Caterwauling

Today was so stressful, it felt like a workday.

Got up early to go look at a house I’ve been lusting after. The listing agent on it never called me so I called a realtor friend and asked her to hook me up with a showing for the 3/2 villa at X price point on the water. I said it was a gated community so I’d meet her at the gate.

She calls me at five till the appointed hour to see where I am. And says, oh, there’s an ungated entrance — use that.

Hmm. I’ve driven by this thing a million times. Everything is gated down there.

I said, where is this entrance that is ungated?

She gives me an intersection.

There are no intersections ON THE DAMN WATER.

Turns out that there is a complex with the same name and apparently same setup and price, completely on the other side of town.

That’s where she was.

*headdesk*

So I find the listing agent and hunt his ass down to get to see “my” place. He picks up and he’s either asleep or in mid-fuck … I can’t really tell. He says he’ll call me in a couple of hours when he gets to the office.

Fast-forward exactly eight hours and I get a call. He’s just as idiotic-sounding as he was earlier. Tries forwarding me to his “partner” who, gee at six o’clock on a Saturday isn’t at her desk, which he apparently can see from where he’s sitting.

He hangs up on me three times and finally calls back now (8 p.m.) to say OK fine he will help me himself.

So the unit I loved? Under contingency. Someone else is applying for it and getting it.

He tells me to text him my e-mail address. I texted him the fact that I e-mailed him on February fucking 16th from this e-mail address. Meaning, if your DUMB ASS had gotten your shit together last week, this could have been MY HOUSE.

Oh I am so bitter I cannot breathe.

I work my ASS off so that everything is perfect and every ass is adequately kissed or slapped or whatever their fancy is. And then this idiot just lets me fall through the cracks like I am not worthy of the wonderful things I deserve in this existence. And he sounds like he’s rich — asked me if I wanted to rent a house he personally owns for the low price of $3,000 a month.

Fucker mouse.

Something better will come along. God if I keep saying it long enough, you will bring better things along, right? Or if these are the better days I was promised, just tell me and I will END IT NOW.

I don’t even want to talk about the rest of the day. But if this is how the latest Mercury retrograde cycle kicks off, you can find me under my damn covers for the next few weeks.

Mercury Retrograde is good for one thing: telling people off creatively.

Especially for us Mercury-ruled types, we should just duct-tape our mouths for three weeks at a time, three or four times a year. Because shit comes out that you have been muffling for months or even years.

Or as I admitted to someone (because yes, I do blurt shit out that I shouldn’t), it’s also a wonderful time to let things escape under the guise of, “Oh dear! How did THAT pop into my head (and out of my mouth)?” *innocent look*

My poor mother has heard everything I’ve been squelching since my grandfather died six years ago this week. And it ain’t pretty. She’s in hiding in her bedroom right now. AND I CAN FINALLY WRITE AND BLEED MY DAMN WOUNDS. HOORAY!

The thing is, she knows how to push every goddamn button I have. Sometimes, all at the same time. I can identify this because I do the same damn thing to her. And yesterday it was like throwing a shut-in on the whole piano keyboard. The noise is horrific and every button is stuck in depressed mode.

And boy does that last sentence say it all!

Speaking of Depressed, Meet Topo Gigio

Most of you don’t remember Topo Gigio, the mouse from “The Ed Sullivan Show.” I don’t either, actually. But that’s one of the names I call one of the “men” in my life.

And yesterday, he pretty much took a hammer to the last remaining button I had left standing when it comes not just to him, but to humanity.

This after I had received the most-wonderful e-mail from someone I knew and liked very much from my younger years. The timing was uncanny, really. I was on top of the world and recognizing my value to others when Topo thought he could wipe his ass on my world.

It will be the LAST time he does that. Because I can do better. I have always been able to do better. I just seem to have forgotten that because everyone has gone on to other people and I remain the asshole who is still alone.

But you know what? I’m probably the happiest asshole of them all because of that single state!

