Caterwauling

Swifties the world over agree that the worst men we ever dated, we dated when we were 19.

I would love to forget about all of them. But one insists on using burner phones to get through to me at 51.

And he TAKES OFFENSE at being told to go away.

Bout to start singing “Uninvited” up in here when I’m done with “Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve.”

No, Cindy, this isn’t bragging about having haters. I should introduce your delusional asses though.

But Kelly and I think Brooklyn Beetlejuice would be better paired with Loser Lisa from Memphis.

Of course, you can all sit around and make up shit about us and live delusionally ever after.

Just, do it OVER THERE because no one wants any a yinz over here.

You all promise it will be the last time you talk to/about us. And yet.

I would say this to my stalkers.

But clearly they think I should be the one to provide that love.

Imma focus on the ones I love, thanks.

I want so much to write about the amazing, amazing vacation I just took.

The friends I reunited with.

The fact that the hotel-key-to-credit-card ratio in my wallet is 1-to-1.

Alas.

I want to burn down Teams.

I also want to escort a certain person to hell for interrupting my halloween.

And I want to toss another MFer into the cauldron for not only pinging and harassing me daily but for also shit-talking me AND starting up the nonsense full force the literal minute I got back to work.

You make a rock. One that will not make our customers or the company any money. You say that rock has been achieved. But that rock gets pelted at me to be executed and fulfilled for the rest of my career.

I have zero interest in this person who created the rock. They were so verbally abusive to me for so long, they no longer exist to me.

So ok fine, I was in no hurry to help with said rock. And when I get done with my work at 5, I don’t exactly want to stay online to do their work for them.

Which, I get it — I get it. Only I can do this work. So the rock should have been mine if it was so important to the company. But it wasn’t. It’s important to that person. And, again, the moment it’s executed, it becomes my problem into perpetuity. At the expense of, or at least in addition to, things that make the customers and the company money that I am 100% committed to.

I was literally in Disneyland, staring at California Adventure from my hotel, when this person sends a Teams message. This time asking where I was because there was a meeting and I wasn’t there.

Normally I am very good at ignoring this person. But as I was working on East Coast time anyway, I said I didn’t know about any meeting. (I mean, if I am so necessary to this production, would you really schedule something and assume I show up … when I’ve had an out of office message up for like four weeks to say I am not there?)

To which, this cherub says oh I didn’t know you were out.

The fact that I haven’t been answering any of your messages (though I was working — just not showing myself as available, so I could maybe enjoy some of that scheduled PTO at some point) didn’t give it away?

I said in a probably not nice way that I am indeed working on my PTO. I am in fact staring at Disneyland as I work on newsletters that need to go out.

And this is YOUR rock, cupcake. You can gather the shit I said I needed. (To which they said they weren’t aware of what was turned in — and I see their name on every email I did receive.)

And furthermore, when I work on PTO, I am not working on other people’s rocks. Just my own.

Anyway, I left Teams up, as I do, the whole trip. It’s annoying to hear from people I don’t need to hear from. But on the off chance my team chooses to contact me that way, I didn’t want to miss it.

Like one of my people’s house got hit by a fucking hurricane. So I was aware of that. THAT is why I stay online. Not for ol’ Cuppycakes to announce at a directors’ meeting that I said my PTO ended on the fourth and how awful a human I am that I did not attend a meeting on the fourth.

THROUGH the fourth, you goober.

Also, you know where they got that info? From the OOO notification they told me they weren’t aware of!

So once again, instead of doing the thing that will get her the fuck off my ass, I have other stuff that — guess what — can make money for the customers and the company. And I am prioritizing it.

She is Big Mad that I am making us look like idiots with her little friends.

Guess what, dingbat. You promised them I’d do all this shit, and i have not done all this shit.

Did it not occur to you to A) do the shit I asked for someone to do, so I could move it forward?

And/or B) to tell these outside people that hey this chick is on vacation and let’s all hold our fuckin horses a hot minute.

No this heffa wakes up on the fifth and starts an email chain from absolute hell where they are all excoriating me for not paying rapt attention to them.

