Caterwauling

Well. Never endured a Category 4 hurricane before. Sure I lost power for a week after Wilma. But it wasn’t 100 degrees out like it is here now, with 120 mph winds. 

Have plenty of food. And LED lights. And candles. And booze. Diet be damned. 

Didn’t shutter the windows. I’m not in the mandatory evacuation zone this year. But I am in the second zone, where it is strongly encouraged to GTFO. 

I’m sick of hearing from everyone who is prepared. How expensive their preparations were. How other people will die but they will be fine with their AC and gas grill. 

Meanwhile I’m in the Chinese drywall palace where our idiot management trimmed the trees and left the debris on the ground. You know, the better to impale people with. Or to go through the windows that have no screens, let alone shutters.  

And don’t get me started on how the pools are still full. Fools.

They chained up the clubhouse from the inside. I went to grab mail tonight and couldn’t get in. How da fuck will they get in to unlock the chains holding the doors together? Also there are “no exit” signs on the inside. How about “no entry” signs on the outside? Fools. 

This place will remain standing just like Trump’s empire and other shitty companies do. That is, despite themselves. So I should be more worried than I am.  But in a world where ineptitude is most richly rewarded, I am definitely in the right place. 

Lord please keep my coffeemaker running for the next four days. Or six, if this shit hooks around like it appears it will. 

Hey at least I’m getting two days off. Not the vacay I had planned for next week. But no long meetings while I’m under a time crunch? Greater joy than the hell any hurricane could inflict. 

Hurricane party!!!

There are people who annoy the crap out of me. To the point where all I need to do is hear a breath or some suck-ass comment out of them, and I want to stroke them lovingly with a shovel. 

Then there are the assholes who I choose to be around and they still disappoint me. You give them condolences on a death and they totally miss a passing that’s destroying you. But go on, keep posting political memes. 

Or now, with a hurricane the size of Arizona just 400 miles from my spindly house, by all means send me stupid shit or crack jokes if you even think of me at all. When I’m barely holding it together and having to step up/step in for people who can’t or won’t help me. 

I had no idea I had any friends left to lose at this point. I was wrong. 

Basically I need to hire friends and put them on my payroll so they are forced to choke down their ambivalence and shit out something helpful every now and then to prove they aren’t dead inside. Money talks, even if it’s full of it more often than not. And that’s ok enough. 

My favorite, favorite, favorite teacher passed away.

I’ve written about her often in these pages. Never by name though. I wish I had.

Loved everything about this woman. She would say “my poet” when she saw me. She kicked my ass and made me better.

I have yet to meet anyone so inspiring.

I wonder if people know how much they impact someone. Like, does she know the McKeesport graduating classes of the past 30 years are in tears today because this amazing woman is no longer on this earth?

Miss you so much, Madame. Thank you for everything you did for me, from our AP English classes, to French lessons, to personal growth exercises and private chats about being a gracious and graceful teenager/high schooler.

I hope I made you proud. I know you’d hate this blog, and I know you’ll see me now and want more for me than what I have now. But know that I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.

My heart …

That moment when you can’t even “can’t even” anymore.

I won’t lie. I am filled with a very familiar feeling right now. And it’s ugly. 

Hearing about Trump’s taxes pushed me over the edge. Sure, I get to pay 2% of my income, on top of the other 30%, because of Obamacare. But we reward Trump for being a terrible businessman. 

The thing with the candidates in this election is that the one you won’t vote for reminds you of every boss you hated. 

He’s the blustering butthead you couldn’t escape till you were mad enough to take the first halfway decent offer that came along. 

He’s the one who made you turn your back on your cool team for greener pastures. 

The one who found a way to scratch a fingernail down the chalkboard of your soul 260 days a year. 

The one who got promoted and rewarded as dozens if not hundreds abandoned their passions because of him. 

And I know plenty who worship at the Cheeto Jesus altar who feel the same way about my candidate. 

As I’ve said before, some you’d want to go over a cliff for and others will kick you over it. 

That’s the choice on Nov. 8. I choose not to get kicked. I’m fuckin’ Lucy this year. That ball is mine. And if it isn’t, I am not giving it to him. 

Ever throw a tantrum before finally reaching the acceptance stage …

Only to have a wrench thrown at that …

And now you may not experience what you FINALLY talked yourself into believing would be a good thing?

Honestly I was just mad about something else in the first place. But it’s easier to be crabby about something tangible than try to tap-dance around what’s really bugging you.

I unfollowed a friend on social media whose significant other rubs me the wrong way. 

Not sure if it’s the psychic in me or what, but I violently distrust the guy. I had a vision of him leaving my friend to die and inheriting a very nice fortune. 

