Caterwauling

There. I said it.

It’s the day that the VA Hospital in Pittsburgh murdered my grandfather. It’s the day that would have been his and my grandmother’s anniversary (married in 1950!).

This year it’s a day that my heart is all over the place for so many reasons. Actually I’ve kind of been weepy all week. I mean, even Publix commercials are making me cry.

Of course, I know it’s no Eat ‘n Park star commercial. But wouldn’t this destroy you just a little too?

And don’t get me started on last year’s “Christmas Visitor” commercial. I wish it was my grandfather coming to dinner …

I was at a lunch recently with some industry types who decided their “dream team” would be the three of them.

They all run big departments at different companies. So they think they would make the awesomest team because they all do different things well.

Fuck that. You bitches have never seen the Three Mouseketeers in action.

THAT is the industry standard.

My other two Mouseketeers and I are THE SHIT. We built this city on rock and roll and we MADE THAT MUSIC. Formed the band, designed the T-shirts, took the show on the road, sold the tickets, rallied the communities and ROCK THE SHIT OUT OF PEOPLE’S WORLDS.

So yeah, everyone else go take a nice little lunch. We got this. *I* got this.

Always have, and apparently always will.

I arrived at work at the same time as my two cute, skinny blonde colleagues. There’s a guy who hangs out on our corner and he always greets us cheerfully when we are by ourselves.

I always get, “Heeyyy Baby!” Today he looked at all three of us and said, “Heeyyyyy Ladies! I like you all but that one right there’s my Baby!”

I suppose I should be honored. 🙂

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Had a fun all-day playdate with my so very awesome team.

And yet, while I had all my favorite boys (and girls!) in the same room today … it wasn’t perfect.

I’m working on something now (it is 12-motherfucking-24 A-goddamned-M) that was supposed to have been completed before it got to me.

And like everything else, it’s missing (or includes botched and/or inconsistent) key elements that I have repeatedly asked for.

I’m thinking to STFU now and direct you to the amazing blog over at Hyperbole and a Half about her Simple Dog.

And there ain’t no hyperbole here at 12:24 a.m. Just sorrow. And Advil.

Another day of ruling the world with an iron fist … and trying not to punch myself in the face with it. Or anyone else’s.

I got to thinking about hugs. (Because, needed.) Although I grew up with an affectionate mom and grandfather, I was anti-hug most of my life.

One of my boys called himself a Sap Monster. He was the emotional and thoughtful and affectionate one. Me, not so much.

He lived for hugs and all that went with them. Me, yeah. I was not his match there. I’m more of the, “Hole. Fill it” type.

Cuddling? Enh. I didn’t know guys were into that. So I never thought much about it up to that point.

He didn’t give up on me, though. He comes in and out of my life. In some ways, I am so much tougher than when we met. But in many other ways, I am also much softer.

I never give him the credit he deserves for that. Or maybe the shit instead of the credit. 🙂 After all, ain’t nobody got time for this “needing to collapse against someone and being able to let it be their problem for 10 minutes” crap, after all.

I realized just a few moments ago that I never put down my burdens because I have to be the one to pick them back up again. Why lose momentum, I say.

But right about now, I wouldn’t mind being able to regroup and gain some strength back.

It’s like when I heard a saying in high school — that maybe I wouldn’t be so against people sending flowers if I happened to get some every once in a while.

I guess that’s true with hugs. Although whether it’s hugs or flowers … I wouldn’t say no to either. Now or any day.

Clearly I need to go buy myself a flower.

Notwithstanding my earlier entry and the men who made it possible, but I’ve spent the last two hours exploiting the Buddha of Boca, the Oracle of Wisconsin and the Sage of San Diego’s contempt for each other and turning it into comedy gold.

I really should found an adoption agency for demon children.

1. Was up at 5 a.m. finishing today’s e-zine.

2. Moved on to the regular morning projects at 7 a.m.

3. Conference call / commute at 8:30 a.m.

4. 9 a.m. dentist.

5. 10 a.m. conference call.

Note that I am missing for less than an hour, between items 4 and 5.

IN THAT TIME …

A.) Editor who knows better sends wrong and half-assed copy.

B.) The kid knows enough to know that the copy is wrong and half-assed and seeks clarification from editor. (GOOD)

C.) Editor says go with it. Editor does not realize copy was wrong and half-assed.

D.) Kid asks me in front of 10 other people on the call if he should proceed with half-assed alert. I say yes and we can always publish a clarification.

E.) You just KNOW I cursed myself into having to write/publish a clarification, right?

F.) I see wrong and half-assed copy that has now gone LIVE and I say to editor, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

G.) Editor sends revised copy three times, which I do not receive because of profanity and spam filter.

H.) I rewrite copy and test it out.

I.) I find big FUCKING mistake in original copy too. On top of its incoherence.

J.) I make MAGIC, people.

K.) Editor says hey, my e-mails are bouncing back.

L.) Tech sends me the trapped e-mails. Which weren’t as good as the copy I wrote anyway.

M.) I instill terror in all parties involved.

N.) I also inflict terror on others.

O.) And I now have a formal policy in place for MAKING SURE THIS SHIT NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.

First one to ask me where something is that I haven’t finished in the past eight months can feel free to wander off an open drawbridge right about now.

Actually I am happy. People only learn in crisis. Here it is, bitches.

If I could have done anything different, I wish I would have told the kid to contact my friendly not-sidekick. They would have figured it out together.

Alas, I got the chance to save the day. And THAT, my friends, is about the only thing I am good at. Well, beyond occasionally messing it up in the first place!

That moment when you’ve worked Sunday night and got up early Monday to work more and you still probably have to move your dentist appointment that starts at 9:15 because A) still busy/what health? and B) could you honestly count on this money-hungry dentist to fix your broken toof in the hour (and only one hour) you have to spare without trying to upsell you all the while?

Turned out to be a good weekend after all.

Friday night’s bonfire wasn’t wondrous thanks to my attitude. But I spent Saturday in Miami and Saturday night experiencing “snow” Florida-style (and I was relieved of babysitting duties Saturday night). And boy did that help.

Sunday … ah Sunday. 🙂

Babysitting resumed later in the day and Mom caught me rapid-fire texting with a devilish grin and rosy red cheeks. She said, “Jeez, can’t I at least get a Sunday without you being on the phone?”

I said you got the last eight years of my life. You got every Saturday. Every Sunday. Every week. Every DAY save for three outings I managed to have in the last three-quarters of a decade. So, put a cork in it, lady.

She didn’t mean to be mean, and neither did I. But when you think about it, everything I do is for *us* — whether it’s to bring in money or to keep the peace or to keep her happy and as alive as I can.

The keeping ME alive portion of our program is usually missing. And for one shining moment in history, right now it isn’t. And I need everyone — EVERYONE — to be OK with that. Most of all, me.