Considering that I had 3,768 unread emails already … things I would have been addressing all along if seeing her name didn’t bring me pure rage all week … you know, like bills to pay … I am not reading the newest ones first.

Also that’s the only criticism I will accept. That I missed processing expenses and invoices. Which I normally DO do on vacation because I don’t fuck with money.

But no, I wanted to keep my blood pressure in check and actually CHECK OUT from the person who is truly the main and, often, only source of my stress.

And now everyone is looking to be paid.

And not that I disagree with what the new “rock” is set to achieve.

But if we wanted to bust open some wine and have a chatty chat, I will admit I have some concerns.

So, no, I really haven’t been all like FUCK YEAH LET’S DO THIS YOLO.

Shit I have projects I WANT to do that I haven’t had the mental bandwidth for.

But they all have the sweet sweet absence of Cupcake, so I assure you I don’t mind doing them on PTO, weekends, nights or whatever it takes to catch up on them.

Though it would be nice to remove this foot from my ass. Though it’d be nicer still if some other item doesn’t get dreamed up after this one.

Maybe that’s it. I’m so afraid of the next project that I have a mental block against the current one.

Or also it’s trying to decipher the 88 Teams and email messages since I’m sure they’re clear as mud that’s keeping me locked in my own mental prison over here.

I think I need another vacation. Fuck yeah let’s do THAT — YOLO!

At this time last year, I was fresh off seeing The Eras Tour in Miami and packing my bags to attend again in New Orleans.

That boggled my mind so much.

The expense, for starters. The fact that good things were happening.

The single/travel life I’d always wanted was now here. But, at such a terrible cost.

Going through a bit of the same now, as another trip I’ve been planning forever is imminent.

This isn’t just two nights. This isn’t just a time zone change. This is literal insanity.

Depending on some potential changes, it’s three to five flights. It’s theme parks, tours, concerts, parties and movies. All tickets purchased. All days planned.

The only thing that’s up in the air is my health.

I get sick every time I travel. Maybe because I run myself ragged. Maybe because the permanent snowflakes out there think it’s cute to vomit-cough on people and things we people are about to touch.

I used to run myself ragged prepping for a trip. Mom didn’t like that. She believed in staying home, getting ready leisurely, packing intentionally, not taking any chances.

This time, all my shopping and prepping is done. I even have empty suitcases in my trunk, ready to be packed when it’s time. (Damn elevator outage.)

But.

I have things to attend just about every day leading up to my departure.

I’m so worried that I’ll contract cooties before the trip. Which is why I’m loath to extend the trip. I mean, I CAN (what is money, anyway?) … but between the lead-up to the trip and the main trip itself … how will my health hold up?

Can’t get a covid booster because, Florida. But I do have Dayquil, NyQuil, zinc, echinacea, cough drops, Mucinex, magnesium booties and epsom salt booties. Now to remember to pack, I dunno, actual shoes.

Also, not for nothing but I am still bewildered that people just DO this.

They pick a destination. Buy event tickets. Buy food. Do it, eat it, enjoy it and do it again.

It’s not that I don’t feel I deserve it. But … it’s hard to get accustomed to having good things and not waiting for the universe to realize I’ve found joy and find an immediate way to counter it.

I do forget that I am a lucky person. Charmed. Blessed. Protected. Loved. Abundance is my birthright. JOY is my birthright.

So is the ability to pay off that platinum card, right?

Well that depends whether I leave tomorrow’s event in my own car or in the back of a squad car. Film at 11. Or never.

Now I see why Momma stayed home till a trip started. Too much risk out there!

I was intentional earlier today in my choice to only write about Ophelia, my would-be daughter’s name.

It didn’t serve my story to talk about Ophelia’s would-be brother, Darius.

Well.

I’ve been watching Halloween movies near-nonstop. And I’ve particularly enjoyed one of the “Haunted Mansion” variants.

Which … the Muppets one is the tits.

But the 2023 one with Tiffany Haddish is definitely my second favorite.

In that one, they make a passing mention of “God winks.” When someone from the Region Beyond (where they are at peace) sends a sign saying hi only to you.

