Caterwauling

But between people bugging me all morning for top secret data that only I hold …

And half of those people already revealed a customer’s (correct) guess about that secret data to half the company …

And the know-it-all who pasted that info for half the company to see, when I called them out privately, suddenly acted like they arrived on earth just today (like they haven’t been with me 4-5 times a year for the past 3+ years through this exact process) …

Then same know-it-all falsely said there’s a problem when I guarantee you I looked for problems BEFORE go-live and found none … and neither I nor the operator of that website could replicate said problem … but knowing the know-it-all, they will act like they did something great when all they did was add to five people’s workloads …

And then someone gave my employee newsletter to DTOM, who first misunderstood it and insisted I add something (not appropriate for the audience) to it …

Then when that was clarified, DTOM decided I need to turn it into a public-facing thing … and to run it by them when I do, of course …

And then I got a project that i cannot even fit into my little girl brain right now …

And I’m too tired to even be upset about all the interruptions as I was editing/writing/proofing in a big fat hurry this morning because no one can see my work till we push it live.

Seriously — if you want me to talk about trials not trails, you gotta pipe down, man.

Anyway, it’s been a good day. It really has. I have been working with my absolute favorite people today otherwise.

I just need a couple others to give me my dancing space, as Momma would quote “Dirty Dancing” at a moment like this.

Or “recreational fucking space,” as Momma would quote “About Last Night” at a moment like this.

Or both!

Miss you, Momma.

So sorry I gave up as much time with you as I did over the years.

So sorry you were at home without a car or without anyone to talk to or do things with, and not just during the workday. And not even while I was two feet from you.

Was it all worth it? I mean, yeah I do mostly like what I’m doing with my life.

But more often than not, what I wouldn’t give for a Momma hug and a big fat fuck you from her to the two trumpian types who create a problem that doesn’t exist then take credit for solving it.

This popped in my head this morning.

I was looking at some recent expenditures that didn’t feel big at the time.

But boy did they add up into one Big not so Beautiful credit card Bill.

And I realized, who is more grateful than me when it comes to being out and about? No one, that’s who.

The last few years have been a bit mental.

Losing Momma at 66 … and Sia at not-quite-30 ON THIS DAY nine years ago … and Janna at not-yet-50 … and Cocoa at 4 (sob) … and everyone else loved/lost … it fucks you up good.

I got in a fight in a “Mama June” community (LOL) when Josh said he’s middle-aged and everyone was so mad because he’s 30. Like WTF, youngster.

And I’m rattling off stats about how Boomers and now GenXers are dying younger than the Silent Generation. Like hey he is actually right at middle age, cuties.

Anyway I get into these moments where what’s the point in worrying about all my unfinished novels and unfinished work projects when the Grim Reaper is probably five or 10 years away.

But it’s not about time. It’s about quality of it.

I’ve got a lot of plot left.

And I will be over here trying to cram a lot of plot into those 5-10 years so that anything after that is a bonus.

So when I fret over this frankenvacation I’m plotting … that began with a two-night trip I bought from Ticketmaster Travel that’s now a multi-airport adventure … I will remind myself today’s me loves walking 35,000 steps a day.

A future, older me that “saved up” for it might not enjoy it so much.

I am trying to sell myself on “I’ll only do this once.” But future me is betting that it will do the trip better, so it thanks me for getting a first one down so she can plot a more efficient vacation.

Let’s just pay off this one first, future me, hey?

Anyway the reason this is a frankentrip is because I need to redo something that got messed up.

Also TBH the new leg is something I messed up a long time ago, too.

I mean, I didn’t mess it up. Poverty did.

I had gone on a work trip to a city. And the per diem was like $35. And the pay was horrid.

So when I wandered around and saw the thing I wanted to do was $100, I gulped.

Literally stood there and mentally counted my money a thousand times.

And … couldn’t do it.

Like, could not scrape together $100 to do it.

That same admission is like $200 today.

What I did do … and I am very happy with that … is I bought a souvenir for myself, and the same souvenir for Mom and Grampy to share.

I wasn’t sad about The Thing I Didn’t Get to Do after that.

I was happy to bring a little sunshine to people who deserved it too and didn’t get make it to the entrance like I did.

This trip is for Counseling Today me. Who at 30-ish was too buried in student loan debt and living in D.C. debt to also afford JOY.

I’m taking her back. And reclaiming HER plot.

Vintage SATC.

As is my new outfit that just arrived in the mail from Chelsea Market.

Not that anyone has ever made fun of my “matchy matchy” clothes or looked down their nose calling me a “shallow shopaholic.”

No they told all their friends they don’t make fun of me … on the same platforms where they *checks notes* make fun of me.

They also make fun of my “blog that nobody reads.”

But they sure do bitch to their somehow thousand followers when by their own admission they are my only reader “to drive up visits so she doesn’t feel so alone.”

I hope you hit every red light for the rest of your life. And that you think of me hitting every green light I ever encounter.

“That green light. I want it.”

