Home Sweet Hell

November 4th, 2024, 8:03 PM by Goddess

Landlady just contacted me to say she received a nasty cease-and-desist letter from the HOA.

My crime? Neatly broken down and stacked boxes on a hidden corner of my porch.

Though the letter says I am creating a visible disturbance.

I said oh PLEASE tell them I am SO SORRY for my tiny little corner (that you cannot even see from the street) when there’s a lady with a WHOLE ASS MAGA FLAG two doors down who they don’t bother.

You know, I have been away for the better part of a month.

Pittsburgh, where my cousin is BEGGING me to return to so we can be close (and I can watch her kid grow up).

New York (mostly LaGuardia, but still. Better than this fucking place).

New Orleans (people are so so SO nice. Though that could have just been Swifties and not necessarily locals).

Key West. I mean, my god, who WOULDN’T be a happy person there. I remember a guy saying, “This beats working, huh” and I said you have no idea.

Middle Keys. Same thing. I fell in love all over again with Islamorada, which was the first and only place to see us vacation as a family of five (Mom, Cocoa, Magic, Belly and me).

Meanwhile I get back here to dumpster fire Palm Beach and everyone’s been rude and awful in any store I’ve dared to set foot in.

And now this HOA shit?

Shan says that, if we’re being technical, one is recycling (mine) and the other is trash. So tell THEM to get the trash off their balcony.

You know, I like my landlady because she hasn’t raised my rent. Also I don’t take care of the place AT ALL.

But I am sad when I am here. My mom and my baby died here. I want to die here. I hate it here.

And then fucking Howler Monkey Heifer managed to ruin my first day back at least six times.

Why can’t she kill herself and save me the effort?

In any event, I know I can’t get rid of Heifer BUT I can abstain from dealing with her. And from going to her idiotic event that would be so much better if I were in charge of it.

I think I’m going to do that, after today.

Election Day is tomorrow. I’m either moving to (redacted) or I’m hiring my friend (redacted) to get me the fuck out of the country.

Either way, it’s clear I have to get out of Palm Beach. And out of shrieking distance from Howler Heifer. And this shitty fucking HOA.



Two paper airplanes flying, flying

November 3rd, 2024, 8:41 AM by Goddess

What a whirlwind October.

There was the Pittsburgh trip to watch my baby cousin turn 1.

Though I might have positioned it on social media as a trip to New York (which, fair, I spent ample time in NYC. Er, LaGuardia).

One of my NYC friends was hoping I was there. Matt, who I met at Epcot and is so much fun.

I think he’s just trying to hook me up with his friend Rachel, though. Which, she is pretty cute but also pretty young.

So is he. I’d asked where he was on 9/11 (as a New Yorker of course) and he said something like third or fifth grade. Oy.

Anyway Matt invited me to a charity ball on Dec. 4 up in the city. But I’ve traveled so much (cough, SPENT so much) that maybe I should give it a damn rest.

I’m talking about my body, not just my wallet. Jesus, I’m exhausted.

I could spend this whole post on airport visits, and I think I will.

First of all, I met Randy Fenoli on my flight out.

He was adorable. I walked past him in First Class. (I was two rows behind him.) He is so TINY! He shared his seat with his tiny white dog.

I only saw one other person fangirl over him. So maybe y’all don’t watch “Say Yes to the Dress.” But Mom and I loved it, so we loved him.

And I’m thrilled to say he’s as nice in person as he is on the show.

I mean, any man who grabs my hand and says, “Hi Beautiful!” before letting me gush about how much I love his dresses and enjoy seeing him on TV is all right by me.

I won’t speak about our connection at Atlanta. (I HATE ATL and Delta for having that shit cyclone as one of its hubs.)

But I will say the flight was exquisite. Total Swiftie plane.

The pilot asked if we are “Ready for It?” and the flight attendant said they were “Enchanted” to serve us.

My row was filled with amazing people, including a man wearing the “22” hat. Though he had a cane, so they made him get out of the exit row. Which made me sad because he was so dapper and cool.

In his place I got a girl whose concert ticket was a birthday gift from the lady on the other side of me in a fabulous Etsy jacket.

