Caterwauling

When you think about Taylor Swift’s bonus checks for her employees, it’s a lesson in leadership.

Every employee got $100k.

No matter what their role, she recognized they gave all they had to The Eras Tour.

And they all got the same reward.

That’s not even the mind-blowing part.

I’ve been reading up on estate planning. And why a gift at a milestone — graduation, opportunity to start a business, etc. — is more valuable than some check delivered after your death.

It’s more valuable to them because they don’t have to pay the death tax, which is 50%.

Moreover, they can do the thing when they’re young rather than not have that opportunity anymore.

We heard wonderful, heartwarming stories from Taylor’s truck drivers and dancers. They could pay their kids’ college. They could give their babies a good life. They can get a real apartment.

That’s the spirit of the gift. But I’d take it one step further.

They danced and worked their asses off for two years.

With $100k, you can live for a year without worrying about the next job.

You can really say, hey, let me devote myself to my craft and master it.

Or you can reinvent yourself without worrying where the next rent payment comes from.

If I’d been, say, 32 and gotten $100k — damn. I worked hard. I worked SO hard. But I was making $30k a year. And living in an expensive city (D.C.).

Now don’t get me wrong, I got a wonderful $10k gift from my great-Uncle Stan (and his late wife Josie) before I started college.

I spent that over time — on books, on rent, not on anything all at once.

My grandmother had said just buy a car with it. Which I thought was insane — why not let the money collect interest?

Hindsight, neither of us was right or wrong. What could I have done with the car, other than not afford school? Maybe moved, maybe went to NYC and starred on “The Real World” first season, who knows.

(I am dreaming, I know.)

In any event, Taylor said how she thinks of her dancers and singers as little kids, dreaming of a day like this.

And she thinks of them in their future careers as mentors or whatever they want to be.

I think of them a year after the tour. Rested, recharged, time to let the injuries heal, what their brain chemistry must look like.

I got a taste of that when my last job fired me and handed me two months’ pay.

Fortunately, I wasn’t unemployed for two months.

But I did take six weeks to myself.

To do nothing. Just hang out with mom and go to appointments and drink iced tea on the beach.

This is why I get Europeans now. Holidays are important. So is healthcare.

I used to respect the hustle culture here. But honestly, how many weekends and vacations are haunted by your job.

If not the work itself, by the fear they will live without you and fire you.

I mean, I’ve literally spent four hours blogging about work between Saturday and Sunday.

Maybe if I empty my damn head now, I can do the work itself.

In any event, yes I wish someone would hand me AND MY STAFF $100k each to do as we please.

I’d probably invest it. So would they.

But still. One year with nothing to worry about.

Wonder what kind of dividends that would pay — to the company, not just to us in solid stock picks.

I bet the company would benefit more than all our accounts combined.

I put on “The Eras Tour” from Vancouver in the background to do some work.

And of course I’ve been mesmerized.

Almost forgot it was August. Feels like 100 years ago that I was sneaking off to the mall to meet someone.

If you’d look at us now, you’d never know we even knew each other in a way that wasn’t collegial.

“I act like I don’t remember.
Mary acts like she don’t care.”

Anyway the first of the six-episode docuseries just started.

Taylor’s finale-night speech to her dancers and bandmates always hit hard.

But today it hit different.

Sure, all the song lyrics she wove into the speech was adorable.

But the part got me today that “a million micro-decisions got us here.”

Like, this wasn’t “pieces falling into place” a la “All Too Well.”

She called them the pieces — the “tectonic plates,” to be specific.

I forget sometimes at work that I am a tectonic plate.

That I have earned the institutional memory the hard way.

I often tell MY boss stories of the past. The things Martin probably hasn’t told him.

If I’m lucky, I get Martin stories through him, as Martin and I don’t talk much anymore.

Anyway the micro-decisions hit different today. Because that’s what got me here. That’s what gets me through every week. A million micro-decisions.

So I might not have edited shitty newsletters that should have never existed because I was told there would be “no need for editorial support” which is a bigger lie than trump promising to bring down prices.

All my stress comes from these “no editorial support” needed products.

