazy Old Cat Lady with only one cat?!

BTW, there were apparently no google or blogger searches regarding my ass since my last post. Where's the love, people? I happen to have a very nice ass, even if it is expanding. There's just more to love now! At least, that's what the guys in my 'hood tell me.

The Incredible Expanding Ass

2006-04-04T13:29:00.000-04:00

Have you ever walked down the street and felt your ass actually expanding? No? Just me, then? Damn. Because that's what it felt like last night on the way home. There it was, the Incredible Expanding Ass had apparently attached itself to me and was blowing up like a balloon ass in a cartoon while I was walking from the Metro to the grocery store.

So, with a bit less than 8 weeks to go until my vacation, the game is on! This game is called, How to Melt the Incredible Expanding Ass. Hopefully it will be helped by some meds that my doc gave me for my completely out of whack hormones. And no more candy, no more sweets, no more White Food. Sauces, out. Because this is just fucking ridiculous. This is what happens when you indulge yourself constantly. All of those "just one piece of candy/cake/pie/bread", well, it all goes on the Incredible Expanding Ass. Which has to go. Because I can't afford new clothes.

But if I do buy new clothes, it's a damn good thing they don't charge by the yard.

PS - thanks for the kind comments about Shelby. I know it was the right and only thing to do, but that doesn't make it any easier. The right thing is often the hardest thing to do. On the other hand, it gave me the right to make people I don't like feel bad. "Oh, Y, how was your weekend?" "Well, Dumbass, I had to have my cat killed, so it kind of sucked ass." "Wow, Y, I'm so sorry" as they slink off. I am truly evil.

PPS - I just counted and I used "ass" 8 times in this post. Nine times now. Can't wait for the google hits on that one. Tee hee.

RIP Shelby, Pretty Kitty

2006-03-31T16:01:00.000-05:00

Shelby, my beautiful boy, is very, very sick. He's always been a light cat, but he's lost so much weight that his little spine feels like you'd imagine a miniature brontosaurus to feel like. He barely moves, he just lies there in that cat crouch and purrs. Well, he doesn't purr all the time, just when I come over to him and pet him. Which is strange, because he didn't really like to be pet much at all. He's hardly eating, and then only when I give him canned food in gravy and put it right in front of him. He's not drinking much and must be dehydrated. I haven't seen him go to the litterbox either. And his beautiful big blue eyes are so distant and barely focus when he looks at me.

He still responds to me, and he still moves about a bit - I just never see him do it. I'll go to bed, and when I get up he's moved 4 feet. Or I'll come home, and some days he's still where he was when I left.

I only noticed this this week, and now I'm terrified to go home every night, and to wake up every day. I'm terrified I'll walk in the door and he'll be just lying there, staring off into nothingness.

Some days he seems a little better, and I think he'll be ok. Then the next day I wonder, is he really better or am I imagining it to make myself feel better, or am I in denial of the truth?

I'm terrified to take him to the vet, too. I'm so terrified they'll say there's nothing that can be done and I'll have to put him to sleep. I don't know if I can make that choice.

I'm also torn about whether to take him to the vet at all. If it is the end, should I stress him out with the whole cat carrier/car/strange place/strange cat smells ordeal? Or should I let him go out peacefully at home? Or give him the peaceful, painfree exit? What if it's something that we can manage with medication, though? What if I can keep him around for a few more years? I'd never forgive myself if I lost that opportunity.

Why don't they tell us about all this when we get these innocent pieces of fluff? It's so hard to carry the absolute responsibility for another being's life.

The funny thing is, I didn't even like Shelby when I got him. I was just doing my friend a favor by keeping him for her for a year. Eleven years on, and the strange little non-cat has wormed his way into my heart. And I didn't even know it.

Update: I decided to take Shelby to the vet Saturday, 4/1, when he seemed to be wobbly on is back legs. He was severely jaundiced, and his beautiful pale blue eyes were green. The vet felt his liver was very enlarged, with a growoth on it, and another growth near it. The prognosis was poor, even with thousands of dollars thrown at him. Which I gladly would have paid. Or found a way to pay. Somehow. But when the vet started pushing euthanasia, I knew there was really no hope. And so I made the hardest decision I've ever had to make in my life.

I hope I gave Shelby the beautiful a good life. I hope he enjoyed living with me and Buca. He was not a very affectionate cat, but occasionally he'd come to me for pets. I wonder if a few weeks ago, when he climbed up on the bed and hung out, maybe he was telling me something?

I feel incredibly guilty, but I hope he is at peace, without pain, and able to have whatever joy and happiness he wants now.

K is for Kourage

2006-03-28T12:40:00.000-05:00

Or courage. Or something like that.

I interrupt this blog for a public service announcement for my best friend K. Because it's mine, because I can, and because she needs to hear and see this. Also because I can't afford to say it as many times as it needs to be said on the phone on international calls to Oz. So . . .

Kiki, listen up, girlie, because I’m only going to say this . . . well, as many times as it takes to drill it through that thick skull of yours.

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU.

Honey, there is nothing at all wrong with you. You are beautiful, vibrant, caring, loyal, fun-loving, intelligent and kind. You have done nothing wrong, certainly nothing to deserve what has happened to you. And you should not feel humiliated. You are not the one who fucked everything up.

But most of all, you are something I am not. You are courageous.

You say that I am strong. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe what you see as strength is simply a defense mechanism, a survival instinct.

