Caterwauling

My cousin says she stalks me on the socials.

I mean, we text quite often. But she has said a few times she has no idea what I am up to unless she checks my accounts. Wonder if I should tell her about this page. It would be nice to have two readers.

She knows my posts are on a delay. But still, proof of life.

Finally she’s like can you just tell me what you are up to sometimes so I worry less.

I didn’t even realize. But she’s her mother’s daughter. Of course she cares.

I sent her my itinerary for 2025 and said “so, saving money is going about as well as you’d expect.”

Today I got to show her why I don’t tell anyone shit about my plans.

I am going to (redacted). It was going to be a personal trip but I found a conference in there. So, I’ll pay for it but I am not using PTO.

Which is stupid overall but I am buried in employee expense reports right now and I don’t even want to do my own.

In any event, months ago I told (college friend) I’d be in her town. She said what would you like to do and I gave her a list.

She said great, message me 2 or 3 weeks out when you know what you’re doing.

So a week ago she said hey you might want to make your reservations for restaurants now. Shit gon be crazy here with the two events you’re coming in for.

Well, dear reader, I’ve been trying to make reservations but (town) for some reason doesn’t take them till (xx) days out.

So I said OK, I am free (insert list of times over several days). The only can’t-miss thing is an exclusive party on Tuesday that a good friend got me into.

She writes back I waited as long as I could for you but I ended up RSVPing to all this other shit.

Meanwhile Kelly’s like hey what days, and did you get two beds at your hotel ‘cus I’m coming!

Look, I ain’t mad. I am free to make my reservations and whatnot. Honestly if I work the whole time, I only have two days to myself anyway.

But still, I told my cousin THIS is why I don’t say anything, Just pop into town and leave.

People get to say “Oh, I wish I’d known you were here!” without the discomfort of all of us knowing we would have never actually met up.

My friend Jimmy near LGA said that to me recently. Next time you’re in the boroughs, call me. We must hang out.

Jimmy and I dated for a minute in college. I loved him to pieces as a friend. But I threw up after he kissed me, so that sort of ended that.

We reconnected when I was in DC. One day I said hey I’ll take the Acela up there and let’s hang out.

Dude was the most pigmented ghost I’ve ever met after that.

Literally, I had a bag packed and everything but didn’t end up going,

So, sure, Jimmy. I will absolutely call you when I go see (xx).

I just won’t use a phone or socials.

Which is what the lesson appears to be in the first damn place. Stay away from all electronics till after you’re home.

Facebook Memories shows me that I saw Kenny Chesney at the Hard Rock Casino OTD last year.

Mom was bedbound by then. I hated leaving. We both hated that I had to forfeit my Tampa ticket to see him. So she said go and have fun.

I really had fun.

It was the last time Mom had her phone.

By this time, it was too heavy for her to hold. So it was crazy that she wanted it near her in case I called.

But, she wanted to be able to help me if I needed her.

I said I’d always need her.

Well. Fucking (phone brand) sent her an email today.

They are deleting her data because it hasn’t been accessed in 12 months.

Mother. Fuckers.

I have had her phones and chargers on her nightstand for 12 months.

Her job was Facebook. She curated thousands of images. She made the most creative posts.

She was the source of most of the memes that made Cindy whine loudest. (Not that she whined quietly.)

So that’s all going away.

Also, I didn’t tell anyone that she died. I told like two of her people, and at least two months after she was gone.

I want to think I properly grieved. I didn’t have to deal with relatives or other phony balonies.

But who knows who’s texted, looking for her.

I mean, I have a very good idea.

Not that I care about any of them. But it’s going to break me, seeing the messages I know await.

I had told the two friends, text all you want. I am not reading. I text her all the damn time. It helps. Try it.

I am not planning to read those. But I will not rule out NOT seeing something to make me cry.

I was always planning to log in eventually. Just not here at the Mother’s Day, my birthday and her death day Bermuda Triangle.

Of course, everything else is a mess. Why not add this to it.

I just read a post from a veterinarian.

She said someone brought in a cat who “wasn’t acting like herself.”

The tests came out fine. But the owner was still concerned. And the vet did some more work.

Turns out the kitty had arthritis. So they treated it and kitty returned to sleeping on the hoomin’s bed.

Man did that cheese me off.

