Caterwauling

“Gritting your teeth, you hold onto me
It’s never enough, I’m never complete
Tell me to prove, expect me to lose
I push it away, I’m trying to move
Hoping for more, and wishing for less
When I didn’t care was when I did best
I’m desperate to run, I’m desperate to leave
If I lose it all, at least I’ll be free.”

— Broods, “Free”

When my bosses came to me with really, the worst idea ever, I said, “Over my dead body will I (insert what I was asked to do).”

For the girl who did everything asked of her, and then some, for the past six years (40 years, but who’s counting?), they were stunned.

I didn’t elaborate. But come on over to my desk (and everybody does because I’m hilarious), and I will HAPPILY fill you in.

We all had a good old time today when I did what I needed to do for a long time. Not what was asked of me. But what I should have done to prevent that even being an option in the first place.

I told the bosses about it. Like I’d said, over my dead body. Now that is no longer an option because there are literally no choices in the matter left. The one said, “OK” and we talked about that nitwit Trump’s nitwit “shithole” comment instead.

I mean, really, it’s their problem. It always was. I’m sorry I can’t help. And I’m grateful that I don’t have to explain why #timesup on this particular “thing.”

“I have lived my life so perfectly
Kept to all my lines so carefully
I’d lose everything so I can sing
Hallelujah, I’m free
I’m free, I’m free
I’m free, I’m free, I’m free
Hallelujah, I’m free.”

I asked my friend if I could be fired for this. She said who knows. But wouldn’t it be worth it to never, ever have to even think about it ever again?

It’s a good day to be me.

Instead of bitching about the lying sack of shit who bugged my office and still thinks I’ll jump upon request and that I am keeping folks from worshiping him after he treated THEM like garbage, too …

I’ll type about something that made me cry in a GOOD way today.

“When I was a child, it was up to me to feed our family because my father couldn’t work. I had a job at a motorcycle repair shop. Everyone would sit at home and wait for me to make money. Once we almost ran out of food. We didn’t have a single rupee and there was nothing to eat. I could handle it, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my baby sister going to sleep hungry. I sat at my shop all day, praying for a customer. But nobody came. Then just as night was falling, a man drove up with a puncture in his tire. The price of the repair was three rupees. But when I was finished, the man handed me twenty rupees and drove away. I was able to buy two kilograms of rice. My entire life turned around that day. My shop became very busy. We were never hungry again. Even today I think about that man. I never saw his face. He changed not just my life, but the lives of my entire family. I wonder who he was. Sometimes I think it was God himself.” (Mumbai, India)

A post shared by Humans of New York (@humansofny) on Jan 10, 2018 at 10:51am PSTMy favorite comment is that “We all get to meet God at some point. We just don’t know it.” For the story writer, it was the customer whose generosity changed his fortune.

I think we all get to meet Satan at some point. (See “bugged office.” Also see, “that’s why everyone but me was allowed to work from home so he could whack off to the sound of my silence.”)

But I do think God is one of us. Just a slob like one of us. Just a stranger on the bus. Hey that might make for a great song!

This one hit me hard because that’s me — I take care of the family.

I always knew I’d be the one to do that. I knew I had to get a good education and a good job because the buck would stop here sooner rather than later.

That’s why I get so enraged about certain stuff. I’ll be fine. You don’t get to damage me beyond the shorter term. But anything that messes with my personal economy and my FAMILY, it’s on like Donkey Kong.

But I say all of this to say I think I saw God yesterday. Details forthcoming. But I am looking very forward to being able to say that life has some good surprises in store, and not just for those who don’t deserve them.

Dude.

Seriously.

Holla’ing at MY friend, to bitch about ME and claim that I somehow am singlehandedly keeping you from relaunching the business you flashed your hairy butt crack at …

And somehow claiming it’s ALL MY FAULT …

Seriously.

Dude.

Not that any of us believe it will work this time. You burned everyone who made it work. No one likes you.

But I love that you give me all this power.

Especially when I spent years giving mine up to you.

You are the REASON for the #metoo movement.