But I am not courageous like you. You are the one who puts it out there on the line time and again. You are the one who lets people into your heart. That takes much more courage that I can afford. After all, how courageous is it to hide behind a façade of my own making, behind sarcasm and bitchiness and jokes? How courageous is it to choose inappropriate relationships that subconsciously I know won’t go anywhere, and then waste years of my life on them? While you, you seem to have a gift for at least forming relationships that last for more than a few months, to give your heart to others, to accept the love they offer you. These things I can’t do. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable takes a special kind of courage.

Come back home and take some time to relax, to think about your next move, to decide what to do next. You wanted to come home anyway, you’ve wanted to for 2 years now. Now you can do it without the Dead Weight (that’s what I’m calling him, btw). Sometimes it’s a good idea to take a step backward to decide how to go forward. I’m a big proponent of coming back to DC for this reason. You were happy here. We had such a great time here. And we can again, albeit 10 years older, er, better. Of course, wherever you go, you know you’re always welcome here and you know I’ll come to see you, too.

You may wonder why I’m putting this on my blog instead of just sending you an e-mail. It’s because I want it preserved for posterity, and I also want others to see how amazingly courageous you are. I also want you to be able to click on the link and see this any time you need it. Not to mention this has a much prettier background than an e-mail. ;-)

So get your ass home, missie!

Love,

JoJo

Metamorphosis

2006-03-28T06:59:00.000-05:00

4 a.m. I awake. I cannot go back to sleep, no matter how hard I try. At 4:30 a.m. I decide to make coffee. At 5 a.m. I think about making some eggs, but the sink full of dishes calls to me plaintively, so I wash the dishes first. I check my e-mail, check my bank balances, my utility accounts, the status of online orders and Thorn Tree. I wash my face and and think about going to work early.

It's happening. I'm becoming my mother-type auntiemomma. *sigh*

The only good bit was having that dream about having sex with my last supervisor.

Right, time to really get ready for work now. Or maybe I'll wait another 15 minutes, have another cup of coffee, and be late instead. Because auntiemomma would NEVER be late. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

Random updates and assorted crap

2006-03-27T14:10:00.000-05:00

First, an update on my food challenges. I've sourced what I think are the cutest indoor herb gardens around! Too cute, and not very expensive, either. I think I'll probably order them in April with that cute stackable planter. I want other herbs, too, but I'll just have to venture to a garden store or something. Which should be interesting. While I'm there, I'm considering getting tomatoes, too. I just LOVE fresh tomatoes. Really, does anything taste better than a fresh, homegrown tomato, perfectly ripe, with just a little salt and pepper? I eat them like apples. Or sliced in a caprese salad. Mmmmmmmm.

Anyway, back to the other challenges. I've been passively on the search for an easy ethnic dish to try that I hadn't done before. Then, suddenly, along comes the perfect dish: Butter Chicken. The recipe comes straight from India, even, from an Indian woman living in Mumbai who is, apparently, quite the Chef. I cooked it yesterday and OH MY GOD it turned out absolutely fabulous. I'm hooked now. I think Indian is the way to go for a while, unfortunately for my office colleagues who get to smell the leftovers - some people just don't go for the curry smell, you know. Weirdos. Anyway, here is the recipe I used, with my modifications and notes (modifications are strictly due to inability to get certain things, not because I thought changing the recipe would make it better at all). I also doubled the recipe, using 2 chicken breasts and one huge onion.

Butter Chicken

2 to 3 Tbsp. butter
1 onion
¼ tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. crushed garlic (I used 8 cloves through a garlic press)
2 tsp. crushed ginger (I used a knob about as big as my thumb, grated)
½ tsp. ground turmeric
1 to 2 tsp. ground chilli
1 Tbsp. coriander (I had to look up whether this meant the ground coriander seed or fresh cilantro leaves - it's the ground coriander)
400 grams / 14 oz of skinless, boneless chicken thighs or breasts (used 2 chicken breasts, about 1.5 lbs total)
¼ to ½ cups ground almonds (these ended up being just finely to roughly chopped due to only having one grinder and it's got coffee grounds in it)
225 gram / 8 oz can of whole peeled tomatoes with juice (used 14.5 oz can)
1 Tbsp. tomato paste
½ cup of unsweetened yoghurt

Trim and cut the chicken into small cubes, cover and put aside. Slice the onions into thin wedges (lyonnaise).

Heat a large saucepan or frying pan and melt 2 to 3 Tbsp. butter until it is frothy. Add the onions and the cinnamon to the pan and fry lightly. When the onions are soft stir in the crushed garlic and ginger. Then add the turmeric, chilli and coriander, and sauté over a medium heat. The spices are fried first to release their maximum flavour and this really enhances the dish.

Add the cubed chicken and sauté stirring constantly until the chicken has turned white. Pour in the ground almonds, tomatoes and tomato paste. Mix thoroughly. Cover and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes. Add the yoghurt and heat through. Serve on rice with a salad and Indian bread if desired. (serves 4)

Chef's cooking tip: the flavour is enhanced if you marinate the chicken with a paste of ginger, garlic & 1/2 tsp. lemon juice for 30 minutes before cooking.

