Caterwauling

Wonder if  God gave me this commute to make sure I’d be praying to live in between prayers for a targeted meteor to take me away. 

Last week I was drinking half-price Meiomi at Mellow. Worked past 10 that night and was perfectly happy. 

Today I’m buying it in a fuckin’ suburb after the worst day ever.  Worked till 11 the past two nights and I’m ready to keep on driving after my shitbag commute. 

Note I went from heathy hummus to cake.

How the fuck is it only Wednesday?!

Make it convenient to do the right thing.

This was the e-letter message from one of my favorite writers today. He never seems to post those articles online, so no link love. But much, much love.

His building makes recycling hard (so does mine). Finding a place to have a cigarette makes smoking a pain in the ass. Not signing up for a class at the gym makes it easier to stay in bed, but now you have to explain your absence to others if they don’t see you. Might as well go to the gym.

I got to thinking about regulation, since Cheeto Benito is so hellbent on it. He’s already got the House rolling back regs that keep our drinking water and our air clean. (Shit. For. Brains.) President Bannon finally admitted that he picked Cabinet members who hate their industries so they can destroy them from within. And the Enabler in Chief is going along with it.

(Politics will kill me, I tell you.)

In any event, regulations make it easier to do the right thing. Or at least illegal to do the wrong thing. In the purest sense, of course, and I’m not here to argue against the regs that I think are stupid. (And there are many.)

I got to thinking about my lack of wanting to write. Well, it’s not necessarily that I don’t want to. I just have an array of not- to half-working computers all around me. And finally breaking down and buying a new computer last weekend was like hearing the angels sing.

I’ve left this laptop in its cute hot-pink bag for the past week. And the whole idea of buying the damn thing was to make it easier to get to my music and my bookmarked sites and, gee, the thousands of pages of typed-out notes for the stories in my head.

I almost wonder too, if I should go back to Weight Watchers. I did so well when I went to meetings. This whole tracking food online and then hitting the lentil chips after I put the phone away is killing my scale game. But when I have to face the judgy eyes of a leader who’s been skinny for the last 50 years, well. Makes me want to put the Big Gulp down, Tubby.

I also don’t say things out loud, so as not to commit to them. There’s not a public speaking opportunity that I don’t dodge. Heck, I can’t even commit to lunch just in case I want to worm out of it. (And trust me, I will always want to worm out of it. Generally leaving my schedule open means peace of mind and harmony at home.)

I want to commit to making it easier to do the right thing, or at least harder to do the wrong thing. Am hoping Lent can provide that opportunity.

My plan was to swear off the lentil chips. But mom said i am pretty angry when I am not crunching on things. And I gave up the chips the past week and she’s right. What else will curb the rage? (I’ve been trying sugar. Because we always have it in the house and I can usually resist it IF I have things to crunch on. Not so much now. Bad Goddess.)

My next plan is to quit going over my daily/weekly points allotment. Not giving up meat or sugar or booze or, God forbid, lentil chips. And that means stuffing my face with King Cake on Tuesday, yes. But that’s so I don’t have the temptation to snarf in the leftovers Wednesday.

If i can stay in my daily points again, I can do anything. Truly. And I hope someone, anyone can help encourage me and not either try to excuse it or just shame me in their own special ways.

Easier to just screenshot my latest screw-up. 

I have no plans to confirm or deny my whereabouts last night. All I will say is I love the men and women of Palm Beach.

Most of them, of course. Not the Post and the people who crabbed about what a shitty person Trump was until he won the election. They lick his balls now that they are afraid of being shipped off to Siberia.

(“The Siberian Candidate” would make a hell of a movie sequel, BTW.)

But in reply to those who penned missives that 200 people marched in Pittsburgh (yeah!) and disrupted your commute for 15 whole minutes … and who said we should find other charitable things to do with our time (but I didn’t see them saying anything they were doing that was worth noting) …

Let me tell you what I did on Saturday. I got my taxes done. Which means I did something your president won’t do — pay what the government determines to be my (and mom’s!) “fair share.”

Which I know is barely a drop in the bucket for the $100K gov’t-funded Eric Trump trip to Uruguay on behalf of the Trump Organization.

Or for the $3 million taxpayers are on the hook for this weekend for their president to host a Red Cross ball to benefit some of the very types of people he wants to keep out of the country. (I’m not putting it down. Just pointing out that same $3 million would have been a wonderful, needed cash donation.)

But none of it can help NYC, which is spending $2 million more a month on protecting the absent First Lady than it is on Section 8 so homeless families can have far-less-luxurious shelter. ($30M vs. $28M.)

In any event, I paid my taxes … bagged up clothes to give to charity … spared my last buck for a person in need because I am lucky enough to (God willing) have another paycheck arriving on Thursday … and fed no fewer than 30 homeless animals, which mom and I do nearly every night.

Fighting fascism and fake news is what I do in what’s left of my free time.

And I didn’t even insult the Australia PM, or tweet about a “so-called judge,” or tell Bill O’Reilly that we are just as evil as Russia.

So BY ALL MEANS, armchair critics, what did YOU do yesterday?

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.

Carrie Fisher said she has two personalities, Roy and Pam. They represent the extremes of mental illness. One is the dinner, she says, and the other is a check. 

I think she died worrying about her mom. I fear I will do the same. 

I’m not kidding. I need to get my affairs in order. Not that mom wouldn’t pull a Debbie Reynolds and die the next day. She totally would. 

Watching them in “Bright Lights” reminded me of us. We sing and laugh all the time too. I just wish, when I was working so hard when I was young, I had amassed wealth like Carrie did. This whole turning the whole paycheck over to the landlord thing is killing me. 

Was telling a friend I know I’ll have to work till I die. But as I age, I want to go see the beach on a weekday. Binge-watch whatever is on my DVR. Ease my aching joints or soul and not have to suck it up and put on makeup and be at a too-early meeting and have to work late to compensate. 

I don’t know that 23-year-old me could have done anything different. Life worked out the way it did. It’s been good. I’ll grant it that. 

But with the Mango Mussolini’s reign about to begin, I think we will see a lot of people losing their will to live or at least to fight. 

I joke that I might as well spend my money now because the world will end. I wonder what would happen if I paid zero taxes like him. 

And I wonder what I could be achieving without getting sucked into stories about how much that dumb fuck sucks. 

And that brings me to this:

http://www.upworthy.com/how-changing-what-i-did-every-day-changed-my-life

Just leaving that here. For whenever I’m not busy being the rock or crying a river. Or both at the same time. 

There’s a snowball’s chance that we could get Colin Powell elected on Jan. 6. No more Tangerine Twat-grabber. It can happen. 

I won’t hold my breath. But it would be nice to refer to the past two months as that time America went temporarily insane. 

Was not quite feeling festive this morning. Was redder than the dress I ended up wearing to the Christmas party, actually.

Mom said don’t go. Avoid any more chances to be upset. 

I fucking put on that red dress and had a hell of a good time. Because THAT is what a Goddess does.

When I left, she commended my choice to go to the ball. “That fireplace will be there tomorrow, Cinderelly.”

Also, where else could I rock my fabulous new hat?