Caterwauling

Truth.

14 Fucks I Refuse to Give in 2014

“If I learned anything in 2013, it’s that love — the overwhelming, this-is-the-one kind, the love that makes you weak in the knees, if not slightly duller in the head — isn’t real. It exists outside of reality, in a world devoid of calories and Kardashians.

“I prefer the little loves. … Neglected nuances, subtle sincerity — that’s where love lives.”

My favorite was No. 12, about saving destructive relationships.

Last week I talked about how things sometimes just end, yet we find reasons to keep them on life support. Or dig them back up and see if maybe they’re still alive. Whether of our own morbid curiosity or because someone nudges us.

And with so many cases in the news right now about people who are dead but either they’re being kept alive because they’re pregnant (fucking Texas) or the California family that isn’t ready to let go of their daughter after a tonsillectomy basically killed her (although I blame medical incompetence. Because, reasons), that shows us: Dead is dead.

So after I blogged last week about how things just end sometimes, it pains me now to admit I let the random third party get into my head. And I followed the plea to “Be a Friend!” to someone who just didn’t show much interest in having me as one.

Look, I am That Girl. The one who gets scared about being friends with anyone in my professional field because it’s too tightly knit and your business is up for discussion.

Let me say this: I had great and interesting and certainly colorful histories with many people. I will love what we had (friendship or otherwise) for always.

And maybe I didn’t work hard enough to save some relationships. But I think I should get an A-plus and a Purple Heart for some others.

But … I’ve put a lot of distance between myself and my beloveds. Some for good reason, some out of laziness and some because I figured to let it go quietly and remember the beauty rather than what could have come next.

Besides, even if they really do care about you and want the best for you, which I believe for the most part, it’s a world where everything you say/do can/will be held against you. And in a world where your social connections are what make or break your career, it’s better to retain some mystery.

Again: Because, reasons.

And for the record, I DID try to step up and “Be a Friend” this week. And … crickets.

I told myself last year that I wouldn’t continue to try on this front. And I got happier. I really did. So to bring anything bad from 2013 into 2014, well, shame on me, I guess.

But you know what? I am not going to be mad at myself for taking every opportunity to be not only THE better person, but also A better person.

Here’s to everyone getting, being and doing better this year. And while I do believe we as a society and network of people all need each other, maybe we all need to expand those circles to get closer to where we’re going.

Here’s to new connections …

“Welcome to the inner workings of my mind
So dark and foul I can’t disguise
Can’t disguise
Nights like this
I become afraid
Of the darkness in my heart.”

— Ms Mr, “Hurricane”

My handsome California friend (you know, the one who sent me wine from Napa that got stolen at this dump I live in) posted on Facebook Friday. And it got me to thinking.

I was killing myself to end my day early because, on the second workday of the year, I was already burned out.

He worked a 14-hour day where he wrote a book chapter and did a whole bunch of other stuff that had him PUMPED.

He’s quite the Renaissance man, too. Plays guitar and sings, has horses and a gorgeous dog and cat, loves his wines and basically loves the shit out of his wife and life.

And it occurred to me that even though I work and try hard, I don’t have that, “OMG I LOVE MY LIFE” feeling at the end of every day. Or any day with the exception of my recent and altogether too short vacation.

I want to feel that way. That’s not a resolution for the new year. That’s a resolution for NOW.

My anxiety is killing me. Quitting early only leaves me feeling incredibly nervous — either that I’ll be replaced with cheaper, less-sassy labor or that I’ll have to work 80 hours next week to make up for it.

I’m never really sure which is worse. But I’d also like to NOT find out.

Like the old Garbage song, “I’m only happy when it rains,” apparently I’m only relaxed when I’ve given every ounce of energy to everyone else. I just wonder how I can give what I can, still keep my job and give some more to me so that I am better-equipped to keep going and serving and doing and producing and, maybe this year, dreaming up big ideas too.

Any suggestions from the peanut gallery?