Cokie was bright eyed and sweet and loved to eat. No one would think she was suffering.

But she practically lived under my bed in her final year. Only came out for food, or if I sat on my bed.

My baby didn’t have any meat on her little bones. Belly has really strong thighs and Cokie had no muscle whatsoever there.

So, really, none of the four vets we saw was worth a good god damn.

No one could have loved a cat more than I loved Cocoa.

No one would have spent more money or tried harder to save her kiddo.

I guess I should be glad no one tried to sucker me out of more money.

I’d have gladly parted with it, for my babiest girl to have had better days.

I heard that someone who needed to die a long time ago has a cancerous brain tumor.

I would say this news brings me no joy.

But, I’d be lying.

He stole my TV, all my mom’s furniture and, for a while, my mom.

Then he ran back to the wife he had left.

And he said (to that charmer) that he wished she would die on the operating table when she went for bariatric surgery.

She didn’t.

I met her and I absolutely understand why he wanted her dead.

But what he did to my family, pfft.

Seriously. I wish him everything he deserves. Everything.

Going back to the wife he hated was just the start. And the universe realized it wasn’t enough.

What goes around, goes around, goes around
Comes all the way back around, yeah.

One of my witches said to list at least 20 practices that make you feel most alive.

It’s supposed to help you tap into your intuitive erotic.

What gives me power:

1. Dancing. Preferably to ’90s club music.

2. Traveling. I love exploring.

3. Manifesting meals out of random ingredients.

4. Inhaling my Old Spice air fresheners. My Dove Men’s deodorant. My sandalwood candles.

5. Singing the “Bye, Poo Poo” song when I toss the trash down the chute.

6. Charging tarot cards under a full moon. Except for yesterday when they were outside during a flood and tornado watch.

7. Singing. Loud.

8. Freebasing hot coffee.

9. Socializing. The soul never gets tired; just the body.

10. Drinking. I mostly gave it up for Lent. Jim and Kelly said oh shit, now you’re gonna get into heaven even though you don’t want to!

11. Meditating. The psychic flashes I get when I’m “in it,” wow!

12. Blogging.

13. Seeing a Robin or other bird, cat or critter approach me because they know I’m friendly. Communing with nature in general.

14. Ruining Cindy’s day by just existing. Keep watching, Goobaru.

15. Surfing Expedia. Planning trips in general. Better than booze.

16. Dressing up. Knowing I look good, girl.

17. Plotting the government’s demise.

18. Eating! How did that fall so far down the list. Fat girl loves to eat. Even healthy food.

19. Disney Adulting.

20. Driving. Not in Florida.

I never tell anyone when I’m dating someone.

Usually I pop off with some random comment during some random conversation. Long after it’s been over.

Like one night at City Cellar, K mentioned “Chop.” How all the girls just swooned over this dude and wanted to date him.

I said yeah, we made out. She nodded.

I said, “Naked.”

She’s like damn who haven’t you fucked in our industry.

Like, well, I can name a few.

Anyway, the other night we got to talking about someone.

I must have rolled my eyes.

She said, “Did he have a big dick, at least?”

I said oh yeah. His best quality.

I went back to my blueberry mojito and thought about the fun I had with that guy.

But what I didn’t say was the pain that went with him.

And not just emotional.

“You wanna fuck me right now
You wanna see me on my knees
You wanna rip these clothes off
And hurt me.”

I’ve known a few guys who got off on trying to hurt me. Emotionally and/or physically.

I don’t think that was his intent, the guy we were discussing with the big dick. But it was a pleasant byproduct.

“Black leather and dark glasses
Pouring another while I shake my ass
He’s cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed.”

My entire problem with him was one it took me a while to pinpoint.

And that was he was just a drunk.

Same with Chop. I mean, I hear he got sober or some shit. Which, that’s probably a good idea.

I met another one of those recently. Very recently. Not in recovery, but someone who simply enjoys a good drink or six.

They aren’t bad guys. They aren’t incels, or at least not what we think of them.

They just like their booze. More than company. And, even, more than female company.

The recent one makes me sad, really. He’s so nice, he would actually make a good partner. Thinks ahead. Is a good human. Knows how to vote. Respects the shit out of women.

Would probably let me go out dancing and drinking without batting an eye.

But what I learned from Big Dick is any man who’s OK without you … is OK without you.

