Caterwauling

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.

“Now the parking lot is empty
Everyone’s gone someplace
I pick you up and in the trunk I’ve packed
A cooler and a 2-day suitcase
Cause there’s a place we like to drive
Way out in the country
Five miles out of the city limit we’re singing
And your hand’s upon my knee.”

— Indigo Girls, “Power of Two”

So I had moment in the car last night, between stops to get a cheeseburger for the cat at one place, and chicken for the hoomins at another.

NPR was on the radio, and my hand fell from the gearshift to the passenger side.

I had a strong memory of someone I knew a long time ago. Almost felt like he was there at that moment.

It passed quickly. As feeling calm often does.

Made me think about how I say my lucky number is three. But maybe it’s two.

After all, I’ve had two jobs I’ve loved … two apartments I’ve loved … and two men I’ve, well, gotten all warm and fuzzy about.

Wonder if the third would be the charm or if I should just quit while I’m ahead.

I love my Planned Parenthood app. No incriminating words needed.

I have a friend I quote here from time to time. Because she’s brilliant.

Her latest is stuck in my head:

“Life will throw you curveballs. But you don’t always have to swing at them.”

We’ve always been told the opposite. Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” And that man sure scored a lot of points for my beloved Penguins. Other than every Wayne I’ve ever known being a compete douche (and one more follow-up douche moment for the books), wouldn’t you want to be like this particular Wayne?

I don’t have anything profound to say after another night of listening to the neighbors gallop across my ceiling and then the cat yanking me out of bed to feed her hungry belly.

But yeah. Lots of curveballs here.

I’ve felt pretty helpless, swinging at them till my arms hurt. Today I’m going to stand still and let a few whiz by. Let someone else swing. Let someone else endure the injury today. I’m too old for this shit. And so is the screwball lobbing all these blunt objects at my head.

Made the mistake of walking into a store to buy Momma some bread last night.

Went through the entire display (it was Big Lots. Shit be janky) to get the perfect one.

Walked straight to the register. No one was in line.

Well, one guy THOUGHT he was in line.

He said, “Excuse me. EXCUSE ME. I SAID EXCUSE ME.”

I turned around and saw a big dumb doofus with a cart filled to the brim with crap. I looked at him quizzically because I walked FREE AND CLEAR to the register. I figured maybe he was trying to flirt or joke or whatever it is I deal with when I am not in the mood to talk.

He said, “You cut in line.” Like it was recess and we were 8.

Honestly I still thought maybe he was joking. And he commanded me to get behind him.

I was stunned for a second and waved him FORWARD. You know, INTO MY SPOT.

I thought, maybe he’s a little special? I mean WHO THE FUCK would cut in front of a girl … who’s already at the register … WITH ONE ITEM?

And it only took me a split second of looking at this tall twit’s basket to say, “Let me guess. You MUST be single.”

Then I threw the stupid bread at him and motherfucked his very existence the whole way out.

I’m proud that the “Probably voted for Trump” was the SECOND thought out of my mouth. Clearly that makes me even more of the adult in this situation!

“Leaving’s hard, trust me, it’s really bad
It’ll shake you, damn near break you, it always has
You don’t go until you’re praying to break even,
Until staying is worse than leaving.”

— Sunny Sweeney, “Staying’s Worse Than Leaving”

I prayed to keep this apartment. Now it drives me crazy again.

I prayed to keep this job somehow. They (sort of) gave it back to me. And when I approached after another fucked-up commute and saw smoke billowing out of a (nearby, damn) building, it was an “Office Space” moment. I thought, hmm, should I turn around?

Have to keep reminding myself that, yeah. Staying definitely feels worse than leaving. But no paychecks are MUCH worse than paychecks.

When you are putting your employees on the street for the holidays, pro tip: Don’t put up signs for a company blood drive. Truly. Just, don’t.

Although … the Red Cross is offering a free fleece blanket to entice us. Perfect for when we are living outside!

Of course, I would wonder about the quality of our blood. I have none left — they took everything I had to give. And considering everyone’s coping methods, yeah. Sorry Puerto Ricans and Californians in need. If we are your last hope, you’re doomed.