I have zero desire to hear of you whining that I somehow am hurting you. No need to suddenly give me credit for the first time. But hey, thanks.

First of all, I LOVE me some Lisa Vanderpump — the one on “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” and “Vanderpump Rules.”

I am NOT the slightest bit enamored with MY “Lisa VanderPump” — LVP. To say the least. The very least.

Not overly certain how someone who has maybe worked five full days in their career …

Who is brilliant at bullshitting their way into massive salaries, big titles, bigger bonuses and falsely selling their superiors on their so-called indispensability …

Who never saw fit to promote me despite calling me by a higher title …

Who wrote horrible reviews for me that painted me as aspiring to mediocrity on a good day …

Who publicly embarrassed me on group calls that said person couldn’t even spell correctly on the meeting reminders they put on our calendars …

(Oh and no one else got that treatment — one other person got private reamings and the rest got left alone. And for both of us, 99% of those reamings were for not working on projects said absentee person never TOLD us about) …

Who didn’t even say thank you for the $60 birthday cake or the $50 birthday booze and didn’t even acknowledge me with a happy birthday that year …

And who — among other ridiculous things — got everyone ELSE fired after attracting a million-dollar lawsuit against the company and its owner …

Is now entitled to the charred remains of the dream this person sold to us in a (successful) effort to get us all to work around the clock to make that person “famous.”

And the fact that this person is back to BARKING UP OUR ASSES to jump to serve said person is like a battered wife being told she has to give her abuser the dog, too.

I have been working on a reply in my mind. But I am enjoying the silence an awful lot. I know LVP is motherfucking me in their mind.

I mean, it’s not like LVP could speak to me with a modicum of respect or the awe I deserved for being one of the wizards behind the curtain that made the puppet dance.

That hurt me in a big way. The not having my name on anything. I hear my name was never credited for anything either. So I had to work very hard to show folks I am capable and was working my ass off all along.

They see that now. And they don’t know the depth of my rage. But they know that for me to refuse to comply with a command from LVP, I have reasons.

They all finally figured out that everything was smoke and mirrors. And my guess is this no-strings-attached “gift” my friend and I are to provide to LVP is less an OB tampon and more like a compact cooter plug. One where the string is hidden inside the smaller pouch.

(Compact cooter plug. I may have to save that for a future nickname …)

In any event, I know LVP comes here looking for answers. And I’ll put it right here …

I jumped for you on every occasion. I lost out on nights and weekends and time with my mom and friends. I was kind to you at all times and listened to your stupid stories about your arrests and all the money you spent on things I’d never be able to afford because you said I was too “expensive” so I clearly was never going to get a raise. I stopped talking to my editors who actually loved me, just so you could stop needling me and egging me on, claiming “you knew” I was talking to them when I wasn’t. You’re a liar and a miserable person.

Oh and thanks for those casual bullshit comments made to (I guess former) future potential employers. But funny about people who repeat things back to me — they have a LOT more to say than what they heard.

Sorry karma’s teeth are sharp. I really do want you to be happy. I just wish this had all made you nicer instead of making me harder.

This before-and-after set of pics is probably three years in the making. Probably 40 pounds’ difference between the two.

Minus my post-Christmas binge — because they brought fresh donuts into work on the big Layoff Day, and a girl can only handle so much. But I wish I had feasted on unique Christmas treats rather than Dunkin and then whatever else I found in the house that night — I probably ended the year 10 pounds lighter.

As for 2018, this is the first year I haven’t listed “losing weight” as one of my resolutions.

“Getting my shit together, for realz this time” is my goal.

I know I have plenty more pounds to shed. But I am the same economically insecure girl who blows all her money at Ross Dress for Less and buys her mom all the decorations and sugary treats she wants because who knows if *this* is going to be her last birthday/holiday/summer/etc. so let’s spoil her while we have her.

And I wouldn’t say I’m lonely. But I mean, I had three social invites this weekend and I turned them ALL down because I knew it would cause tension at home. Even after I said no to everything, she still said I get an attitude and that “well you can do whatever you want.” Well yeah, I *can* but at what cost?