I didn't marinate the chicken because I thought I'd just chuck it all in the pan, but after spending so much time cutting and chopping and grating and crushing . . . I should have. I will next time I make this, which is probably later this week. It's that good. This is really, really easy and, as I say, is an authentic recipe which really makes me happy. I've never ever had it before, so I have no restaurant or other experiences to compare it to. I didn't eat it with rice or bread because I'm trying to lose weight right now, but I might try it with a little brown rice this weekend, depending on my weigh-in April 1. Oh, and the Chef must not eat much at all - if half of what I made is supposed to be 4 servings, they must either eat like birds or eat it with lots of rice, salad and naan.

Speaking of which, the Chef also provided a recipe for naan which doesn't use a tandoori oven, so at some point I'll attempt that, too. That means I can then tick off another challenge, right? The bread one?

Ballet classes really do pay off. On public transportation, anyway. I discovered about a year ago that a modified fourth position is the best way to maintain your balance when standing on a crowded Metro bus or train. Try it. Seriously, it works. Of course, most people look at you a little funny, but I just figure I'm providing them with some of that free entertainment that public transportation is known for.

Also, WMATA. Yes, I'm talking to you. Can you please get your collective asses in gear and do something about the escalator situation? This is seriously becoming a problem now. Look, I know you're busy with trying to figure out your new raises, and hiring on a new chief or whatever, and planning that new line out to Tysons and Dulles Airport (very nice move, btw, and only about 20 years overdue, but never mind that), and supposedly you're revamping the bus routes and schedules for my lines (yeah, I'll believe THAT when I see it), but COME ON. This morning, out of 5 escalators at my station, there was a grand total of 2 working. 2! Out of 5! Congratulations on sinking to a new low, my friends. Mind you, the up escalator that I need to use going home has only worked for a total of 2 weeks since Thanksgiving, so I don't know why I'm surprised at this at all.

In other news, the National Cherry Blossom Festival is once again upon us. And once again, in one of its finest traditions, our country borrows a festival from another country and fucks it all up. See, these cherry trees were given to us by the Japanese government. In Japan, as explained so well by Jo, they celebrate the blooming of the cherry trees, and spring in general it seems, with lounging in parks under the trees and copious amounts of food and booze. THAT'S a celebration. Not the crap they try to pawn off on us here. I mean, how are we supposed to properly celebrate this thousands of years old tradition when we can't even have any booze out on the Mall? Can't they get anything right? Sheesh.

And finally, the stars may truly be aligning for me. Finances improving steadily, thanks to new job that I actually don't hate. And now it appears that a very nice apartment will be coming available just about the time I'd be able to afford to move into it. It's in a nice area, not the 'hood, in a great building with a pool, and parking, and 24 hour security, and a convenience store right there . . . and it's a lot more space than I have now . . . and the rent includes utilities, which means it's not really any more than what I pay now . . . and the landlord allows pets . . . and it has a dishwasher . . . and can you tell I really, really want this place? Cross your fingers for me that the landlords will be willing to overlook my crap credit and depend instead on my current landlord's referral and my job.

Oh, one more thing: my best friend, who reads this shite (lord knows why, must have a thing for self-inflicted pain like the rest of you freaks ;) ), is finally moving home after a little over 3 years in Oz. It's not due to the happiest of circumstances, but I'm thrilled that we'll finally at least be in the same country again and I'm going to do my damnedest to get her back to DC (K, you have been warned!). I just wish it were under better circumstances. K Warning: full-on DC appeal will be forthcoming when I have more time tonight!

Justice

2006-03-24T11:47:00.000-05:00

Justice ran rampant on the bus this morning.

No, really. A little boy ran up and down the aisle of the bus for the 30 minutes that I was on it. He talked incessantly, sang, hit the bars and seats going back and forth, and his mother did absolutely nothing about it. When we got to the Metro station, he was running around through the swarm of rush hour commuters, and I heard her call to him, "Justice!"

Which made me think a bit, and shake my head. Because now this poor kid has basically 2 options in life: either he can end up on the receiving end of justice or he can end up meting it out. Some names are just self-fulfilling prophecies, you know? This isn't the kind of situation where he can just become an accountant or a janitor. And the way his mother refused to corral him makes me just a bit more inclined to say he's going to be seeing some justice in the future, and not from the good side.

Then I took the escalator down into the abyss, and walking through the tunnel I noticed, as I frequently do, a poster advertising TV shows. One of the shows that's being advertised lately is the L'il Kim show Countdown to Lockdown on BET. There's some justice, right? Or is it? Is it a cautionary tale about how you will end up paying the price, or is it profit and glamourization of wrongdoing?

Where is the Justice?

We like muscle relaxers

2006-03-21T21:02:00.000-05:00

Sorry I haven't updated in a few days. Here's the quick rundown:

Saturday: got free futon, probably shouldn't have done any of the lifting. Went to an Ides of March party, an obvious attempt to relive our youths in togas. No, I did NOT dress up. I did, however, drink far too much wine and limoncello. Crashed on the couch of a friend.

Sunday: grocery shopped on the way home. Doing the shopping while hungover/still half drunk isn't nearly as much fun as it sounds. Ran into my landlord while there. That can't be good. I think I may have grunted completely unintelligibly. Got home and discovered someone else's keys in my pocket. Took codeine, ate lots of food, slept.

Monday: felt almost human again. Got to work and realized I forgot to bill any of my time for last week. Decided to do it on Tuesday. Got e-mail circulated to all partygoers about keys. Arranged for return of same.

