Caterwauling

Kelly introduced me to the idea of Non-Player Characters, or Non-Playing Characters, in Disney.

We were surrounded by useless people the world and certainly the parks didn’t need.

Heather is the perfect NPC. She’s not a main player in the video game. You don’t play her. She’s just some random figure that drifts in and out and serves no purpose but as part of the scenery.

But the thing about NPCs is, while they don’t move the story along, they do impact YOU.

I type all this to say that I thought the new HR person wasn’t terrible. At first.

Like, I know HR is not your friend and especially not after six months, which is as long as it takes them to get indoctrinated.

I’m guessing it’s her six month mark.

Because we are asked to fill out a fun survey on our anniversaries now. 25 questions and she’ll pick five answers.

I filled it out dutifully, as I need to set the example. I sent a photo of me and the owner.

And after the 25th question, I put in a little joke that I literally wrote (NOT FOR PRINT).

Guess which of the 25 questions she picked … WITH THE NOT-PC THING … and sent that along with my photo of me and the owner … to the whole goddamned company?

Look, I have no shame. None. You can’t take a joke, you don’t fucking know me.

But not when it’s in print next to a picture of the OWNER of the company.

I messaged her and I asked if she’s OK? Like, you’re HR, right?

It was a rookie mistake on my part. I know better.

Women in leadership hate other women in leadership.

I’m easy enough to take down because I have no filter. It’s super easy to pin my words on this donkey.

But I absolutely insist on having the moral high ground over Heather.

(Who, I can do five posts about her fucking useless weekly calls. Christ.)

Non-Player Character 2 — er, HR — edited my post.

I said how did it pass your filter? She said she was looking for “juicy” replies.

I see why no one fills out this shit now.

As CH said to me, “Juicy is for bachelorette parties.”

And as Shan said to me, because Question 25 was about memorable quotes to live by, “If at first you don’t succeed … it’s only ATTEMPTED murder.”

CH said maybe next survey will be a nice “Fuck Marry Kill, corporate edition.”

Fuck NPC 1 and 2, Marry my team, Kill myself.

Speaking of the husband I never met, I almost thought I had a meet-cute today.

A guy in Dollar Tree started talking to me and he realized he lost his phone.

He asked if I could call it.

I thought hmm, a trick? But no, he truly looked nervous.

So I said of course and I called it.

We didn’t end up finding it. But a lady paged from the front that they found a phone, and he was off.

I didn’t think anything of it, but he kept saying “Thank you, thank you!” to me as he dashed to the front.

When I was checking out, I got a call from that number. But I couldn’t understand the mumbly cashier, so I let it go to voicemail.

It rang again as I was merging into traffic. Ignored.

Then I channeled my mother a bit. Pointing out as always that men would watch me and be terrified to approach me. (Which happened in Sprouts today.)

“Be nice,” she would say. “Can you be nice?”

We know that answer.

Anyway I was just sitting here and he called again.

I thought, “OK Momma, stop pushin'” — just like from the “Hope Floats” movie.

I pick up and he’s like hello who is this.

I said what?

He said I missed a call from you?

Dude is lucky he’s cute because he’s not too bright.

I said yes, from the Dollar Store? When you lost your phone?

He paused and he said oh! Yes! Hey I got it back!

I laughed and said obviously.

Then he’s like OK thanks! and hung up.

Like …

Damn.

That would have been such a fun story to tell someday. If he had, say, used my number for good instead of FORGETTING what happened five minutes earlier.

Fuckin’ men.

I have six sets of NWT sheets here.

Even after all the shit I’ve given away to friends, Habitat and that dastardly Goodwill … most with tags … there’s still plenty of stuff in my house.

I talk myself out of selling, for one reason or another.

Finally, egged on a bit by Kelly reminding me that once you let go of things, the universe fills the void in better ways, I said fuck it. Get these sheets out of Mom’s shower.

I’ve had no luck with Postmark. I have a million followers but no one bought my NWT Juicy crap.

Man, in 24 hours on Vinted, I sold four sets of sheets. And the other two have a dozen offers each.

I didn’t ask for anything other than retail price. Which I could prove because the sticker was still on them.

I did knock down the price on one of the twin sheet sets. It smelled a little funky from being stuck in a plastic tub for 10 years. But nothing a good wash can’t fix.

I am open to reasonable offers. But reasonable has a very wide definition.

I’m not talking about the people who are offering like 45% off when you see what I fucking paid. Mom even left the Ross receipts in some of them.

No, I’m talking about, as I was bagging up my four sets today, I got a message about a fifth.

“Um, I see you are charging $20 for this set. But it clearly appears there’s a $1 on the sticker.”

I mean first off, I can charge what I want. This is Betsey Johnson. I could have charged $50 and someone like me would have said fuck yeah, I missed this when it was popular.

Second off, as I wrote back, “The price is $19.99.”

One penny.

My guess was she was trying to haggle me down to $8 like everyone else was.

