Caterwauling

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. 

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. 

And could I have a bite? Because I have not moved all day. And I am 100% unamused with the reason why. 

I feel like I need to write that on a blackboard as many times as it will fit.

I know I need to be manager-ly or whatever it is. But I am really really emotional about something this afternoon, and I really really want to explore the epiphany that it’s bringing about.

But Buttercup will suck it up.

After all, I get to live and work another day. And that’s really what the bottom line is to every “cool story, bro” moment there is in life. Did you live? Can you pay your bills? Awesome. Now zip it.

Consider it zipped.

I paid someone a compliment yesterday who did me a solid.

Said person generally drives me crazy on a good day. But ain’t no disrespect, yo, when you help me look not-stupid.

Today I am eating those words.

In any event, everywhere I look, everyone is at wits’ end. It’s almost a good thing to be off the Faceypages. If anyone asks any questions about where their heads are at, I’m blinking.

As for my head, it’s down and in the game. And hurting like a mofo.

But nothing a case or two of Lodi Estates can’t fix. And a vacation. A very very LONG vacation.

Seeya on the flipside. Be good to each other.

I’ve been trying to stay positive. But it’s been a shit festival this week (month). The more I disappoint people, the more I disappoint them. You know?

Like the Law of Attraction just gives you a ride-all-day Shit Festival pass. And I see no way out of the outhouse unless they throw me out. I don’t even know if I’d fight it at this point. Getting out or staying out if I ever do get a whiff of rosier days.

I read something today that said you will be happier if you plan a vacation even if you will never have the time, money or other resources to take it. How does that work, exactly?

No, you don’t have something to look forward to (cough cough canceled Key West trip for mom’s birthday cough) eventually. You have a big fat fucking reminder in the form of your wussy little Pinterest board that nice things aren’t meant for you.

Of course, I type all of this to say I said something smart this week. No, not the “Wow, what you earn during 8 hours dictates how you enjoy the other 16 in a day.” Although it is true, even if it affects what you eat for lunch during those eight-ish hours.

But after the latest tragedy to hit Disney, a 2-year-old boy’s death at the Grand Floridian, an old friend said she’d delete anyone who wrote anything stupid about the parenting skills. And my response was, I wondered why they were out at 9 p.m. Then I remembered, awesome fireworks during the 9 p.m. hour. Then I heard a gator snatched the kid. And then I thought, how sad. And then I stopped thinking.

The smart thing I wrote? “If you don’t think stupid things, you don’t say/write them.”

Well, then I would have saved thousands of dollars in hosting costs for this blog, had that occurred to me 15 years ago.

I notice everyone is on edge lately. I mean everyone. Maybe it’s summer but we’re all swelled up and the elastic on the crankypants is about to explode. And we’re all taking it out on each other. And it’s righteously pissing me off.

Thus I (we) continue to attract strife.

And the cycle goes on. And on. And into next week and no doubt into that vacation that once was but that I won’t let exist in my head because I’ve had enough pain this week, thanks.

That moment when you see your old high school friend front row (omg squee!) at the Tony Awards and you know the path you’re on will never lead you there. 

So proud of my friend. I hope when I do something big, everyone else will be just as happy for me. 

Worried for my job today. Hoping I don’t have to use the Facebook status I used last time around anytime soon …

I posted a video of Evanescence covering “Purple Rain” over at Faceypages. Go watch.

It’s public, so you don’t have to be my friend. Unless I’ve blocked you. In which case, sucks to be you.

That cover/song is my everything.

It’s not that Prince was my all-time favorite artist. But he was a constant for the ’60s- and ’70s-born set. No party was complete without him. Every heartbreak could find solace in his songs. He was just THERE for all of it.

“I never wanted to be your weekend lover.
I only wanted to be some kind of friend.
Baby I could never steal you from another.
It’s such a shame our friendship had to end.”

I don’t even need to look up those lyrics. I’ve sung that song a million times to a half-dozen different people. In my mind, anyway.

I got to thinking about someone as I listened and recorded and tried not to bawl. Because, holy shit Amy Lee is A-MA-ZING.

Maybe it was the culmination of someones and my brain was putting together its own video reel as I listened and tried not to collapse from the hundred-degree heat and the thousand-degree fire inside my heart.

But it always seems like I find relationship-oriented people. Just not when it comes to me.

It’s OK. I’m less of a relationship type than any of them. Maybe they figured that out about me long before I did.

Doesn’t stop the occasional moment of “what if” from punching me in the face, though.

Luckily I’m only black-and-blue on the inside. And you’ll never know I’m missing you so much right now, I can’t even breathe.

And “you” is a surprising mix of three people I never, ever thought I’d think that about. Independently or all at once.

I got to thinking about a lady I worked with a thousand years ago I called Solitaire. You can probably search the archives for her.

My views on her have changed over the years.

Mind you, I never had much of a problem with her. She liked playing cards. I don’t know whether anyone gave her work to do or if she just liked her cards more than doing work.

My beef was that everyone was perfectly OK with the situation. Meanwhile I worked hard and didn’t feel as special as I was trying to prove I was.

And that rage led me into a web of disaster I couldn’t quite come out of.

I got to thinking about someone else who gets under my skin. I mean I want to rip my brain out of my head, stomp on it three times and shove it back in and hope the memory portion is sufficiently destroyed after an average interaction.

And something occurred to me today that I couldn’t put into words back then.

I don’t know how to NOT notice things.

Maybe it’s a feminine trait. You don’t want to notice that he isn’t the slightest bit interested in your day. Or that he is looking at another girl. Or that other people appear to have some level of favor you can’t figure out how to gain yet. Or that this particular dress really doesn’t fit you quite right. Or that white cake with white icing is really fucking good even if you lie to yourself and swear it’s filled with poison. I notice the little swipes even if they weren’t meant to hurt quite as much as they did. That ain’t being too sensitive — that’s simply being awake.

Trust me. I notice. I notice EVERYTHING.

And unfortunately I have a very hard time NOT COMMENTING on it.

I notice the people who go above/beyond. I welcome the people who email with “oh hey I thought you might need this so I went ahead and did it for you” or “oh hey here’s that thing you requested but I have some more ideas and would love to help you if you would like me to improve it a bit more.” I notice that shit and try to reward it accordingly.

Which makes it all the much harder not to notice its absence.

Don’t get me wrong. You could send me a list of everything you noticed I haven’t achieved. And you might be correct on many accounts. I ain’t no Solitaire and I don’t skate by. But I think I mire myself a little more in the noticing when I need to tune out and notice myself a whole lot more.

If there’s one thing I learned from my Solitaire days, “fair” belongs in no one’s vocabulary. And I think the Solitaire types — and I could be wrong, but I believe my guess is a good one — that they found their own way to make things “fair enough” for themselves.

Maybe they were the go above/beyond people in their day. Maybe they went from noticing everything to trying not to notice anything. Maybe I will be just like them someday.

And maybe I need to just silence my widdle brain now and get back to the business of what I CAN control.

Whatever THAT may be. But, you know. I need to figure it out. And fast.