The fabulous lady took a pic of my Eras-themed toes.

No orange for Evermore. Then again I am not a Hemingway cat and therefore lack an 11th toe.

Anyway, landing at MSY was such a delight. I put up some videos on Insta of the pilot making one last Swiftie reference. And also of our sad “Love Story” sing-along. We so half-assed it.

Anyway, the AIRPORT. It was all decked out for us Swifties!

So was the whole town, really.

I don’t know of any other city that rolled out the red carpet (and les bons temps) for us even on a low level of magnitude, much less the high holy welcome we got.

Skipping ahead to the taxi ride out of town, I got hit on by the cabbie. He was super sweet and eager to come to Miami … and for me to return to NOLA so he could take me around. He even gave me his card and said let me know when you land safely.

Anyway, I paid cash and tipped well.

Then there was the whole JH of it all. Already covered that.

And we’re just talking about flights in this post.

So, my first flight out — from MSY back to that cesspool ATL — was a dream.

Delta was offering $900 in credits to anyone who was willing to be bumped. I said give me cash so I can see T-Swift in Indy and I’ll take it, but they didn’t.

Also, I told my senior Swiftie seat mates I wasn’t really serious. They were so much fun and I know to appreciate terrific people in my row.

Karen and Ben just turned 65. AND this trip to see Taylor was a gift to each other for a milestone anniversary — I want to say 25 years.

But my head was all sorts of full from everything that preceded that meeting, and I don’t remember exactly.

Oh, I’m fallin’ in love
I thought the plane was goin’ down
How’d you turn it right around?

Karen is a third-grade teacher and Ben is a pastor in California. We talked about Disney, as they are in Anaheim.

They are “rescue fails” — they have eight cats, most of whom have medical issues. And they are the freaking cutest people I ever met.

Karen and Ben and I have texted about a million times since that flight. It would be more, but I drove my happy ass to Key West and murdered my whole data plan in two days.

Swifties are the best. Hands-down.

Also anyone Swiftie-adjacent, like CJ, who appreciates us for all the good we put out into the world.

Which, CJ — I am hoping — is a story for another day, too. I keep pulling Wands cards around this situation.

I see sparks fly whenever you smile.

In any event, my final flight, from shithole ATL to floating island of garbage PBI, was awful.

From the sparkly tRump/Vance jacket to all the MAGA hats and shirts to the bitch in my aisle who was complaining loudly on her cell to someone that she was owed tens of thousands for an election night party but wasn’t paid for it, ugh.

Let me guess — the “Republican Party Election Night” email subject line that I saw over her shoulder on her iPad might be a giveaway here. Trumpy hasn’t paid for his party?! GO FIGURE.

Honest to God, I was willing to take the plane down for the sake of democracy at that point.

Anyway, we didn’t crash and I didn’t kill any MAGAts. Well, I did get into a fight with a bunch in Marathon.

Fuckers, you came up to MY car with your signs. You get what I fucking say/gesture in return. You don’t get to tell me to go to hell when I was having a nice day without you.

I swear, 10 trumpers constitutes a riot.

In any event, I ALSO saw a ton of Harris-Walz signs and supporters all over NOLA and Key West.

Granted, two very amazing towns in two very red states. But still. I think we have a lot to be hopeful about come Tuesday.



We Hereby Conduct This Post-Mortem

October 23rd, 2024, 4:22 PM by Goddess

I can’t believe Miami N3 got “Guilty as Sin.”

Or that N1 got “Daylight.”

But that’s OK. I got Debutation and that’s the best outcome for my soul.

I was riding high on Sunday after the Big Concert. Brightline called it the Big Concert so I get to do the same.

I had to laugh though. All I did was sit for two train rides, two shuttle rides and at least part of the four-hour show.

Which, I’ve never sat at The Eras Tour. But for what I paid for that seat, Hard Rock Stadium is lucky I didn’t take it home with me.

And I needed all of Sunday to recover.

Meanwhile Blondie sang and danced in the rain for three nights straight. How the hell has she done this for two years?!

