Caterwauling

I have an adorable orange kitty I call Bella.

Found out not too long ago that Bella is a Bailey, since I never noticed what he was packing in his blooming pumpkin pants.

In any event, I had a friend who has always had orange cats. She offered on many occasions to adopt Belly (my compromise name) from me.

She said I could visit and hang out with Belly anytime. Which is vital to the next part of the story …

A few weeks ago, Instagram showed me this person as a friend suggestion.

Wait, what? I checked all the other socials. Turns out, she’d already defriended me across them all.

Look, I don’t care. All I ever did was be nice and hopefully helpful to this person.

Look, you wanna Marie Kondo me out ya feed, bye furrlicia. That goes for anyone. Don’t let the cat door hit you on the way out.

I’d actually forgotten she’d wanted Belly till Mom brought it up after she and another suddenly absent friend invited me out this week.

People who I worked with, laughed with, CRIED with.

Now they suddenly besties after complaining about each other to me, yet I’m the one on the outs.

Again, I get it. I’m not in the same place in life as they are. I’m not a skinny little blonde. I don’t work for that company anymore. And I definitely don’t ever want to hear a word about that place again.

It’s just, damn. You can move 1,000 miles away from your high school, but the smell of teen spirit follows you everywhere.

Anyway, Mom said thank god you didn’t let her have Belly.

Not that it was ever a serious consideration. But still, what if it had been?

Now, I wouldn’t even be able to see her on social media, let alone in person.

Meanwhile, there’s this person at my job whom I seem to remember the orange cat lover saying that THEY loved.

I am not in that particular fan club for myriad reasons. This person doesn’t seem to care for me at all, and they don’t hide it.

This almost seems preferable, you know? They don’t know shit about me. Which means they aren’t running it all over town to our mutual contacts.

Of course, I’m sure my former friends spread my past. I won’t return the favor, but I sure could.

(Interesting how everyone “up there” got together this summer and, in unison, all the calls and texts stopped from all but four people in that orbit.)

When I think of everyone who’s betrayed me … which is in effect everyone … I am glad I have my mom. Thank God for her.

Before the plague, I planned to skip a gathering in my honor (!) because an uninvited guest tweeted they’d be in my ‘hood.

My boss doesn’t go to anyone’s parties. But he was coming out for mine. So I had to swallow my pride and admit I wasn’t going.

He wasn’t having me. I would be there, darn it.

I don’t say no to this guy. I went. And between human and divine intervention, it worked out fine.

In the end, I would have been terribly sorry to miss out.

History repeated last week. I knew there was a chance that lookyloo would put on a human suit and shapeshift into my line of sight.

I debated whether to rent a car or a security guard or both. In the end, I decided to go with remarks I’ve waited a long time to deliver.

Then I realized, that’s what they want.

Me.

To react.

To acknowledge them.

To give any sort of shit beyond what might happen to my own safety and reputation if this person is as bonkers in real life as they are online.

For a moment, I thought, yeah say something. You’ve waited forever to reality-check this person.

Then I thought, nah.

They’ve gotten their wish. They are in my line of sight. They think they are getting my goat. Let them enjoy that.

Maybe they’ll finally lose the taste for having my name in their mouth.

Baby don’t do corners

Either way, I thought, wow — THIS is what’s behind that iPhone keyboard. Behind all those put-downs and quasi-truths and never-ending claims of superiority.

OK then.

Once again, I would have been terribly sorry to miss out on what turned out to be another very special event.

I ordered some cookies from the local store of a national gourmet chain.

When my order was up, I told a worker that I was Dawn.

He was clearly packing up my two cookies. But he said no, these are for Michael.

Michael was a safe six feet away. I said oh look at that; we got the same order.

For a moment, I had that “this is how it happens” thought. Like in “Sleepless in Seattle,” Meg Ryan and Bill Pullman both ordered lettuce and tomato sandwiches (hers on wheat, his on white) and they met because the orders got switched.

Anyway, Michael regretted to inform them that he did not, in fact, get snickerdoodles.

And our “Sleepless in Seattle” turned back into “Braindead in Boynton Beach.”

I took my order and mourned what could have been not with him, but with that five minutes I’ll never get back.

Between Ye making the world less safe for Jewish people and Yael Braun being another wife who believes her contribution to society is to shitpost about Taylor Swift, I know to avoid people whose name starts with “Y.” Except my friend Yvonne. She’s awesome.

In any event, what really got my taco in a twist was that Taylor always writes at least one hauntingly personal track. I’m not talking about the ones about Scooter Braun. (Another name to avoid, Scooter.) Although “My Tears Ricochet” and “High Infidelity” and “Vigilante Shit” are worth many listens.