I am sure they take credit for an itinerary I planned when i was avoiding them like the plague they are.

Like I didn’t go to college with future Broadway geeks. Like I don’t have a friend A who works at Hilton and books employee rooms in Hell’s Kitchen and sees every show. Like M isn’t my NYC spiritual adviser.

Like I said on the socials, I don’t know what this person wants.

But it isn’t theirs to have even if it’s mine to give.

Good morning to everyone but the lying narcissist.

Since she clearly comes here for something to get aggrieved about.

Go post 49 more tweets about me this morning.

I can’t even be bothered to look in the one place I can still see.

Nothing fake here. No fake accounts. No fake stories. And no sorries since I never did anything wrong.

There are three projects that take turns kicking my ass every month.

The employee newsletter is the current one. It was yet another brainchild of DTOM. This one just makes up shit that THEY can claim as a goal, but then they just dump it on everyone else.

I address the company regularly in all the all-staff calls. I meet with my team for like 22 hours a week. I have literally nothing else to say and the article is required to be something they haven’t heard already.

Does DTOM write? No. And thank god for that, but still. My article is always the front page one (obviously). And it’s the last one turned in.

There’s another project I loathe that I got in trouble for last week because I did what I always do — write it, send it out, and move on with my life. But the data I was given was shit.

The original data I received was fine. But I asked the analyst for a refresh for publication day. And the person in whose name I write this 3,000-word manifesto saw the data and ended my free rein.

Do you know how much I dislike having to show my work? I’ve been writing for 35 years.

And it’s not even that — I write best when the deadline is two hours away.

Chasing down people who are busier than me to look at my nonsense is not built in to my somatic schedule.

And the third project is reviews. Twice a year. And now we know in hindsight that I wrote the last round while on PTO and with Covid.

Do I do this to myself? Of course I do. Not an ounce of these tasks are unfair or even unpleasant. I absolutely save them till they are unavoidable.

But that first observation though that DTOM creates shit for others to do is spot fucking on.

For all the chasing me she did recently to tell her how to do a project she made up … it’s still in limbo.

She’s chasing the person I need to chase for Project 2 above.

So it’s on hold till that person decides to be caught.

And then it ends with me having another worker to supervise and shepherd every week. I guess that 22 hours worth of meetings is about to become 25.

In better news, I haven’t seen the chaser person on their T lately. Not that it’s made them any more joyful to be around. But it’s nice to not have to reach for my anti-nausea smelling salts mid meeting.

I type all this to say the employee newsletter is overdue and finishing it just means it’s time to move on to the next project. Oh and 22 hours worth of meetings a week.

Speaking of food porn, I’ve started cooking again.

Nothing is as tasty or creative as Momma used to make. But I think she’d be proud of me for trying.

I also think she is sad I didn’t cook for her.

The money I’ve saved by eating at home … damn. I mean, I just spend it on hotels and airfare. But still.

In any event, I roasted an acorn squash yesterday and made up a “stuffing” mix.

It’s hot sausage, bell peppers, lentils, mushrooms, corn, carrots and green beans.

I wasn’t sure how to make it stick together, so I mixed an egg, parmesan and sour cream and hoped for the best.

It was good. Needed more than that sprinkle of gruyere on top. Should have gone with parmesan and mozzarella for a kick.

This morning, I heated the rest of the stuffing I hadn’t used and topped it with mashed garlic cauliflower.

I didn’t photograph my healthy shepherds pie. But it was really good.

I pulled a long blonde hair out of my mashed cauliflower and laughed.

I was always finding long blonde hairs in my food from Momma. She always called it her witchy hair.

Had witchy hairs all over my passenger seat for years. Literally wept when I vacuumed the car last month and found one final one.

The cancer made the hair fall out. She kept most of her hair. But then again, she had a lot to begin with. And it was everywhere.

Anyway, I had been feeling a way about making all this “good foodz” but just for myself.

Maybe the witchy hair was hers after all. And a message to say, “That’s my baby.”

First Delmonico’s visit ever.

The day Jimmy said only pretty girls get to come here.

I don’t get why someone Jimmy didn’t bring here reposts their same fingerprint smudged wine glasses and mostly masticated food from six years ago every eight days.

So I will see if my only Delmonico’s repost in 11 years makes me want to ride an old lady scooter too.

An author I love is really pissed about the Coldplay couple situation.

Yes, the CEO issued a half-assed apology with a “BUT.”

Yes, he resigned anyway because of optics.

Which, I do agree with my author friend that our country values productivity over character. And let’s face it, who can be productive in that environment right now.

But while everyone is climbing to some moral high ground over this, I dare any of them to shake the sheets, as it were, and show us that no skeletons fall out of them.

Bet most of them can’t. The same asshole who called me a baby killer on Facebook yesterday probably disappointed a woman like me who could pay for her own damn abortion. But he sure benefited from it.

In any event, I read a piece in the WSJ about how happy we all are when a CEO gets taken down.

Interesting coming from the one newspaper that almost exclusively serves the wealthy. It implies we hate the wealthy.