I technically didn’t know I was going to the show till I heard “Rocking Robin” completely randomly at Brightline. And, of course, till I forked over my credit card and waited for the confirmation screen.

But I always felt like I’d find my way to at least one of the Miami shows.

Now that the anticipation is over, now what?

Like that thing I have literally been living for … TO LIVE FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL … is over.

And yes it was magical and even better than I remembered/could have imagined.

I even got to see the brand-new TTPD set!

And Billy Joel attended Miami N2 just like he attended Tampa N3 and he’s now my Eras Tour Twin. I don’t make the rules.

What the fuck else is there to live for?

I mean, I do have ONE thing.

That other thing, “I Did Something Bad” (ha) last year.

THAT has kept me going.

As Mom’s health declined. As Cocoa died. As my neighbors assaulted and stalked me to the point I couldn’t feed my street kitties.

As my sanity unraveled. As Mom could no longer leave the house. As she took her final downturn on my birthday. As she eventually died just steps from where Cocoa did.

As I kept working through my grief because I need my job and no one else knows it like me anyway.

Through it all, I knew there was an Eras Tour ticket at the end of this fucked-up rainbow.

But beyond the one fun thing I still have left, what’s next for me?

Clarification — what’s left that’s GOOD?!

I say this because I ran out to buy food for the street kitties yesterday. Probably about $50 worth. I left it on my neighbor’s doorstep and said “thank you for being my treat dealer.”

(Those babies are so skinny. I don’t know if she’s able to feed them enough. Now, I don’t have to worry about that for a while.)

While I was out, I saw a Christmas decoration Mom would have begged for. Christ, I wasn’t ready for Christmas. Not yet.

I could hear myself grumbling about that decoration, if she wanted it (which, of course she would) and saying something I couldn’t take back.

But that was the ritual. I also could see myself buying it anyway. And I could see her cherishing it like she cherished everything.

It hit me I will never have that argument again. Or a beautiful house with delicious Mom-made food.

No more waking up like I did last Christmas and thanking the universe for our family of five.

I did, you know. I was so worried about Cocoa. Not worried enough about Mom.

Who knew I’d be left with the other three jabronis just three months later. And two jabronis five months after that.

“Say it once again with feeling
How the death rattle breathing
Silenced as the soul was leaving
The deflation of our dreaming
Leaving me bereft and reeling
My beloved ghost and me
Sitting in a tree
D-Y-I-N-G.

I’ve always had the Eras Tour.

And all the unhinged posts.

Like, how cool that this Mama Swift lookalike got to watch football with Mama Kelce at the Brightline station?

But when Blondie said during N3 that this was the last rain show because the next shows are all at indoor stadiums, that hurt in a “first Christmas without Cocoa and Momma” way.

All I have left are the livestreams. What do I do when those end?



Idiots

October 22nd, 2024, 8:44 PM by Goddess

Early car appointment today. First in, first out.

Made the mistake of going to Einstein and sitting by a lady by herself. That is till some dope joined her and they talked about voting.

I was trying to eat my jalapeno bagel and finish an article for the employee newsletter. But all their idiotic comments about immigrants and how terrible it was that Liz Cheney and all those generals turned on tRump turned my stomach.

They said Dick Cheney isn’t looking so good. Maybe he won’t make it to vote for Ka-Mahhh-la.

My face joined the conversation at that point.

I was just mad I hadn’t worn my Kamala shirt from LaGuardia Airport as planned.

Figured why instigate a fight? I am a Democrat, not a RethugliKKKan.

Which, did you ever notice that the so-called “silent majority” cannot fucking shut up?!

In any event, I was in my Eras Tour shirt that my cousin sent me.

Me and my ghosts they had a hell of a time, for those who celebrate.

These tools decided to ask me if I like Liz. I made heart hands. Because, Taylor.

The bitch said everyone has heart. Some hearts are just different from others.

Theirs are clearly disinformed.

I silently sent my completed article to HR and overheard the “man” declare that Kamala lowered gas prices so she can “get the poors’ votes.”

Fucking Boca bitches. Rich fucking whites with nothing to lose under fascism. Also that’s not how gas prices work!

