Where did the year go?

March 30th, 2015, 2:59 PM by Goddess

So the guy who worked on my broken toof last week is probably one of those people who would gas you and molest you in the dentist chair.

It isn’t the dentist himself. Rather a guy who always jokes with me and hugs me and kisses me on the cheek and in general needs to check himself and remember his baby mama in Miami.

In any event, I was sitting here staring at my empty performance review and trying to wonder WTF I achieved in the last year. I’d say it was 80 pounds of poop in a 50- to 80-hour-a-week bag. But I cannot find a single corn kernel in that poop to write about.

I mean, I kept body count below 1.

I didn’t throw things at anyone.

I didn’t call anybody names.

I assessed very real threats to the business and did something about them.

I networked my little butt off and was able to call in some very big favors when we needed intel and no one else had a way in.

I volunteered to be in the dunk tank and not only am I in it, there are leeches in it and people throw pies at me when I’m up in the air on the seat before they hurl cannonballs at the lever that will send me into the water.

I mean, how do you write that in such a way that HR will happily check off “meets expectations” and move on with their lives for another year?



Meow

March 30th, 2015, 8:05 AM by Goddess

That moment when you send the new girl’s photo to all your friends who told you to stay away from him in the first place. And the subsequent series of “Bless Her Hearts” because you and your friends have lots of thoughts — and most of them are about the man who unknowingly put you into each other’s realities.

I always have to quote “Birdee” in “Hope Floats” at times like this.


“You deserve each other. You were lucky to have me.”



Suck it, Dump Tower …

March 29th, 2015, 8:25 AM by Goddess

The nice thing about moving out of this dump — aside from moving out of this dump — is that I’ve met everybody who is left in the building. And reconnected with people I forgot were still here.

We’re all moving out. We’re all scared that the assholes in the rental office will come after us for big fees. And we’re all horrified that this place might have paid off the fire department to not do anything to them for bolting shut our windows.

That’s a big accusation to make and I don’t make it lightly. But I haven’t been given one reason to disbelieve it could happen.

I have been hanging around with realtors lately and every single one says it is illegal what they are doing to us here. And the fact that these fools are coming after us for recognizing our rights to a SAFE, LIVABLE environment and asserting them? Is mind-boggling.

Evil Landlady forgot I was moving out, apparently, and told me yesterday I could get my rent prorated by $288.74 a month going forward.

What the actual fuck.

Odd dollar amount aside, I don’t even want to tell you what I pay but I can assure you that doesn’t take it down to a level where I would be happy living in dust and chaos and darkness till October, thank you.

Meanwhile I have a sunny, bright and lovely place waiting for me. It’s clean and the appliances work and oh yeah, MY WINDOWS OPEN.

Funny how you can’t take that for granted.

You’ve heard of Trump Tower right? This is Dump Tower.

And now it can suck it …

  



Tick.

March 27th, 2015, 3:51 PM by Goddess

I heard a story on NPR yesterday morning about those of us without kids.

That, even though we don’t have them — for whatever reason — that doesn’t mean we don’t grieve the experience of not having them.

I found that oddly comforting.

I mean, I saw two sonograms today — one from a friend at two months and the other from a friend at seven months — and showed them to my mom. She was instantly thrilled and sad.

Perhaps I was too. More thrilled than sad. But still.

I had dreams of having no kids so I could travel the world.

I didn’t count on working all the time and having nothing to show for it.

I didn’t think I’d have a dependent. I assumed I’d cohabitate with someone who had an equally great or even better job.

I didn’t realize that life is so expensive and who can save money when the phone, cable and electric companies destroy your take-home pay. Who knew Internet would arrive, let alone become a commodity and a utility that would COST SO DAMN MUCH?

By all means, not having kids has not exacerbated my expenses. But my rationale that I wanted to be “free” hasn’t quite panned out as expected.

I joke that I do quite enough caregiving to need to do it on someone who needs regular diaper changes. But I’m not investing in anyone who will be here in a year or certainly not a lifetime from now.

I mean, there’s no guarantee a child will outlive us, let alone make it out of the womb.

But if I don’t reduce my stress and increase the stamps on my sad little passport, will it all have been for nothing to have missed out?



So I just threw out five bags of shoes …

March 26th, 2015, 10:43 PM by Goddess

I’ve moved at least a dozen times in my life. At least.

I can’t remember how I used to stay up all night packing, go to work, come home and pack, and somehow have my shit together by the almighty deadline.

I never took off any days. And half my crap was unboxed when the movers got there. But somehow I taped up the last box before they started the drive to our new destination.

Now I have about four times as much shit, between mom’s and mine. And lord knows I throw away a quarter lifetime’s worth of crap with each move.

I need my sleep. And I’m old and things hurt a lot sooner. And back then I couldn’t financially afford to take a day off. Now I can’t afford to take a day off because things will be published in pseudo-Swahili without the Rosetta Stone job I try to do on incoming copy.

I’m very nervous because not only did the construction workers double-bolt my doors shut today, but they started lugging plywood onto the balcony. I asked Evil Landlady 6 if they are going to start boarding us up a week early. She said I will get a memo when it is time for me to know.

That is something I won’t miss. A snotty memo on a Friday night — shoved in your door probably long after you’ve left for a long weekend — to tell you shit is gonna happen bright and early Monday.

In fact, I still have furniture on the balcony that I didn’t get a chance to remove. Oh well. Doors are bolted. They can drop it into the Intracoastal or shove it wherever it pleases them.

Pray for me, if you’re so inclined, that if it comes down to losing my view for these final days or else losing my mind, that the view stays intact longer …