For main character Ben, it was a neighborhood cat named Tater Tot. Big wink from his late wife.

For me, I was trying to buy an adorable Oogie Boogie sweatshirt. But it was Ross and I was 27th in line and there was one lady cashier.

I got up to the front, finally. When a male cashier opened up a new register and called me over.

Darius was the name on his tag.

I’d had another wink earlier. Was in the store next door, looking for a specific shirt in a specific size because my fat ass had bought one at another store in that chain in a smaller size.

Didn’t find the shirt (and let’s face it, the Oogie Boogie one will get more wear) … but a song came on the radio.

And all us women started dancing like we were dressed as frogs at a No Kings rally.

It was a song Momma had sung to me my whole life.

Funny enough, I had my hand on a shirt she absolutely would have asked me to buy for her.

That was a Ghost Wink with both eyelids.

My new cat sitter came over Friday. I told her, my Momma sent you. She was telling me all about her squirrel, Minnie, who loves sunflower seeds.

I went to my cabinet and got her brand-new sunflower kernels and said my Mom wants Minnie to have these. And I want photos of her mixed in with proof-of-life pics of my cats.

I seem to remember a psychic telling Mom that she saw someone on the other side, holding a baby she had lost.

I wonder if, somewhere, my Mom is on the other side with the D&O that were supposed to be mine, once upon that happily ever after time.

Once upon a long long time ago …

Lived a boy and girl, best friends.

Till a million tears in the fabric of the invisible string between them collapsed.

No I don’t write like that. I never did. But man, that felt weirdly good to type out!

I had listened to “The Fate of Ophelia” about eleventy trillion times since it was released two weeks (!) ago before it hit me.

That a friend and I had always talked about having a daughter named Ophelia.

I was in the car after a very stressful weekend of car repairs — one tire exploded … I bought a new tire … then on the same day, a truck on Sawgrass unloaded a bunch of wooden bricks that I ran over … and I now had TWO FLAT TIRES, including the one I had bought earlier.

And as I drove around looking for a place to inflate those TWO tires enough to get them to Tire Kingdom on Commercial Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale …

I started cackling maniacally.

Me. With a daughter. Named Ophelia. Was my teenage dream.

Good lord, someone go hug that girl.

Don’t get me wrong. I expected to be a famous author/journalist first. Then retire to an island and have a baby who I could watch growing up because I had enough money in the bank to do that.

The guy, I’ve written about here before. I don’t say much because some things are just sacred.

But I know I wrote about how he told my mom he can’t hear Bon Jovi without thinking of me.

Taylor Swift was born while we were still friends, but I’m sure he has no idea I’m such a superfan that I went to The Eras Tour four times.

Including one year ago today, in Miami!

He never listened to any bands that made it into the 1990s, let alone through them. So I don’t really associate anything on the radio with him.

But I know he had to have heard “The Fate of Ophelia.”

Does he remember those two kids who put that fantasy together, to have a little girl with that name?

Anyway, my cackling was really just at me. Also I was stressed the absolute hell out.

Which was a problem for us. I definitely said and did whatever I pleased. And that didn’t end well for me with him.

In any event, I hope he can smile and even laugh when he hears the song.

And, like me, move on and, as Taylor sang in “Opalite,” “mess up before and mess up again.”

Everyone, listen up.

The first rule of Fight Club is that if you need us on a Friday, NO YOU DON’T.

Someone who I very much try not to engage with, opted to engage with us on Friday afternoon.

Like, my whole team got caught in an absolute volcano of inanity.

You know how some meetings could have been an email? This entire Teams eruption should have been a meeting.

I commend my staff for not reaching through the screen and squelching the misinformation with their bare hands.

Also the fact that I got cc’d into it meant I wasn’t doing anything more valuable with that time.

Mis/dis information seems to be the theme of the week.

I have been watching all the MAGAs either claim Taylor Swift as their own or try to burn her at the stake over the new album.

Either way, the bullshit is breathtaking.

Speaking of bullshit, or lack thereof, my social media cleanse has been most beneficial.