Which … as you see, wait 24 hours and someone else will say fuck yeah.

But then she said ok I don’t have the funds right now but I hope you still have it after my paycheck clears.

Shit.

Like … look, my first reaction was I will send it to you for ten bucks.

But then I have run into dipshits on eBay who haggled and then resold my stuff for 3x retail.

I still regret letting that Bon Jovi tour program go when I needed cash to that whiny little fucker who said he was going to report me for using his images (!) and then he ended up buying it.

And my kindness has limits. I had a feeling that girl would have said oh I get paid next week and I’d be the type of person to pause the listing. Then never hear from her again.

In any event, I just ignored the message.

My rule, which I came up with on the spot, is I will negotiate on shit I can’t use. Twin sheets? Nope. Have them.

Queen sheets? Hey I will remove that listing and open that package, just as fast as look at you.

I do have to acknowledge those lowball offers though.

But hey, I made $56 and all I had to do was make six listings and do two trips to the post office and FedEx.

And buy about $30 worth of shipping bags. Details!

I gave everyone a handwritten note. Nothing fancy, just sweet dreams or hope all your dreams on these pillows come true.

Not “I’m so sad my mom didn’t get to use these” or “I was saving these to sleep on with the husband I never met.”

But hey, $56, right?

I am well rested and not in the mood to elaborate.

But if you want to know where my head is at, it’s here.

A tiny bit of an explainer.

Today was the day I put two travel sites into my phone’s address book.

I figure I interact with them enough, it’s time.

That’s so wild. Growing up so poor. Honestly living pretty poor until recently.

Now my bougie ass has my preferred airline, hotel chain and now credit card in my VIP contacts.

My ancestors must be either shocked or so proud.

My friend PW reached out to me the other day.

He said he did, anyway. I haven’t seen the message. But I haven’t looked too hard.

But it was me who reached out to him today.

Not because it’s his birthday, which it is. But because his beloved wife passed yesterday.

Which he was trying to tell me.

I was scrolling Ye Olde Faceypages after whatever political tirade I was on. And I saw her face.

I think of her every day actually. She was a hairdresser and sent me some amazing products. Which I used sparingly. And I’m down to a tiny bit of hair volumizer that I have loved for a long time.

I scrolled up from her photo to see the status update.

Passed peacefully yesterday. Cancer.

I hadn’t talked to P in a while. Not since I got shitcanned from that job I had in 2020-’21.

I don’t harbor any sort of feelings toward anyone but Helena, really. She knew what she was getting me into.

PW used to work for me, years ago. And he found a true home over there. I love that for him. And they’re being kind to him, which I’m not surprised about.

I had texted a nice message, about my hair products and how lovely she was. And that I know a little something about cancer and loss. Sending love.

Imagine my surprise when he called.

We shared our stories. The awfulness.

What’s funny is I remember their kid’s name. Grace’s previous health problems. Just a lot of stuff. I told him, you must have made an impact on me if I haven’t forgotten a thing after all this time.

It’s funny that he had reached out to me first. I don’t know if he even knew about my life. But he has always been a thoughtful observer.

I told him the cancer was what made the employer separate with me. “It’s not working out, go spend time with your mom.”

Fortunately it worked out. And no hard feelings. But I wasn’t sure anyone even knew that was the reason but me.

In any event, I don’t want to publish his stories or details. Which is why it’s all about me.

I am sure I can say that it was brief. That the doctors misdiagnosed her between January and April. Finally someone got it right in April. And she left in August.

I told him my sad-person tips.

Crying at home gets old. Find a place you can cry outdoors. Disney!

The worst has happened. Nothing is urgent anymore. Breathe. Nothing WILL be as urgent.

Visit all the old places and restaurants, sure. It will kill you.

But you’ll be surprised what new hobbies and interests you pick up. Not that anyone was holding us back. But now that someone took a big fat pin to our comfort bubbles, it’s OK if we don’t want to go back to things we loved. There are new things to fall in love with.

He mentioned Grace had very recently gotten into Shohei Otani. I said great. Maybe you make a trip to LA to watch a game. Maybe you go to Japan, where I found Otani gear in damn near every store.

He’s acutely aware that who he was and who he’ll be are two different people.

I did scare him off about the two years. The first year sucks. Everything sucks. But year two you realize oh, this is how things are now. Sucks.

I don’t know that I ever got to talk to Grace, but I remembered I loved her. Just a cool chick, you know?

They were pretty decent Catholics, but not the nutty trump voting kind.

I said I’m not the girl who says “better place” or “this happened for a reason.”

But I am the girl who believes that if you go to LA or you forgot to say something while she was still here, it’s OK.

She’s going to be with you. She’ll stay with you and she’ll come back for your big moments.

I could tell he teared up for that.

I thought about how I talk about mom like she was the love of my life. Like it’s the same as losing a spouse.

But I also thought about how he didn’t even whisper otherwise.

We both lost our person.

Me over time, without much fight.

Him suddenly, without time for it to sink in.

