Caterwauling

I really hate dumb people.

There, I said it.

I will take a cauldron bubbling over with impossible, brilliant people than a happy fool any day.

There, I said that too.

I think a lot of people assume my stress is over the impossible. It’s not. It’s the “I see a thought in your head, and I fear it will never have company” that really makes me want to reach out and stab someone.

Not that I want to spend my life surrounded by competent assholes. I’m generally asshole-averse. Besides, I have a way of charming most of them because I am a Goddess, after all.

But in this universe where I’m trying to waste less time, helping to keep others’ lonely thoughts company is an exercise in futility.

I try not to say, “Take what I give you and shut up.”

But, take what I give you and shut up.

When your delay cuts deep into my personal time, you forfeit the right to say anything at all.

I was fortunate to have a slow day today. It’s been three years since I’ve had a slow day. I’m using it to be 23rd in line at Comcast. 

I wish I had someone great to cover me. Great, mediocre, breathing. Whichever. Not picky as long as they have a basic grasp of English. Or something. 

In any event I’m hiring again. I have seven out of 30 resumes looking varying degrees of promising. 

One candidate has a killer resume. But did not send clips. So, strike one. 

Anyway, desperate times and all. And a-Googling Goddess went. 

I cannot put into words the perfect shitpile this person’s first article was. 

Do you blame the writer … Do you blame this major publication for not putting an editor on the job … Or was the original copy fine and they put an incompetent kid on it who thought he made it “gooder”?

I’ll have to look at more clips before I can make an assessment. But if anyone asks why I don’t take a day off even when my body is screaming and my house is in tatters, this is Exhibit A. 

Now I have to wait behind some dipshit calling himself White Chocolate who is breakdancing in his suit to pass the time.  W00t. Is this what I miss when I’m cooped up?

Between inhaling face-peeling Varnish Stank at work yesterday and today having people using the tiniest drill ever to basically saw off the balcony directly above me, my lungs are shot.

The asbestos dust is now covering my clean things that are going to go to my clean apartment on Saturday.

The workers were supposed to bust out my windows and board this bitch up first. So, I’m going to call it a blessing.

A very loose use of the word blessing.

This is what my bedroom is going to look like after next week. Thank God, it’ll be when I vaporize from this joint.

For those unfamiliar with this illegal hell, that’s a corner bedroom with two former floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can see through the building. Nice eh?

These nutbags bust down the glass, come in 41 inches each way, and basically turn your 10×11 room into a closet with wet plywood walls for six months.

And why the landlady is pro-rating my future rent and re-assigning my parking space when I said I was leaving is BEYOND ME.

I tried looking for my new spot. 111. I can find 110 and 112. I have no idea where it is. Probably in the Intracoastal.

My mover just called to confirm our date for Saturday. He better get prepared to get hugged when this is all said and done. Because, so many reasons.

Last sunsets …

I don’t know how people can get through life having NO FUCKING CONCEPT of subject-verb agreement. I mean, what is the point of your existence if you can’t communicate in it?

So let’s say in a hypothetical Bizarro world, someone thought it would be a good idea to have their lawyer threaten you because, say, you don’t have enough time to parse their incoherent bullshit.

But when you, say, propose nicely how to transform it into mildly coherent bullshit, you get publicly excoriated …

Wouldn’t it make sense to file a counter-claim to say, “Stahp it with the bullshit already”?

There was a trending Twitter tag recently, #imsavingfor. I listed mine as “Bail Money.” I got some retweets from fellow sufferers. And some others are ready to chip in for my defense fund.

I’m trying very hard not to stress out. But damn, people. You’re lucky I’m not Olivia Pope. She’d extradite your ass to Iran or something. Or sic Huck on you.

I think I need to hire Olivia ….

I don’t mind correcting the grammar of super-intelligent people who are amazing at other things.

But constantly correcting grammar of someone who somehow graduated from J-School?

It seems the only people I know with journalism degrees who actually have a grasp on style, grammar and sense came from my college.

Editing edits continues to shorten my lifespan. Dramatically.

I like to use the phrase “bread and circuses.” Well, I really like to use the phrase “OOOH SHINY.”

In any event, there’s a disturbing pattern in my world that can be traced back to Ancient Rome. And it’s that, when things go to shit, we have to distract ourselves with shiny and fun things.

In Ancient Rome, it was the government providing the shiny things. Here in my world, sometimes you have to provide it for yourself.

I have this recurring nightmare. It’s a circus filled with assclowns that I cannot escape. I try so very hard to run this circus and make all the performers happy. Yet they all declare mutiny and run their clown car over me.

It’s a daily nightmare lately. And the amount of mental calories it burns, if translated into body calories, would put me back at birth weight.

I don’t want to burn any more calories this way. This shit is sending my cortisol through the roof. Even when I eat right, I put on pounds. And while I don’t want to assign the blame to this recurring nightmare, I don’t think it can be denied that I am going to want to find a way to NEVER HAVE IT AGAIN.

Eternal sunshine, anyone?

FUCKING FACT-CHECK, PEOPLE.

Jesus CHRIST you all have higher educations and more experience than I have years on this earth.

But by all means, I am THRILLED to be here at something-past-six-o’clock, fact-checking and reassembling the Jenga tower you built based on FANTASY.

No Love,
Goddess