Like go back to carrying Habanero Hitler’s water, WSJ.

Also, this was a startup CEO. He might not have been making jack. At least, not compared to the Fortune 500 CEOs. But hey the company had a box at Coldplay, so who knows.

In any event, yes I absolutely support Luigi and wish there were a Mario to “just do it already.”

That said, it’s these CEOs and/or some other Peter Principled person who actively made our lives hell.

Like whoever this girl works for.

So it’s amusing to see one of them reap what they no doubt sowed.

But no, I don’t take any joy at seeing non-Cheetodusted humans taken down by the public.

They have enough to deal with privately.

One of my people reminded me of another company where the CEO was diddling the HR person. I had forgotten about that.

He died last year. When I sent condolences, the HR person was the first to say thank you.

Ha. Now it makes sense why.

I imagine other people with big feelings on the topic have things to say.

Only thing I’ll say is it is quite suspicious how she rose up the ranks quickly. But maybe she was a superstar. Who knows.

Who knows, indeed. WE don’t.

The thing with the company I referenced earlier, and even this one too when we worked in the office, is we buddied up for survival.

Lots of best friendships happened. Marriages happened — quite a few of them! And, yes, some breakups and divorces too, to pave the way for them.

My best guess on the Coldplay couple is they were working long hours under duress. It’s only natural to take comfort from your fellow warriors. Being in a pressure cooker requires more comfort than it should sometimes.

I would also guess based on a house that was just bought five months ago that no one had any plans to leave. Just to enjoy the moment and move on.

I relate to that part. Let it run its course and be a better human when it’s over.

That happens more often than not, I’d imagine. And the longer it’s prolonged, say, through social media, the more life it gets than it ever deserved.

At least these spouses are class acts and not acting simple in response.

That’s how you claim the high road.

Not acting in such a way that people go, yeah, I can see how that happened now.

I have this freelancer who always seems to have some sort of life emergency.

The guy who referred him had warned me this kid has a spontaneous work ethic.

I guess he lives cheap overseas and doesn’t really need the cash. Or maybe it’s not worth his while … until it is.

He reminds me of me since Mom passed. I hauled ass through the week she passed (as best I could). And of course the 30 years before it, I really busted ass.

Then … I became soulfully exhausted.

Thank you Shan for that saying.

When I’m on, I’m on fire. Magic flies from fingertips.

When I’m off, forget it. My mind is going a million directions. But standing up to light a candle is beyond my physical capability.

We had an IT guy at the Veggie Patch, Troy. I always said he moved in reverse.

Unlike him, I have enough superstar moments to provide balance.

I hope, anyway.

I got to thinking about that summer’s over nonsense.

I put in for all my PTO rollover in October. And a few hours of my 2025 PTO.

I’ll still work during it. There is no such thing as a full week off. Just a heads-up that there’s a boundary or two somewhere in there.

Which is why I show grace about that guy’s spontaneous work ethic.

I welcome his submissions when I get them, and we pay his invoices quickly.

In fact, it Saturday night and I just spent an hour auditing an expense report for someone else.

Unlike DTOM, I believe in getting folks their money ASAP. And this was a nice quiet hour where Teams wasn’t lighting up like the Coldplay couple’s divorce lawyers’ phones this week.

(I don’t fault them at all. Things happen. As long as the wife doesn’t hemorrhage nonsense all over social media for six years and create 47 accounts to spy on the other woman, as is precedent, it won’t be a total embarrassment.)

Anyway, I don’t mind the working on weekends. Or blogging, since I know folks miss me when I’m too soulfully exhausted to get up and charge my laptop.

I follow Cappy Bears about a cat with paresis whose momma loves him very much.

Cappy’s mom just found him crying in front of the closet where his deceased kitty sibling Lele’s stuff is stored.

The post was about not only how pets grieve, but that grief comes in waves for them, too.

Magic has started this insane nighttime ritual.

And it was only after I saw that post that I wondered whether it might be grief-related.

It never fails: Magic chases Bella to bed (who chases ME to bed) … jumps on her once she’s settled and scares the shit out of her … and when I yell at him, he goes to Mom’s doorway and yowls for a good 30 minutes.

Bell of course doesn’t enjoy the safety of him being preoccupied. She goes to investigate.

Then I hear her cry too, though more softly.

Very different from the all-day-long cries when Magic attacks or at least hovers over her before the attack.

Cappy could only be soothed when he was allowed to sniff Lele’s old cage and crawl onto Lele’s blanket.

And then it occurred to me.

Mom died in her room.

Cocoa died outside of her room.

Both at night.

So it makes absolute sense that the surviving cats gather between the two spots … at night … to look for their Grammy and their Sissy.

Maybe they are even conversing with them.

I don’t join in.

I just say, “Night-night Cocoa. Night-night Momma,” when I hear it.

That was my ritual. Night-night Cocoa. Then Momma. Then Belly. Then Magic.

In favorites order.

I still do it occasionally. More now that the cats go sing the song of their people to our beloveds beyond the veil.