I don’t know why I had to get this out.

Maybe because friendships, however casual, can run so deep.

Maybe because we all have so much in common.

Maybe because my friend CG had said there could be a creativity outlet for me in helping people with their grief.

And maybe it just sucks when a lovely human gets taken from us, but tRump and his ilk live on.

I said how can i support you, and he said just throw me a smiley face every once in a while. And maybe pick up the phone when your old friend calls you.

Hah. I can do the first. Gonna work on the latter but I’m down to try.

That’s what I’m manifesting today.

Not that I expect to be 86’d.

But even if I were, I’d be OK.

First, I’d laugh.

Then I’d pack up my Teams Machine and drop it off on the way to Disney World.

I’d either move up my Pittsburgh trip. Or sleep until I have to drive to Miami for my flight.

I wouldn’t tell anyone.

I’d rather just reinvent myself and then reappear as new me, who dis.

And honestly? The thought of that is motivation enough to get through another day.

Today is hopefully the catch-up day I’ve needed for five years. Just one meeting.

Of course, I’ve said that every day.

But today, I mean it.

And if it should ever go otherwise, cash me outsside in the theme parks.

I need help. So much help.

My LinkedIN is filling up with messages from people who want to get a paycheck.

Like no, not you.

I asked Kelly about one of the guys. “We don’t like him, right?”

She said, “If you like dead weight, he’s great.”

I’m not responding.

I felt bad about that for a moment.

But then I realized I have a note out to Jimmy that the LOVE OF OUR LIVES is dead. And I ain’t heard jack about that.

So you know what? Go be dead weight somewhere else.

I feel completely behind and out of my fucking gourd every day. I am burned out by 4 p.m. most days. Yet I look at Don’t Treadmill on Me like I run circles around that even when I’m plagued by the poop lettuce. (Goddamn it.)

No one has ever, EVER considered me dead weight.

And I have paid enough of those people a paycheck for one lifetime.

I said give me Strength, and the tarot deck did just that for my daily pull.

This was after two very stressful spreads.

Three years ago, Mom was convinced I’d end up on my paternal grandmother’s doorstep.

I’d said I’ve been disappointed enough by that side of the family. Why give them another chance to hurt me.

Well now, as I’m an orphan and I happen to have some business in Kay’s neighborhood, I figured let’s see what tarot has to say about it.

I asked two different decks:

* How would I feel if I reached out to Kay?
* How would she receive it?
* What would a possible visit have me feeling like?

One deck was depressing. The other was downright ominous.

Now, I’m not saying that the cards told me not to reach out.

I would just need to go in with a mission — i.e., get my health history — and be absolutely fine if she didn’t respond or if she got downright hostile.

The story goes back to 1973 when I was conceived. I believe my grandparents slapped my bio dad with statutory rape charges, as Mom was literally turning 16 as I was conceived.

They got a few dollars a week for me for 18 years out of all this.

I was told that Kay and her daughter Kathy showed up the day I was born. To look through the nursery glass and see if I looked like Tom.

I guess I did. That was the last anyone saw of them till I was 18.

I’ve written at length about meeting him at court, going to dinner, talking for a good year, and then him agreeing to — and then backing out of — helping me move two heavy items to my dorm.

Two items to revisit for this conversation:

* He said my family kept him from me and probably poisoned him against me.

* He said what’s the point of being in my life after 18 years of not being in it.

In case no one has realized, I’ve held this grudge for fucking 35 years.

So what do I want of Kay? Like I said, health history. I have read her FB enough to know she’s a cancer survivor. Which means I have it on both sides of the family.

To be clear, my family never said jack about these people. They wanted me to organically figure out my feelings. Which … pretty easy when your dad tells you to fuck off.

I had no intent to come at her in anger. Just … I see you posting about your grandkids with all this love. Wondered if you’d be open to filling me in on some things.

But I wonder if it’s all lip service. Grandma of the year over there.

Plus, I remember telling mom three years ago, I am already responsible for you. (Lovingly, I hope it came out, but I know me.) I am not taking his deadbeat ass on if he needs money or a caregiver or some shit.

Like my friend CG always says, don’t push on a door that isn’t opening.

I thought of how Jimmy had to let me down one last time.

Do I need Tom & his brood to do the same before I learn this lesson?

Like I told Claude, who reasoned all this out with me when I got the Emperor card around Kay and the Devil card around a meeting …

I don’t need to come home with more baggage than I’m already bringing from the storage unit.

My family loved me well. I showed interest in the others. They did not show it back.

I’m on limited time, anyway. Would rather see people who actually liked or loved me at some point … and there’s a couple who still do.

This isn’t daddy issues. This is grandma issues. My grandma was the absolute best.

This one will never measure up. I know this without even meeting her.

And something (the tarot) tells me I’ll have an even lower opinion if I did.

Funny that this Devil card has the “I never should have danced with the devil at 19” lyric. The last time i spoke to Kay’s son, I was 19.

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.