I closed my laptop and stood up. He said oh you can’t take truth?

I said I can’t take post-truth.

He said aww did we drive you out?

I said I’ve hit my limit on listening to idiots. Open an economics textbook sometime. Maybe a civics one too.

He said something else as I exited. I said, “Idiots!” And stopped my car with the Kamala stickers next to their window for good measure.

I know the cunt voted already. I hope he drops dead on the way.

Idiots.



You Booked the Night Train for a Reason

October 21st, 2024, 8:06 PM by Goddess

Couldn’t concentrate very well on Friday. Kept watching Ticketmaster for the surprise Taylor Swift ticket drop.

Got notified, got IN … and my FUCKING PASSWORD was rejected.

A million thoughts went my way as I changed it. Not the least of which, were my OTHER concert tickets still safe?

Alas, I reset my password and got in AGAIN …

And all face-value tickets were gone.

Crushed.

Spent the rest of Friday and most of Saturday morning searching StubHub — which had the better seats — and SeatGeek — which had the better prices/fees — in vain.

I DID book a trip on the Brightline’s Swiftie Sing-a-Long train.

My plan was to take the train down to Miami and go have some “This Is Me Chai-ing” ice cream at Sweet Melody’s.

(At least I’m chai-ing. #evermore)

Also Lavender Haze-ing at the Mary Mary bar.

And the train was AWESOME. You can tell a Swiftie works there.

My Reputation themed seat.

Every car was decked out in every single Era.

Plenty of selfie stations.

Every car had a different era (album) playing.

People dressed so elaborately and beautifully.

And cocktails!

There were makeup stations. Hello side-eye.

Friendship bracelet making stations.

And no one was scream-singing. Just normal singing.

The train ran from Orlando to Miami Center.

I hopped on in West Palm and got off in Aventura.

I figured, let me just try StubHub ONE MORE TIME.

And …

A ticket popped up that hadn’t been available an hour earlier when I boarded.

With fees, the cost exceeded my rent.

BUT LOOK AT ALL THOSE 13s.

TAY’S LUCKY NUMBER IS 13!

HELLO “I GAVE SO MANY SIGNS — SO MANY SIGNS.”

When I was in the WPB station, I was feeling sad because I blew out a tire on the way.

Like hi ok fine don’t buy a ticket to Hard Rock Stadium.

Car repairs, yo.

Just like when I went to see Melissa Etheridge at the Hard Rock Casino last month. Blew out a tire there too.

At the station, waiting to board the train, they were playing Swiftie music.

I looked out the window and said Momma, I could use a sign.

I wasn’t clear about what the sign should be. Just to know she’s with me, really.

“I should’ve asked you questions
I should’ve asked you how to be
Asked you to write it down for me
Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt
‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me.”

Mom works fast.

I figured the sign was to buy a cocktail. So I did.

Then as I watched everyone floating out of the train to go to the concert, I booked that ticket.

If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were singing to me now
If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were still around

I know better
But I still feel you all around
I know better
But you’re still around.”

And off I went to the Brightline shuttle to Miami Gardens, wondering what the hell I had just done.

But you know what? The Brightline runs over someone at least daily.

It could very well have run over ME. Right then!

And that money would have gone to the state because I have no one to leave it to.

There’s a line in “New Romantics” where Taylor sings, “We wait for trains that just aren’t coming.”

My train was THERE.

And who knows when Girly Pop is going to tour again after this year.

I practically skipped from the shuttle to Hard Rock Stadium like she and Florence (!!!) did during “Florida!!!”

And that’s where my Miami era begins, not ends.

Thank you, Momma. I hate not “taking you with me,” either physically or via constant text companionship.

But …

“You’re alive, you’re alive in my head.”



Virtual insanity

October 18th, 2024, 4:43 PM by Goddess

My spirit animal/new favorite relative worked two hours today and said fuck it. Rest of the day off. Starting now.

I don’t think I was ever like that. Even when I submitted my one-month notice to this job on Dec. 1, 2019, I worked every available minute till Dec. 31.