Who’s writing them or at least sourcing the data or going through a thousand freelancers?

Like if you told me to toss out the most stressful part of my job, it’s the whole having to make my case that I deserve a managing editor when I can’t catch up enough to even hire one.

But I know it’s a productivity issue. Which is a self-protection issue.

How do you manage 22 paid products, two daily free ones, and then double the free daily content on the same number of staff? And yes I know I supervise 22 people. But only three of us read/vet/edit this stuff and make it compliant and accurate and actionable.

Anyway I need to get all the shit out of my system so I can go write this stuff.

Which … one of my 22 said to me yesterday, “Hey, you’re pretty good at this writing stuff. You should do it for a living!”

Same person (independent of Kelly) also said maybe this place was your bridge during your worst season.

Maybe there’s something else out there for me that’s more resourced.

Where I can make the million micro-decisions without being the one to EXECUTE on them.

I find it really interesting that the universe is singing this same chorus to me repeatedly and in unexpected corners.

All my tarot reader really said was it’s time for your own byline. You’ve put in your dues. You don’t need to pay anymore. You’ve paid enough.

And this is how my closest friends interpret it.

Tectonic plate, Taylor says.

Time to cause a geological event, indeed.

On “House of Stassi,” one of the sisters — either Georgi or Georgia, I think the former — kept saying, “I’m fine” and “It’s fine.”

Sound familiar? WE could be sisters.

The group quickly corrected her that no you’re not fine. So she agreed to say, “I’m still sitting with this” when she is not, in fact, fine.

My card was “Knight of Pentacles” yesterday. The theme was indeed “shut up and make that coin” and not say or do anything stupid.

The Knights do imply movement. But the Pentacles’ knight is sitting there looking at his purse, not doing jack to fuck with it.

By normal measures, I had a good day. It was a normal day. OK it is always chaos on Friday and it’s fi … “I continue to sit with this.”

Kelly sent me a bunch of job postings throughout the day. One of the salaries was $200k.

I told her I’m sorry — Jim, Beth and I are over here HOLDING THE ENTIRE INDUSTRY TOGETHER — can’t consider it.

She said that’s egotistical and the picture of martyrdom.

Yeah but it’s also true.

We’re in a dying industry and we are keeping Mitch McConnell, Neil Dunn and all those other Congresscritters who are dead alive, but we are paying them to be dead QUIETLY.

Thursday was the real day that this Knight of Pentacles almost jumped off her horse.

Look, I’m not employee of the year. I know that. But the boss messages me to say he heard I hadn’t done those fucking reports that no one gave me the data to do.

I said well I don’t know who are talking to because I indeed pulled them together. They suck but they exist. And you still haven’t given me the data but I will make us look good — like I always do.

I got asked about some other shit I let slide. Like, yeah but I got 16 other things right.

I didn’t say that but I did say I have enough going on with the people on the payroll.

I also said yes, I will fix this because it is a mess of my own making.

Then I wake up Friday to a panicked message from him about “Did anyone tell you about this deliverable?” And I’m like no but I’m in the business of removing obstacles.

And boss bitch over here DID remove the obstacle. Honestly I spent more time talking people off the ledge than I did on the actual deliverable.

I was fine with that because I had completed my newsletter on Thursday. But then he wanted it beefed up. Fine. Happy to.

The good news was I have been BEGGING to work with a guy I helped to get hired. But I was repeatedly told don’t bother him — he has different priorities than editorial.

(I have different priorities than rewriting freelance submissions of FREE content when I, with just two managing editors, run 22 SUBSCRIPTION SERVICES. But here we are.)

Anyway. Since they wanted things beefed up … the guy was told he has three priorities and Goddess is one of them. Atta boy, boss.

We had a great time. Productive time. Outstanding time. My passion for this stuff was renewed in one three-hour conversation.

I can’t believe I’ve regressed to posting about work shit again. Fucking kill me.

But what the boss would never understand is, I’M GETTING MY FIRE BACK.

That said, I told Kelly I’m not smart enough for the 200k job. I am skilled at putting out very specific fires. That does not translate to a Big Six firm.

