Caterwauling

Kelly said she needs my help manifesting. She’s blocked.

I felt blocked too, so I did an experiment.

I told the universe on New Year’s Eve to bring me a man in his 40s who’s divorced, kids optional. Who lives near Disney and has an IncrediPass.

So … I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when I met Mike. On New Year’s Eve. Divorced. Recently moved to Kissimmee from Philadelphia.

The only really weird part was I got in line for a photo and decided nah, not in the mood.

So I came back … and the line was longer.

And there was this guy decked out in Eagles and Disney gear, annoying the guy in front of him.

I have zero idea why I became charitable. But I figured I should at least give the guy in front a break from this conversation he was clearly not interested in.

Mike was loud. Talked a lot about himself. Did ask questions but didn’t seem like he listened to the answers.

When we got to the front, the photographer asked if we were together. I was like noooooo I want my own pictures thanks.

Mike waited for me. And he had listened after all, asking if I wanted to see Glimmering Greenhouses one more time before it’s gone for the season.

Hell yeah I did.

We went to Soarin’ and went on The Land and it was fun even though it wasn’t dark enough outside yet.

We met his friend Gil, whereupon I realized ohhhh these are the Disney Vloggers.

I like watching their stuff but they annoy me online lol.

Apparently there was a tribute to Adam the Woo at Magic Kingdom that night. Who I distinctly remembered getting kicked out of Disney for going into backstage areas where he didn’t belong.

But in any event, Adam just died so now there’s talk of a Charlie Kirk like memorial. To a vlogger.

My guess is it won’t happen. But in any event, what a weird turn my day took.

Another guy came by to comment on the Eagles jacket. Got lots of those comments. And Mike lit up and had so much fun with it.

This guy mentioned that The Symphony of Us fireworks would be at 6:30 and we’d be singing Auld Lang Syne at 7 p.m at the England Pavilion.

That’s why I upgraded my Sorcerer/DVC pass to IncrediPass. I wanted to ring in the new years all over the world.

Of course, it was like 40 degrees and I was freezing my bunny off. So my plan was to see France and England and then boogie back to Hollywood Studios.

(A story for another day of how I got intercepted by Disney security on the way to Hollywood. JFC I’m such a dumbass sometimes.)

Anyway, proving once again that he listened to me after all, Mike offered to buy me a drink at the France Pavilion.

Hell. Yeah.

We got frozen hot choccy martinis, my favorite. Also those were to have been discontinued the day before, so we got lucky.

He was super bummed that I had had one an hour before I met him.

Oops.

But this was about to be my fourth of the season. Last year I got ONE and I was grateful. Four … and another sexy Philadelphian bought my third one too? LUCKY GIRL.

Tra la la long story short, we ended up drinking our martinis right where the French cast members counted down to new year’s in their home country. And everyone erupted in song.

Mike apologized for making me miss new year’s in France, but we were only like 300 feet away. It was fine.

He loved how low-key and laid back and happy to be there I was.

He loved my intellect and jokes and knowledge and spirit.

And of course he asked why I was single and if he could have my number.

When he said I’m a catch, I said, “I know.”

What I didn’t write here were all the red flags I saw and we didn’t even hit the Spain pavilion. (Because Epcot made plans for one but never built it, hah!)

TBH he reminded me of Frito from Idiocracy. In a good way. But probably not a good sign overall.

But yes, we traded numbers and talked back and forth as he ran to MK and I went to Britain with literally EVERY OTHER PERSON IN THE PARK.

And then I went to the dance party in Hollywood and back to the hotel for amazing food and even more amazing fireworks.

So, I rang in the new year exactly as I wanted.

As I manifested, really.

I told Kelly next year we’re going to go to ACTUAL PARIS. Epcot was cool but if I am gonna freeze my balls off, I want a Christmas Market and a hot baguette at the end of it.

Anyway yes I’m still talking to Mike.

But this was a lesson to learn for me.

Not only does your girl here still have it …

The gift of manifestation, that is …

But that I need to get a little more specific about it.

So let’s make 2026 the year of amour.

I seek to manifest a handsome man in his 40s, divorced amicably, spiritually healthy, and who can afford a Club 33 membership for both of us. And who either wants to take me to all the Disneys or who wants to pay for me to take Kelly.

So mote it be.

And so, by this day next year, it will be.

I take inspiration from Pampers commercials apparently, as that’s where this title came from.

I was really thinking about how the “president” wears Pampers and was amused at the alliteration.

I wasted today completely. I do that every day I am home, really.

Every week, I take a list of work into the weekend. And every week, I say I’ll do it later … later … later.

It’s how I treat every deadline. I could work on it Saturday morning and have the rest of the weekend free.

Or I could work on it Sunday at 9 p.m. and it’s still done for Monday.

Boss type people hate that.

But what they don’t know is how miserable it is to function that way.

Like, I don’t build furniture or do anything other than basic cleaning to make sure the cats have bowls and clean potties.

So, then I feel doubly like ass. I didn’t do anything for the team or myself.