And you’re better than OK without him.

I knew today (Mother’s Day) would be hard. My first without my Momma.

Last year wasn’t so great either. It was pretty evident that I was lucky she was still here.

For her part, Momma was taking it a day at a time.

Trying to live for me to attend a concert.

For Mother’s Day.

For my birthday.

For the end of May so she’d get one last Social Security check.

Then … she could let go.

She died on Father’s Day.

For my part (this year), I’m grateful that I was busy for 10 straight days.

Had all the colleagues and many of the subscribers in town for the past week. And other invited pests. I mean guests.

Someone (who annoys me) referred to me at our work conference as “The Editor Mother.”

That made me kind of happy.

After all, I’ve always said who needs biological children when I supervise 25 grown men.

This year, that list of supervisees also includes five grown women.

I cried a lot this week.

(But I am so productive, IT’S AN ART.)

No wonder, really.

In addition to getting my team all in one place for the first time…

I saw friends I hadn’t seen since before the plague.

I helped hire and or train a lot of the others since the plague.

So no only was I having people run up to me left and right with handshakes and hugs, I was feeling the love.

At the employees-only event, I had two tiny gifts for people. Like valued at a very nominal amount.

But they cherished those because those came from me.

I was surprised when OTHER people came armed with gifts for me.

My Japan team, who Martin and I picked up from the airport last Friday, had a gift for me.

So did my beloved friend from Miami, who was raised by my beloved friends Eva and Cindy, who were fired by the one who called me The Editor Mother.

The one who called me that name loves me for some reason. Or maybe it’s strategic. Not sure, honestly.

The friend in me resents the reason for my friends’ firing. Not just the invented reasons that were sold to my superiors, but the real reason none of us talk about. (Cough, strategic.)

Then this person who rubs me wrong psychically was always rubbing my shoulders and back physically in person.

I was unhappy AF about that.

I loved hugging my people.

And I have a LOT of people.

But having this spook slither up to me at every available opportunity was a BIG boundary violation.

Also I have had friends who reported harassment (at other companies) become the ones punished.

So i ain’t sayin’ shit unless I hear that I was somehow unfriendly to them.

Which is why I am documenting it.

Momma always called me a touch-me-not because I am not a hugger.

This week, I had to put myself in a space to do that with people I adore.

I was fine with the first hug from Touchy (not pictured anywhere) but not the “walking up and whispering in my ear while I sat in the back row about shit that they did not to be whispering to me about” shit.

That is another fucking story. I would and do choose the others.

I mean, wouldn’t you?

Touchy reports to Don’t Treadmill on Me. Who I have done a lot of inner work to make peace with.

We will never be besties, but I can still respect what they bring to the company.

I also understand that what bugs me most about them is their lack of some of the positives that I bring.

It’s complex, obviously.

But, losing Momma — who hated people on my behalf — taught me that my rage needs to die, too.

My unhappiness at select people took up energy that should have been positive.

Energy that should have been spent on mom in a more positive way.

Good vibes that should have replaced the absolute maelstrom of murderous rage she had to witness and feel instead.

Now, I don’t think Touchy was trying to make me uncomfortable. We all need connection and I provide it verbally.

Still, I’m hoping they got the hint when I squirmed well out of arm’s reach a few times.

I was also quite cognizant of BoUnDaRiEs during my many social outings this week.

Which is why I have a million photos I will never post anywhere.

Also why I made sure not to stand too close to a certain person so the wretch in their house wouldn’t make their life any worse.

I wouldn’t want the temptation of remembering any of their 17 antisocial accounts to watch that big beautiful meltdown.

Thank god my staff was either oblivious to or, more likely, too polite to admit if they noticed any unusual dynamics.

I averaged maybe two hours of sleep a night because I was out with my team from 7 am to 3 am.

One thing I learned was that chronologically, I am older than most of them.

But mentally and physically, I am the youngest one there.

I liked that feeling.

Aside: My Justin Hartley lookalike is hot!

I was dancing and talking and physically running circles around everyone.

I nearly kept up with the one who could drink the most. But I remember the last time I did that, with “Chop” at my other job, and we ended up drunk and naked.

So I’m happy to say none of that nonsense happened here, despite not having an ounce of food available other than the snacks I had stuffed into my purse.

That said, I barely paid for a drink all weekend.