Tuesday (today): really busy at work. No time to do billing for last week. Met friend to return keys. Felt a tweak in my back on the way home (doc told me this might happen in these weeks). Ate phenomenal steak cooked in butter, took muscle relaxers while cooking, and am about to fade out . . .

Yes, we like muscle relaxers. Far better than wine. No hangover. And no picking up strange keys.

Innocence lost

2006-03-17T13:23:00.000-05:00

A very dear internet acquaintance posted recently about her experience breastfeeding her newborn son. While the experience seemed quite lovely overall, one thing did stick out. Quite literally. She realized while looking down (lovingly, I'm sure) at her son feeding that she had a white hair growing out of her nipple. What amused me was that she wasn't shocked at the fact that there was a hair there, just that it was white and this made her feel old.

Sadly, I have to report that this morning, while towelling off after my morning shower, I happened to look at my nipples and I was shocked to find that I, too, have a hair growing out of each nipple.

Look, I know weird things happen to our bodies as we get older. I've dealt with weight gain and loss (and gain and loss and gain), stretch marks, surgery scars, eye lens replacement due to cataracts, bifocal vision, increased growth of hair on my legs and bikini area, the occasional hair on my chin, out of a mole, and one on my upper lip, hair in my nose, and most recently back strain, bursitis in my hip, and the onset of rheumatoid arthritis in my hands.

But I have to say, I think I've really gone over the edge with the nipple hairs. I do not want anybody flossing there!

Can't I just turn back time a little? Please? Just 5 years, that's all. It's really not too much to ask, is it?

Career Change: Snow White, Fairy Tale Heroine

2006-03-16T10:11:00.000-05:00

So here’s the scene: very crowded Metro car, people jammed in elbow to boob to armpit to nose, hanging on to the railings, jostling for any spare inch they could find. I find myself accosted by a Talker. You know, one of those people who WILL NOT SHUT UP. The Talker Talks along merrily to anyone, or no one, about anything, or nothing. You don’t even have to answer the Talker, or even acknowledge their existence. Of course, if you’re me, you feel rude not doing so, so you stand there ignoring them with a fake smile on your face, studiously avoiding looking at them while you try to figure out if you should recognize their existence and run the risk of fueling further Talking. My unease was compounded on this particular occasion by the fact that the Talker was Talking to my boobs. Not his fault, really, being as he was all of about 4 feet tall. Literally. I’m not joking.

So we are pulling into our station, his soliloquy rolling on, when all of a sudden the Talker starts singing, “Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s off to work we go . . .” and exits as the doors open. Yes, out loud. It was the absolute funniest thing I’ve seen and heard in ages. I almost fell over laughing as he merrily strolled down the platform, turning to give me a wink.

Maybe I should adopt him, name him Chatty and call myself Snow White.

Wanted: 6 More Dwarves.

UK invasion

2006-03-15T11:39:00.000-05:00

Yes, the rumors are true, I will be invading your fair isle for a holiday. Arrival in London the morning of 26 May, departure from London 5 June (see how I did the dates just so you UKians can read them, because I'm considerate like that?). Whereabouts in between not entirely nailed down yet, but best estimates at this time include Bristol, Derbyshire (which I am assured I will be saying wrong, but I know they must be crazy, I know how to say Derby AND shire, thankyouverymuch) and York.

You may start the bidding for my presence below in the comments box. Alternatively, you could just give me some fun things to do or see. Or recommend good pubs.

There, don't never say you weren't warned.

Edited to say: I just realized if I don't get any comments, I'm going to look like a ginormous twat, so please at least say something in the little box. Call it your good deed for the day, 'kay? Ta muchly!

Something I Did?

2006-03-14T20:50:00.000-05:00

Brrrrrrr. As predicted, winter is once again upon us, and with a vengeance. Unfortunately, yours truly wasn't quite smart enough to take my heavy wool coat (with fur collar, I love it so) to work with me. Why would I? It was almost 60F when I left; surely my iridescent London Fog raincoat was enough. Au contraire, mes amis. By the time I left work this evening, the wind was cutting right through any vestige of protection Ye Olde London Fog provides. Note to self: learn to predict the weather precisely and become billionaire.

I followed my normal path home. It rarely varies. It starts like so: walk around the corner to the right, down the block (crossing), then around another corner to the left, down 2 blocks to the Metro. This part varies only minimally, either by stopping in a store or two (notably, the Godiva store or Filene's basement, both equally dangerous) or in speed. Yesterday was a stroll, while today you would have been forgiven for mistaking me for a speedwalker. Arrive at Metro, down escalator, through turnstile, down another escalator, take subway 2 stops, disembark, walk through station and down another set of escalators, wait for next train, ride 5 stops and disembark, reading all the way.

Wait. How the hell did I get here? Somehow I made it all the way from my first station to my transfer station to my final station with no thought involved. At all. When did this happen? Does this mean I have finally become a real metropolitan? The naturalness of it all stunned me. I'm a farm girl from the sticks. My idea of "public transportation" growing up, if indeed I even knew the term, was a bright yellow school bus that came once in the morning, and took me home in the afternoon.

It was this feeling of naturalness that I contemplated instead of thinking of how the freezing wind was savaging my exposed heels (see pic in post below - could you wear shoes with a back in that state???). And, naturally, 2 buses on my line arrived at the same time. Being the savvy public transportation rider that I am, it was natural to get on the second, and more importantly, empty bus.

That was my big mistake.