‘I Saw Goodbye in Her Eyes’

I’m borrowing this subhead from the new Zac Brown song. The thing is, I saw goodbye in Topo’s eyes a long time ago. And he flares up every now and again and, I’m ashamed to admit, I wonder if he’s finally had enough of his shitty choices that leave him isolated from normal people.

Rather, I’m ashamed to admit that I HOPE he’s coming to his senses before I put the epitaph on this entanglement. Which, again, that day was yesterday.

I haven’t seen him in a while. Because, well, distance really does make the heart grow fonder in two distinct ways:

1. He misses me and wants to see me.
2. I miss him until I spend time with him. Then, I’m good for a good long while.

I got an e-mail from him on Wednesday not saying he missed me. But saying that whenever I can free myself up, he’d love to do lunch or coffee or something.

OK.

So yesterday morning, we were texting back-and-forth about the usual pile of social, political and otherwise-surface issues that fill our conversations these days. (Since he has backtracked on everything he’s ever said to me personally. Easier to keep the truth straight, I guess, when the topic stays on national affairs.)

I was out and about, feeding my fur-niece and otherwise enjoying the pre-babysitting (Mom) gig that would eat up the entire rest of my day.

And thinking, OK, he said to tell him when I’m not busy, I said hey — I’m going to grab java after I spend some time with the cat. I’m by the highway. Want to take an hour to grab coffee with me? I’ll come to you.

Deja Vu All Over Again. And Again

I should know better. But, you know, maybe I’m sick of the only time we connect is when he is feeling like he’s off the leash that HE PUTS HIMSELF ON.

Seriously, he hangs himself with it. And you know what? Nobody gives a good God damn. Suffering is kind of pointless if nobody is witnessing it, yes?

The man’s got more excuses than China’s got rice. Yet he found another grain.

Funny thing was, he was heading down to the same fucking exit where I was doing my cat-sitting. But lo, raincheck! Eight Starbucks stores and three Dunkins in the six-block radius separated my whereabouts from his destination. But Jesus God no, he did not initiate the invitation so it is null and void!

I was stalking his whore online the other day. And I thought, hmm, she has a really cool Pinterest profile. We would probably be friends if I cared to associate with riff-raff. But that ain’t ever gonna happen.

I looked at her photo and thought, wow — that’s a face only a dumbass could love!

Or, more to the point …

A Face Only Dumbass Can Love

Understand, I’m not jealous. I actually hope these star-crossed nitwits can find their way together. But I think Whoreicane looks pretty happy with no mention of him anywhere or in any of her vast amounts of photos.

And I don’t think he can actually handle her. Like I said, I see parallels between myself and hoebag. I mean, he’s lowered his standards considerably on the looks front and even with the coherence front on that one. But I don’t think he can upkeep something like that.

Nay, I think she’ll get bored, or wait till he comes to his senses and finds somebody better. Frankly I think the only thing she loves is herself. And I’m not typically wrong about these things.

And forget me — I’ve made a return trip to my senses and closed the borders. So I think Raggedy Ass will be the lucky beneficiary. Since, of course, that’s where he was headed when he couldn’t come out and play yesterday.

Anyway, he said he was babysitting her dogs. And I was thisclose to saying, “Have fun with the dogs … and the canines!” Referring to her and her roommie, of course.

But …

I like that he thinks I’m so damn nice. (Clearly he has missed out on Caterwauling.com so far. Thank God.) I don’t want to say something shitty like that and have it be what he remembers me by. (Like I remember all the bad stuff.)

Again, but …

I thought of the whole “Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace” thing. Not that I plan to be around for that. But … WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS?

I can see rejecting me if he thought I was trying to get back to where we were heading, once upon a time. Trust me, the man is his own sequel to “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I get it, dude. Really.

But Jesus, I don’t need friends who are so married to the idea of possibly being disloyal to someone who doesn’t even know/care about their whereabouts at any given time that they can’t even hang with their platonic friends.

That’s why I’ve often said that he cared too much. (And punished me for it.) It’s not that he doesn’t trust ME around him … it’s that he doesn’t trust HIMSELF around me.