Shit, I worked till Feb. 10. Full time. Pissed off the new employers something fierce. No wonder they never liked me after that.

Of course, it got me this job back, so I WIN, CINDY.

I notice, and I shouldn’t say it out loud, is I don’t focus well anymore. I mean, I do when I need to. But not like I used to.

Ever since they installed some software, I should have committed myself to proving what a kickass worker I am.

But not only did it cheese me off, my system requires a reboot at least 3x daily. Goodbye attention span.

My system shuts down Outlook to keep running Teams. So I have to remember what messages i was in the middle of reading or sending.

And forget it with Chrome. the thing spins constantly. But if I close down Teams, I might be able to do the research I need for the Word document … THAT JUST CLOSED TO RUN CHROME.

Yes I could and should use my own computer. It’s against the rules but, I imagine, so I saying fuck it and staring at a wall for two hours.

I’m not even jealous that she (my cousin, not my computer) can unplug when time off is declared. It’s that I don’t feel productive enough on my “on” time to deserve any off time.

Answering messages (constantly) on off days is actually a blessing for me. Oh, they still need me, hooray. Maybe they will forgive the “not being able to take calls because my stupid system decided that it won’t run SOUND anymore and I can’t afford to reboot and lose all my articles I am writing and editing.”

Honestly if they said it’s time to RTO, they could bribe me with a better computer.



It’s one hell of a drug

October 18th, 2024, 6:56 AM by Goddess

FLORIDA!!!!!

I for one cannot believe Taylor Swift plays in Miami TONIGHT and I don’t have a ticket.

I had this employee who is also a Swiftie. When the concert was announced, we made a pact to try for two tickets and whoever got them would take the other.

So I signed up as a Verified Fan and was one of “The Lucky One”s who got a code.

I did the whole exhausting process but ended up empty-handed.

I asked how she fared and she was like what? I didn’t know.

LIKE HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW. WE TALKED ABOUT THIS.

I didn’t say that. I said oh well wasn’t meant to be.

What I didn’t say is I had a better feeling about NOLA. EVERYONE wants to come to Miami. Like her. I cannot get far enough AWAY from it.

Anyway. I always figured I’d pick up a resale ticket. Those went as high as 67,000 — for ones in the freaking sky.

Prices did drop. I can get something behind the stage/obstructed for $1,200 plus a $450 fee on the resale sites. Oof again.

So now I’m looking for Swiftie events and brunches and such.

I mean, honestly, I did budget two grand for resale. I mean, I live here — not like I need a hotel or anything.

But then I said you know what? I want to meet the baby. My two grand went to Delta, Marriott, a pet sitter and gifts. I got a day off work and time with people I love. And iced butter cookies and Sarris Candies.

I know Cindy likes to make fun of me when I say “I win.” Of course, she likes to make fun of me anyway. But like Taylor Swift sings, “I put narcotics in my songs — that’s why you keep singing along.” Apparently I put drugs in my blogs, since she’s still reading and quoting me. I should send her an autographed bra or something.

In any event, my Miami Swiftie budget is blown, is what I am reminding myself here. Though I do spy a brunch that I wouldn’t have to drive 55 miles to attend, and I think I’ll do that.



Super Petty

October 17th, 2024, 6:03 PM by Goddess

If I were a superhero, I’d be an anti-hero and I’d be Super Petty.

I keep getting emails and texts from some cancer group I walked with and fundraised for at some point.

I kept texting unsubscribe and stop. I know full well it’s a human. I don’t care.

Boggles my mind how many “survivors” — e.g., children, friends and other people who supported those who DIDN’T survive — decide to fight on. Keep trying to lobby for a cure. Don’t want anyone else to die like their people did.

FUCK THAT.

I don’t want to die like that, sure. But why do I deserve any better? No one gave a fuck about my mom when things were still treatable.

I don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything now. Not people I don’t know. And especially, a lot of people I DO know.



Tom-level Petty

October 17th, 2024, 5:21 PM by Goddess

My cousin got asked to come in on her one work-from-home day.

And since you’re coming in, please go to the farthest-possible location from your home that we don’t often send you to.

