Caterwauling

You know you live in hell when you can hear — over the pounding and screaming upstairs — the bitch’s dog across the lake. You know, the bitch who chased you with her un-leashed mongrels and spat at you how FRIENDLY they are.

The homely bitch and her fat friend sit on a bench that looks right at my balcony. Diiiiieeeeeee.

So a typical day now is that all six of their dogs (are they multiplying?) bark constantly and chase other people’s animals that ARE on leashes as they walked by. And yes I can hear it.

The fat bitch wears a black baseball cap with “NRA” on it. So, great, she’s a member of the NRA or, as I call it, the anti-MENSA.

Bet those assholes will vote for Marco Rubio too. Or maybe one will cancel out the other’s vote with a Ted Cruz nod.

Either way, I was surrounded by mean bullies in high school and thought those days were done. Not so much.

I’m beginning to think it’s time to talk to my boss about letting me move to the Gulf Coast. Or to the Amalfi Coast. (Much better idea.) I’m failing to find intelligent life on the Treasure Coast and frankly I’m tired of trying.

Till then, the cat and I are praying the fuqrs upstairs pack their noisy fucking kids in a box and forget to poke air holes in it. Pack up, bitches.

Woke up early to do my usual early-Monday work.

Got it done more quickly than usual and went back to bed.

Had a weird dream where people were talking in a horrible Island accent. I said to the person in the dream, “You sound like my neighbors.”

Turns out, Big Giant Pussy was upstairs yelling, “Fuck.” So I just heard him, was all.

Speaking of this dump, in addition to no more wildlife in our lake, they must have also poisoned the streams that run through this place too. Wonder if that taco-eating sonofabitch poisoned the canals too, or whether the ducks are hiding there.

I’ve seen three or four rogue ducks. I want to feed them but I also don’t want to keep them in harm’s way. So I returned the 20-pound bag of seed I’d bought a week ago to the store.

Then we woke up today to see our squirrel who lives in the palm tree outside my window was dead. He was run over by a skateboard.

The only thing left is a little black kitty who loves me and follows me around. If anything happens to him, I’m not sure I won’t torch the joint.

When I was leaving Palm Beach, my rich New York neighbor heard where I was going and he said, “And you thought this place was a dump. That town is filled with derelicts.”

And I said, “My new place costs almost the same. I didn’t go low-end. How bad could it be?”

Well, hahahahahahahhaa. Joke’s on me. Like always.

Thundercunt and Big Giant Pussy were arguing as usual this morning until he stopped, walked outside and asked where the ducks were.

Let me tell you about that.

Yesterday some yahoo in a golf cart filled with yucky blue solution went all around the pond and dumped that toxic shit into it.

One duck who was hanging out in the marsh dared to squawk in complaint. And that motherfucker beamed the spray right at her little beak and silenced her with a wave of chemicals.

  
I didn’t want to believe it was toxic. But we have a ball player here who takes two tennis balls to the lake every day with his dog. He clearly didn’t see the polluting of the lake like we did. So when he threw a ball to the water per usual and the dog stopped just shy of it and retreated, our fears were confirmed.

There is not a duck, turtle, iguana or bird to be found on the property today.

I couldn’t sleep last night. The silence (of the real animals, not the zoo animals upstairs) was killing me.

I know that the Bible says that no weapon formed against us will ever prosper. But they sure do seem to kill everything we love.

Today all the ugly dogs are running around off-leash, shitting with abandon where the ducks used to congregate all “City of Angels”-style.

Many times over the eight years that mom has lived in my house, I’ve told her no decorating outside. No welcome shit on the doors. No doormats. None. Personalize it inside all you want. Just … don’t invite people to steal our joy.

I thought she learned that lesson at Amityville, when we were told not to decorate our doors or balconies.

When people know it’s a happy home, they will do everything to target it with their own miserable little hearts.

It’s the same thing with being a happy person. I’ve endured more than my share of bullies and jerks who hate it that I can smile and sing under my breath no matter what’s happening.

But as I’ve said the last eight years, I can’t buoy us both. She’s so down and depressed by everything in her life plus the taking away of the little joys like enjoying nature.

I’ve been chirping away for 40-odd years that we have to speak favor into existence. Give thanks for our health and safety. Believe our God is bigger than the bullshit.

We are falling down on the job of believing that the rewards will be bigger because of the bullshit. I guess we’ve seen otherwise too many times.