I normally would have posted that C’s favorite play, “Jagged Little Pill,” is coming to the Broward Center. And then sat back to watch an absolute litany of insults about myself because of it.

Perhaps she’ll be simply be happy with the writing prompt and retweet old insults instead of retyping them.

Either way, ain’t none of my business. And I love it that way.

Day 3 of no elevator. Though they put a chair on each floor for … decoration?

I haven’t left the house. No reason to. Have enough kitty litter and food to last till year-end.

But I do have a guest coming by Friday. I was basically like yeah you can walk up the stairs and I’ll see you up here.

I do have a couple of trips planned during the outage.

My current plan is to haul my empty suitcases to my trunk and just lug my packing cubes and whatnot as I pack them.

As for hauling the shit back up five floors, oh who knows. Details!

I certainly tried to get all my online orders done and here before the great elevator outage. Rather, the only planned outage.

Alas, FedEx, Amazon and Etsy each have one Christmas ornament in their possessions that haven’t gotten here yet.

I didn’t want them to run up the steps, and they may not.

I gotta say, the elevator outage is great. I almost ordered from Levain, Georgetown Bakery, Fat Witch and Max Brenner. I mean, it’s Halloween and all. And I’m a fat girl who likes pumpkin and chocolate.

Alas, it’s not that I’ve saved a fortune in three days. But, I’ve saved a fortune in three days.

Trying not to book another trip instead. But I did get invited to an investor event for some biotech I got myself mixed up with. So … another trip?!

The new cat sitter is either going to kill me or not show up at this rate.

Gave way too much thought of the passed-on podcaster of it all this weekend.

I have always believed it’s an inside job/sacrifice.

And anyone who might even have some inkling that I would celebrate that, doesn’t know me.

I certainly appreciated the irony. Liked some tweets that said it better than I could.

I also took those accounts private/offline last week.

Not for THAT reason. For the reason that I am tired of people having access to me who don’t need to have that access.

This all only put a slammer at the end of that sentence, where I’d put a period only days earlier.

I tend to fight in the comments when I care. I fight a lot about this topic. I hate that “the right” blames it on “the left.”

I hate that “the right” celebrates OUR pain at having our First Amendment rights trampled on at having a reaction that wasn’t a river cried.

I hate that they are all dancing the Electric Slide hearing that Joe Biden is undergoing aggressive chemotherapy. That a female judge’s house burned to the ground after ruling against trump. That a female reporter was zip-tied and tossed around like a trash bag by ICE.

I hate that they aren’t the ones facing some sort of consequences for their actions, when people who hit a like or a retweet button are getting doxxed and deported.

Some joker picked a fight with me in the comments yesterday. He said every leftist he knows celebrated the killing.

I said I highly doubt that. And how did you react to Biden’s news?

He said, and I quote, the Dems are responsible for that killing and every death in America.

I said you know what causes death? Being fired. Being economically unstable. Being depressed because your identity was exposed and destroyed for … what? Saying wow how ironic that situation was.

So, Sparky, YOUR party is responsible for the gun violence. YOUR party is the one sending death threats and bullets and bombs in the direction of MY party.

And I’m only IN my party because I don’t want to be associated with YOUR party. And you feel I deserve a special level of hell for the box I checked on a form when I was 18.

A real president would take down the temperature of the country.

A real Congress would unite to rein in someone who thinks Habeas Corpus is someone who works for Kristi Noem.

A real judiciary would say hey remember when Jimmy Carter couldn’t have his peanut farm? No you can’t build a hotel on the Gaza strip or take billions from crypto investors.

And the fact that people like me are literally sitting around counting our assets just in case of emergency is not a country where any of us should stand for a song or kneel for a flag.

Not until it’s fixed.

So, I do want justice for the podcaster. It was too professional a hit. I want that sniper to sit in jail. I want the Epstein enablers/abusers to sit in jail. I want everyone who took a life purposely to sit in jail.

Not Luigi. Give a girl an exception here.

And I want us to be able to talk about it without chopping off each other’s heads and/or will to live.