But that stupid Pampers commercial gets me.

Look, I know I’m not going through physical growth spurts.

(Ahem, tell that to my credit card when I bought a bunch of shit in one size on Black Friday … and had to buy bigger sizes at regular price two weeks later.)

But Kelly told me the other day that she’s seen me do a lot of healing in 2025.

To quote, “A LOT.”

Like well it’s more fun to cry in Orange County — both of them — rather than Palm Beach County in a depressing house with a depressing MAGA neighbor.

What no one knows is I got brave and threw out a bunch of Mom’s bathroom stuff.

I’ve kept everything “just so” — her beloved hot rollers, her toothbrush, her shaver, her hairspray, her vibrator. (Hah, sorry Momma!)

And I didn’t throw it all out. But I need hairspray in my Disney suitcase. And I don’t like her shampoo. And I already used her body wash. So I’m down to the rollers and that final item I can’t bring myself to touch. 😀

I even threw out one of her towels and one of her nightgowns.

I kept the towel she used last, as I like it and I can always donate it to the animal shelter like I did with most of the rest of her brand-new bedding.

I also kept the nightgown with the blood on it from where I got a little lax with changing bandages because everything hurt her so much.

Anyway I’m starting to be ready to go through more of her stuff. And really, let’s face it, to let it go.

None of it is expensive; just cherished. By her.

I imagine the only thing I’ll keep are the hot rollers. They are older than I am. And my grandfather redid the wiring, so that’s probably the last of him I have, other than his guitar and his flag bolo tie.

In any event, I admit I lie in bed like Cindy Brian Wilson did.

(Just throwing some red meat to my one reader! Also BNL didn’t write a song about either of us, so I expect she’ll be delighted we have something in common. She’ll probably be at Disney next, just you wait.)

Anyway I get it. When you just don’t wanna and wouldn’t even if you could.

Of course, when I had someone to take care of, I wanted to and there was no “couldn’t” in my vocabulary.

Sorry to say I either need someone to take care of (no) or a good scare (probably coming) to get my ass in gear.

Of course, when you’ve lost the most important things, fear is really hard to come by other than FOMO.

I have a feeling my FOMO is about to get tested in a big way.

Kelly said that too — she doesn’t feel settled either right now.

Like, something is UP in the world and it isn’t just our idiot president bombing eight countries in a year and kidnapping the Venezuelan president in the next.

Oh well. Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Gonna keep growing in place in the meantime.

I texted Kelly last night to say hello before I threw my phone i to the Guitar Hotel pool.

Tired of not looking or feeling good and having to pretend I am not online.

I mean I really am AFK a lot. But how do you tell everyone you feel and look like shit when you aren’t out?

Kelly says she ignores FaceTime and calls back like a normal person.

Or she ignores calls and then texts back.

I may have to employ those tactics.

But first I gotta deal with 26 unread texts.

Maybe next year.

‘Tis the season for all the sad memes that remind you you’re not the only orphan in the world.

I saw one written “by” someone who had passed. Don’t be sad, yada yada.

As the line in Ethel Cain’s “Strangers” goes, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

I got to thinking about my hard-working celestial army.

How they are always watching and arranging things and moving the odds ever in my favor.

How they had neither a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of, on this earth. But how happy I know they are for me and all the cool stuff I get to do now.

Then I got to thinking about who I’d haunt.

No offense to anyone, but I don’t see myself doing much more than a check-in with the earthlings I know.

Like, I don’t even know who I’d leave my money to.

My thought is to donate it to cover unpaid vet bills. Bail money for punching Nazis. Gender affirming care for trans kids. Abortions for everybody.

I don’t have THAT much to give, so I better pick one cause.

But just as I hope Momma et al finally get to see the world, I too hope I get to (re)visit all the places that fascinated me.

And I hope I get to do it with my celestial army of hoomins and kitties.

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.

The HOA called and descended on my doorstep yesterday.

There was an injured pelican. And they said you’re the only person who might know what to do.

I racked my brain. FWC is useless. Duck Haven didn’t even thank me for a big donation. Audubon is south of Miami. Animal Control will gas it.

Out of my mouth comes, “If my mother were still alive, she’d know exactly who to call.”

I never told any of them she was gone. And they seemed unfazed, as they probably never even saw her while she was here.

It’s Christmas Eve. Which I know because of my Seven Fishes dinner reservation.

But … there is no magic here anymore.

Sure, there’s a tree. And the cats got presents.

But I’ll always long for the Christmas I dragged the whole fam damily to Islamorada. Mom and three cats.

I still think about the Christmas when I was like 5 and got a life-sized stuffed elephant who I named Happy. Grampy built a circus tent for him. We would conduct transactions through the window, Grampy and me. I charged admission.

I still think about how Gram had flocked trees and velvety reindeer she cherished. And gorgeous crafts she made for holidays in classes with her friend Arnetta. How she loved the color red. And cardinals.

I think about all the appetizers Gram and then mom made. So many appetizers.

Rosemarino salad.