I guess if I have one prayer today, it’s that the ducks could somehow understand our own safety was in jeopardy for feeding them. I pray that they found other sources of food and other, safer places to congregate before they were poisoned.

I remember feeding the neighborhood kitties and getting in trouble for that. Then Animal Control took them all away and exterminated them.

Mom and I love the unloved. And they are all taken away from us.

She said we just shouldn’t love anymore.

I know I should fight it and say no, we will keep on spreading joy wherever we can.

But I’m tired of fighting and never winning.

I just wish the other people in this goddamned apartment building would stop fighting. But then again, they all seem to win. And none of them is on the side of goodness like we try to be.

Maybe if I start doing evil, I’ll start winning too.

Too bad I am not the slightest bit capable of it.

Was up all night. Between Thundercunt screaming and then the ducks quacking all night long, it was tough to sleep. 

I thought all night about feeding the ducks. But if I could hear them, so could the duck-kickers. 

And I thought long and hard about whether to reward their cute, soothing ducky sounds … Or risking being attacked by entitled bitches who probably terrorize everyone and everything they encounter. 

I don’t know how these nervy bitches haven’t reported or confronted Thundercunt. They must live in a different part of the building because everyone over here knows her deal. 

Speaking of, crackheads just woke up. That bitch best be packing and getting her nasty ass outta here. Because that 16 days might be dragging for me but it should be flying for her. 

Thundercunt has been hollering for an hour. It’s 11:16 p.m. 

Not sure whether mom or I will have the nervous breakdown first. But it’s coming. 

Yams. 

I’m probably going to stop this countdown because Thundercunt is officially the least of my worries at that goddamned dump I call home.

I got brave early this morning and wanted to go feed the ducks.

Honestly, if you’ve seen “City of Angels” and you see the angels lined up on the beach at sunrise, this is exactly the scene at my house. Which was the one thing we loved about it.

So I walk out, look both ways … and see one of the bitches who reported me. With unleashed dogs. Right by the ducks.

I know I shouldn’t have reacted. But I threw my hands up in the air and probably dropped an F-bomb. Then I started walking really fast around our lake.

I kept looking over my shoulder, thinking the bitch would have gone inside since she never hauls her homely ass around the lake. Nope. Not today.

She followed me more than halfway around the lake. I kept looking back and she was hot on my heels.

At our gazebo, I saw a hot guy and he said hello. And I got brave.

I turned around and walked back the way I came from. I wasn’t gonna let this duck-kicking bitch stalk me.

She stopped me and snapped at me.

She said why do I keep looking back at her.

I said I always look back when I’m walking. I want to be safe.

She said she saw me throw up my hands and shoot her looks. I said your dogs are unleashed and I am afraid and I don’t have to hang around and be near them.

She said she’s never seen me before and I’m acting “all shady” toward her. I said, “What’s it to you?”

She said her dogs are friendly. I said “Great. And I’m shady. Good to know.”

And I walked away.

She walked around to the entrance I came out of. I saw her waiting and I beelined to another one and managed to get home without further incident.

I saw her texting someone — ostensibly her fat friend with the three big ugly dogs. And sure enough, the bitches joined up at my entrance that’s under my balcony. Unleashed dogs and all.

So someone needs to explain to me how the ducks deserve to be kicked and I deserve to be stalked/confronted/bullied for walking outside my front door. (And no, no duckies were fed because of this drama.)

But these bitches can let their dogs roam free.

The fat bitch’s new trick is to leash the dogs and then drop the leash to let them run at the ducks.

I know we are spending way too much time and sanity on this. But no one stood up for my great-grandmother in the hospital. Or my grandmother. Or my grandfather. No one follows through on any promises to help me help my mom.

So that I want to advocate for a handful of beautiful, kind, sweet and quiet little creatures having some food … I am the target of a witch hunt?!?!

I’m going to go out there every day with my big purse and pretend I’m doing something shady. Seriously. I got exercise and she got angry. Which seems like a pretty OK outcome to me.

I just hope she doesn’t sic those ugly mongrels on Mom. She knows where I live and I don’t know where to find her. Which is a very unfair advantage she has.

But here’s to hoping that life, in all its inherent unfairness, evens things out on this one.

I snuck a little food to the ducks in the dead of night last night. I walked downstairs and hid where no one could see me.

I couldn’t give them much — just a few handfuls to the 10 ducks who were standing there with hope in their little hearts. Then some fuckwad with a dog came upon me and I ran for the hills.