In fact, the people at the Christmas party I attended liked me so much, the neighbors — who are hosting the New Year’s party — asked me to come. I could have an instant “friend family” if I wanted.

And I wanted. But … I really don’t mind my quiet little life. And at least I don’t have to worry about Mom being all alone. (She was invited to every event, by the way. THAT is how nice these people are.)

I love the idea of having great neighbors and having your kids and pets grow up together. Everyone takes turns hosting the parties. Everyone brings side dishes and silverware and presents and wine and extra plates and spare chairs.

The people having the New Year’s party even brought a Christmas present for me. So, it’s heartwarming to know there are still amazing people out there. Wish they were *my* neighbors.

I am somewhat bummed another year has gone by with no one special to speak of. The past bunch of guys I’ve met are pretty much looking for *anyone* rather than for *me.*

Two tits, a hole and a heartbeat.

Heartbeat probably optional.

And to be fair, I’ve sort of felt the same way. Not that I want just anyone. But that, sure, any one of them could very well be the one. Or not.

And I’d be just fine either way.

I always have it on my New Year’s resolution list to:

“Get a good-looking man with sharp financial sense who likes to travel and eat healthy and gives me just as much space as I need to keep me interested. Owns a condo or house with a water view and modern amentiies. Has a nice extended or adopted family to spend the occasional holiday with. Makes me feel adored and turns me on with just his very existence.”

(I’m not particular or anything!)

Maybe this is part of the “getting my shit together” year. Hopefully there’s a man out there getting HIS shit together and the universe says OK, time to meet.

Or not. Whichever. I know I’ll still be fine either way.

(But really, I do need to get my shit together. For realz this time.)

I wrote a post this morning (unpublished, to protect the famous and, really, the infamous) with the title “You were you, and he was him … and that was that.” That one was about a job interview that went horribly.

But I like the title. And since I’m not going to publish it anytime soon, I want to use it on another topic.

It’s funny how relationships, as they were, flame out at warp speed these days. I mean, they never did last for me even before Teh Intarwebz. But now, man …

1. Boy sends friend request.

2. Girl accepts.

3. Boy sees all the cat photos and wine photos and things posted by her mother, and runs screaming at the thought of coupling with the crazy drunk cat lady with the crazier mother.

4. The end.

I mean, jeez. At least let me get into the relationship for a minute and a half before you uncover all the crazy.

But that leaves the heroine of our “See Spot Run Screaming” book with a conundrum …

Do you say:

1. Fuck it, this is who I am — no apologies? … or

2. Fuck it, social media isn’t worth it — they can’t learn anything about you if it isn’t “out there”?

I don’t know. What I do know is that a date would have been nice.

The holiday FM station went back to playing soft rock classics. Bah humbug.

I meant to turn the dial back to NPR. (You silly kids with your fancy bluetooth and MP3s and alarm systems.) But, lazy. Also, traffic.

On the way to my captivity today, I heard Hoobastank (yeah!), Puddle of Mudd (woohoo!) and Daughtry (whee!) in a row. I may be keeping that dial stuck where I left it.

In any event, I heard Daughtry’s “Home” and enjoyed it as much as I could amid a Daytona-worthy drag race on 95. Then I stopped in Wawa. Where I got my $1 coffee AND heard “Home” again.

OK, Universe. I’m guessing this was what you wanted me to hear …

“Be careful what you wish for,
‘Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all,
And then some you don’t want.
Be careful what you wish for,
‘Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.”

— Daughtry, “Home”

I was thinking about my job (!), a job prospect (!!) and a guy I met at a party (!!!).

Wasn’t wishing for anything in particular about any of them. Rather, just trying to “savor the waiting,” as all those fancy New Age gurus and books tell you to do as the universe prepares you AND them for whatever comes next.

Imagine what life would be like with something to look forward to, instead of just trying to hold on for dear life to what you’ve got.

“The girls are down at Ruby’s
Trying to find some Christmas cheer
There’s not much to do but drink too much
When every day’s unclear.”

— Melissa Etheridge, “Christmas in America”

I have no reason to be depressed this year. I mean, I *DO* but honestly, the things I never took for granted in the first place are even more special this year.

