Caterwauling

I used to be an avid astrologer.

Lost my mojo during the pandemic. Had a bunch of plans but, between cancer and some ignorant heifer doing her level best to mock-then-adopt everything about me, the stars were a casualty.

But that brings me to two horoscopes I came across tonight.

One, from TarotReaderPeter:

“You know what you want. You are just scared of what changes when you admit it.”

Ouch.

Second, via Bronxology:

“If there was something you really wanted to start or complete during the pandemic, you could be getting another chance to revisit it through the Jupiter-Saturn trines.”

Bronx said the three best dates are today (Aug. 31), April 3 and July 11.

Hmm.

I wanted to start a new job as an associate publisher and get promoted to publisher and go live my life on the road.

I often think about what I could have been before the pandemic. Skinny.

We wasted the pandemic. Cancer kept us masked for many years. Kept us home too. So did the cats. So it was a boring life and death for Mom.

After she left, I got my ass out of the house and now I can’t stand to be in it. So I guess I achieved that.

Not sure what I wanted to stop during the pandemic other than missing someone. Stop eating, hah.

It’s got to be bigger than that.

Like TarotReaderPeter said, you know what you want.

I want to move to NYC.

I want to write.

I want a byline.

I want to not die in obscurity.

I want a side hustle.

I want to not have my boss telling me I’ve failed at doubling my team’s and my workload so he’s going to double it for us.

We don’t mind doing more. We want to do more MEANINGFUL work. But the meaningful stuff gets less priority — or at least less TLC — because the urgent stuff can be debilitating.

What I wanted to stop/start during the pandemic was stop being lazy, start a side hustle and start seeing the world.

What stopped me? Mom got sick. I got tired. Everyone disappointed me just as much as I apparently disappoint them. That’s all been hell to come back from.

I gotta think about the upcoming dates in this context. I would say Tokyo and Paris but I gotta keep this job first. Or at least get a hustle going where I am not confined to the couch for three days after a full week of it.

I always think of “Rolex doesn’t make a radio” when I do one of my round-trips to Orlando.

I have plenty of radio options — lots of “Bleep” by Ana Navarro this trip, as she did a two-part podcast series with Hunter Biden — but my thoughts are always louder.

Got to thinking how it’s been two years since I heard my Momma’s voice.

The lady I never went more than two hours without a text from, or a conversation with, silent.

I also realized how I am her now. And that’s good, because the world needs a her. Far more than it needs a fat fascist.

Took Momma for a drink at Delmonico on Saturday.

I’d had a gift card from her, so she was really the one who “took” me out.

Thanks for the filet, Momma. You’d have loved it. As ever, I loved the East Utica Greens most.

Had a revelation that night.

Stayed in a condo, which is a story in and of itself. And I felt like I should close all the interior doors to keep ghosts from passing through.

(Had to do that at my house on Portland Street near the Pittsburgh Zoo. A psychic came to my house and told me it was a portal.)

I thought back to the night before mom died.

She was convinced a man was in her room. I had said aloud that mom needed some privacy and they had to go.

I’ve written of this before. That I felt like the ghost suddenly recognized me. And hugged me tight. And the next day, Mom asked if her daddy had been there.

The realization I just had wasn’t just that he was thrilled to see me …

Or (another recent revelation I had) maybe he was thrilled to remember me, because he moved on 20 years ago this November …

But the night HE died, he was so mad at Mom and me for fighting in his hospital room.

He said we needed to take care of each other.

And I drove home. To D.C.

My revelation the other night was that maybe yes, he was happy to see me.

But maybe he was thrilled we listened to each other.

Mom and I did take care of each other.

And in her final hours, she wasn’t alone like he was.

I loved that man so much.

How funny to realize, 20 years after I lost him, I somehow still managed to make him proud.

Maybe the proudest he’d ever been of me. And he was ALWAYS proud of me.

You know, I’ve never understood how people can lose everyone they loved and remain standing.

I think if you were as loved as I was … and they made sure you loved yourself … you can do better than most.

When I was 19, a psychic told me about “Roadway.”

I’ve written about this. I’ve thought for decades it was about travel. Like, either the hotel or the trucks.

I walked away thinking, huh, don’t get hit by a Roadway truck, got it. Or don’t stay at that chain.

When I was in NYC last month, I saw that there’s a Roadway moving company. With cute purple trucks.

And I thought, is this my sign to move here?

Well I was just dicking around the Marriott site and whatever I typed in, the search came up as “Roadway” … or so I thought.

BROADWAY.

Holy schnikes. Did this weird witch see me spending as much time as I do on Broadway?

No insights other than that. Just … here I’ve been looking for a sign — a literal sign — and I’ve been standing under the biggest damn sign since my first trip there WHEN I WAS NINETEEN.

Kelly introduced me to the idea of Non-Player Characters, or Non-Playing Characters, in Disney.

We were surrounded by useless people the world and certainly the parks didn’t need.

Heather is the perfect NPC. She’s not a main player in the video game. You don’t play her. She’s just some random figure that drifts in and out and serves no purpose but as part of the scenery.

But the thing about NPCs is, while they don’t move the story along, they do impact YOU.

I type all this to say that I thought the new HR person wasn’t terrible. At first.

Like, I know HR is not your friend and especially not after six months, which is as long as it takes them to get indoctrinated.

I’m guessing it’s her six month mark.

Because we are asked to fill out a fun survey on our anniversaries now. 25 questions and she’ll pick five answers.

I filled it out dutifully, as I need to set the example. I sent a photo of me and the owner.

And after the 25th question, I put in a little joke that I literally wrote (NOT FOR PRINT).

Guess which of the 25 questions she picked … WITH THE NOT-PC THING … and sent that along with my photo of me and the owner … to the whole goddamned company?

Look, I have no shame. None. You can’t take a joke, you don’t fucking know me.

But not when it’s in print next to a picture of the OWNER of the company.

I messaged her and I asked if she’s OK? Like, you’re HR, right?

It was a rookie mistake on my part. I know better.

Women in leadership hate other women in leadership.

I’m easy enough to take down because I have no filter. It’s super easy to pin my words on this donkey.

But I absolutely insist on having the moral high ground over Heather.

(Who, I can do five posts about her fucking useless weekly calls. Christ.)

Non-Player Character 2 — er, HR — edited my post.

I said how did it pass your filter? She said she was looking for “juicy” replies.

I see why no one fills out this shit now.

As CH said to me, “Juicy is for bachelorette parties.”

And as Shan said to me, because Question 25 was about memorable quotes to live by, “If at first you don’t succeed … it’s only ATTEMPTED murder.”

CH said maybe next survey will be a nice “Fuck Marry Kill, corporate edition.”

Fuck NPC 1 and 2, Marry my team, Kill myself.

Speaking of the husband I never met, I almost thought I had a meet-cute today.

A guy in Dollar Tree started talking to me and he realized he lost his phone.

He asked if I could call it.

I thought hmm, a trick? But no, he truly looked nervous.

So I said of course and I called it.

We didn’t end up finding it. But a lady paged from the front that they found a phone, and he was off.

I didn’t think anything of it, but he kept saying “Thank you, thank you!” to me as he dashed to the front.

When I was checking out, I got a call from that number. But I couldn’t understand the mumbly cashier, so I let it go to voicemail.

It rang again as I was merging into traffic. Ignored.

Then I channeled my mother a bit. Pointing out as always that men would watch me and be terrified to approach me. (Which happened in Sprouts today.)

“Be nice,” she would say. “Can you be nice?”

We know that answer.

Anyway I was just sitting here and he called again.

I thought, “OK Momma, stop pushin'” — just like from the “Hope Floats” movie.

I pick up and he’s like hello who is this.

I said what?

He said I missed a call from you?

Dude is lucky he’s cute because he’s not too bright.

I said yes, from the Dollar Store? When you lost your phone?

