Caterwauling

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.

On last night’s “Real Time,” Salman Rushdie reminded Bill Maher of his quote about how liberal purists need to learn “the difference between an imperfect friend and a deadly enemy.”

It was in reference to the dumbfuck Bernie voters who couldn’t stomach Hillary, or the indifferent who didn’t bother voting at all, for sticking us with that shit for brains who’s in the White House now. His comment was specific to the first 100 days of hell, and I can extend it to the embarrassing three visits the slob-in-chief and the First Slutty made to my state. Go the fuck away, to hell from which you were sent.

In any event, why yes, when recently asked what I’m looking for in a significant other, my first and only response was: “VOTED FOR HILLARY.”

Not “would have voted” or “considered voting” for her. Actually pulled the fucking lever to save our nation from impending doom, war with North Korea, trade war with our very good neighbor Mexico, and cultural wars that would make 1940s segregated America proud.

Speaking of which, Hillary’s new book is in my mailbox. Must run downstairs when I hit “publish” …

So much good loot! Postcards from Dave, stickers from Etsy and healing words from the popular vote winner.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Wars on my own front.

I was lamenting to a friend that the same person who ratted me out for wearing shorts (that got me kicked out of work) was eye-rolling at me ABOUT the person who kicked me out … and they were eye-rolling ABOUT my deportation.

Honey, if you think I am going to say something bad about THAT person (although, yes, I do have many feelings on that front), you’re dumber than you think I am. In fact, I said it’s OK and it taught me to figure out what DOES work, and to stick to it religiously.

Same with someone who is withholding the one thing from me that I want in this stupid world. Begging doesn’t work. Shaming doesn’t work. Ignoring the issue doesn’t work. Offering cash doesn’t work. But again, I’m sure folks are going for the reaction from me.

But to Salman’s, and originally Bill’s, point, these aren’t deadly enemies. That’s Trump. It’s not Hillary (to the Bernie bots and dumb fuck Trump voters). Hillary and the people I talked about today are imperfect friends.

Hillary would have been a survivable event to the Bernie bots and Trump voters. Trump is NOT a survivable event. My “friends” are a survivable event.

And so, as with the absolute disgrace this country has become, in my life too I am just grateful it isn’t scorched earth. Funny how you come to accept in life that a low bar is still a bar.

And for someone who barely drinks anymore, it’s not that hard to just ignore the bars for the most part because they really don’t affect your life either way, anyway.

So someone totally poisoned me against someone who could have helped me …

And I was so poisoned that I said no thanks …

TWICE …

And for them to chastise ME for my “failure” to hit the second deadline — the one that I had set for myself …

Wow.

I know I’ll regret this flaming bridge someday. But I am not going to feel bad about it now. Because I have a written list of things to explore first that folks failed to address.

I’d say color me surprised. But I’ve been in this world a little too long.

Frog has been picked.

I don't ever want to hear or say another word about it.

Now if I can just stop stress-eating lentil chips by the bag as I come down from this crazy high.

It's been intoxicating, to say the least. Now to get used to living with the decision I never, ever dreamed I would make.

After you give up your would-be affair frog-prince to stay with the belching, farting, sneezing, honking, Lysol-cloud riding, micromanaging funky ass, you can’t really tell him to shove a fly up his froggy butt because you just lit your backup lily pad on fire.

I predicted this. And again, I’m not sure it’s worse than moving into the affair frog/prince’s pad. But it was nice to dream of kicking frogpies across the pond even though you knew you couldn’t base your decision on the joy you would derive from it.

Probably a terrible headline and not very creative.

But after I saw an “expert” take one of my favorite writer’s brilliant headlines two weeks ago and make it sound like fuckin’ “See Spot Run” … and I no longer have override capability because it’s only my monkeys but not my circus … and don’t get me started on the content itself … I’m pretty much dead inside.

In any event, I picked my frog prince. My decision surprised even me.

Maybe “decision” is too definitive here.

At least, I either made it a whole lot easier … or a whole lot harder … to decide, should the decision come around again. Still not sure which.

I don’t know that it will come around again. Nor am I sure I want it to. And don’t think I didn’t immediately regret the decision the second I shared it with my frog prince.

The other started ribbiting instantly. (Literally, three minutes later.) And I’m like damn it, frogpies. Pipe the fuck down before I squash your poisonous ass. Jesus.

In any event, I’ve either opened the door to something bigger or I’ve burned the bridge forever.

And for the fact that I honestly cannot tell is probably confirmation that I did the right thing.

… in the context of taking a screenshot …

… in the subcontext of micromanagement because they don’t believe that people who used to run newsrooms, departments or companies could possibly see a stupid task through to completion …

… One more fucking time …

I’m gonna show folks the real context of that word. 

CIRCUMCISION. 

Well. Two frogs. Let’s be clear about that from the outset. 

I’ve been driving myself batshit for a week. Listing two sets of pros and cons. The list is absolutely equal. 

Nothing stands out that’s great. The rest is shit soufflé vs. shit on a croissant.  I wonder if the coin-flip result will simply come from my need to cut carbs. 

I deserve to be blessed with choices. That’s the upshot. Unfortunately, someone’s gonna get hurt. And I am 100% aware that that person is me. 

If I pick prince #1, do I murder him on sight in a week? Or if I pick prince #2, the lesser-known evil but stlll evil and maybe even more so, would I die a thousand deaths because my first pick won’t take me back?

I know life is all about choices. I just don’t see giving up a good thing unless it’s for a great thing. But nothing lasts forever. Least of all happiness. 

Send prince-picking vibes today, if you’re so inclined. I want a good date this weekend. 

I was counting my blessings today and saying them to my friends. 

It sounds like romper room. “I’m grateful for J and R and G and S and M. Oh and the Publix salad bar.”

R laughed. 

My friend J pointed in a direction and said “You forgot one.”

I said nope. No, I definitely did not forget. In fact, I’d rank the Italian market, the breakfast place and the Honeybaked Ham higher. And I hate spending money!