In the six years I’ve had my job, it’s never felt safe. You’d think being part of a 50-year-old business would come with some security.

But then the job I had last year got yanked away and transformed — first in a bad way (i.e., department, team and satellite office eliminated), then a good way (i.e., idiot new boss tossed out, I got promoted) … and then in a REALLY bad way (i.e., new department and new job eliminated). And then a new job appeared out of those ashes.

And then the apartment I never loved anyway was about to get sold out from under me … and then the landlord turned out to be a nice guy and he let me keep it through the holidays.

And the car I’ve been looking to replace broke the fuck down on the highway … but a wonderful tow truck driver and mechanic made Stewie better (and in one day’s time).

And while good health still eludes my mom and now my cat, they are both still here.

Every day is unclear, indeed. But if ever I took a minute of my good fortune for granted, I officially know better than to be the slightest bit ungrateful about what I *don’t* have because I *do* have so, so much to be thankful for.

Someone at work was asking me why I don’t talk about dating. And I explained the way I always have, that you’ll know when something amazing is happening. I don’t share anything less.

She was shocked I was so matter-of-fact and wholly uninterested in the topic. I said when you get to my age (which is old in my field — they only want the young kids who will work for no wages whatsoever), you’ve waited so long that what’s another year or 10.

I told her about my (smart, truly) friend who gets mixed up with one loser after the next. They abuse her mentally and/or physically, they take her money, they make her feel like shit … and she doesn’t leave. And when she DOES walk the fuck out … she just finds another loser to fill the void.

Not that I have any judgment in me, because I don’t where she’s concerned, but I avoid all that. You want someone to abuse and treat like an ATM? Bye, Furrlicia.

I am proud that I was able to take care of my Momma as best I could. Sure, I wasted money along the way and should have been more responsible and planful. But overall, we’ve had a fun, good life together.

Wasn’t what I envisioned when I was younger. But much better than babysitting some doofus and faking some orgasms to get his sweaty, hairy ass off of me faster. And then having to divorce him for voting against Hillary and then having to find a new home untainted by his stupidity and then losing half my 401(k) on top of it. Fuck dat.

In any event, the world is a big fat flaming pile of shit right now. But time flies when your life — when the country and the entire universe — is falling apart.

Might as well love what you’ve got instead of missing what you’ve never known. Who knows if it will still be there next quarter, let alone next year.

At least December brings the hope and spirit of Santa Claus. Even though there’s not a present to be found under our tree that you can see, I can say a full heart is eleventy billion times better than a cluttered floor.

Happy birthday, Jesus. Even though I am pretty sure you were born in the spring and that you aren’t exactly a Caucasian hippie, I love you today and every day just the same. Thanks for the real presents. Wish I had something to give you other than my worries and thanks. But I’m grateful that, if you’re the kind of guy (or gal) I think you are, that’s exactly what you’d want.

There’s a name I just can’t get away from.

Lisa VanderPump.

I swear to holy god, I do not get how someone can be so … forgettable … yet people will cater to them just because they call.

I got word that I am supposed to give this person something. After last week, I voluntarily gave them something else because I felt like helping the friend-of-a-friend they dispatched to get it from me.

And it seems like LVP isn’t exactly thrilled that I’m not homeless at this time.

Man. Some people fall in shit and come out smelling like roses, and they still can’t be halfway happy for anyone else.

I’m going to fight this latest injustice. I’ll probably lose. God knows I lose most battles these days. But I am so very tired of hearing LVP’s name in association with getting things that meant the world to me, and getting them for doing absolutely nothing in return.

Thanks for the blackball, Jack. Next stop: blue balls.

Despite knowing your industry, knowing everyone in it AND being remarkably capable at your corner of it, folks will still listen to unimpressive cads who suggest you’re not the right fit for new opportunities to do, be and know more in it.

Look. I’m not going to bang on doors that aren’t meant to open. But a lousy reference says more about the person giving it — and the person who heeds it — than the person who doesn’t get a chance to defend him or herself.