And, well, we girls DO HAVE WAYS OF SHUTTING THAT DOWN* YOU KNOW.

(*Actually I hate to pull out the Repug pro-rape-pregnancy line. Because he’s a Democrat and I do admit liberal guys do it better!)

OK, so for the punchline to all this …

Do I take advantage of Retrograde to unleash the verbal demons and be heard across hell’s half-acre … or continue being sweet and letting him kick his own ass when he realizes what an absolute shit he’s been to me?

Because, he will. I KNOW he will. That’s the funny thing about knowing someone inside and out. You can put a timeline on things. I say by the 2014 election cycle when we rid ourselves of Gov. Rick Scott.

He’s going to get what’s coming to him … and he’s going to DESERVE IT. (And not just “Pink Slip Rick,” although I look forward to helping that to come about, too.)

I don’t wish him ill. I don’t even wish him gone. I just wish that he could change his own destiny somehow, because “alone” is going to be a very lonely place when you’re not the one choosing it.

And maybe that’s what I’m doing at home. I had to beg for alone time today. After a yelling match where I was pushed to the absolute brink. Again, I don’t wish anybody ill — I wish they’d give me my damn space already. Once in a while, anyway. And not after they’ve pushed me to meltdown status.

We’re alike in that way, he and I. We’ll come around again when we need some companionship. Difference is, I see how we could be each other’s cheering section, support group and — I dunno — FRIEND.

But this half-assed shit isn’t good enough for me anymore. And the goodbye is definitely in my eyes. Question is, does he see it?

My great anthropological finds after 38 years (or 28 with a bonus decade) are as follows:

1. Men really just want someone they can rescue. Damn it to hell. I am weak. Trust me, I am ready to jump off a building if my area of Florida had anything over three stories tall. But none of my guys have been able to rescue me because I have a funny way of earning my own living and dealing with my shit.

But they LOVE lost causes (Little Whore on the Prairie, Raggedy Ass) who are helpless. And here I thought I was doing the RIGHT thing by not being an emotional or financial burden.

If anyone has evidence to the contrary, PLEASE tell me otherwise.

2. He is too nice of a guy to deserve a homely ass hoebag. But my takeaway here is that I deserve a guy who doesn’t worship a hoebag.

3. I’m sorry the GOP has a problem with single females. Sorry we outnumber the male population and sorry that we are aging JUST FINE without dumbass men who are either hung up on hoebags or are out banging hoes while their wives are at home. My takeaway here?

Thanks to Ohio Republicants now trying to defund Planned Parenthood (when you saw 67% of females vote AGAINST your candidate), clearly I cannot unsubscribe from my political feeds because you will continue to say and do STUPID SHIT instead of minding your own dick and going home and pleasing your wife so she isn’t out TAKING MEN AWAY FROM US SINGLE GIRLS.

GFY, all of yinz.

Last Labor Day, when I was still freelancing, I thought I’d get a head start on filling the Web site of a new project I had joined (and had quit a very rewarding gig to do this full time) with content.

I remember getting very nasty e-mails INSTANTLY from VaJayJay telling me that I was producing “Sloppy Copy.” Like her sloppy-ass cunt, no doubt.

I was the victim of several e-mail chains between her, VaGina (who has no experience in our field. Or with grammar, for that matter) and the other Twunt who owned the business. The word Greenhouse was part of the company name. I call it Outhouse.

Anyway, that was such a frustrating day, and one that was foreboding. It was my mom’s birthday and I should have been celebrating it with her instead of getting into e-mail battles about proper verb conjugations and where to put apostrophes in phrases that everyone in my field knows (that these bitches didn’t and they thought I was full of shit).

I knew that day that the gig was going to end in disaster. Which it did not even a month later. Luckily an old employer swooped in and offered me part-time work to tide me over till I got the job I have today.

I don’t say all of this to dredge up horrific memories. But to remind myself, as I have a shitpile of work to do before tomorrow (after 70 hours last week and 12 hours of commuting) that this is what I asked for.

