Caterwauling

Hard to write when you have a souper-slooth reading and providing a blow-by-blow to literally no one.

But then you realize you have a fan club, and it’s easy to shine on.

Day 1 of the 30-day writing challenge is to list 10 things I love.

Just 10?

1.a. My sweet ballerina Bella who does backflips when she sees me.

1.b. My little stinkerbell Cocoa who waddles to me as fast as her short little legs will take her.

Funny, neither even cares that much about the food I bring. They just want scritches and human touch.

1.c. My Shawnee, who only wants food. And all of it. But that’s OK. He’s not used to a loving touch and he doesn’t know how to react.

1.d. Then there’s Kadie and Morris who are mean to everybody but each other. But oh, how they purr and dance and rub against each other and share food!

1.e. Bernie and the two other gray-and-black tabbies. I’ve had to train each where to sit so I can feed them without all the others eating their foodz.

1.f. Kenya, tiny little Kenya, who will ignore your big duckie ass if you try to push him out of his bowl. He’s got the tiniest balls I’ve ever seen, and yet the biggest metaphorical ones.

1.g. Cal, Magic, Baby Magic and all the others who stop by for a bite but for some reason freak out when I try to GIVE them one.

Funny enough, they all have food they love and food they hate. So now I bring five or six different flavors a night. And if you’re a wuss (BERNIE) and let some other cat get your bowl, you’re stuck with what is left or nothing at all.

2. My momma. Need I write more? Best cook. Best friend. Best any label I can conjure up.

3. My old job. The owner not only treated me like a daughter, but calls me one. I will always wonder “what if” I stayed. But being the prodigal daughter, I have a home should I ever wish to go back.

And that is what gives me wings to enjoy …

4. My new job. Honest to god, we are doing such cool things. It’s hard not being everyone’s boss and go-to psychic healer, nurse, guru, teacher, and library of fun facts and figures anymore. But I’ll get there.

We are doing something super cool this week, and I’ve been doing something else super cool for the last three weeks. Something my old boss wishes he’d done with me.

That’s validating. And it’s nice to have friends who are family-like.

5. My sister. Not by blood. But still. State lines and craziness separate us. Her daughter is a perfect mix of the two of us, oddly enough. Who needs men, really?

6. My supernatural studies. Tarot, intuition, crystals, oils, spells, candles, herbs, intentions and books. My coven. The sun. The moon. The long line of witches I’ve descended from. This all keeps me centered and grounded.

7. My apartment. Lots of good memories and meals fill these walls. Not the most ideal place to work, with too much light at the south end and none at the north, where I spend all my time. But I have four walls and the bills are paid in full.

8. My car. It wasn’t the one I would have chosen for myself, so it took me a while to consider it “mine.” But it’s taken me wonderful places, and a lot of them. Thousands of podcast hours and conversations are in the fabric. It’s the one thing in this world that’s mine, all mine. Well, except for the part the bank still owns. But I hack away at that debt like I should have done with my student loans.

9. My spirit. I always see the good in people, to the point of missing a lot of the rest. I smile with my whole soul. I love with my whole heart. I work with all my passion. And I play like I’ll never have the chance again. When I say my nightly prayers, I acknowledge that I might not wake up, but I sure hope that I do because there’s more life to live and I can’t wait to greet it.

10. My mind. I can usually get out of any jam. I can dazzle just about anyone with my memory, my stories, my ability to think five steps ahead. My favorite is when people think I missed something or didn’t anticipate it or, gasp, I didn’t see it in the cards. Sure, I move so fast I miss things. But sometimes I see the oncoming freight train and run right at it anyway. Do it for the story, I say. And boy, do I have those.

11. My body. I’m healthy and strong and flexible and resilient. It gets me where I’m going, and it has all the memory of where we’ve been.

Ok so more than 10. Not a bad problem to have.

Tomorrow is Jon Bon Jovi’s birthday. Then there’s Paddy’s Day and the Spring Equinox on the 19th.

But today is a cool day, too.

It’s a new month, for starters.

March 1 was the original celebration of New Year for the Roman empire. Priestesses would be prepare herbs, sacrifices and feasts for the masses.

Speaking of feasting, it’s National Peanut Butter Lovers Day. Or, MY DAY.

I get creamy for someone who’s a little chunky.

Where was I?

Oh yeah …

National Wedding Planning Day.

Or Wedding Planner Day. Whatever you prefer.

