Paint and poop fumes

November 4th, 2016, 10:14 AM by Goddess

OK, we know I woke up early and couldn’t access my computer so I drove in. Fine.

I go to Starbucks and say “Hey I’d like to use one of my many rewards.” I plunk down a salad, ask for a turkey bacon sammich and request my java.

My bill is WAY too much, I notice as I scan my phone.

Fucker said well you didn’t tell me you wanted to use a reward.

Fuck him — I’m going back to my old Bux up the street. This is BS, the one I am closer to now.

Then they ran out of turkey bacon sammiches.

I put everything back and said nice knowin’ ya.

THEN, I’m locked in the castle by myself when Paco the Painter lets himself in.

I thought he was nice at first. Introduced himself to let me know he’s here. He’s going to be doing some more work today and tomorrow. And could I use your bathroom?

I say sure. And am immediately treated to the biggest, stinkiest SHIT any human has ever taken.


Then he wanders in and starts hitting on me. He likes white girls. He likes white girls my age, which he’s guessing is between 35 and 40. I think he said something about living in Boca and preferring girls with no kids. Hell if I can tell through the accent.

Now, my Trump-supporting friends would say send him back. But I’m a reasonable person and not into voting for a nutcase. And I fucking BLAME TRUMP for showing men how AWESOME it is to be so forward and crass with women that they can just do it in their goddamn sacred space.

He asked if I am here every day. I said I need to work now. He wasn’t happy.

He also asked if I were single. I said no. He said something garbled that I translated into basically “how taken am I.” I’m like dude, not married but not looking. Got it?

And apparently he’s living with someone in Boca. I don’t know. Can’t give a shit … not in public like he did anyway. Ugh. No wonder my attraction to men seems to wane with every passing year.

Thankfully I have locks on my door so he can’t get in here. I hope.

Utter and complete horseshit.

And I’m really hungry and undercaffeinated, too.

One day we will laugh about this. That day however is not today. As I choke on paint and poop fumes.

Day made 

October 28th, 2016, 1:28 PM by Goddess

When the person who continually takes shortcuts and refuses to remember anything takes the shortcut that drags them under the bus that I’ve been struggling to keep from throwing them under. 

Irony is divine. 

‘Stay safe’

October 6th, 2016, 5:07 PM by Goddess

What does that mean, exactly? There’s a Category 4 — possibly 5 — arriving in three hours. You’d think there was something more appropriate to say or hear. 

It’s like when you someone dies (only not among my friends, who will just ignore you), you say “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? How does that improve matters?
It doesn’t. I know that. It’s just something you say, hopefully with the intent of making someone feel less alone. 

It’s a lonely life.  It really is. My governor is all over TV, saying that Hurricane Matthew is a “bonding time.” So check on your neighbors and get through this together. 

Of course, this is also the guy saying people are gonna die and his family is safe. Reminds me of someone. 

In any event, I took a walk today. Tried to speak to everyone. Not one person said hello back. Well except for the ducks. I had food and they were thrilled. 

I often carry on rhetorical conversations with these assholes. After I say hi and they ignore me, I fill in for them. 


“Hi!” *silence*

“I’m great thanks. How are you?” 

“Good, good! You all ready for this storm?”

“Well let me know if you need anything. Stay safe and enjoy your day.”


Yeah. That comes out too. 

I don’t want to wish that every one of these deplorables gets washed off the coastline. 

But my friend’s husband got the call that FEMA is sending him here to rescue us, and I asked if I can pick and choose who gets saved first. 

Because if these fuckers can’t fvdn say hi, what makes anyone think they’d say thank you for keeping them safe?

And you thought Matthew was a miserable MFer

October 5th, 2016, 4:35 PM by Goddess

There are people who annoy the crap out of me. To the point where all I need to do is hear a breath or some suck-ass comment out of them, and I want to stroke them lovingly with a shovel. 

Then there are the assholes who I choose to be around and they still disappoint me. You give them condolences on a death and they totally miss a passing that’s destroying you. But go on, keep posting political memes. 

Or now, with a hurricane the size of Arizona just 400 miles from my spindly house, by all means send me stupid shit or crack jokes if you even think of me at all. When I’m barely holding it together and having to step up/step in for people who can’t or won’t help me. 

I had no idea I had any friends left to lose at this point. I was wrong. 

Basically I need to hire friends and put them on my payroll so they are forced to choke down their ambivalence and shit out something helpful every now and then to prove they aren’t dead inside. Money talks, even if it’s full of it more often than not. And that’s ok enough. 

Pillar of salt

September 21st, 2016, 2:34 PM by Goddess

So basically with five lunch breaks left in the town I love, and about 47 restaurants I assumed before Monday that I’d still have time to try, I gots some eatin’ to do.

I ordered a salad from a place where Sia and I celebrated a happy hour or two. They decorate in Steeler everything for the fall season. So, feelin’ the love, right?


I could tell the gal wasn’t listening to me. I even said I’ll wait till she has time to focus to order. She insisted I order anyway while she cashed out someone else and made another person a cocktail.

But she did repeat my order back to me. So I waited.

Lucky me, a guy sits right next to me. There are maybe four people in the whole joint that seats 120. And he lights up cigarette after cigarette.

Now, we used to go there because we could smoke … in our smoking days. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had the urge. To go there OR to smoke.

Well naturally my order comes out fucked up. I mean, FUCKED. UP.

The server took it back to the kitchen. I ran after her to tell her I didn’t even want it. I mean, I had exactly 20 minutes for lunch because it’s a busy day. And I’d just spent the last 10 huffing secondhand Marlboro.

I could hear the kitchen guys yelling at her to LISTEN when a customer orders. They read the ticket right.

(Insert: I took Mom out for her birthday. We said absolutely no onions. The server showed us her pad where she underlined NO ONIONS. We got fucking double onions. I kid you not. The cooks only SAW the word onions. And I didn’t order the $25 dessert they were pushing since they’d probably put onions in that too.)

I’ve had quite enough of having to wait and pay and smile and be a good sport.

In fact, in my little notebook today, I wrote that it feels everyone’s job in corporate America is to be a good sport. First and foremost. The rest is so very secondary.

So I said no thanks. I only had so much time and I don’t have another 10 minutes. Gotta run.

And I did.

Went to one of the other 47 places I will miss. At this point I should have just gone to an event I had to skip because of how much there is to do today. The food was wonderful. Service left a lot to be desired. But getting what I wanted was glorious.

It’s too bad about the first place. The food looked BEAUTIFUL. Minus the dressing and the GALLON OF ONIONS on it. That I guarantee they would have just picked off. 

I notice when I’m leaving a city, everything starts to go wrong. Like it’s the universe putting its foot up your ass, Red Foreman-style, to make you not look back.

I will look back. I will pillar-of-salt look back. I will pine and do everything I can to come back. Just, not to these places that insist on shoving their onions in my face.