Perhaps my favorite blog post name, since it’s the fourth time I’ve used it.

It’s been a week of highs and lows and little in-between.

Yesterday we had a holiday party at the Alligator Ranch. I pitched a fit that it was a two-hour catered sit-down affair with RAFFLES, good God. On a Friday, my busiest day. Also that work was dismissed afterward and YEAH RIGHT.

Once again I had happy hour plans that I missed by 3 hours, same as Thanksgiving. But my boss gave me an awesome Christmas gift and I came home to put up my ghetto lighted palm tree (since, time to do the real tree was non-existent this year).

Plus those raffles paid off — I have never won a damn thing in my life and I got a nice Amex gift card in the exact amount I paid for that ghetto lighted palm tree. So, win-win.

Today I opted not to weigh in but I did go to my meeting. It would have gone one of two ways:

1. I hit my 10% goal and would be nervous about eating ANYTHING this coming week because I’d have to maintain at least that weight.

2. I wouldn’t hit said goal and, well, I would feel compelled to eat ALL THE THINGS as a result.

So, let’s say we’ll find out in two weeks when I’m back in town, eh?

I went to the local Urgent Care clinic to address a Problem I noticed about a month ago.

But I did what I always do: ignored it. Then tried home remedies. Then tried to get doctor’s appointments with specialists on weekends.

(The home-remedy route has a better chance of working than finding a specialist with Saturday hours.)

So I am a medical oddity. (Shocker, I know.) We don’t know what’s wrong with me. Basically I have a week’s worth of antibiotics and steroids and if those don’t make a dent, then we panic.

And by panic, I mean bloodwork and specialists. I heard the word “biopsy” and almost fell over dead on the spot till I realized, nothing can kill me. Without me, who else would God have to laugh at?

Things are tough at home. I admit to contributing to all that is wrong. I also admit that if she’s right and she’s slipping away and this could be the end, I don’t know that I wouldn’t breathe a sign of relief.

In a way of course. I would miss her cooking. God I’d miss her cooking. The cleaning too. And the sage advice and psychic insights. 🙂 But I see what it’s costing to treat a stupid silly condition WITH GOOD INSURANCE — it’s no wonder she’s feeling too far gone to even start now.

That’s our America, though. In 1984 I wrote to President Reagan and told him he was single-handedly destroying my world. And now that I REALLY understand what he was doing, holy shit. I hope that letter is framed somewhere in the Oval. I really do. That whole sinister cabal of those stealing from the poor and redistributing to their Cayman Islands accounts. Fuck them all.

Anyway, here’s to making it to Friday, when my plane takes the fuck off and I can come back a few days later with food from Trader Joe’s and a T-shirt from Manhattan and a lovely post-Christmas Christmas dinner in Philly in mah belleh. And to all the wine I’ll consume the moment I get home, to recover.

Here’s to the meds working. Because … yeah. Just because.

Because, who wouldn’t want to read an entry with that headline?

“My pussy tastes like Pepsi-Cola
My eyes are wide like cherry pies
I gots a taste for men who’re older
It’s always been, so it’s no surprise. …

Come on baby, let’s ride
We can escape to the great sunshine
I know your wife, and she wouldn’t mind.”

— Lana Del Rey, “Cola”

I heard this song for the first time on the way to work this morning and I’m like, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?

I try not to be *too* crass. Especially since I see the type of people it attracts. But every once in a while, I rather enjoy an innuendo … as long as it’s an intelligent one.

Someone’s name has been in the air lately and it’s not a good one. He was full of disgusting comments. And it made me stop saying sexual things pretty much altogether.

And after moving on to spend too much time dating a damn choirboy, seriously, I need to find my sense of humor again.

I’m reclaiming it today.

Anyway, I was telling some colleagues how guilty I feel … like I unleashed that disgusting beast. I told him it was OK to talk to me that way. The guy was a big ol’ nerd and I’ve always had a soft spot for the “talk nerdy to me” set. I figured, they were all learning how to treat a woman on the off-chance one would talk to them. They were practicing and studying, right?

Well not this one. He learned all his charm from porn, apparently. But I didn’t mind. What I do for a living can be pretty damn boring. And I used to work with one of the biggest horn-dogs on the planet. Of course, he actually knew his way around a woman, I can tell you that firsthand.

Ahem.

Anyway, so this clown started sexually harassing one of my people. And I said to her, I need to talk to this guy. She said no, it’s OK. She can handle him.

And now to this day, I have generations of people I meet in this world who have been offended by this character. Men too. Hell, men ESPECIALLY.

I feel like I should have contained it. Not that I could have, I know that now. But it’s fun to think about whether, if you’d just cut their dick off early like they deserved, generations of *squick* could have been avoided.

Anyway, no wonder I went for choirboy. (Or Catholic Boy, as one of my girls called him. Which is appropriate given that he cancels plans with me all the time supposedly to go to church.) Of course, I figured he’d be somewhat of a tiger. Never dreamed he’d be a pussy … cat.

Nah. Just plain pussy.

I am feeling all gangsta-like, throwing that word around. Sweet release!

I realized something today. Most of these yahoos aren’t good enough for me. I spend all kinds of time thinking I’m too “whatever” — not skinny, not pretty, not smart, not whatever — for them. And today I realized in a big way I’m too vibrant/cute/funny/successful for most of THEM.

Christ, I’m never going to find anybody, am I?

By all accounts, it was an extraordinary day.

Got an amazing message from an old friend to start the day off right, received my gold iPhone (it’s syncing now. Thank you Evil Landlady for showing up at work today since you missed the delivery attempt yesterday), got out of work early at 6:30 p.m., got to Publix and finally found my beloved Weight Watchers Triple Chocolate Brownie Bliss bars (and bought five boxes), had time to stop at CVS before it closed and basically just had a Good Day overall.

But even before that …

That familiar voice half-roused me in the middle of the night. “Goddess, there’s something you should know. Let me show you what you didn’t see.”

And so the dream began, taking me to this set of conversations, and I went into fly-on-the-wall mode.

I saw the same person I’ve been questioning. And they were talking about me to everyone they saw. But … listening closely … it wasn’t as bad as the first go-’round.

Oh I heard my words repeated all right. But it wasn’t with embellishment this time. Rather, the thoughts were incomplete … out-of-context. Making me look like an idiot, yes, but making the speaker look like an idiot, too.

I wouldn’t say I was smug about it, but I realized I was in the clear with the people whose opinions I was worried about.

I didn’t sleep much after that, just letting my imagination go a little further than normal on unrelated issues.

I had asked myself yesterday during the loooong drive whether it’s better to squash certain thoughts or to simply let them run their course. I think the creative writer in me longs for the latter, while the right-brain-controlled part of me puts up the roadblocks.

Creative me won today. After all, I do have more books to write. Sometimes a girl’s gotta let the characters explore and develop and feel more alive than the person who will be writing about them.

And my little mind wandering led me to this: Aside from people I have to train myself not to trust with everything, what if there are others whom I haven’t been trusting enough who might very well be worth the risk?

While CNBC wets its pants over what they dub the “Shutdown Showdown” (What is this, the parallel-universe “The Price is Right”?), let’s take a moment to mourn the fact that the Panda Cam has gone dark.

You know I have PLENTY to say about those Tea Party twits. But Obamacare launched today. Hell. Yeah. Thank you that my mom has a SHOT at having some quality of life. If only I could get into the website without it breaking …

I remember working at a D.C. nonprofit and being on furlough. At my paid-nothing job. That required I spend one weekend a month working at a well-known print house. Whose contract I negotiated over a year in advance. Workers whom I could not let down because I was small potatoes and they just couldn’t move dates without it being a cost.

I worked through all our furlough dates. My staff did too but I took the brunt of it. Which I was OK with because once you miss publication dates, they run into the NEXT set of publication dates. It was either “keep working hard at a normal pace” or “renegotiate deadlines and BUST ASS EVEN HARDER” when everyone else came back rested from their unpaid vacation days.

I never got retro pay. I never got much of anything, really. Not even a thank-you.

I guess I’ve always understood the concept of Choose Yourself, even if it is choosing the lesser of two evils. As was pointed out to me yesterday though, the lesser of evils is still evil.

Speaking of evils, isn’t it time we called it quits on this Congressional experiment and move on with our futures? Quit rewarding the sequester/fiscal cliff/shutdown masterminds (really, 40 people in the House) and clean, well, House!

Source: https://medium.com/writers-on-writing/94ec1b9f5741

The feeling of not being in one’s home country. Hmm. I know I was born in these United States but, yes, I do feel like a part of my heart currently resides in parts unknown. Like Tuscany or the French Riviera.

So, another weigh-in, another failure to revel in.

I’ve been gaining and losing the same 0.4 pound for the past month. This week it was a gain. Le sigh.

I haven’t eaten anything but meats and vegetables and dairy since the beginning of this summer. No cake. No ice cream. I cut out the bagels. I really don’t have a lot else I can cut out.

My best losses come when I use my extra 49 points to drink alcohol. Honestly. It’s annoying, really.

This week I even got exercise! Three days of staying home equaled not only needing just one tank of gas instead of two, but it also meant a walk on the beach every night. Shouldn’t exercise help matters?

In other words, I was mentally more healthy this week. Of course, Friday was a mess. Drama and stress. Funny, I did weigh less on Thursday than I did today. That says something, doesn’t it?

The harder I work, the less-fair everything seems to be. The harder I, well, not diet per se but try to take care of my body, the pudgier I become.

I always say that things can’t change till you set them in motion. Every move is progress. I am probably one of the healthiest pudgy people I know. I just stalled after I lost 10 pounds and frankly the wind is so out of my sails that I just don’t even care right now.

I did go to my meeting today and was just deflated after I heard it wasn’t a loss. Like, how? Seriously, how?

The leader said something interesting, and that’s why I go. She said some of us did the program before and had smashing success, and now we’re struggling. OMG it’s like she heard my thoughts! And she said, look, you’re in a different place now. There’s no formula. All you can do is keep working at it.

Which, she’s right. But every time I give up something I really wanted … every time other people get promoted or complimented or favored over me … every time someone sends us a group nastygram after THEY did something wrong to shine a spotlight on things they want to say we did wrong … every time my heart gets broken because a boy would rather date someone uglier/skinner/married-er than me … I lose a little more of my mind.

And the remaining portion of my widdle brain just isn’t regenerating.

And to further test me, Whorothy changed her profile photo. Do you know how much it is KILLING me not to comment? 😉 I am committed to being a better person. Not sure why because I always seem to be the one who gets the door slammed in my face. (Thank you cunt in apartment 617 for shutting the front door and the elevator door in my face on purpose while LOOKING RIGHT IN MY FACE WHILE YOU DID IT.)

I feel like a stranger not only in my own land, but also in my own body. And I’m not sure whether it’s worth continuing to fight to take control of my destiny when shit seems determined to keep happening the way it wants to.

I had occasion to text my friend I’m supposed to see on Sunday. He replied back with a heads-up that brunch for two is now for FIVE humans. (No mention of the dogs.)

Apparently the plot continues to thicken. The girls are bringing another guy.

You know, maybe I should just bow out. After all, this was me taking him out for his birthday. If it’s a family reunion of friends, what is the point of my being there?

On the other hand, my appetite for drama (and blog fodder) is too potent to ignore.

I have yet to reply …

There’s a joke that you can put four Geminis in a room with the sole task of deciding what they want to do that night. You can come back five days later and they will still be there, because each one says, “I don’t know, what do YOU want to do?

This makes me a good date for the guy who likes to plan. Hell, I don’t mind if they order for me too, so long as red wine is involved. They don’t have me asking for stuff they don’t want to do, and I get to see how romantic they are.

Seriously, when the last one would give me choices, I still couldn’t narrow it down. I’d tell him I’d gladly follow his lead. He might have thought I was a doormat but, really, I didn’t care as long as we were hanging out and having fun together.

(We always had a blast. And he always had red wine ready for me.)

(Of course, I think he judged me by the activities I did suggest and request. So, you know, I’m not overly sad that I don’t have to worry much about that anymore.)

Same thing with friends. We were to have a big birthday bash at my favorite restaurant, one I haven’t gone to in years. The restaurant decided they couldn’t accommodate us, and oddly enough it was a Gemini who made the alternate plans that turned out to be fabulous. Again, four Geminis would equal no consensus. It all works out. (I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun, stumbling from bar to bar in search, and receipt, of free birthday drinks!)

Night before, I went out with some other folks. They asked what I wanted to do. I REALLY wanted to go to the favorite restaurant, but alas, I picked an area that was convenient to all. Because, peacemaker, yo. Again, everyone was happy so I was happy. Total birthday win.

Back when I was little, my mom would try desperately to throw birthday parties for me. But being born on Memorial Day weekend meant everyone went away with their families. And I was always left feeling A) unimportant and B) like, why the hell can’t we ever go to the beach, too?

So as I grew up, I learned to celebrate alone. Oh don’t get me wrong — I threw some fabulous parties in my day. Mostly when the urban tribe was all too broke to go away and anyone would show up for free liquor and a cookout. Besides, I used to be a fabulous cook. I enjoyed all of it.

So last year everyone flaked. I mean everyone. If not for a last-minute invitation from friends who felt sorry for me to join them during their plans, well, yeah.

Maybe that’s a part of the reason I don’t make any demands. If you have plans, what does it really matter what they are?

Of course, I see the same thing playing out in all my relationships — love, home, etc. I wouldn’t say I’m a master (mistress?) at keeping the peace, because I can be an asshole when I want to be. But I feel like so little is actually my choice. Rather, my choice is allowing everybody to get what they want in hopes I will get what I want. Which is happiness.

Of course, the birthday is the one time of year I feel like it’s on my terms, whether at home or otherwise. The people who wanted me, reserved me weeks in advance. And I’m still puzzling over a couple of strange communiques over the weekend, and a lack of them coming from a certain direction.

That’s OK. I also have some big invitations from other corners of the world to come see them. I really have to ask to be able to use some of my vacation days. Not that I want to disturb the peace; after all the last job that put me out on the street was the one where I used and enjoyed the hell out of my vacation days.

Wait, what was I just saying about putting what everyone else wants before what I want? Damn it, this is how it starts … and, I hope, where it can come to an end …

I haven’t said much about the whole gay marriage thing because, frankly, I’ve been a proud fag hag for 20-odd years and I was even a bridesmaid at a beautiful commitment ceremony several years ago. I don’t have to shout from the rooftops because I live my support every single day.

It’s not like I’ve found love. And I’m sorry to say I’m starting to lose my faith in it happening for me. So if some people who do genuinely love each other and want the piece of paper (and all the spousal benefits in the eyes of the government), it’s not like denying it to anyone else will make my own Prince Charming appear.

And here’s the thing. Maybe I need to hang out with new people (oh, wait, YES I DO), but everybody — and I mean everybody — is either cheating on their spouse, and/or cheating WITH someone else’s spouse.

Look, I’m not innocent in this game. But I try to stay out of it. Or, at least, not get sucked back IN to it. Too often, anyway.

So anyone who has an opinion on the sanctity of “traditional” marriage other than “not my business” had probably pull their dick (or strap-on) out of a hole it doesn’t belong in before they choose to voice said opinion.

Because from where I sit, the only traditional marriages I see do involve two men or two women … and a third party. And that’s why I thank God that maybe he’s spared me of being with a lying, cheating whore … or having the temptation to become one myself.