I got some heaux who says I’m planning a Disney wedding over here.

Which, I am …

But Sooper Sloooth didn’t think to inquire whether it were mine.

It isn’t.

That one is not a very good researcher.

Bless their adorable little heart.

Moving on to porcine valves and other parts …

It’s also National Pig Day.

No lipstick here …

Lots of other things today …

And of course, it’s a sacred day in witch world …

It’s also Zero Discrimination Day. Imma leave that one alone because, tRumpism.

I met Jack on a flight from Tampa to New Orleans around this time last year.

He was flying from Fort Lauderdale, as was I, but we didn’t see each other on the previous flight.

I’m glad the universe decided to put us in the same exit row, him on the aisle and me in the middle. We talked the whole flight.

Jack and I graduated from high school the same year. His wife left him and married his best friend. He was looking to get back into dating again and told me all about his three beautiful daughters for whom he lived to be their hero. And I was charmed.

Maybe he was too. Jack looked me up on Facebook five minutes after we said goodbye at MSY.

My mind was a thousand miles away before the flight. But then Jack started talking about how, when you give your body to someone, you give them a piece of your soul every single time.

I saw a tweet the other day to that effect:

“When we give our bodies to another being, we are giving them a piece of our souls. Take the time to find out if they deserve it.”

He had a wonderful voice. But this comment was LOUD.

Jack’s and my paths never did cross again. But they didn’t need to.

He might not have given my soul back that day. But he alerted me to protect what I have left.

I’ll always remember how beautiful it was when souls touched. Among other things.

And I’ll always wonder where those soul pieces go.

Lucky for me, my soul keeps regenerating.

Someday, when he can smile again, his will too.

And I’m not talking about Jack.

I see roses. Others will just see red.

You always find what you’re looking for.

I love me some me. Who could help but do the same?

Major props to Dreamhost for resisting that piece of shit dangling from Pennsylvania Avenue and not providing info about folks who planned to protest the stupid fuck’s latest vanity rally in THE CAMPAIGN THAT NEVER ENDS.

Sorry you have to deal with this DDoS shit that has been fucking up our nation, one day and election at a time. It’s a clear message from President Putin what we’re in for if we don’t behave in a fashion Mother Russia prefers.

Hard to find things to smile about in this fucked-up world. But like they teach you at Weight Watchers, happier people lose more weight. Today they asked us to list three things that made us happy. (And as my cool new leader said, it doesn’t have to be on par with splitting the atom.)

Going to a meeting made me happy today. Losing the same pound and a half that I’ve been losing and gaining for the past three months was a win too. And being a Dreamhost customer definitely rounds out today’s trio.

I lied about the two good days in one rotten month-ish.

Rather, didn’t mean to imply they were both weekdays.

Birthday yes. And Saturday after birthday.

A candid photo from each …

The rest of those days are cordially invited to go fuck themselves.

Especially yesterday.

Well, best day this month. Which is a pretty low bar.

It was great for reasons not related to the day. But to the future.

Here’s to it. Whatever it looks like, whenever it comes and whoever is lucky enough to be part of it with me.

Thank you to wanting me in yours.

Dear S.,

I never hated “If I Die Young” so much until today. My mom was playing the song. For you, of course for you.

I wouldn’t say I’m any more coherent today. But I did reach out to some people about you. Everyone is hurting right now. I think they figured I’m pretty inconsolable.

Some others worry that their grief is miniscule in comparison to what mine must be, so they were keeping it to themselves.

A couple of your old colleagues reached out to me to see if I’d be up for a drink and some reminiscing. I don’t even know one of these people, but if I get a funny Sia story, I’m sold. Bloody Marys by the beach are on tap very soon. Wish so very much that I were meeting you there instead.

I got to talking with one of our girls. I didn’t say it to her but I remembered my life plan to retire from the biz at 46. I came up with that with you. When we talked about it, I was going to give it five more years and go park my pudgy pork roast ass in Paris. For a season if not for good.

Our friend says I still have time. I say I need to keep playing the lottery. (And I do …)

I think what makes you such a loss, other than your all-around amazingness, is that you did everything you set out to do. Moved to a foreign country. Put yourself through school. Got your dream job and quit after it was a nightmare. Came to Florida because I asked you to. Worked your tail off and made everyone fall in love with you. And finally, finally, got back to the country you love so much.

Really, if there’s any comfort to be found here, it’s that you ROCKED THIS LIFE you had. And you left the world a better place.