Now, it is no secret that there is rampant poverty in this town. What is less known, because it is less visible to visitors, is that mental illness is also rampant. I'm not talking about depression or anxiety, either. I'm talking about people living in their own little worlds. It's virtually impossible to ride my bus line or walk in my neighborhood without seeing this kind of mental illness. Women and men, bent, shaking, wandering the streets or riding aimlessly on the bus, muttering to themselves, every so often spitting out something vaguely comprehensible, and staring . . . where?

There is one woman in particular whom I see most mornings on my way the the bus, walking the opposite direction to me, talking to herself. Normally I have no idea what she's talking about, and the wild gesticulating tells me she's in a rant, but the other day I did manage to hear "Drag Queens" as she passed me. I wondered for a minute whether I should be worried if she'd made some sort of judgment about my appearance . . . but I digress.

I wonder sometimes what these people are seeing, thinking, hearing in their world. Who are they talking to? What are they answering? Where are they?

Anyway, so I sat down toward the front of the bus, comfortable in my spacious two seats, close to the door so I wouldn't have to walk forever to get off. There was only one woman and one man near me; the man appeared to be asleep or passed out, the woman staring out the window mumbling to herself and rocking back and forth. Mmmm, okay, not a big deal. Well, not for 2 stops anyway. That's when apparently I caught this lady's eye, and the air turned blue. A veritable barrage of curse words burst forth from her mouth as she pointed and pointed and pointed her gnarled finger at me. As best I can make out, everything that ever happened to her in her life that was negative is my fault because I'm a rich white bitch. Doesn't matter that I've never even seen this woman before, and that she's older than my mother (would have been). It's all my fault.

Was it something I did? Nah, just another day on public transportation. But that just ain't natural, I tell ya.

Suffering for fashion - annual version

2006-03-13T16:55:00.000-05:00

It's here again, the season of foot skin rubbed raw and sometimes bleeding, blisters raising and popping and oozing as bare feet become accustomed all over again to direct contact with shoe leather.

I just made the mistake of actually looking down at my feet. I'm wearing the same loafer-type 2" heels I've been wearing for about a month that seemed perfectly comfortable when wearing trouser socks, but somehow have turned into torture devices without them. I knew that my heels were getting rubbed raw; what I didn't know was that a layer or five of skin has actually peeled back, revealing fresh, unprotected pink skin underneath which is, no doubt, destined to turn into pools of oozing bloody mess by the time I get home tonight.

This happens every stinking year.

And people wonder why I like winter. At least then my feet aren't bleeding. Plus I don't have to keep up with my pedicures (note to self: need fresh pedicure badly).

On the flip side, the Cuz came on Saturday to pick up more of her stuff and drop off Bianca for me, and cut my hair for me. I went a bit shorter than I normally do, with the layers around my face a bit shorter, too. And amazingly, with the increasing wave in my hair . . . I find I have a wash and go hairstyle. No, seriously. I mean, I have to wait for it to dry, but it just all falls into the perfect place, including a right side that looks like it has that perfect 40s pincurl bang. I've washed it and let it dry twice now, and it's done it both times. Now I'm afraid to use the blowdryer.

Edited: when I got home, to add the above pics showing a wound, and the offending torture devices. I also forgot how my feet and ankles swell in heat. Lovely, don't you think?

Edited again: Over there on the left, see, that new pic of me? That's the perfect 40s pincurl bang. I had to preserve it for posterity just in case it never happens again.

It's happening

2006-03-13T13:46:00.000-05:00

I feel it. It beckons me, calling to me softly but insistently . . . ever since I heard about it, it has lodged itself in the back of my mind (taking over the space formerly occupied by booze-soaked brain cells, but that's a story for later on) and just won't leave. I might have to give in . . . to Audioblog.

Because then you could hear me squeal with delight that my vacation has been approved!!! UK readers, beware. I invade your shores in late May. Invitations for drinks gratefully accepted (hint, hint). Details to come . . .

In the Moment

2006-03-12T14:50:00.000-05:00

In my quest to get back to living in and enjoying the moment, it's nice every once in a while to experience one of those rare moments that just make you supremely content.

This post brought to you by Shelby and Buca both lying on my bed with me at the very same time (and not bickering with each other), purring contentedly.

And this is why we bring pets into our lives. Bliss.

Excuse me while I learn how to purr.

What a difference a day makes

2006-03-11T11:59:00.000-05:00

Or two or so.

No heavy wool coat with fur collar. No coat at all, in fact. No gloves. No socks even! A nice, casual stroll to the bus stop, even though I was late, instead of the usual speedwalk race to promote warmth. Drinking in the sun. Windows open as the bus meanders along (ok, speeds on the way home, thanks to the kamikaze bus driver).

It's brighter, surely. Yes, that's the same sun as 3 days ago, but it's light years closer, isn't it? Everyone is in a better mood, smiling, walking jauntily along. The sounds seem livelier. It all seems slightly surreal, like I'm in a different place.

Maybe that's why I'm completely unmotivated to clean the cat litter and the rest of the apartment.

The really sad part is that I know this isn't spring. Not yet. This is the Annual Spring Tease, those 2 or 3 days we get every year at the end of winter when spring is dangled in front of us like a feathery toy to a cat. We paw at it, sometimes we can get a claw into it and we can make it stand still for just a little bit, but inevitably it eludes us for a while longer and we are left with the freezing winds that are the death throes of winter.