Cherry-pineapple cream cheese on celery.

Tiny pigs in a blanket.

Bacon/cheddar/cream cheese dip in a Cool Whip tub.

Kickass deviled eggs.

Sticky wings.

Mom would always ask what was the one thing I wanted. I’d tell her. But I knew she’d make them all anyway between Christmas and New Year’s.

Never sure where the money came from, other than Grampy’s clothing allowance he got as a veteran. Mom was SO good at budgeting.

We always had a spiral ham for Christmas. That was fancy. Gram made the mashed potatoes and then Mom did.

Mom’s favorite food was her own mashed potatoes. Mine was her stuffing balls.

Of Gram’s food, pot roast was her signature. Shit on the shingles. Pasta, as she was Italian.

A friend said to me that he loves my commitment to Christmas Eve fishes. I guess I’ve talked about that before but I don’t even remember. Nice that he does.

The Feast of the Indeterminate Number of Fishes was something I grew up with.

Seven was expensive. I got up to five one year through the magic of cheap Krab.

Mom and I settled on steak and scallops with cocktail shrimp. Crab claws the final year she cooked.

This year I’ll have seven fishes.

But I’d trade it all to have Mom frying up some scallops.

To see Cocoa saunter into the kitchen, ready for her share.

Mom would cut everything “so nice” for the cats.

Three perfect napkins of diced-up turkey or ham or bacon.

Three little plates with dollops of Grandma’s mashed potatoes.

Three little bowls with a generous swirl of whipped cream or vanilla custard.

And she’d cut up her own food for when at least one of those little “Halloweeners” went up to her for seconds.

They don’t do that with me. I wouldn’t share anyway because I’m a piggy. But that was their thing with Grammy.

I wonder if the two I have left miss Mom and Cocoa as much as I do.

I always wonder, too, whether they get to meet the relatives before them who I always talk about.

Mom. Cokie. Maddie. Kadie. Gram. Grampy. Old Gram. Janna. Sia. Lenna B. Elaine.

Merry Christmas, wherever you are, family.

A little down in the dumps today.

Yesterday was the last day Sorcerer/DVC pass holders could go to Disney till the New Year.

But I have a project hanging over my head.

And I am sick to death of taking my work woes to Disney.

So, I am going to cheer myself up before I start my last joyous project of the year.

My promise to myself in 2025 was to find places to wear all my cute clothes. And to go!

Result: It may have been the saddest year of my life. But it was also the most well-traveled.

2025 Concerts and Shows:

Alanis Morrissette at Caesars Palace Coliseum
Chelsea Handler at the Cosmopolitan (Chelsea at the Chelsea theater)
Def Leppard at the Hard Rock Holly
Ethel Cain at Anthem, Washington D.C.
Hard Rock for the Holidays
Kamala Harris at the Adrienne Arscht Center (I saw Joe Biden there a few years ago)
Kenny Chesney at The Sphere
Kesha at iThink West Palm Beach
“John Proctor Is the Villain” on Broadway (when Sadie Sink was in it)
“Life of a Showgirl” theater release at the Delray Beach iPic
Macy’s Fourth of July fireworks in NYC
Nikki Glaser at the Kravis Center
Sarah McLachlan at Anthem, Washington D.C.
Stevie Nicks at the Hard Rock Holly

“Sunset Blvd.” on Broadway (when Nicole Scherzinger was in it)
“The Notebook” on Broadway
“Wicked” on Broadway
“Wicked for Good”
“Wizard of Oz” at The Sphere

Cities Visited:

Orlando/Lake Buena Vista — MONTHLY visits
NYC — THREE times in a year
Vegas — TWICE in a year
DC — TWICE
New Orleans — honorary as it was late 2024
Key West — twice and that counts an honorary late 2024 trip
Miami — twice and it counts bc it’s a pain to get to lol

Anaheim

West Hollywood
Beverly Hills
ACTUAL Sunset Boulevard (not just the play, above)
Other parts of Los Angeles

Lots of cool places visited within them.

Notably Musso & Frank’s, Elizabeth Taylor’s favorite restaurant on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

And of course Oogie Boogie’s Bash at Disney California Adventure, Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party, Jollywood Nights and Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party.

What a year. I am so grateful.

Cried the whole time at each but man, what wonderful places to cry at.

Like Wall Street.

Like Joy to the World, but biblically accurate.

My friend did a wellness check on me by contacting one of my employees. He said I’m sure it’s the same year-end nonsense that all publishers inflict on their directors.

I thanked him and said I only have capacity for people I am paying, or those who are paying me.

I’ve never been so tired in my life.

Not in a bad way. Not a complaint in sight. Just … tired. So, so tired.

One thing I am happy about is going dead on social media.

I can’t way I missed Cindy’s 17x annual complaints about being the grand host of the holidays and acting like she wasn’t in bed half the time and up/complaining the rest.

That’s the beauty of a 9/Hermit year ending. I shed that snake’s skin and there is zero interest in seeing what Lizard Lady is saying to insult me now.