He paused and he said oh! Yes! Hey I got it back!

I laughed and said obviously.

Then he’s like OK thanks! and hung up.

Like …

Damn.

That would have been such a fun story to tell someday. If he had, say, used my number for good instead of FORGETTING what happened five minutes earlier.

Fuckin’ men.

I have six sets of NWT sheets here.

Even after all the shit I’ve given away to friends, Habitat and that dastardly Goodwill … most with tags … there’s still plenty of stuff in my house.

I talk myself out of selling, for one reason or another.

Finally, egged on a bit by Kelly reminding me that once you let go of things, the universe fills the void in better ways, I said fuck it. Get these sheets out of Mom’s shower.

I’ve had no luck with Postmark. I have a million followers but no one bought my NWT Juicy crap.

Man, in 24 hours on Vinted, I sold four sets of sheets. And the other two have a dozen offers each.

I didn’t ask for anything other than retail price. Which I could prove because the sticker was still on them.

I did knock down the price on one of the twin sheet sets. It smelled a little funky from being stuck in a plastic tub for 10 years. But nothing a good wash can’t fix.

I am open to reasonable offers. But reasonable has a very wide definition.

I’m not talking about the people who are offering like 45% off when you see what I fucking paid. Mom even left the Ross receipts in some of them.

No, I’m talking about, as I was bagging up my four sets today, I got a message about a fifth.

“Um, I see you are charging $20 for this set. But it clearly appears there’s a $1 on the sticker.”

I mean first off, I can charge what I want. This is Betsey Johnson. I could have charged $50 and someone like me would have said fuck yeah, I missed this when it was popular.

Second off, as I wrote back, “The price is $19.99.”

One penny.

My guess was she was trying to haggle me down to $8 like everyone else was.

Which … as you see, wait 24 hours and someone else will say fuck yeah.

But then she said ok I don’t have the funds right now but I hope you still have it after my paycheck clears.

Shit.

Like … look, my first reaction was I will send it to you for ten bucks.

But then I have run into dipshits on eBay who haggled and then resold my stuff for 3x retail.

I still regret letting that Bon Jovi tour program go when I needed cash to that whiny little fucker who said he was going to report me for using his images (!) and then he ended up buying it.

And my kindness has limits. I had a feeling that girl would have said oh I get paid next week and I’d be the type of person to pause the listing. Then never hear from her again.

In any event, I just ignored the message.

My rule, which I came up with on the spot, is I will negotiate on shit I can’t use. Twin sheets? Nope. Have them.

Queen sheets? Hey I will remove that listing and open that package, just as fast as look at you.

I do have to acknowledge those lowball offers though.

But hey, I made $56 and all I had to do was make six listings and do two trips to the post office and FedEx.

And buy about $30 worth of shipping bags. Details!

I gave everyone a handwritten note. Nothing fancy, just sweet dreams or hope all your dreams on these pillows come true.

Not “I’m so sad my mom didn’t get to use these” or “I was saving these to sleep on with the husband I never met.”

But hey, $56, right?

I am well rested and not in the mood to elaborate.

But if you want to know where my head is at, it’s here.

A tiny bit of an explainer.

Today was the day I put two travel sites into my phone’s address book.

I figure I interact with them enough, it’s time.

That’s so wild. Growing up so poor. Honestly living pretty poor until recently.

Now my bougie ass has my preferred airline, hotel chain and now credit card in my VIP contacts.

My ancestors must be either shocked or so proud.

My friend PW reached out to me the other day.

He said he did, anyway. I haven’t seen the message. But I haven’t looked too hard.

But it was me who reached out to him today.

Not because it’s his birthday, which it is. But because his beloved wife passed yesterday.

Which he was trying to tell me.

I was scrolling Ye Olde Faceypages after whatever political tirade I was on. And I saw her face.

I think of her every day actually. She was a hairdresser and sent me some amazing products. Which I used sparingly. And I’m down to a tiny bit of hair volumizer that I have loved for a long time.