For now, I'm going to enjoy the sun, having the windows open, hearing the birds singing, the traffic sounds more clearly, the loudspeaker announcements from the car dealer just across the alley, the natives screaming ebonics to each other . . . aaahhhh, look at everything there is to look forward to.

Guess I should at least clean the cat litter first, though, before they really start to take offense and do something naughty that would ruin such a nice day.

Me, irritating? Surely you jest!

2006-03-09T20:37:00.000-05:00

Lately, with the help of discussions with a few friends who have also given up smoking, I have realized something. I think I irritate them now.

See, it seems like it has been/is really difficult for them to stop. It hasn't been for me. They crave it, either mentally or physically. I don't. It has nothing to do with how long or how many we smoked, or how long ago we quit. I probably smoked more than some, longer than others, but my quitting experience has been so completely different than theirs, and it makes me feel bad.

It's like once again I'm not quite cool enough to join the club, only this time it's because it's been too easy for me. I don't have any stories of nicotine cravings, shakes, hacking up black phlegm for months. I don't have dreams of taking that forbidden puff. I'm the one in the corner being disgusted by the smell of smoke that the others sniff longingly, disgusted so much that I now refuse to put my coat in the closet at work.

I know it irritates them; it has to. It would irritate the hell out of me, just like it irritates me that men can just think about losing weight and drop 20 lbs. overnight.

Ah, but there's the rub.

I've been eating like a Survivor refugee, especially chocolate and any other sweets. I don't remember ever craving sweets in my life, but I sure do now. Ice cream, brownies, Godiva chocolates, candy bars, hell, any chocolate will do. And of course Girl Scout cookie time is now and I got 5 boxes, 3.5 of which are left. I'm just proud of myself that I got through today without eating any cookies. Will I eat ice cream later? Probably.

Maybe it's what people say about getting your sense of taste back. Maybe it's really true. I dunno. I cooked for the first time the other night using shallots and, my God, they were so wonderful! How many times does one wax poetic about shallots, for fuck's sake?

So if you read this and you're a quitter and having a rough time of it, and get annoyed with me because I think it's so easy, there's your revenge.

Now I'm going to get a bowl of butter pecan ice cream. Maybe just a small one.

Furry Lobsters, Cute AND Edible!

2006-03-09T12:34:00.000-05:00

From the "aaawwwww, how cute!" files comes this lovely creature, newly discovered in the South Pacific. Apparently found by French researchers (naturally, they'd find something this stylish) and named after the Polynesian goddess of crustaceans. Very fitting.

Can't you just see Coco Chanel tucking into this back in the day? Haute couture on a plate.

(Yes, I know you think I've finally lost it, but for some reason, it really just screams fashion and YUM to me all at once.)

Yellow

2006-03-09T07:55:00.000-05:00

Dammit. Pee report: Code Yellow. I took my last muscle relaxer this morning, and my pee never changed color. I got robbed, dammit. Hrmpf.

Happy Days! Or are they?

2006-03-08T17:33:00.000-05:00

So here I am, rolling along in the new job, a few minor stumbles here and there along the way, but generally producing my immaculate products of perfection, as usual. Then along comes the announcement in the Monday morning weekly status meeting that we had been retained by a (rather large) wine company to represent them again. Those who had worked on a prior case for them oooh'ed and aaaah'ed, refreshing the rest of us with their memories of how much fun was had on it, what with all the free wine, etc. No firm of teetotallers, this one!

As I said, here I am, now wishing, hoping against hope to be assigned to this case. And lo and behold, I was! Oh, happy day! I hear a song in my head:

Happy days are here again
The skies above are clear again
So let's sing a song of cheer again
Happy days are here again

I went home happy and contented, quite sure that this job that dropped into my lap out of nowhere really was meant for me. I mean, surely this was a sign! Right?

Well, the joke is on me (and certainly not for the first or last time, I'm sure). Yes, I'm on this case, and yes, we'll be getting cases of free wine, but I'm also working for 2 people who are in every office, and universally reviled. First is the associate: he's that guy who shuffles along, won't pick his feet up to walk properly, hunches over even though he's all of about 5'6", talks in that whiny, nasally, twangy voice, has absolutely zero social skills, and his office smells. Great. In comparison, the second guy is a treat: one of the head honchos, the type whose work is always more important than anything else you're doing, even if it's just indexing a stupid box that's been sitting in his office for 6 years (hey, you put the shit in there, you should know what it is, dammit!), and who is always on your back about whatever it is, i.e., The Micromanager.

*sigh*

Please tell me this will be over soon so I can start cracking open the bottles, because I think I'm going to need them. If you want some cheap Italian wine, let me know.

Look Ma, No Hands!

2006-03-06T20:23:00.000-05:00

I was afraid to say I'd be posting from home earlier. Afraid the same thing would happen as it did before, that somehow I'd screw it all up again.

But look! Here I am! Posting! From my toilet!

Alright, I lied. I'm really in bed. But I'm still at home. Because it would be really weird to have a bed at work. Cool, convenient, but weird.

This is how Dell helps put Y in a good mood

2006-03-06T15:00:00.000-05:00

They get me connected to the internet again.

Guess how Dell makes Y feel really, really stupid.

They show me how I mucked up all my wireless settings and with one easy stroke, they had me back surfing again.

Filed under the D'oh files.