My girl K flew into town and I’ve always said she’s my best date. Nice meals, nice trips, great conversation.

Our mutual friend came into town, and he’s my second best date — I found (and failed to enact) brand-new ways to hand him cash for all the drinks of mine he bought.

It was nice to reconnect with them. Honestly to also meet him after being his freelance boss since 2014. Damn right I hired him full time when I could two years ago!

I was also ticked to connect with other people I only see in a 1-inch-by-1-inch video screen on Teams.

And to meet people who were THRILLED to meet me in person after hearing me yap on Teams every week.

And of course to meet/re-meet people who “I” am thrilled to know.

I loved making people laugh. They were moved when they made me cry.

So many of my pics were of me crying,

Happy tears.

Like, my heart was so full.

I hope my superior (not Martin, because he knows) understands that yeah I’m a great editor and pretty good writer. But I am social AF. You can put me in a dress and shove me in a room and I will be the happiest person in it.

So if/when they aren’t thrilled with me, for whatever reason, they recognize that I am building relationships FOR them.

That what I wrote/published after the event was my poem to the relationships I built on their behalf.

That, just like DTOM lacks my social skills but is great at fighting overcharges and otherwise ruining bad people’s days, making people happy is also a skill that’s valuable to the firm.

I think it’s all good. It’s nice to be (mostly) free to be me.

There’s a new guy at work who messaged me last night (Friday) as I was leaving the house to go out.

It’s now Saturday morning and he’s telling me it’s urgent.

Bitch, you ask me for something when I’m going out drinking and you ask again when I am still hung over from that drinking, you ain’t getting shit.

I do have plans to work this weekend. But your “I have a deadline” means nothing when I am drinking to recover from MY deadlines.

My big boss (who as we know I love and have worked for, for like 14 years now) is on his way to today’s events he thinks I should be invited to but that Don’t Treadmill on Me doesn’t invite me to.

I mean honestly this is the first year in three that I got invited to the main event. Not that you can keep me out, obviously. But, I’m just gonna be grateful this year.

I did say you know DToM — this is not me sitting home of my own accord.

He said he gets it.

He had called to thank me for going with him on Friday to greet our Japanese colleagues at the airport. Which was awesome. So awesome. I loved it and I said so.

I also said thank you for giving me a unique experience.

He hadn’t thought of that, and he thinks of everything. He laughed and said, “That’s right! You are the only one I invited to come out. They were so surprised and pleased for their special welcome. And you’re the only one who got to have that experience.”

NGL, I was feeling a way this morning as my entire team messaged me for the third year in a row, “Why isn’t there a place setting for you, our boss?!”

But my salt turned to sweetness to remember that the only person whose opinion matters to me, sees my worth. And appreciates me for it.

I’m apparently a medium.

Well, I mean I’m an L or XL in juniors’ clothing, as I refuse to dress my size or my age.

But after psychic development and mediumship class today, I surprised even me.

I was wildly bummed that, even after the teacher telling me, “Your mom is in the room with us,” no one got a message from her to give to me.

Now, I was tickled that Cocoa (!) came through. I had her whisker, claw and fur patch in my purse.

So did my Aunt Lenna, my favorite great-aunt who passed in ’98. I literally JUST found her crystal swan a few weeks ago and put it on my altar. My reader said she was just all around me, kissing me and saying love you love you.

And I’m pretty sure Sia came through too! My reader said the name was Sarah or Emily, both of which I have on the living side. But she said I just hear S and E and she’s younger and smaller than you but thinks you’re amazing. And I said yep that’s my Sia.

The reader did say someone cooked for you to show her love for you. She put that with Lenna, but that could easily have been Mom or Gram. Those were the two names I put down for “who do you want to hear most from.”

I was also asked if I know a Priscilla. I said no but maybe my last name? She said maybe. But after a few hours, it came to me — one of Mom’s nicknames (from her friend) was Prunella.

I had one of mom’s hot rollers in my purse. Her most cherished possession was her curlers. So I was ridiculously bummed that I walked out of there with no message from her.

And maybe that was made more intense by the fact that I heard from my biological father.

He’s living, and the reader called that. She said Thomas (!) regrets how he treated you. I made a face. She said you know what? It sounds like he didn’t get along with his mother, and he never knew how to get along with women because of it.

