Caterwauling

Just having some fun with a few thousand floridians before today’s big event. 

We were asked to share our sign ideas. I’m sure you can see mine in there …

Lost amid (rightful) travel-ban outrage (how about Saudi Arabia, tangerine jackass? oh wait you profit from it) … and DeVos and Tillerson being snuck through … and the LGBT-attacking trial balloon … and the nationalist missive aimed at the FOMC … and all the other shit that provokes any sane person’s righteous indignation …

Is the popular vote loser’s personal Benghazi in Yemen and his blonde Medusa’s made-up terror attack on Bowling Green.

HELLO ALT-UNIVERSE, PEOPLE.

I don’t care about any good that motherfucker might do. He’s going to destroy us from the inside-out. Or desensitize us. And I don’t know which is worse.

In any event.

I had a personal Festivus this week. Like there are two people who often work my nerves, and I was totally Team Them this week. Not just because everybody else (the entire WFH set) pissed me off, but because I really admired things they said and did.

And it doesn’t hurt that I learned one voted just like I did. That might help me to forgive A LOT in the future.

Well it’s really my back after getting it stabbed before someone threw a whole bunch of us under the bus.

Accept responsibility for your goof. Seriously. Whether it impressed the one you clearly needed it to impress, well, who knows.

I love people who say, “Yeah I own that.”

I am feeling zero love right now.

Seriously, the missives blaming everyone but your own impatience, and telling everyone else to be cognizant of their own supposed failings, isn’t going to convince anyone else to step up and give up their nights and weekends.

I’ve been waiting years to say that.

When you have anywhere from one to three hours’ worth of meetings a day (filed under: a good day), is that part of your supposed “eight hours” or do you put in eight hours on top of that?

I mean, I assume eight hours on top of meetings.

Just asking as I hang up the phone only to pick it up again and two more times after that.

Time to have my Senate Democrat hearing and prepare for my own personal DeVos.

Bumped the call with the person I didn’t want to talk to till tomorrow. I can be insulted when I’m less psychotically busy, thanks.

But once again having to try to publish shit and be in a meeting, I accidentally sent live a mailing … set to arrive on Nov. 1 and not Feb. 1. Ask me how hard it is to reverse THAT process. Especially given that I have to ask Fric and Frac, who go home at 5 physically and at 10 a.m. mentally, for help.

That new year’s resolution when you say you are leaving by 7 every night and no later (OK most nights) and if you do leave at 6 then you can just log in for an hour later and still have a life balance …

Works GREAT but who’s doing the work you’re not doing when you’re out enjoying 12 minutes of daylight and hanging with your momma and kitty?

I got to thinking about that person I have to interview. I feel like a Senate Democrat. I can filibuster all I want to, but my own Betsy DeVos is going to be Edumucation Secretary. And I as the deputy administrator will be fighting to make spelling and grammar great again.

I didn’t mean to suggest I skipped a meeting. Just had it later at a time more convenient to the people who attend it. I would give anything to move it or do it daily when it makes sense. But whatever. Hooray for getting out not terribly late after doing my day mostly my way.  And for having a phone to my head while editing without any calamities. 

Just don’t ask me about that turd who’s hired whom I have to interview. Yes in that order. Was a dick to me by email. This should go well. 

When you give up a 20-minute meeting you benefit from to get ahead to compensate for the two-hour meeting you don’t have anything to say during, and when you finally say you’re too busy and someone who never missed a meal/event/date night has to step in to fulfill a problem of their own making instead of you giving up your nights/weekend to figure it out, it’s a good day, Tater.

My date with my 45-year-old-self was prescient. But it wasn’t surprising given the day before.

My to-do list was (is) packed. To the freaking gills.

But I wanted to go to the bonfire that night. They happen every other Friday in winter. The bands usually suck but this time they had a great group I last saw a year ago up in Vero Beach.

My sidekick had the day off. Every time she’s off, I’m stuck there till all hours. I missed the PostSecret event in part because A) too much to do and B) she was out.

(Yes I am still butthurting about that. I’ll get over it after I get over President Shit for Brains.)

In any event, I put “Bonfire” as the seventh item on my to-do list. I did get things done that were on the list after it. But I was determined to go home, grab my Momma, and get us to the beach.

We were late, but we got there.

And so the dream makes sense in that context — no one else was missing their Friday night plans. Why should I?

I made up for it last night, getting done what HAD to get done for this morning. Would have liked to have spent some time calling Little Marco Rubio and asking why the fuck he didn’t stand up to President Snowflake and his Chief Nazi Bannon back when he had the chance. But thank God for the ACLU and the record donations it received to fight these fools’ idiotic decisions.

I have zero doubt this is 100% Bannon, puppeteering the dottering old fool. I’m going to call him president from now on because he’s the real scourge we need to exterminate.

In any event, we’re all gonna die. Go to the damn bonfire. That’s all I’m saying here. And let anyone who worked longer/harder (and can prove it) cast the first stone.

Gotta get some professional protesting shoes if shit’s gonna be permanently whack.