Mom was watching from the balcony. Other ducks saw their friends eating and flew over the lake to come for food. But I was gone.

This is so sad. I mean, we couldn’t feed them all and we certainly couldn’t feed them around the clock for a long period of time like she was doing.

But it breaks our hearts that they are staying so loyal to us that they just KNOW we are going to come through somehow. When … we just can’t.

The fat bitch and homely bitch stop by every day and let their unleashed asshole dogs rush at the ducks. They fly to the water and come back onto our grass when the bitches finally leave. The bitches loud-talk and bitch about everyone in the community, including us.

It was so nice having nature sounds. Now this is absolute bullshit. Fuck them. I hope when they are dying in a bed and starving because they can’t reach their dinner like my grandfather at the VA Hospital in Aspinwall (may it burn to the ground), I hope nobody throws them a crumb either.

Fruity Patootie (another duck-hater except when he’s taking selfies with them — I always say he has a selfie stick up his ass) brought his asshole dog by and didn’t clean up her shit as usual.

Fuck all.

I’m so mad I don’t even notice the assclowns upstairs anymore. Well, not as much as I used to.

The highlight of last night ended up being Thundercunt punching Big Giant Pussy out in the hallway for everyone to see and hear.

That and an awesome Democratic primary debate.

You can tell they must be illiterate upstairs if they are too busy fighting to, I dunno, gather information on the possible future leader(s) of the country. (I smell a Hillary/O’Malley ticket, although I did finally feel the Bern for the first time last night.)

Unrelated, I heard a secondhand hello from an old travel buddy from Ye Olde Employment Establishment.

I noticed two fellow former minion types got to attend an event in an exotic place. At first it surprised me that the usual suspects gave up their spot so others could enjoy it. But then I realized, that’s just the culture of that place.

Years ago, my boss surprised me by sending me to Aspen. My then-boss is a very avid skier. So to send my afraid-of-everything, klutzy ass, was … perplexing.

He said he wanted to but he felt like I could use some bonding time with the speakers at the event.

I loved it.

I’ve always had the travel bug, but that’s when it bit me hard. And my restless soul has never been the same since.

So, when I heard that two people like me — one of whom I used to travel with at least four times a year — got to sit at the big kids’ table, I felt a little twinge of happiness.

I mean, most of us are gone from there. At least, most of the good ones, including my old boss. But I love, love, love that the culture he helped to build has stayed intact … and even the little guys get a shot at sharing the perks.

Amazing, that.

Most people come home from work and relax. 

I come home to Thundercunt going ballistic (she still is). On top of that, the fat blonde bitch who reported me now has four big ugly dogs (it’s been two). And while they do have leashes, she dropped the leashes and let them attack our now-starved ducks. 

The ducks won’t leave. I wish they would. They are getting hurt. 

And ask me how much we just love hearing dogs fighting instead of ducks quacking. 

I hope this place burns to the fucking ground. 

The ducks have been lined up upside, quacking their little hearts out, for the past 20 hours.

They’re starving. They’re always hungry. No wonder they became loyal visitors for the human who had the time and resources to feed them all day. (Mom’s time, my credit card.)

The duck-kicking cunt walked by a few times and ran into the throng of birds, screaming “Shoo!”

But then they came right back. We never failed them. Till now. 

Besides, Bitch got enough screaming going on right now upstairs to last me 10 lifetimes. Oh and it’s six a freaking m. I’ve hit my quota on selfish screaming birches, thanks. 

Mom cried all night. I offered to take seed downstairs in the dark but it’s not the same. These are her babies. The only joy in her pain-filled life. 

I dint think anyone would ever realize that they are the only things she sees all week. They get her outside. She is their goddess. 

They are kind and gentle and don’t harm or bother a soul. Just like her. 

This place is a joke. I hate it worse than the last one. “Shoo” bitch still hasn’t procured a leash for her dogs which — if I got my information right — attached a boy walking to school last week. 

But lo, you can beat your husband … Scream at your kids … Threaten your neighbors … Leave dog shit on the sidewalk to bake in the sun … Terrorize wildlife on the lake they lived on before this brand-new dump was ever built … But don’t show an ounce of kindness to God’s native creatures. 

I guess that’s a pretty fucking appropriate way to acknowledge  Columbus Day. 

I wonder if I can buy a dozen syphillis blankets on eBay.