Add Chemicals, Instant Honesty

2006-03-02T11:43:00.000-05:00

So I've found the perfect drug cocktail for the wee little back problem now. A muscle relaxer, an NSAID, and a couple OTC codeines from Canada (thanks, Canucks!). Back no hurt, brain fuzzy.

But the really interesting thing is how clear the opinions come through now. No bullshit, no political correctness or tact or fear of hurting someone's feelings. Somehow it's just easier to say what I think.

I like this feeling. It's a shame it doesn't always carry over without chemicals.

PS - Pee report: Code yellow. I guess that's good. I was actually kind of hoping for one of the funky colors.

Moving In and Moving On

2006-03-01T17:24:00.000-05:00

In every new relationship, there are those times of pure bliss, when everything is new and fresh and wonderful and perfect. And then there are those moments when things start to take a little more work, when you start to realize that your new partner isn't perfect after all, but is simply normal, like everyone else.

Well, last night Sam and I reached that second part. I know, I know, it seems so soon, but it's been such a whirlwind. We got home and I got Sam settled in in the bedroom, and we attempted to surf the internet with no joy. I tried everything I knew how, but still couldn't get Sam up. I even went to Dell Support to no avail.

Don't worry, I still love Sam, though, we'll just have to find a way to work around this (surely temporary) problem. And anyway, a relationship with one's laptop is much more than just surfing, right? Tonight we're going to install some programs from cd, and watch a DVD. Just because we can.

Poor Millie looks on from the coffee table in the living room. Abandoned. Sweet Millie, I just don't know what to do with her. It kind of reminds me of when I went from primarily riding my second (and favorite) pony to training on the big horses. Poor Buckster would watch me ride off on Dandy or Goosie or the Hawk and whinny sadly. Of course, I knew he wasn't really THAT sad considering he WAS a pony and notoriously lazy. But Millie really looks like she misses being with me. Maybe I should take her to a repair shop and see if they can fix her so I can find her a new home where she'll get some exercise and love again.

Unfortunately, even my new love couldn't cure my back forever, but I went to the doc this morning and it's not serious, just some muscle spasms. I've got muscle relaxers and prescription strength NSAID's now, so I should be good in a few days. He actually recommended that I take a day or two off, but I can't do that now. Not with the new job. I think they're actually impressed that I'm dragging my Quasimodo ass in here every day with this pain. So I'll rest up this weekend.

One thing, though, with this back pain is that I have to go shopping. Strangely, I'm NOT looking forward to it. I mean, I have to get flat shoes. Flat shoes suck. They are, with few exceptions, extremely unattractive, in my opinion anyway. I really am going to be struggling to find a decent pair that I like in my price range for work.

Can you believe that I have over 100 pairs of shoes and not one pair of black flats?

PS - according to the internet (which is always right, right?), the muscle relaxers may turn my pee black, brown or green. Now, I've been on meds before that turned it orange, but black? Brown? Green? It sounds like some crunchy granola pee. I'll have a pee report tomorrow, because I know you want one. Maybe if it really does change it, I'll take a pic. Hmmmm, that might be taking things a little too far.

Realizations

2006-02-28T16:06:00.000-05:00

If I keep coloring my hair, I'll only know when I start going grey by the pubes.
I can stand more pain than I ever thought.
My list of plants for my herb garden is up to 13. That's not counting varieties of the same herb like chocolate mint or curly parsley or purple basil.
Sam is too wide for my old laptop bag. I have to put all my stuff from my tote bag/purse into that, and put Sam in my tote bag for the trip home.
I have 2 lunch dates this week. I'm so chuffed it's pathetic.
I am addicted to Godiva's double chocolate raspberry truffle.
I never ate lunch because I was too nauseous from all the codeine.
Now that I've got an early morning appointment with a back doctor, it is feeling decidedly better and I'm going to feel like a fraud going in there.
I'd rather be a fraud than in pain, thus proving I have no shame.
I'm pathetically excited and in love with Sam. At least now I can let it out in the open and declare it for the world to know.
And Sam is definitely male.

Ah, the Power of Brown

2006-02-28T14:01:00.000-05:00

Brown has virtually cured my back pain. How? you ask. Easy.

I am posting this from my brand new laptop. Everyone, say hi to SAM. Sam is a new Dell B130 laptop with a huge widescreen, internal wireless, 512 MB RAM, 40 GB hard drive. And suddenly, my back doesn't feel half as bad as it did before. Must be those endorphins.

See, I'm already in love with Sam, but I really am trying not to let him or her know it yet. I mean, I haven't even figured out if Sam is male or female yet! Really, don't you think one should wait to declare their undying love until they at least know the gender of their beloved? So you can see why we need to keep this on the down low, at least for now.

OK, I've got to get back to "work" on my work puter. I'll talk to y'all more later. After Sam and I have become better, ahem, acquainted. *smirk*

Please send muscle relaxers

2006-02-27T14:36:00.000-05:00

Sorry, kids, my lower back is killing me to the point that I can't stand up straight or walk without great pain and difficulty. Consequently I'm going home to self-medicate with codeine because all the ibuprofen I've taken ain't doin' a fucking thing.

Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow, which is, coincidentally, when my new laptop will be delivered to work. Finally.

Arrivederci.

You know what's really frustrating?