She got so pissed at that. She wouldn’t have sent me the job if I weren’t smart enough. My life will always be being passed over for publisher. I won’t grow again till I get a new challenge.

I said Helena said the very same shit six years ago. I went to Helena’s company and got FIRED from it. (She did too.) And guess what? I quit talking to that bitch. You want that to happen to us?

Besides, I had so much damn FOMO for this place the whole time, wouldn’t that just happen again?

Look, I’m not fine. I get that.

Something is stirring …

It’s telling me I gotta go big or go home.

Like it didn’t take a tarot reading to tell me that. Or Kelly.

Or maybe it DID.

Like one of my employees said, they don’t mind writing products and picking trades and managing people.

They DO have concerns about writing ALL the products and writing all the reports and picking/writing up all the trades and managing all the people.

Meanwhile I’ve been splitting that job with them rather than working on MY shit.

Which … IS fine. I love that shit. I am EXCELLENT at that shit.

I just never FEEL excellent at that shit.

Because there’s always something that doesn’t interest me in the least that I get measured on. That I — being me — procrastinate on or bitch about until I just fucking do it. And, do it well enough that we go back to fine.

Honestly, I thought I did a great job with my beefed up newsletter. Kudos boss. Boss bitch stepped up when told.

I was so stoked about the new content, I asked if we could have a brand new division (which I could be publisher of, cough).

I was told NO pretty forcefully.

But I went back and said yeah this is bigger than even YOU think. This is like institutional-level research. Wall Street proper would pay for this shit. And my team wouldn’t have to pick trades.

Unsaid: I would be very interested in taking this from “cute side project” to “selling this shit to McKinsey.”

Am I qualified? No. Can I figure it out? Absofuckinglutely.

If there’s one thing I can see in my job-blogging evolution, it’s this …

I went from hyper-passionate about things I could do/fix … to passivity because I can’t lose income … to fuck it, I am not doing great things because I don’t have the space to live out loud … to I could be dead in five years, what do I want on my epitaph because it isn’t this.

I also have a nice 401k and trading account now.

It’s easy to get comfortable having a cushion, especially when I don’t have an ownership stake.

But maybe the real trick is to get comfortable enough to scream from the rooftops rather than expect a pink slip. And if I did, at least I know I went out making everyone as crazy as I am.

Alas. It’s Saturday and I have to go the post office.

Then I get to figure out a newsletter I HAD figured out last month but … still waiting on the data …

Then I get to rewrite those stupid FUCKING special reports that absolutely suck that some copywriter dreamed up and said “I want this, editorial should make it so.”

I don’t plan to apply to the 200k job. But now that I see all this in black and white, I think I am going to sit with the idea of it.

That was why I went to Helena’s job. My title was associate publisher right out of the gate.

Problem was, the publisher was a nice person but not a good businessman.

I do have businesspeople here. So maybe after 15 years, I can figure out how to make the business case for what I want.

Like my research friend said, I have the institutional knowledge AND the social skills to apply it.

Now that’s worth sitting with.

My tarot reader and my chatbot both tell me I say “I’m fine” or “It’s fine” about everything.

I mean, if you’d seen the flaming hellscape that was The Before Times, you’d understand.

That said, insofar as people, I learned the hard way to see them as they are.

Like, I have a free subscription to a couple services that I can give away.

And since Mom isn’t exactly here to listen to SiriusXM or watch AppleTV, I was thinking who can I gift this too.

Then I thought about all the people who have Amazon family subscriptions who don’t think of me with those.

Another friend was about to sell some Disney ears and asked if I wanted to buy them before she put them out there.

I said thanks but no, I have a dozen other pairs and one head. But … I’m over here literally buying ears to give away and thinking about how to give away the ones I wore once and I’m done with.

We are not the same.

And I have to remember, that’s OK.

In NYC, I met a new friend who wanted to see Heathers but didn’t have the budget for it. So I bought the seats. Didn’t bat an eye.

(They really weren’t that much. This is not heroism. This is “great friend date idea” — and it was worth it!)

There’s a “free group,” as we call them, on Faceypages for just about every neighborhood.

