Caterwauling

I am really tired of having to care about everyone’s everything. It’s pretty clear they don’t want to know/care about mine.

Maybe I’m just upset that I could have left at 5 today — a rarity in and of itself — but a three-hour meeting ended that dream.

Maybe I’m upset that I just called India (i.e., Comcast) and talked to someone who makes Fifty First Dates seem like the smartest person on earth. (And no they didn’t fix my problem.)

Maybe I’m annoyed that two people are going on vacation tomorrow and I got a lecture that I need to train my people and trust them for me to take a day off. Because THAT isn’t an epic fail in progress.

(Thank you to the guy who tried to slip Goldman BallSachs through my editing filter today. I’d complain but it brought me some perverse joy. It’s the little things.)

I was reminded of the vacation to Paris I was promised that I turned down because, reality. I still haven’t taken a day off. And I’m losing two solid months of vacation on my anniversary date in two weeks.

So no actually I really don’t care about everybody’s everything. Or anybody’s anything. I just want something of my own that I’m not borrowing from someone else or otherwise having to lie to myself about to not think too hard about it.

I really am just out of fucks to give. I would hate everyone and their everything if I could be arsed to feign that much of an interest.

I can see from my drunk post from last night that I may be able to spell dirty things correctly in a text, but not a two-word title in a public blog.

In any event, last night was … a typical Goddess night out.

Any of you who have gone out with the REAL Goddess — not the sweet and kind and “oh, just one or two drinks GEE I have to get up early tomorrow” bastardized version of myself that I trot out in mixed company — will know that I met up with my old drinking buddies Mayhem, Destruction and the Devil Himself.

And we had a party.

No these aren’t the nicknames of my human drinking companions. Although they came out too. 🙂

All I can say is this. I could write about six episodes of “Sex and the City” after last night. I was always the Samantha of my group of friends at the time (because, easy) but I’ve turned into Carrie in my old age.

And I embrace my flawed and fucked-up glory even when I probably shouldn’t.

I’m calling it research. And not what it is — being 40 and daring and still the center of male attention when I walk into a booze-filled room … And making the most of it.

I will share one story from last night. But just one.

Spoken by the newest friend I made (third? fourth? It was all a blur) after I lost track of my friends at 4 a.m., “Wow, the ugly lights came on and you’re still gorgeous.”

I tend not to accept compliments too well from my suitors. Because I never can tell if they really do think I’m pretty or whether my eyes really are amazing, or whether they’re just trying to get into my pants.

I did not give Tyler my number. I told him I wouldn’t pick up. He gave me his and I said I’m not going to call. He seemed genuinely hurt. He cupped my face in his hands and said, “You’re married.” And he wouldn’t stop looking into my eyes.

I didn’t answer. I’m not, obviously. I just know what I want. And I didn’t think he could give it to me. I don’t know whether, in the ugly light of day, anyone can or will or even would.

I have many more stories that will make for some VERY good blog posts in five years when I am finally ready to talk about it all.

Today, however, is just not that day.

Well I have officially destroyed everyone and everything in my path.

“We’re just hanging around
Burnin’ it down
Sippin’ on some cold Jack Daniels
Jammin’ to some old Alabama with you baby
Laying right here naked in my bed.”

— Jason Aldean, “Burnin’ it Down”

I’d say sounds about right but it needs some fried pickles. Which is why he’s the hit songwriter and not me, obviously.

When people can’t follow a set of steps … the same set of steps … the same set of steps they have followed daily for three weeks …

When they forget the same steps every night …

Or remember a step after missing it three times but then forget another step …

And then ADD NONSENSICAL STEPS …

You have to wonder …

How do they get home at night? Honestly?

How do they get in their car, fire up the ignition, get out of their parking spot, find the freeway, remember their exit and REMEMBER THEIR HOUSE?

Mom said to pay attention to their clothing from day to day. Because they may not, in fact, make it home at all and could very well have missed the step where they exit the parking lot in the first place.

“If I can spell ‘orgasm’ correctly while I’m having one, you can hit spell check, motherfucker.”

Among many “awesome” things people do is to send me something completely late and then IM me, “Item Sent.”

I’m about to IM back, “Parade Thrown.”

Of course, that would imply, “Shit Given.” And I can’t have them thinking that!

You know it’s going to be a good day when you sneak in a song lyric to a horrific article that you made readable, and your favorite copywriter calls to tell you how absolutely awesome you are.

Just finished the Ceremonial Reading of the To-Do List (should I pen CRTDL as a “thing”?) and wondered whether anybody realizes that, for each thing I do tick off, there are about 47 steps behind each.

So, it’s nice when one of those little things you do to make things suck a little less for yourself actually brightens someone else’s day.

I have this mountain of busy work I know I need to push off. MOUNTAIN.

But given it would take just as many hours of training (cough *undoing*) as it would to edit 2,160 WordPress articles, I think I’m going to have a nice mindless afternoon.

There are days when you are all-powerful and you just KNOW you can conquer the world.

Days when, even if everything doesn’t go exactly your way, you still command total control of situations and more importantly, of yourself.

I had some petty crap yesterday that I didn’t let bother me and some more petty crap today that I’m going to do the right thing and overlook.

You know, I am aware that people question some of my decisions and approaches. And they probably should because most are unconventional and probably stupid but I make them work for me.

But nobody else wants their shit questioned … even when it needs to be.

In an event, I almost feel better when I am up to no good. It makes me hyper-aware that I was not, in fact, placed upon this earth to deal with others’ hot messes when I can make my own that are FAR more interesting.