2006-02-24T13:30:00.000-05:00

Tracking your laptop on the UPS website and seeing that it's only 15 miles away, but not being able to pick it up there. Then calling the 800 number and having them tell you that you can't change delivery until it reaches its final destination, which is only 9 miles away. So you sit and refresh the UPS website tracking page like a crack addict waiting for it to get to the final destination. Meanwhile you use the trip planner on the Metro website to figure out how to get to the pick up center before they close at 7 pm.

HURRY UP AND GET THERE ALREADY, DAMMIT.

I told you I was impatient. I could wait until Monday, when it's supposed to be delivered. But I can't. Because that would mean yet another weekend with no computer. And that would just be wrong. I might have to do more apartment organizing or something then.

*sigh*

Edited to say: Just found out after an entire day of anticipation that I wouldn't be able to pick it up until Monday either. So basically I'm screwed. Another weekend of apartment organizing and cooking, I suppose.

No Spoilers, Please!

2006-02-23T17:20:00.000-05:00

And I'm not just talking about the ladies' free skate result at the Olympics, either! Although I am trying my damnedest not to look at any media outlets online, but it really is sooooo hard.

But like a true friend, Tessa has tagged me for Five Food Challenges to keep me occupied for a little bit. This is actually kind of difficult because I do cook a lot. Like every day, or at least 6 days a week. But here it goes:

Learn how to make candy. I would really love this, but I know it's pretty exacting and precise. Then again, I seem to excel at things exacting and precise, so perhaps it's right up my alley, or grocery aisle. I think I'll try chocolates first, and if I can master that, I'll move on to taffies and hard candies. Put your orders in early for truffles.
Preserve the recipes for the foods that have become beloved family traditions. These include baked macaroni and cheese, apple cake, strawberry freezer jam, berry cobbler, pork roast with white beans (they might be navy beans, I forget), the coating for our fried oysters, cranberry and walnut salad, and lots more. These are all things that various family members are known for, but every time you ask for a recipe, they just spout off "Oh, you do this, then throw in some of that, and a little of this other . . ." because they've done it for years. But if no one actually pins them down on at least approximate amounts, temperatures and cook times, these could all be lost. And that would really be a culinary shame.
Grow my own herbs. We all know that fresh herbs can make a dish absolutely sublime. Surely they can't be that hard to grow? Even for someone like me with a black thumb. I'll at least try. Can you grow garlic bulbs in a window box? I love me some garlic!
Learn to cook some new ethnic recipes. I love Thai, Vietnamese and Indian foods, but I've never attempted cooking them. I think the unusual and exotic herbs intimidate me. Maybe I'll start with Tom Ka Gai. That seems simple enough.
Bake my own bread, and not with a breadmaker. I've never had a breadmaker, so that part's already accomplished, LOL! And as much as I love baking, I've never attempted my own bread. I think I'm intimidated by blooming the yeast, then proofing the dough, etc. But really, how much could it hurt to fail? Maybe $3 in ingredients and a few hours?

So there are my five food challenges for myself. And now I think I'm supposed to tag some more people? Okay, I think I'll tag Jo, Machiruda, Iggy, and Chimera. Cheers, ladies!

Happiness is . . .

2006-02-23T15:41:00.000-05:00

freshly brewed coffee ready when you wake up thanks to a programmable coffeemaker
a Godiva chocolate store around the corner from work
a 50% off shoe sale found at lunch
realizing that I'm not really broke and haven't been for a long, long time
planning a proper holiday
getting a lovely free crystal beaded table lamp
having a whole apartment to myself again

Only one bad note for today: if I hadn't gone and ordered a new laptop (found on eBay), I would have been able to get those absolutely divine Marc Jacobs pumps I found at 50% off in addition to just the boring black loafer-style travel-to-work shoes I got. T, I'm sorry, I let you down. Maybe they'll be there when I get paid next week.

A New Sort of Olympics

2006-02-22T17:15:00.000-05:00

You know, it really is damn near impossible to get away from the fact that the Winter Olympics are taking place. You'd have to practically remove yourself from society and go live in the woods with no tv, no radio, no news sources at all. Basically, go live under a rock somewhere.

But still, I like them. For as much as the hype is ridiculous and initially turned me completely off, I can't stop watching. Sometimes even on nights when there isn't figure skating! Some of the new sports are pretty cool, I must say. Snowboard cross, for one. One person I know described it as a kind of roller derby on ice. I think her inference was that it was low class or something, but I think that's why I like it. See, that's me. I like either the things that are high falutin', like figure skating, or trailer park, like snowboard cross.

And then there are some sports that just make me think, These people are really fucking insane. Like ski jumping and freestyle aerials. Or anything where you launch yourself off a perfectly good snowpack into the air for absolutely no good reason. It's insanity, I tell you!

Therefore, I think we need a new Olympics just for the insane. I mean, we've got the original, grandaddy of them, the Summer Olympics. Then there's the Winter Olympics, so the Canucks and Scandinavian countries can win some stuff. There's the Paralympics for the physically challenged. And, of course, the Special Olympics, for the kids riding the short bus.

But what about these insane people throwing themselves off mountains? They need their own Olympics, dammit.

I'd call them the Manic Olympics, but NOW and all the militant lesbian feminists would come back and say, Why not the Womanic Olympics? Hey, I didn't name mania, go talk to the ancient Greeks.

Maybe we could call them the Shock Therapy Olympics. Or ECTOlympics. Wait, that sounds like some sort of Olympics for Ghost Busters.

I dunno, but we need another one. Any ideas for names?