There are two people in mine, who go by the names Sunshine Rose and Sapphire Sky. They may be the same person.

They are always asking for stuff. Like a kitchen playset or a set of cookware.

My suspicion is always that they are scammers and could probably sell that shit on eBay.

Maybe they aren’t. Who knows. But anything free that is being posted, guess who’s in the comments asking if it’s still available.

My gut is usually wrong about people, though. I saw Sapphire Rose or whatever the fuck the name was asking yesterday for hair products that I’d never heard of.

I mean, you never know unless you ask. And a random lady did say oh yeah I bought that and didn’t like it, you can have it.

I have so much shit to get rid of that I haven’t given to Habitat, that I thought about this group. There is literally always someone who will take it and probably sell it.

I remember being so mad at my family for giving away my original Barbie Dream House and camper.

But I also gave away my beloved hobby horse to a little brat named Marlena who not only broke it, but grew up to be a rabid trumper.

So, I really don’t want to know where my shit ends up. And I’d rather it be in the goddamn garbage than WITH garbage people.

I suppose I should just learn to sell things, though I already gave away all the shit that was NWT. You know, the stuff I could have made money on.

Still, I can’t imagine taking money from my friends. I invite you out, I pay. I have a nice NWT thing that I think should live with you, you get it in the mail. Or at least I ask if you want it so I don’t clutter your house with it.

Anyway, it’s fine. I’m fine. Whatever. Once I want to part with something, I forfeit my say over it.

Me, forfeiting my say over anything? That’s hilarious.

Before my eight-day journey through NYC, I had a tarot reading.

A lady who usually charges a fortune had a $50 special. My friend Brenda had recommended her, so I figured take the bargain offer.

I was glad I did.

We did a Celtic cross for me. And surprisingly (to her), none of the cards were “bad.” In fact, they were all rather GOOD.

Now, we know there are no “bad” cards — not even the Tower, the Wheel, the swords and other struggle cards — but to not get ANY of them was wild to her.

I said I lead a charmed life. I know I do. I am one of the luckiest people I know. And don’t think I take that for granted for one second.

I’m not here to do a full recap, though I’d like to.

I had started with the Queen of Wands in my current position. And the way the cards built upon that, there was only one conclusion …

“You can have anything you want. At least, you can make it possible.”

I’ve been told I’m a good little manifestor. She said it, too.

So I wondered as I walked 32,000 steps a day … what do I do with all this power?

I remembered thinking, “If you could have two more days in NYC, what would you do with them?” Then my flight got grounded for two days.

What did I do? Silent Disco at Lincoln Center.

Cocktails at the Empire Rooftop.

Broadway in Bryant Park.

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Omakase at Sushi Lab rooftop.

(I still miss that Ube martini.)

Like, why wouldn’t I throw it all on the credit card and deal with it later … after I literally got my wish?

What if it really is that easy to say, along those lines, “If I had Wall Street money, what would I do with it?”

I mean, we’d need to GET me some Wall Street money.

Which … why did I work SO HARD for Wall Street firms and never get to be worthy of the Wall Street paycheck? That still pisses me off. No dangly bits, I guess.

But let’s say that’s not the worry, as I can manifest what I want and I DEFINITELY want that.

I told my friend CG about all this today. He as ever had the right question to ask …

“How do you know when a season is done?”

I said I get that at a soul level.

My tarot reader had said it’s time for you to have a byline. She didn’t know I write everyone’s newsletters but my own. She didn’t know shit about me before this call.

But she said you have the expertise. The gravitas. People will see your name and not wonder who this is. They will know.

Is that a financial byline? Fiction? That screenplay and children’s book I promised myself I’d write? I don’t know.

But interesting that he’d home in on a season ending.

I saw a job posting I really want to explore.

And I keep pulling the Judgment card to be careful around this process. I mean, other cards are encouraging — in fact, they are saying be authentic.

But if I can really have anything I want … is that it?

CG asked lightly if there’s another opportunity I am already considering. That he’d hate to see me go but he knows I have more in me than even he sees.

I said you know, the tarot lady pointed out how I said, “I don’t mind” a million times about my job, the people, the tasks.