I scrolled up from her photo to see the status update.

Passed peacefully yesterday. Cancer.

I hadn’t talked to P in a while. Not since I got shitcanned from that job I had in 2020-’21.

I don’t harbor any sort of feelings toward anyone but Helena, really. She knew what she was getting me into.

PW used to work for me, years ago. And he found a true home over there. I love that for him. And they’re being kind to him, which I’m not surprised about.

I had texted a nice message, about my hair products and how lovely she was. And that I know a little something about cancer and loss. Sending love.

Imagine my surprise when he called.

We shared our stories. The awfulness.

What’s funny is I remember their kid’s name. Grace’s previous health problems. Just a lot of stuff. I told him, you must have made an impact on me if I haven’t forgotten a thing after all this time.

It’s funny that he had reached out to me first. I don’t know if he even knew about my life. But he has always been a thoughtful observer.

I told him the cancer was what made the employer separate with me. “It’s not working out, go spend time with your mom.”

Fortunately it worked out. And no hard feelings. But I wasn’t sure anyone even knew that was the reason but me.

In any event, I don’t want to publish his stories or details. Which is why it’s all about me.

I am sure I can say that it was brief. That the doctors misdiagnosed her between January and April. Finally someone got it right in April. And she left in August.

I told him my sad-person tips.

Crying at home gets old. Find a place you can cry outdoors. Disney!

The worst has happened. Nothing is urgent anymore. Breathe. Nothing WILL be as urgent.

Visit all the old places and restaurants, sure. It will kill you.

But you’ll be surprised what new hobbies and interests you pick up. Not that anyone was holding us back. But now that someone took a big fat pin to our comfort bubbles, it’s OK if we don’t want to go back to things we loved. There are new things to fall in love with.

He mentioned Grace had very recently gotten into Shohei Otani. I said great. Maybe you make a trip to LA to watch a game. Maybe you go to Japan, where I found Otani gear in damn near every store.

He’s acutely aware that who he was and who he’ll be are two different people.

I did scare him off about the two years. The first year sucks. Everything sucks. But year two you realize oh, this is how things are now. Sucks.

I don’t know that I ever got to talk to Grace, but I remembered I loved her. Just a cool chick, you know?

They were pretty decent Catholics, but not the nutty trump voting kind.

I said I’m not the girl who says “better place” or “this happened for a reason.”

But I am the girl who believes that if you go to LA or you forgot to say something while she was still here, it’s OK.

She’s going to be with you. She’ll stay with you and she’ll come back for your big moments.

I could tell he teared up for that.

I thought about how I talk about mom like she was the love of my life. Like it’s the same as losing a spouse.

But I also thought about how he didn’t even whisper otherwise.

We both lost our person.

Me over time, without much fight.

Him suddenly, without time for it to sink in.

I don’t know why I had to get this out.

Maybe because friendships, however casual, can run so deep.

Maybe because we all have so much in common.

Maybe because my friend CG had said there could be a creativity outlet for me in helping people with their grief.

And maybe it just sucks when a lovely human gets taken from us, but tRump and his ilk live on.

I said how can i support you, and he said just throw me a smiley face every once in a while. And maybe pick up the phone when your old friend calls you.

Hah. I can do the first. Gonna work on the latter but I’m down to try.

That’s what I’m manifesting today.

Not that I expect to be 86’d.

But even if I were, I’d be OK.

First, I’d laugh.

Then I’d pack up my Teams Machine and drop it off on the way to Disney World.

I’d either move up my Pittsburgh trip. Or sleep until I have to drive to Miami for my flight.

I wouldn’t tell anyone.

I’d rather just reinvent myself and then reappear as new me, who dis.

And honestly? The thought of that is motivation enough to get through another day.

Today is hopefully the catch-up day I’ve needed for five years. Just one meeting.

Of course, I’ve said that every day.

But today, I mean it.

And if it should ever go otherwise, cash me outsside in the theme parks.