Caterwauling

The guy I was interested in for the past year just became a grandfather.

A grandfather.

JFC.

I’m over here like wait I haven’t even become a mother yet.

I mean … I still could, I imagine. Not that I’d want to. But what a mindfuck.

In any event, he was on my New Year’s resolutions list for 2025.

So was setting a toe in Europe. (Nope.)

Shedding some pounds. (Does it count when I regained them plus some extra?)

And a couple other things. (Oh well.)

I would get into the “not denied, just delayed” of it all.

But … if I’m at the age of seeing guys with GRANDCHILDREN, maybe I need some new goals?

Might as well resolve to stay fat and hang out with my cats more.

The kid is cute, though. Fighting my natural urge to send ALL THE PRESENTS is taking every bit of strength I’ve got.

On one of Kylie Kelce’s recent podcasts, she said how much she hates opening gifts in front of others. But she loves gifting to others.

She also said she’s not one of those “It’s my birthday month!” people. She’d rather no one knows.

I … am shocked how much I relate.

I love when people send gifts to my house. I can open them if or when I want.

Sometimes it’s right away. Sometimes it takes a few days. Sometimes I’ll open one thing within the box and come back later.

Now, the few people I have in my life happen to be pretty good gift givers. So it’s not a problem to open in front of them.

Oh but the giving.

I can’t even count how many gifts I send out in a year. All year. I don’t wait. I could throw myself in front of a Brightline literally any day of the week, eight times a day if I wanted to.

I have the mother of all gifts landing in Los Angeles any day now.

The recipients have NO idea.

When I was a kid, I remember (with all the cringe in the world now) telling my Gram that she could just show me love instead of buying me stuff.

OK how much do I hate myself for that? A lot. SO much.

But really, gifting was her love language.

She grew up with nothing.

She had nothing.

But when she had something?

She gave it to me.

(And she regifted it when I was done with it, as I took very good care of everything.)

I should have used the things more.

Taken less good care out of them.

Loved the shit out of them.

Rather than saving them for … what? A daughter I would never have?

Anyway I really try not to send people too much shit.

But I also can’t help myself.

I just hope they use the stuff I send them … more than the stuff I “keep nice” in case someone else can use it someday.

Just completed my 11th of 12 Disney trips this year.

I often think, oh just rent a place up in Celebration or something already.

But I do love Palm Beach, despite the Diapered Dictator and his shitty family being up the street.

Not sure if I wrote about it, but I met the coke-addled son twice this year.

First in Vegas but the second time right here.

He was the invited speaker at an energy conference. A subject he knew nothing about. In fact, the only subject he was well-versed on was radical left scum and his idiot father.

He yammered about how we supposedly let 3-year-olds choose gender reassignment surgery.

He told a bunch of stories about his fuckhead fascist of a father.

He completely lied and said his daughter was supposed to be golfing with grandpa the day he was supposedly targeted by a supposed assassin at his golf course.

But the girl (who hasn’t won any awards but the Palm Beach Post breathlessly reports on her golf game like a state-run media outlet) went fishing somehow on that day that — let’s face it — they planted the story so they could try to swing the election in his favor.

In any event, I was telling a friend about when Don Jr. entered the room I was in at The Breakers.

We were all seated for dinner. He arrived just a the first course was coming.

I got a photo of him as he walked in. I was at the table right next to his, so I wasn’t close to the door but I had visibility.

The look of terror on his face gave me life.

It gave me a glimmer of hope that these awful people have some sort of situational awareness that people fucking hate their awful treasonous stealing-from-kids’-cancer-charities and dad diddles little kids world.

But when we didn’t get up and treat him like his dad’s evil administration treats people it thinks are here illegally (stomping on pregnant women’s bellies) … which we fucking SHOULD have done to prove a goddamn point … he relaxed.

He wasn’t among friends. But he was among very classy people. The moment he visibly relaxed was not one I missed.

I don’t want them to relax. But I had already been encouraged to represent my employer, not myself.

Most of us ignored his dumb ass — and really only two people (the CEO who hosted the event, and some guy from Agora) — sat and gargled his balls through the meal.

The only thing I have said and will say is he’s affable and laughable.

I’m not denying Dem Trumps can tell a story and command a room.

They’re not as intelligent or funny as they think they are.

And no one can forget all the awful shit they did and do every minute of every day.

But … I mean it’s not like they made us sit through Kid Rock. So there’s that.

I understand why he was invited. I don’t know if it was a paycheck or partnership situation. But, bully for them if so.

I did about fall over when I saw that the Chumps partnered with a similar company. Not that one.

But hey Jimmy Carter had to give up his peanut farm amirite? Rules are only for Democrats.

Look, I hate my party. But at least I am not aligned with a grifter pedophile who committed infanticide in Lake Michigan.

No wonder I leave town so much. Gotta cleanse my soul from my awful neighbors.