I mean we talked about what a hot mess Heather is. She showed up in my cards as one of those things I have learned to be calm about.

But why have I learned to be calm — “I don’t mind” — and what would happen if I felt passionate enough to mind?

I type all this to say I just edited a piece about leaving your kids an inheritance they can use sooner rather than later. So they can find and fund their passions while you get to enjoy it.

I mean, Bella’s passion is sleeping next to my head and Magic’s is sleeping on my legs.

But still. How do I find and fund my own passion?

As I told CG, I want to travel, not to write about it. Park my ass in a SkyLounge with wine, not a laptop.

Not that travel writing is an option — just, how do I parlay feeling alive two weeks out of the year and dead the other 50 into a raison d’être otherwise?

As he said, maybe you make your misery your ministry. Write about grief. Write about life after it. Write that children’s book about Cocoa.

So when does a season end? When it’s too easy, is what I took away. When you go from mastery to autopilot.

I hope my season ends more like “Knicks in Five” than how Joe Biden was rushed out of the White House.

New York or nowhere, as my Mayor Mamdani says.

Which is why I am even looking at other options at all. Because nowhere is no fun. Neither is autopilot.

But being near pilots … at least the non-trumpy ones … now you’re talking.

And if anyone can bring the fire, it’s the Queen of Wands.

Oh wait, that’s me!

I blew a few paychecks on my NYC trip.

The good news is, I’d bought my Bon Jovi “Forever” tour and “Lost Boys” on Broadway back in November.

I’d also bought a ticket to “Beaches,” but it got canceled. So I secured a “Titanique” ticket with those funds.

Other than hotel (so much hotel) and food (so much food), I bought two tickets to “Heathers” and a shirt that says, “What’s Your Damage?” as my Heather has nothing BUT damage.

I wanted the “Mythic Bitch” shirt but that’s Heather, not me.

Anyway, I was thrilled to take my new friend Marti to “Heathers.” We’d met at Catsuzenko, where I commented on her Bon Jovi shirt. And we met up after the concert to “Stage Door” it.

We didn’t meet the band. But a nice roadie slid us two guitar picks from the show. SWOON.

Anyway, that’s only a fraction of what I did on my summer vacation.

During my bonus days, among other things, I went to “Broadway in Bryant Park” and saw the casts of Titanique, SIX, Wicked, Spelling Bee and Aladdin perform for free.

I also went to the Museum of Art and Design to catch the “Devil Wears Prada 2” pop-up exhibit.

I still wish I’d bought the jacket I wore for my “Runway” shoot.

In any event, I haven’t thought of ol’ Cindy in ages. But I remember her tweeting at length about me taking photos on the Met steps but not going in.

That was part of a “Gossip Girl” bike tour. But sure, glad you’re so bored with your life that you want to tell your followers about mine.

In any event, I did take more photos on the Met steps because I could.

And I did go to the Guggenheim. Because I am an Uptown Girl now.

But I didn’t think of that weirdo till I wandered the MAD, as that’s in fact what she is.

Rather than wonder whether MAD woman still follows me, I texted Marti — Steel Magnolias’ “Claree”-style — to say we need to do a theater trip next year.

Isn’t it funny how life moves people out of your life who never deserved a place in it … and brings in wonderful people who do?

As I alluded with my last post, my “I’ll just fly up to see Bon Jovi” tour got extended. Then overextended.

Started innocently enough. I wanted to fly up on Friday instead of Saturday, so I could catch Coney Island fireworks that only run through July, I believe. (WORTH IT.)

I remember thinking, OK, great. I’ll fly home Wednesday and be happy.

Well.

I got a message from Delta in the middle of the night Tuesday that my flight was canceled due to weather.

Spent some time dicking around with Delta and a few other travel sites.

Second best case was to wait a day and try to do standby. Which of course is not guaranteed.

And as lovely as the Centurion Lounge is, there are time limits.

Third best case was to grab any flight that wasn’t going directly south. But I was looking at 3-4 stops to such scintillating Delta hubs as Detroit, Charlotte, Raleigh, Altlanta and/or Dulles.