And the loss here is that you had SO MUCH MORE GOOD to share with this world.

Mom calls it the “season of Sweet Sia.” It’s all we had you for. It wasn’t enough — it’s never enough — but it was vibrant and bright and colorful and warm and absolutely wonderful while it lasted.

Missing you more each moment you’re gone,
Goddess

So I got to hang with Bill Clinton yesterday. 

Omg wow. 

  
I last saw him in 1992 in Market Square in Pittsburgh. Pre-cell phone cameras. Before I voted for him twice. 

I’ve been to Hillary events in D.C. Never got close to her. But that’s ok. I voted for her once and I will damn sure do it again. And again. 

And how mind-blowing to go to a Hillary event in Palm Beach and be in the third row to watch her husband speak?

He’s still magnetic. Still makes eye contact with absolutely everyone. Still knows how to hit you in the feels — which he did before that phrase was even a thing. 

I have a million photos. Which I will share in time. I got a lot of other local politicians too so I want to make a little yearbook entry, if you will. 

 But what I need to write about is this. 

I had to police my Facebook comments all day on the few photos I put up. 

I made my photos public. So I shouldn’t be surprised to get anti-Hillary sentiments from people I’ve never met or even friended. 

I was surprised that more people didn’t like my pics of a former U.S. president. Shocked, really. 

  
I get that you’re not fans of prosperity and the era of the balanced budget. Whatever dudes. 

Sadly, I get three times as many likes on a sunset or a picture of a hot dog. 

But the tiny handful of comments that were not fabulous and actually critical of not just people I support but the FORMER FIRST FAMILY, PEOPLE … Cheesus. 

I ain’t the Bushes’ biggest fan, true. But I would shake their hands if I could. That would be pretty historic and I’d want to show grace. Because, that’s the right (and cool) thing to do. 

I mean, politics is my passion. What I do all day is interesting. But damn this is MY Super Bowl. 

And if you’re going to vote for the political equivalent of the New England Patriots, I’m terribly sorry you haven’t reached my enlightenment but kindly don’t shit on it. 

I got to hang with Bill Clinton, yo. Respect. 

 
Tired but happy after standing for SIX HOURS. #imwithher 

That moment when it’s 5 p.m., you’ve been working since 5 a.m., and you want to murder everyone you’ve ever met but you’re TOO TIRED to kill them all.

I had a victory of sorts today. First, I stepped on the scale and I didn’t want to kill myself. Yay.

Then I ate what I wanted out of my lunch and then walked my lunchbox to my car.

That accomplished two things. I got maybe 2,000 extra steps out of it. Also, I got all the delicious, chocolately treeeeaaaaatttts out of easy reach.

I’ve been on Weight Watchers for the past eight years. Other than losing 65 pounds the first time around, then gaining 30, then losing 25, then gaining 10 … I’ve been watching that weight stay pretty stuck.

Mom is so sickly all the time, so I try not to get annoyed when she cooks stuff with lots of butter.

Or when she packs a brownie BECAUSE SHE BAKED IT WITH HER TIRED CRIPPLED LITTLE HANDS.

Or when she dumps in half a bag of Dove chocolates because I LOVE YOU HONEY …

*scream*

In any event, I bitch. And moan. And say hey lady, no buying any of that shit anymore so you don’t have to tempt me with it. Or hide it in your fucking room so I don’t have to see it.

And I lose every battle.

Not this week.

She baked banana bread on Friday. Which she hasn’t done in over a year when made a loaf for a friend of mine that she loved. But the friend never returned my text saying hey, gift for you. So I gave that loaf to Pinhead and never saw one come out of my kitchen since.

And I haven’t even gone near it.

But when I have crap at my desk, I get to the “I cannot get away from my desk anytime soon SO FAMISHED I AM GOING TO DIE NOM NOM NOM” stage of the day and all bets are off.

Not today.

Don’t get me wrong. I am willing to go out to my car to GET said chocolate and quinoa chips and whatever else in there I tried not to notice.

But I’m so eager to GET THE HELL HOME SOMEDAY MAYBE EVENTUALLY that I will not go to the car.

And by the time I get to the car, the craving will have passed — for chocolate AND the blood of a thousand souls.

We call that a Non-Scale Victory, or NSV.

I will be thrilled if I can officially get through today with a scale victory and a non-scale one. IthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkIcan…