Caterwauling

My drunk ass rolled home sometime after 2 a.m. last night.

Had a fun night with old friends.

A fun week with my team.

Fun previous week with my fam in Tokyo.

Boss surprised me by calling yesterday after I’d canceled our meeting. Fun police.

Anyway I should be working now. But my friends are leaving town tomorrow. And let’s face it, I’d rather hang with them than deal with the laundry list of stuff Boss was asking about.

Or with the laundry list of stuff I won’t even bother telling anyone about. Because it usually takes longer to talk about it than to just do it.

Like no, Dan, we were bowling partners. I was in Tokyo, then jet-lagged, then locked in a ballroom with 500 of our closest colleagues and customers, then a wee bit hungover.

Or as I call it, exhausted from three really good weeks.

My friends want to meet up in another city for my birthday. I already have non-refundable plans. But I’m closing in on a higher status with Marriott, so I can’t imagine they wouldn’t help a sister out.

Good problems to have, all of them.

Humble brag here.

But I did something I always wished someone would have done for me.

We had a conference for the past few days.

I paid for everything for my staff and me.

I mean, just meals and parking. Which … was substantial.

One of our Uber Eats lunches was delivered by a guy in an Alfa Romero, for fuck’s sake.

That’s Boca Raton for you.

Even at dinner last night — as everyone was nervous to order alcohol because Don’t Tread on ME FLIPS THE FUCK OUT if someone has a drink on work time — they were like ok are we splitting this bill four ways.

Like no the fuck we are not.

I said when I was younger, I used to go out with my wealthy colleagues with expensive taste.

While I’d order one appetizer AS my entree … I wouldn’t eat the appetizers ordered for the table … while they’d order bottles of wine while I sipped my water …

They’d go to town and then say great let’s split the bill five ways.

So my $12 calamari was suddenly $76.

I remember my boss Greg saying to me in the middle of some dumb event at Buca di Beppo, “You should’ve eaten the appetizers; I told you you’d be paying for them.”

Dumb girl. I learned.

So I told my group a very short version of that.

That I didn’t want them to not have a great time. To worry for one second about anything other than being completely present to talk to our customers and teammates.

My Sapphire card is screaming. But hopefully I can get the CFO to approve it without involving the biggest bitch in the whole wide world this year.

Who, anytime she looked at me, barked about me not wearing my lanyard.

It was in CAR since people within 90 miles cannot stay on property and I get flustered at the valet every damn time.

Anyway, this all unlocked such a core memory of going out to eat, lowering the cost basis of rich people’s meals, and yet still starving.

I don’t want my people to feel that way, ever.

Though I pay them all better than I was paid.

And frankly they are worth a whole lot more.

A WHOLE lot more.

I just wish someone had felt that way about me.

But all I can do is correct history. And in doing so, not perpetuate trauma into the next generation.

That particular trauma, anyway.

We’re in the middle of the annual Fambly Reunion at work.

It’s mostly joyous. Mostly awesome people. A few who should have stayed home.

I remember getting a very frustrated/frustrating letter from one. I remember typing my response.

That person has shown the letter to no fewer than 47 people, in frustration.

I wrote it in frustration. Like literally you asked a question about 2024 and you are unsatisfied with the answer in 2026.

What people do is isolate 14 of us, then get mad when the answer is 14x “sorry you are mad but what exactly do you want” and they can’t tell us.

I figure they want us to say we were wrong, we screwed up, here’s some money.

I don’t know. I gave the guy a good bar recommendation last night. Here’s hoping he forgives all. I doubt it but his wife is lovely so he can’t be all bad.

Speaking of the opposite, man did I have a weird dream last night.

Dreamed about an old affair. I guess remembering a more recent one messed up my little girl brain.

“Lilac short skirt, the one that fits me like skin
Did your research, you knew the price goin’ in
And I’ll tell you one thing, honey
I can tell when somebody still wants me, come clean
Standin’ at the bar like something’s funny, bubbly
Once you fix your face, I’m goin’ in.”

Dreamed I ran into someone from my long LONG ago past. Still married. Still somehow had little kids.

We weren’t doing anything wrong at all, just coexisting. Having a coffee. Taking the kids on a drive.

We never DID anything wrong. Just coexisted. Had coffee. Had drinks. Had exactly one conversation about what we felt, and that was the day it ended.

The dream felt easy. Muscle memory kicked right in.

The wife (a doctor) saw me for some medical problem. Put me in a taxi with him. Then told the cabbie to floor it over a cliff.

I watched the final scene outside my body, seeing me (with pink hair) in the cab, screaming.

I’d say I don’t know where any of this came from, but I do.

Y’all if I’d ever actually wielded my power, I would have been dangerous.

And who’s to say I won’t still test that theory.

“You’ll find that you were never not mine.”

That was a line from People We Meet on Vacation.

I obviously haven’t been everywhere.

But I take unnatural pleasure at saying, “When I was in Tokyo last week …”

So I am making a life list.

I told Kelly I have to get her to DisneySea.

And she has to get me to Basel for Christmas markets.

She is heading to London but I don’t care so much about that.

So when we save up some moola, we got some plans to make.

I don’t go to our pool much because our HOA people are always there.

The other day, I bought lunch from the final cookout of the season. Because MAGA Frank has finally gone home, and I actually like the people who take over every year around this time.

They asked if I wanted to buy a Kentucky Derby party ticket for $10. I said sure. The HOA twat literally said, “I am such a good salesperson.” In a flat and whiny voice.

Yesterday I spent the day in Fort Lauderdale. And did not claim my $10 hot dog and chips.

I did spend $200 on a dress for tomorrow.

And that much on dinner at Serafina Waterfront and a sushi plate for today.

In any event, when I was at the pool, I saw there’s a whole notification board for residents who’ve died in the last month.

Very sad to see my neighbor Tony P. passed in March. (Obit.)

I’ve written about him here. Notably when some MAGA prick got right in my face about my mask.

All 5’3″ of Tony got between us and said if you need to push around someone, how about do it to a man.

I think about how hard it was for me to stop wearing a mask when mom died. Like, it was just part of every outfit. Going without one was like actively choosing not to wear a bra.

But back then, it was one thing I COULD do to help the cancer not grow, maybe.

I haven’t seen that asshole in a while. He’s on the May birthday list, as am I. With the wrong date for mine, like it has been since 2019.

In any event, Tony had a lovely, short note about his education, his kindness, his passion as a teacher and school counselor.

And where to send condolences to his wife in New York, as she hasn’t come back to their FL home.

That reminds me, her birthday is on the May list. I should send her a note.

There were a few others I sort of recognized but most didn’t register.

Then there’s Carl Sr.

Carl Jr. is the one who loved to shove his camera up my skirt when I fed cats. Carl Jr.’s daughter Lauren is the one who tried to punch me.

Carl Sr.’s death notice was six printed pages long.

He spawned absolute assholes is all you need to know.

Fucking stay dead and take your fucking family with you, is all I have to say.

But how striking the community obituaries are.

Tony, a small in stature but giant of a man intellectually and emotionally, got one paragraph.

Fuckin Carl Sr. with the shitty fucking family got six pages.

When I bought the Derby/hot dog ticket, I truly thought maybe it’s time to stop beating these assholes and finally join them. Maybe I can make a difference around here if I just had some allies.

Then I thought, nah, and ordered the best tiramisu I’ve had in a long time.

Can’t wait till all their names are on the obituary wall.

I’ve posted about the “She Woke Up Different” meme before.

But it’s an offshoot of a book, “She Came Back Different.”

If I remember it correctly, the protagonist goes into ballet school and all its strict conformity.

Well, when it comes to Japan, I keep telling everyone that I came back different.

* It’s not that I checked into a Buddhist temple and discovered The Way.

* There was no “Eat Pray Love” experience that made me want to write a book about it.

* Honestly, other than loving DisneySea and the polite people everywhere, I didn’t get a lot out of the trip culturally.

But what I did get was this:

1. First-class travel treatment. Even at mid-tier hotels and air carriers. And you should see how neatly the luggage is stacked on carousels — with the handles right where you can easily grab them.

2. Courtesy, service and grace, without tipping in hopes of getting it. If you so much as looked momentarily overwhelmed or confused, someone was at your side to see what they can do for you.

3. Near-silence on transit and in stores. Plenty of time to think and appreciate what was around me. You can walk around, say, a temple without someone ruining your photo or your inner peace.

4. The politest people on earth. Children too! In fact, the only time you heard loud people or anyone be rude, they were white.

The fam and I were in Triton’s Kingdom, an underground play area in Disney Sea. We let the cute 2 year old go at her own pace.

Well I had a pair of adorable 5 year olds behind me. Who very patiently waited their turn till my whole family did the rope bridges at the kiddo’s pace.

Like, didn’t run us over, didn’t complain, didn’t do anything but enjoy their turn.

5. Few work distractions. Which you know I love my job. But my people HANDLED IT.

As usual, the only person who flat-out ignored my “I’m away” message was old Don’t Treadmill On Me.

Like, I would swear to Buddha that they wait for me to be “out-out.” But I know it’s just tone-deafness and self-centeredness.

But the joy of being 13 hours ahead? I may be asleep when you’re running your treadmill mouth. And even though I wasn’t, nobody had to know that. Bliss.

So what’s the whole she came back different?

I saw something out there.

Not that my Japanese is all that passable.

But it said something like, “How many times are you going to have the same conversations before you change them?”

I just about died dead.

My entire life is the same shit different day.

Usually when it comes to Don’t Treadmill on Me. And the copywriters.

Like, you can promise 20 trades today (as they did).

And the editor will not only say no trades today (as they did).

But I will ghostwrite you a goddamn issue that is so spectacular, you won’t even notice there are no trades in it (as I did).

You know why I can do that? Because I do it multiple times a year.

Same with product launches. No one sees fit to involve me till the promo has been shot. So I build a beautiful product that’s as close as it can get to their vision, while still being rooted in reality.

I don’t mind. It’s what I do. I make more magic than Disney, FFS.

There are just people I don’t mind doing it for. And others I very much mind doing it for.

Like Ready Tready, who ruined my California Adventure by dumping some needy people on me who are not on the payroll.

I actually really like them. But jesus FUCK are they needy.

Well, they also reached out to me in Japan. Which I ignored, because all they ever want to do is talk on the phone. And I was 15 hours ahead of them, mercifully.

They called 11 times yesterday. And that’s when the jet lag finally hit and I was barely making it through.

Call is understating it. It’s a trifecta:

* They leave me a voicemail.
* They text seconds later to tell me to check voicemail.
* Then immediately email to tell me to check my texts.

Those of you who wonder why I don’t check my phone, see above.

I finally emailed back today like WHAT, GOD.

The email back, “Oh nothing urgent. We made xx sales with that link you sent out.”

Great, nothing urgent.

But then the trifecta occurred again an hour later.

JESUS FUCK.

How is this different from pre-Japan? It isn’t.

But it needs to be.

Look, I overeat, stress-eat, binge-eat and did I say eat? I eat. A lot. I need to change that.

But you know what makes me do that?

The phone ringing off the wall. The “well, I know Copy promised the readers this but I don’t wanna” so I do the thing. The “O” face on the treadmill huffing at my utter inability to translate word salad or simply mind-read. The dark apartment. The stinky cats. The asshole HOA. The broken toilet.

The fact that all I wanted was a damn break from caregiving, not to lose my mom entirely.

I want the duck-kicker and Trump to just fucking die already. And Erika Kirk. JFC I liked my life so much better before I knew that twat existed.

And I’m tired of hurting myself to keep from hurting (verbally or otherwise) others who could use a foot up their ass.

I don’t know what changes. But the conversations are a good place to start.

Especially the ones with myself.

My travel companion and I took an hour to wander Katsurazaka together.

The main street has tons of cute little stores. Many of them French, which I observed randomly.

Turns out, it’s the “Little Paris” of Tokyo.

Anyway we went into this one French store. And all it took was one bar of “Moon River” on the sound system to send tears gushing from my eyes.

My companion nodded sagely. “She got you.”

“Mom used to sing this to Kadie,” I choked out.

She didn’t need the explainer. She has plenty of random sightings from her own mom.

Heck I got one from HER mom the next day.

Our moms went from being the only ones who got us … to “getting” us when we least expect it.

In the back of the store, I saw a bag I should have bought. Or at least photographed.

It was the “Strength” tarot card.

But with a tuxedo cat instead of the person with the lion.

Kadie.

There were a couple other times I thought of Kates.

The Lucky Cat/Beckoning Cat is a Calico, like Maddie. But there are all-white and all-black and even tuxedo variants of it.

Then of all the things, on the way to Haneda, I caught the Rainbow Bridge out of the corner of my eye.

And surprisingly, I had my phone ready to capture the sign.

I imagine it’s not THE rainbow bridge where my babies wait for me.

But what a lovely thought …

That my little “huckleberry friends” are living in beautiful Japan together …

With all the flowers and the birdies and the CLEAN air and streets.

I hope there’s whipped cream and cream cheese at the bridge for my Kates.

Everyone wants to hear about Japan.

How do I say it.

ROSES

1. Kiddo time
2. DisneySea
3. Lucky Cat Train
4. Doing hard shit without help.

THORNS

1. The text I got at noon on the 16th asking where I was. As I had understood it that we were LEAVING on the 17th.

1.a. So I booked an airline I never take (American) in the D seat next to my companions in the rest of the center-section seats.

1.b. But lo, they thought I understood it was that we were LANDING on the 17th. And there I was in my weekly call with my boss trying not to let my face change.

2. Getting on the first plane and someone being in my window seat. Also, this was my window seat. Of all the ones to steal!

3. Landing (one day later) and none of us having Roaming on, and missing messages.

3.a. I was in Haneda, thinking, hmm, should I book a hotel here? Go shopping? Nah, I need to go see my people. And paid $100 for a cab to do it.

3.b. My texts after a certain point stopped going through. So I saw that the plan was to go to dinner but my text that hey I will be there in a half hour did not get through.

3.c. My cabbie dropped me somewhere and said your Airbnb is “over there.”

I had the address but no sign of family. Or the door. Finally turned on roaming. Only to find out they already went to dinner.

3.d. They said I could just leave my shit in the street and go meet them. Which … do you know where to find fat girl clothes in Tokyo? Me neither. Suitcase and Dawn stay together.

3.e. They keep trying to direct me to Airbnb. This goes on for three hours. I finally say FFS someone come get me. And I sat in the street.

3.f. They weren’t even in the Airbnb. So once they all got back, they found me.

3.g. Happily, they found me some foodz at 7-11. I am just sad I literally collapsed outside a fucking wine bar in the Little Paris of Tokyo and didn’t have the stones to go in with my big fuckin suitcase.

4. I already know they have noise machines and that I can’t handle brown noise.

That didn’t bother me.

What did was the walls were so thin, I could hear kiddo half the night. Not only that, I could hear kiddo above me AND on the monitors, which were turned up loud along with the noise machines.

So, I managed to fall asleep for a couple hours and then be UP THE FUCK ALL NIGHT afterward. Because once stirred, I cannot sleep again.

Two nights of that, I got a hotel. And took my ass to Tokyo Disneyland.

5. After I moved out, we were to meet at a temple the next morning. They texted early that kiddo was up all night and weren’t sure about arrival time.

I knew it was an hour cab ride but I figured I’d hear from them again.

Meanwhile, dumbass cut herself shaving and sat with her bloody leg up for an hour. When I finally got ready, I got a where you at text.

So I rushed to get a cab. Halfway into the $95 fare, they said they left … the temple.

I get to the Gotokuji Cat Temple, don’t understand what it is or why I’m there, and about fall over whilst trying to avoid someone on the sidewalk.

Now this brings me to ROSE 5.

I got some cold brew from a street vending machine and hopped on the first subway out.

This one turned out to be a blessing … as I caught the rare Lucky Cat Train.

I do think my fortune changed in that moment.

So, I turned it into a full day of taking the train around Tokyo. Went to Shijuku and got lost (not on purpose) in Tokyo Station.

That’s because I had trouble finding the line that — mercifully — connects to the Disney compound.

Enjoyed the mall at the Gateway station.

Went to the hotel, washed my ass and went to DisneySea.

ROSE 6:

Four days at Tokyo Disney was $150. One day at Epcot is $179.

Ears at Epcot are $35 to $50. Ears at Tokyo Disney, $11 to $12.

Popcorn at Epcot/MK — six bucks and one flavor.

Popcorn at Tokyo — 500 yen and flavors I have never seen before and will never see again.

ROSE 7:

Made a friend on the PBI.>DFW odyssey.

She got drunk on the plane.

I shotgunned two killer drinks during my 15-minute layover.

And it was the last good sleep I would have for a week.

The photobomb was my favorite.

So, when people ask, I don’t tell them all this.

I do talk about the cat train … the 7-11s, the Disney cheapness … the fact that Japan Airlines is better than Delta.

I’m not annoyed with/at anyone. Honestly I loved hanging with kiddo.

I still think about how, between the chaos of customs in Chicago (as we were all on the same flight on the same day, for a change) and the chaos of going through security to catch my next flight in 19 minutes, she reached up her little arms to hug me goodbye.

Matchy matchy, Cindy!

I enjoyed that hug more than any moment on the trip.

So, a bouquet of roses with a normal amount of thorns.

Not enough thorns to get me to stay away from Japan.

Shit, I’d still rather go back there than France, and that was my lifelong dream.

But dreams change. And so do we.

This all validates the fact that Kelly is still my travel soulmate. It also shows me that I have very good fambly that understands that I gotta do me.

When I wrote last week that I’m no one’s priority, I wasn’t kidding. Kelly felt that, too. If we don’t take care of us, who will?

Not only does a woman need a room of one’s own, but a key and a deadbolt too.

Thank the Lucky Cat that we have the means to procure each whenever we need them.

This all goes to show that Kelly remains my travel soulmate. But I’m grateful my fambly letting me do me.

I thought about Mom a lot. How she always cried for me when I had to do hard shit alone.

Like it’s not just that I would have never flown American.

I would never have done immigration and customs in a country where I know about 10 words.

Or taken illegal cabs alone.

And not so illegal ones.

Or bought/used a new currency. Or cleared customs at home. Or sat my happy ass in a sushi place and ordered food and wine.

Or booked a whole ass hotel while going stir crazy because I couldn’t leave someone else’s house without waking them up.

I know mom would have supported me. That I did what I had to do to be a pleasant human.

That I did things that scare me.

I would never have done any of it. Now I have. And I can’t wait to do it again.