It’s more that Yael et al sit around and listen to deeply moving lyrics like those in “Bigger Than the Whole Sky” and they STILL choose to make a nuisance of themselves. When Taylor is clearly giving us the gift of going through Some Things and a lifeline because we’ve gone through, or will go through, them too.

I get it. Taylor uses her voice and people react just as publicly. I too have tried to just live my life and tell stories and entertain or at least just PROCESS in the only way I know how. And I too know what it’s like to have those who want to be heard feel compelled to weigh in. Hell, I stay quiet and they still complain.

Anyway, I give Taylor credit for still writing and singing and producing songs. I would understand if she decided not to, so as not to give that hausfrau more reason to @ her. And I love her for what she’s probably doing, dressing for — and getting — her revenge.

Didn’t like this song at first and wasn’t sure why.

Then the memory unlocked of the time I wasn’t going to show up somewhere and I did.

And the moment we saw each other was so joyful, the whole place erupted.

“Can I ask you a question?
Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room
And every single one of your friends was making fun of you
But fifteen seconds lat?r, they were clapping, too?
Then what did you do?”

Happy I forgot that moment. But happier still that I found it again.

There’s nothing like walking into a room and seeing someone there hoping that the next person to walk through the door will be you.

In a way, I wish the veil were always so thin.

Then I remember that I drink at night in October because it’s the only way to get any sleep.

Maybe I’ll let myself dance with the dead tonight and see what messages I’ve been missing.

I don’t miss my high school friends. But for 10 minutes today, I missed the way we would snark and plan to leave town and never look back.

Last night was our class reunion. It took 10 minutes to go through all the posts and photos. And about 30 minutes to unroll my eyes from the top of my head at the comments.

I didn’t really know anyone, so I’m happy I didn’t move heaven and earth to attend.

My town didn’t have a high school, so we had to go to the next town over. It was clear only two people from my side of the tracks were there. And they were the organizers.

I couldn’t tell you, even with name tags, who those other people were. Other than “I’s leakin’, Miss Kirby!” I forgot about that till now. Wish I could un-remember.

The two organizers teach first grade and university. So that explains how they managed to deal with all the inane questions and comments, before AND after the event.

I was particularly, ah, surprised that a friend of mine who didn’t go is commenting on every single post. Like, we all knew we had zero intention of going. The “oh sorry I couldn’t make it” on every post wasn’t necessary. Nor was the cool shit they were supposedly doing during it.

What else annoyed me. Oh yeah the “we had to leave early to get up early.” (The event ended at 8.) The “my kids had sports and dance” excuse. The “I’m going to a wedding; can we have another event tomorrow.” The “I can’t attend on Saturdays in October but any other month works.” And a few other random, “Can we move the event and/or plan other events around the same time.”

Watching the reunion was better than attending it!

Anyway, it looks like the girls pulled off a nice party. Which is what I wanted for them. Maybe if they have 20 years to recover from this one, they’ll feel like planning the 50th. Lord knows none of the rest of us would.

One comment from the reunion chat made it really all worthwhile for me.

A gal I am friends with IRL said oh looks so nice. Hope everyone had a wonderful time.

Two girls said we missed you. My friend said, “I missed you two.”

In other words, not a soul else.

And this is why we are friends!

At least, two or three people said what a lovely party, everyone looks great and glad yinz had fun. Not surprisingly, they are all Democrats. I liked their posts. That was it.

As for my day, I hit a farmer’s market nearby for some apple cider donuts, hit five Ross stores in Broward, and avoided people all over who wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. No regrets here.

Mom and I were talking about someone I’ll call Udder Butter.

How, for as much as this ghoulish POS hates me, there is no one under the sun who checks in on me more. Maybe I should be grateful to have a not-so-secret admirer?

In any event, I went for the third-or-is-it-fourth test for something today. Was literally providing supervision from the inside of an MRI tube.

Which UB puts down, working hard and finishing a job. But she puts down everyone and everything. So, personal responsibility and pride in my work and in my team will clearly elude her.

She wouldn’t know what it’s like to have someone whose house is underwater across the state and WANT to alleviate some worry from them.

This is someone who tells colleagues she can’t pick up food from a restaurant she waddles past at the mall because it’s against her religion. I wish I could be a fly on those walls.

Enough about that twit. It took all these damn tests for me to be told, hey, you’re good. See ya in six months.

I still don’t know how ol’ Udder Butter was thinking of me when people were pulling on her teats. Truly, I was just trying to breathe.

But hey, at least if I dropped dead, UB would be the first one to notice my absence.

Grutesque as usual gotta have an opinion on everything.

Here’s mine.

This garbage human being wrote that I wished they were dead.

Hate to tell ya but you don’t matter to me enough to care either way. I’m not wasting my wishes on lowlifes.

I don’t give assholes what they want.

This horse’s ass ain’t getting any reaction from me other than oh, you still diddle your Skittle when you think of me?

Adorbs!