I shrugged and said no clue. My grandfather raised me, so give him the space to talk if he’s here.

She said fathers pass down their intellect to children.

I chortled. Don’t know much but I know he’s not a 100W LED bulb.

She said just because he doesn’t use it doesn’t mean he didn’t pass it to you from your shared ancestors.

She said look, light a candle for Thomas tonight and thank him for all the ancestors lined up behind you that came from his side.

Later, I asked mom’s friend if she knew if dipshit and Kay were close, but she wasn’t aware either way.

As for Cocoa, she came to me while we were meditating.

In the meditation, we met our higher selves. Oh my, that was a moment. I felt RELIEVED that my higher self accepted my lower self. We hugged.

It was in that hug that I noticed I was favoring my left side. I side-hugged my higher self with my left arm. I saw cosmos and my ancestors (honestly everyone but Mom) to my left. And I consciously thought, why am I not looking to my right?

While holding on to my higher self, I looked to my right. There was Cocoa, curled up in my right arm. My tiny girl. She squirmed with happiness that I saw her. She looked so bright and healthy.

I did not conjure that up. That’s all from my little trance state.

I was told I had to give a reading. The most experienced person in the room picked ME, the newb, to do it for her. (The reading I got came from her.)

I was wrong about just about everything I “saw.” I tried so hard to close my eyes and visualize. I free wrote (with my eyes closed), and all but the last page was a bust.

But that last page knocked her out of her chair.

For my own records, my reading improved when I opened my eyes and looked at her. And to her left and right. And I saw a man over one shoulder and a woman over the other. And lines of people behind them.

She didn’t seem impressed, just like well yeah I do shamanic things, you know that.

I said I’m sorry but I don’t follow you. I’m (redacted’s) friend and she didn’t tell me anything about anyone.

Her eyes lit up.

She said you saw the man over the correct shoulder and the woman over the correct shoulder. And I do an exercise every morning to call in and welcome and honor my ancestors. And they gather right where you pointed that you saw them.

Well holy shit.

I had another moment of being “in the know” when the teacher started to tell one of her many stories.

She mentioned Fast Eddie was his name. And I knew how the story would end (e.g., suicide) because I saw it flash before me.

She didn’t say how he did it. But I felt like I’d heard the story in that very room before.

Eventually she did say he passed violently and he never left that spot for 18 years, watching his young daughter grow up.

So much more to process. But that’s all my sad self can handle tonight.

My friend who invited me asked if Mom came through. I said no and burst into tears.

I had been in tears most of the four hours because I am an insane person.

Actually my reader said will you give up the damn apologizing and minimizing yourself. You are amazing and the only female director at your company (we don’t count what’s her name) and empathic and seeing spirits and you just spent 20 minutes explaining the stock market to me.

I told her I’ve been working on that.

She said were you told to sit around and look pretty?

I said no, my family was amazing. It’s being in the working world that’s broken me. I have someone who told me I talk too much.

And I don’t really value that opinion, because my people are well informed and also I know sometimes I say things that heal them or encourage them — without me knowing they need either.

She said next time that guy says you talk too much, ask him if that’s his unhealed relationship with his mother talking.

Hah!

She said you can still sit around and look pretty — while saying every damn thing on your mind. You can be pretty AND vocal, give yourself permission.

And we got into a 20 minute discussion about how we all have to teach people to use their intuition and raise their vibration so we can take down the fake ass patriarchy once and for all.

As there’s no God and no patriarchy on the other side. And for that matter the egg decides to open up and select which sperm it wants to take in.

And there’s evidence there was no Jesus anyway so fuck all these idiots who think they deserve the power when they all came from women so it’s got to be women to take them down.

Whew.

Speaking of (not) being vocal, my big boss had asked if I’m going to all the work-related events this weekend and next week.

I said I wasn’t invited (see: female director who doesn’t count) and he said well that’s interesting since YOU supervise almost everyone she invited.

I did tell said individual that Big Boss thinks I should be there for everything.

I could feel her stroke coming on so I said don’t worry, I made other plans.

These other plans (today) were SUCH an upgrade.

Amazing the types of spirits and meat suits you attract when you’re in your highest vibration. If people who’ve barely met me respect me far more than someone who SHOULD, well, my higher self and I will have fun far away from their low-vibrational self.