Fourth best case was take a JetBlue flight on Thursday … for over $900. (When I could reschedule with Delta for free.)

Best case was to say fuck it, pay the CitizenM for two more nights, and call it PTO.

That was an adventure. Between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m., the Marriott site went from $600 a night to no availability.

The CitizenM guys told me to just go have breakfast, check out of my room at 11, and then hit the website right after 11.

They said they were booked solid BUT obviously if I couldn’t get out of town, people weren’t going to be able to come IN.

Hilariously, I packed all my shit from the past five days. Checked out. Opened my laptop. Secured a reservation for $350 a night. Checked immediately back in TO THE SAME ROOM.

To be fair, they didn’t tell me to pack my shit. But still, the odds of getting the “501 blues” after being TOLD I’d get a different room was closer to zero percent than 100.

Anyway, I’ve never stayed in NYC that long. And I never wanted to leave.

Honestly, as I furiously typed my newsletter from the Centurion Lounge on Friday, I truly thought, what if Eduardo put the cats on a flight and we stayed there forever?

I realize I do that with every vacation. Start looking at real estate.

But now that I’ve un-subbed from all my Orlando searches … and my fucking airport is “the airport formerly known as PBI” because it’s now named after a PEDOPHILE and CONVICTED RAPIST … I mean, why not turn my annual visits into permanent ones?

I’ve never seen NYC in the autumn, after all.

Heather Dubrow’s mother said something interesting on the RHOBH premiere last month.

God built LA. But he lives in New York City.

It was a weird quote, yes. But after eight (eight!) days in New York myself, I don’t question it.

If the lord is indeed in New York City, as Harry Nisson sang, a saint lives here in Palm Beach.

I’ve had a lot of wonderful cat sitters, but my favorite by far is Eduardo.

He’s the only one I’ve never met. And I’ve often thought about how it’s the plot of a Hallmark movie. A cute guy she hires to take care of her cats and she never cross paths until … whatever the dot-dot-dot would be.

In any event, Sabrina and Taylor set the bar high. But both bought houses elsewhere.

Ranice was adorable but I suspect she didn’t come every day. The fact that the litterboxes were over-full tipped me off.

That was back when I had no elevator and I’d dragged all those boxes up the steps. So I was pretty unhappy she went through four out of six Fresh Step boxes in 10 days.

Then there was Stephanie, who was also lovely. She has a full time job PLUS she works with a couple of cat rescues. So, she is for real a Cat Person.

I brought her back Belle loot from Tokyo, since Belle is her jam. And I was planning to bring her back Broadway stuff from NYC as that’s also her jam.

But then I remembered Eduardo, who’d looked after the kids when I was away for a long weekend. He’s only like two blocks from here, whereas everyone else was pretty far away.

Not only did he sent amazing, cheerful updates. But he apologized for sending a million photos.

Which … everyone else sent photos but I compared that to Stephanie who literally gave me proof of life (as I’d asked) and that was it. Also there were a lot of barf piles from my Stephanie shifts, so I don’t know if she missed them or what.

Eduardo not only sent reams of photos. But when my flight out of JFK got CANCELED on Wednesday, he was quick to say sure, let me know if you want me to hang around for a few more days.

Not only did he, but I came home to a house that was tidier than I’d left it.

Not saying he cleaned. But he’s the first one who grabbed the broom and pan I leave in the doorway and USED IT.

Not a vomit pile in sight.

Not only that … but I’d left a ton of extra litter.

And in seven nights’ worth of time, he did not open one of those packages.

Not one.

And yet, the boxes were downright sparkling. The food stations were perfect. Literally, unlike the previous sitter, I could walk in and breathe deep and not choke.

I sent him a $50 tip on top of his fees, and I wonder if that’s even enough.

Anyway I could go on and on about NYC. But I just wanted to share my absolute gratitude that I have this phenomenal cat sitter who truly let me worry about everything else and not this.

The kids love him too. You can tell from the photos.

In any event, I don’t see a Hallmark movie out of this. But man, if all men were half the man he is, I’d be way more interested in meeting one.