Alas, my friend is happy. And with nothing more than a really bad feeling to go on, I had to mute what appears to my third eye as a one-sided sham. 

Then there’s another friend. I still follow him but his chickie annoys me on every  level. 

It hits me that I’ve been feeling bad for my friend. And the reality is, I’m disappointed. Not in him. Just in some events. 

I thought my friend was perfect all these years. And fine, he’s fallible. I forgive that, because he’s an upstanding dude the other 99% of the time. 

But it feels like a series of decisions — which I know are none of my business — that just leaves me sad. 

For the longest time, I’ve felt my friend is wearing some scarlet “A” and bearing this crazy cross unnecessarily.

After everything,  I still want to say he deserves better. Or maybe he feels that’s all he deserves. 

And who the hell am I, honestly, to be viewing this with a decade-old lens? We all change. 

Kind of presumptuous to will someone to return to senses that may have changed over the years. 

I guess that’s because I’m not a lot different myself. Sure, I’ve evolved in many ways … and devolved in a few others. 

But I still see 21-year-old Goddess in the mirror. Maybe that’s because my eyes are shot from editing since 1990. 🙂

In any event, I want 100% for my friends to be happy. I just don’t get why my gut tells me to help them get their potential bunny-boilers out of their lives before it’s too late. 

The way I figure, these folks don’t like the things I post with possible dating types. I have a whole slew of boys who avoid liking or admitting they saw any hint of a pic or status update (as rarely as I allow them) with a new boy. 

So, I can do passive-aggressive too. Exhibit A: Caterwauling.com. 

I hope not to offend. I guess I’m still holding out for my happiness. Real happiness. And I guess I’m getting a wee bit judgy of those who maybe could benefit from some of my patience on that front. 

Normally I’d opt to spend Friday at home. Not today. Went in early, hauled ass all day, and took what may be my last beach walk before being ripped away from the Ave. for the second time. 

Met a guy at the shore. I always meet people in this particular town. Nowhere else, though. My social life wilts beyond the downtown city limits. 

I was telling one of my boys recently that I never let my weight bother me much. Even at my biggest, 75 pounds ago. Even when I started this job, 47 pounds ago. Even now, when I honestly feel bigger than ever even though I’m obviously nowhere close to peak pudge. 

I thought about my appearance for a hot minute, when the guy said hi. Probably my last day wearing shorts and a Starbucks shirt over a bikini top. Gotta give a care where I’m going. But I’m happy with me. And I wish that were enough. 

As I had said to my friend, I wasn’t hurting for cute clothes or guys. I liked me well enough. Still do. People get that and are either intimidated by it … or want to be around it. 

So the guy introduces himself to me as Dave. Tan, nice smile, lives in Boca. Good hair. Maybe Italian. Probably Jewish. (Again, Boca.)

Wanted to walk with me for a while. (D’awwww.). Assured me he wasn’t crazy; just hoped to have a conversation with a friendly fellow local. 

Single, no kids. Very nice. Weak handshake, though, which bugs me. I have a firm one and expect not to crush a man’s hand. 

Funny how I decided in that instant that this wasn’t going anywhere. 

Nice chat, more or less. My walk back to Stockholm was longer than his. Another handshake (ugh) and I never looked back. 

I think I intimidated him anyway. I’m shy and quiet and unassuming … in the first five minutes. Then I’m strong and articulate and not afraid to show I’m smart and strong.  

Well except in certain company that’s made it clear my kind ain’t welcome here. Story for another never. 

In any event, I am always looking for that spark. Once in a blue moon, I even find it. But the idea of giving up even an inch or minute of my space to anyone less than fucking amazing is bothersome. 

Maybe nobody is that amazing. Fuck, maybe I’m not that spectacular, either. (Just ask that “certain company” who mindlessly asks me the same five questions every now and then without ever listening to the answer.)

But I’m not giving up on amazing and spectacular. And  even if it never comes, I’m not intetested in being distracted by anything else. 

Not anymore, anyway. I have enough unspectacular to last 10,000 lifetimes already. Present tense. 

So yeah. I am glad this came and went. Nice, pleasant, forgettable. I already am going to miss my existing lunch buddies. And happy hour specials. 

Wednesday nights at Smoke, I will miss you most of all. Free wine and cheap chicken-lettuce wraps give me life.  

One more Wednesday left. Trying not to return to peak pudge as I try to soak it all up since I may never get it again …

Some people, you’d want to follow over a cliff if they asked you to. 

The rest will lead you to that cliff and push you over. 

You meet far, far fewer of the first kind. 

Well. Another trip to cancel.  

I hate moving. 

Was hoping for more time. 

Hope for no penalties since this ain’t the first time I took a hotel on faith that I’d be there on that day.