She said fuck that and called off entirely.

Finally, proof we are related.

She was inspired when we got to talking about thank-you cards. (I got mine THE DAY AFTER the baby’s party.)

I said oh your cousin Carole used to roast me publicly. After my Gram died, Carole called all around, wondering if anyone had gotten a thank-you card because SHE hadn’t.

I had written them out. Addressed them. STAMPED them. With pretty stamps that I went out of my way to buy because I thought my Gram would have loved them.

I just didn’t DRIVE and wasn’t near a POST OFFICE again.

Soon as I heard about that shit, I tossed them in the trash.

My cousin said she aspired to that level of petty.

I often had guilt about that. Honestly I COULD have walked the envelopes out to a collection box.

But that was acknowledging my Gram was gone.

Give a girl a fucking minute.

Christ, my mom’s best friend forgave me for not telling her that my Mom was dead for a month.

Hell it wasn’t even forgiveness. She understood I was fucked up in the head for a good long while.

I found a list of phone numbers in Mom’s handwriting yesterday. With Carole and a bunch of other people I don’t talk to. Hell, half the people on that list are dead, too.

Anyway I may keep that to myself. I can’t call people whose numbers I never received, right?

I don’t share the fascination of my extended family (or of my ex-boss Ed) who delighted in sharing bad news with everyone within earshot.

Italians, man. He can lick me where I pee, too.



Time to trade Wawa for Sheetz?

October 16th, 2024, 7:45 PM by Goddess

My cousin was invited to apply for a new job.

She was pretty neutral about it over text. But at her dining room table when I asked, she said I really want this.

She reminded me of me. Neutral, fine either way. But bursting at the seams with quiet hope.

I said a little manifestation prayer that she’d get an offer by the end of this week.

That offer came through last night.

I am excited for her. Better money, hours, location and benefits.

I don’t remember what being overjoyed about a new job was like. When I got the job offer in late 2019, it sounded good but not amazing. I took it to get rid of Cindy. HAHAHA joke.

When I got this job offer in 2011 (first time around) and the one at Phillips back in 2003, I was just happy to know I’d be able to buy ramen noodles with debit and not credit. When I got this job offer in 2021 (second time around), it was peaceful. Like, OK, I can do this. Again. For a while maybe longer if I dooooooo.

I developed a boiling resentment against ramen for having to eat so damn much of it because of shitty ex-employers rewarding my excellence with pink slips.

Mom always liked ramen. Despite my distaste for it, I can’t get rid of “her” dozen or so ramens in the pantry.

My cousin has a doctorate and she’s sick of clinical. Research is where she has always wanted to be. And now she gets that.

She’s already got her next house in her crosshairs. Planning when she can have another baby. This girl knows exactly what she wants.

How are we related again?!

I wonder what it would like to feel re-energized and ready to use the neurons that wait for their moment to shine in one’s current role. I never managed to have that AND bigger dreams. Like, just tiptoe and don’t break anything. 13 years later, I’m still doing that.

Anyway, I had another instance today where I said a manifestation for someone. It will come true. I know it.

And I wondered why it is so easy for me to bless others. Like, where is my own manifestation to buy two modern new homes in cash and only be on the hook for HOA fees?

I will receive $11 million before year-end. So mote it be.

Two homes, naturally, because I am getting nervous AF about this damn election. Something here and something anywhere but here. (H/T to Momma on that second one.)

People aren’t much smarter than they were four years ago. They are more racist.

I just hope they realize how the Rethuglicans have gone from wanting brown people to be fractions to wanting women of any color to not have a voice at all.

Anyway. The only thing that excites me is travel. I booked too much of it. I bought too much junk food in Pittsburgh and I booked too many gourmet dinners at my next two destinations.

Will always be fat. But hey, I read that you want to meet men where you’re at and not at your best. Which, why can’t where I’m at also be my best? BE BEST, MELANIE, you fucking sellout.

Speaking of “be best,” a comment was made today — maybe a joke, who knows — that a certain howler monkey is our best employee.

If THAT is the high bar, I’m going to ask my cousin if those doctors need a writer.