Got an employee survey. Which I was going to ignore. But …

I had just gotten out of another useless meeting with “Stomp! The Musical.” More of her yelling at us and creating tasks that have no bearing in reality. More hypocrisy. More fucking aggravation.

One person even hung up on her. Like I used to hang up on her.

So I opened up my employee survey.

One of the questions is about team building activities. They asked if we wanted to do a walking challenge.

I said nope, I witness a daily walking challenge and I am sick of seeing people’s “O” faces splayed across my monitor.

I assume they have my IP address.

If not, I am 100% sure they know who would write that.

Problem is, I didn’t think about who’s reading the survey when I hit “send.”

The typical workplace would fire me for answering an anonymous survey that way.

I am hopeful my workplace would say well it’s an anonymous survey. We asked for this.

With any luck, the person reading the surveys would say yo, sit your ass in a chair during calls.

Not that it would make said person’s meetings any more organized or any less infuriating.

And that’s the thing. If you’re going to be a pain in the ass, don’t be annoying too.

I mean, everyone else is saying it. I’m just in a position to say it directly.

Hope I continue to be in that position, is all I’m saying.

I sold my Bitcoin. Which is an automatic indicator it will go up from here.

Needed to pay a credit card in front of a trip. Not that it can afford all the things I am about to buy. But at least a few days in NYC are covered.

I used to be concerned with having a round number in my bank account. Which I reached once and only had for about two days. Then the bank started calling me every other minute, telling me to hire them to manage my money.

So I took that cash, wiped out my credit card debt, and the solicitation calls stopped.

My Disney habit is A Lot. But needed. You have medication and therapy; I have mouse-shaped treats.

My NYC habit is A Lot. I kind of think my annual-ish trips are probably getting to be too much. But sitting around my apartment, whilst the more economical option, is also the more depressing one.

This is also the year I go back and honor my ancestors. Specifically, buy a gravestone for my grandparents.

I have some Unclaimed Property that I’ve waited 20 years to claim. Am hoping that it will be enough to cover the gravestone. But I really have no idea.

Either way, it was my grandfather’s property/money and it would be my honor to spend it on him.

I’ve pondered this throughout my life. These people I came from, spent every dime (and they didn’t have many) giving me a good life.

Yet as I finally started to make money, they barely got to benefit from it.

Gram never saw me do much with my life. Just worked jobs that paid me as badly as they treated me.

Grampy got to enjoy me taking them out to dinner and meeting them in Breezewood.

It’s a dumb little road trip for most, I imagine. Just a truck stop town. But for us, it was a day we got to meet midway for a meal and go back to our lives.

Part of me is thinking about driving to Pittsburgh. Or, who am I kidding, I would take the Auto Train for some absurd sum.

Honestly, a round trip on the Auto Train is the same cost of a rental car for a week. And I would love to zip around Mount Washington with my Florida plates.

Fuck, I’d park right in front of Fetterman’s house to sport my favorite bumper stickers.

Anyway, I don’t have enough Bitcoin to fund the full Pittsburgh odyssey I have in mind. That’s because I sold my Bitcoin at the absolute bottom.

Why I get into this shit, I have no idea. But I do have a dinosaur bone I’d like to sell at some point. I know that’s at least worth a one-way trip on the Auto Train.

My thought process is that this is the year of full circle. Say a proper goodbye to Pittsburgh.

Not say goodbye for now to NYC. After I finally get to see Brooklyn and a few other places. (I will always want to do Christmas there again. At the Palace. With the Gossip Girl package that gives you the Chanel No. 5 as your welcome gift. Manifesting this.)

But certainly try to get my fill and set my sights on other destinations I haven’t seen yet.

I was hoping for that Bitcoin to pay off. Maybe sit my ass home and buy some more if this truly is the bottom.

That’s an important lesson I’m learning as an investor. I always load up when a stock craters. Dollar Cost Averaging, yo.

That works with Apple. Hasn’t worked so far with other stocks. Or the dinosaur bone.

So I’m trying something new and just yeeting the losers. I can always buy them back. Or buy something more promising.

Something tells me there’s a real life lesson in there, as well.