Caterwauling

I wasn’t going to say anything about Brock “the Rapist” Turner. But then I read Joe Biden’s statement and I got all weepy and shit. 

I’ve always said I’ve been very lucky. At best, my experiences have been mind-blowing. At worst, forgettable. They’ve ranged the gamut from weird to embarrassing to filled with bruises from falling off furniture. It’s all good. 

But there was one. 

Not that I would classify it as “that word.” But he was way way stronger than me. Wanted it way more. Was already showing signs of becoming a problem. 

My deal with myself was simple. Go with it. Stay in control. TAKE control. And change my address and phone number as soon as humanly possible. 

I left it at that and I leave it at that. I am blessed that I never ran into trouble on my drunkest nights. 

I’m thrilled to have plenty of stories, all of them with — ahem — happy endings. 

But I can’t say I’m unfamiliar with looking for the exits. Calculating my strength vs his. Wondering if I had said or done something wrong … Or what would happen if I did. 

It would be a few years before my slutty phase would end. But I’ve never quite forgotten to assess the situation properly. To think about where my phone is or my keys. To keep one eye half-open. You know. Just in case. 

Of course, if you know me — I mean know me — you know I mapped my way to the exit before the lights went out. 

It goes back to an old family saying. It’s been fun but I’ve got to run. 

That all said, I’m so glad we are having a national conversation about this. The only thing that girl was “asking for” was a hangover. The three months in jail Brock Turner got from a probably paid-off judge is an insult to womankind. 

But the moment of pause it gives to generations of young men? More than we all could have hoped for. And if it gives a kick in the mental nuts of the men we used to know, even better. 

I don’t get too personal with people. I mean, sure, I get personal HERE. But when people start asking me about movies and TV shows they watch, I got nothin’. Haven’t seen ’em. Not my cuppa tea. Even if I wanted it to be, my entertainment budget is far less.

They talk about having blood and sorority siblings, or workout routines, or whatever they’re into … and I still got nothin’. Husbands, kids, play dates, fancy trips — nope.

Sorry I bore you by simply existing here. I would bore myself if I thought that hard about it.

I do try to talk politics, because that’s my love, and their eyes glaze over. Either that or I get a dissertation on my candidates (yes I follow more than the presidential election). And I just want to put a foot up someone’s ass.

I hate feeling like there’s nowhere I belong.

But then I just got off a short, 15-minute call with the Hillary Clinton volunteer organizers. And Hillary herself got on. And I felt so … where I belong.

Granted, I hate talking to people in person. What the campaign needs most — people to get the message out — is what gives me the biggest anxiety ever.

Talking to people who might get it but who probably never will. Talking to people IN GENERAL. That’s why I became a writer, yo. It’s why I edit others. Thinking on one’s feet is a talent best reserved for the politicians themselves.

It’s weird. I finally found my homeys. And I have the chance to embrace them and be embraced. But what will our heroine do, and will she ever not just find her home but also enter it?

Not my favorite week. Not my favorite anything right now.

But then this IM helped to take my spiritual cup from near-empty to more than half-full …

I also got lunch at my favorite place.

So while the shitpile is deep, I have a little more energy to keep digging. If only the Benadryl would wear off …

What I wouldn’t give to have an opportunity of the present day, coupled with the resources of yesteryear. 

Who knew I would miss my laptop,  trading account and ability to watch CNBC so much …

Wondering if I threw away my chance to be something. And if I’ll ever get another. 

My girl is officially the Democratic nominee. 

Dreams can come true. You just have to have them first. Then you can move on to bigger ones.

I wasn’t in Brooklyn tonight. I would have been. No plans to go now. 

But that’s ok. I got to watch history be made on TV. And I thought of my fellow Palm Beach supporters. Especially that good-looking guy I had a drink with at Mellow Mushroom. 🙂

It didn’t start out as a good day. But life is so much bigger than the eight+ hours that led up to now. 

And I may not sleep tonight. But right now, I feel like tomorrow — a lot of tomorrows — have the potential to be so much better. 

Here’s to eight years of waiting for this moment. And eight more to come. 

Atta girl, Hills. Atta girl. 

Worried for my job today. Hoping I don’t have to use the Facebook status I used last time around anytime soon …

This message is to all the wives and girlfriends who come for me on Faceypages. 

The ones who won’t let their men like or comment on my stuff anymore. 

The bitches who jump up my ass when I like or comment. 

The ones who have their claws so deep in the man they were lucky to get, I can’t even be witty  or semi-flirty to give them an ego boost that a Good catch like me takes them seriously. 

I wonder if these guys notice that all their old friends are going away. Or if they just make new friends to replace us. 

Fought with the landlord’s new girlfriend over text all weekend. I cannot believe how much they insult me and my intelligence. Horrid, wretched people.

I was up half the night worrying about work too. The upstairs neighbor was actually quiet for a change. And I still barely slept.

But I’m focusing on the positive. A problem that was created got solved. I won’t think about the other 98 problems I have to solve/help solve.

I got to thinking about the Weight Watchers “Connect” app. I watch people brag that they ate a whole cake but they tracked it and they will be better tomorrow.

I was thinking about it because of a big problem that I didn’t create, didn’t solve and didn’t even handle. And it’s giving me an ulcer.

Someone asked about it and my mental response was “well good riddance” and I thought about those “I ate the WHOLE CAKE AND LOVED IT MMMM MMMMMMMMM” people. They make jokes where they are not appropriate.

I mean yes, eat what you want, be honest about it in your tracker and promise yourself to do better the next meal/day. Fine.

But don’t be a dick about it.

I mean yes, I have to own my fuckups (even if I don’t fully believe they were within my control). Take control. Apologize. Fix it. Ask for help in fixing it. And if you don’t get it, fix it anyway. (This is where I fell down on the job. I didn’t “fix it anyway.” Because I have no idea how.)

But where I kind of look down my British nose at the people who proudly binge-ate is that this is a lifestyle, eating right. You know what I want to do when I eat cake? EAT MORE CAKE. So I cannot eat cake. It’s that simple.

I can’t snack anymore either. I don’t buy them. Because I will Hoover them in. I can’t open a bag of chips — even sea salt kale or quinoa chips — without DEMOLISHING them. So, no chips in Goddess’ world unless I know I will destroy the bag and will have to give up something else that’s delicious because of it.

Anyway, only I could try to relate food to work. But yeah. I binge on work too. Maybe not on all the right things. I know I give way more attention to certain things (like 10 Cherry Tomatoes Short of a Salad) and not to OMG This Thing is On Fire (sung in the tune of Alicia Keys). And the trade-off is my health. Ergo, wine for dinner and health problems galore.

In any event. The handbasket awaits. And of course there’s no gas in it because this is me we’re talking about!

Since that’s how much lighter I am after losing my mind this week. 

Kitty looks at the scale on weigh-in Saturdays. I love seeing her little head in this pic. 

I take the pic so I remember to add it to my WW app. Which is looking better than I thought it would today, TBH …