I asked the universe for a fulfilling full-time job that treated me well. To never have to deal with people like the “Va” twins and the rest of the Outhouse gang that was simply trying to make me feel like I didn’t deserve to be paid (to justify them NOT PAYING).

I’ve avoided that whole group for a year, but I did hear from an old friend who knows all the parties involved. I hear VaJayJay is still working for him, and I made it a point to caution him against her … that she’s still friends with Twunt … that they may be in business together … and that he’d better watch his back because she’s a big enough bitch to screw him over.

I didn’t provide details. Not my place to. But I couldn’t live with myself if she screwed him over the way she was planning to.

It tells me, since she’s working for him still, that she didn’t manage to get the Outhouse off the ground. That she’s still seething, freelancing for someone she hates, to make ends meet. I heard something else unfortunate was happening to her. And while I’d never wish ill on anybody, it’s good to know that Karma doesn’t take a holiday just because the rest of the world does.

With that, I will attack my projects today with a little more enthusiasm, as I am happy to have a job where my colleagues value my skills and would never be insane enough to challenge them. It ain’t always easy, but as I’ve said before with my love life, my passport has been stamped in hell and I do not plan on repeating the journey.

I just need to get past the anxiety of remembering this day last year, because my heart is pounding and I don’t like how I felt and I pray — oh God how I pray — to never feel be at anyone’s mercy like that again.

The blue moon was blue. Well, not really.

My “once in a blue moon” was that I got home before 9 p.m. on a weeknight. Of course, that’s A) because I got out to the middle of nowhere around 6 a.m. yesterday to start my 12-ish hours of joy and rapture, and B) I have to go in for a full day today.

It’s like working at Ye Olde Workplace Establishment again, but with more alligators. (Or gally-ators, as my Grampy used to call them.)

Need to have some coffee and scrub my butt so that Hour 60-ish of my captivity (and hour 10-ish of my commute) can resume.

Will also wait for the text from you-know-who that cancels plans we never had. Now THAT would be the once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence right there … if somebunny came through with a promise! I wouldn’t know what to do, honestly, if the same guy I met/adored almost a year ago was the same one who showed up/came through in my life now.

Would I say yes out of curiosity or no out of self-preservation? And will I ever get a bona fide chance to find out?

Severe burnout. Network errors. Pile of to-dos bigger than my ass is wide. Oh the humanity.

So I’ve successfully avoided (without even trying, really. Phone’s on and nobody’s using it) he who has now become the world’s least-reliable friend. Until today, that is.

I mean, I’ve avoided him, not that he’s become reliable!

It was pleasant enough of an exchange. I was head-scratching over the truthiness of part of it, but as it doesn’t affect my life, I let it go. Really, if that’s what gets you to sleep at night, you enjoy that.

As for me, I’ll be adding “liar” to the list of WHY I NEED TO WAVE A SAGE WAND AROUND MY LIFE. If I don’t bitchslap him with it first.

My feeling is that he wants me to maintain a certain perception of him, and the fact is, it’s gone. Why try to string me along? Not interested. Don’t flatter yourself. EVER. AGAIN.

You might as well tell me the truth. If you keep making plans with me and breaking them, stop it with the damn excuses because I already know not to rely on you anymore. And if you’re going to lie about other, unrelated dumb shit, Jesus. Get right with God — quit bothering me!!!

And frankly, there are two bigger truths to all of this. Maybe three. One is confirmed, one is obvious and one just makes sense. All will be revealed later. But let me say that I have certain other types of friends who rate higher on the reliability scale, and that’s not saying much.

So today brought an “Oh hey this event is happening and I thought of you.” Me: “Oh that’s nice of you to think of me.” In my head, I debated whether to go to it … ALONE.

Then I get a, “Well, if I’m not catering to Raggedy Ass all weekend, I’ll call you and we can go.”

Hah.

I said, “So, do you ever do anything YOU want to do on the weekends?”

He said no.

I said something sarcastic about oh yeah I’ll go ahead and wait for THAT call. But the sarcasm I think was missed. “OK great, I’ll let you know!” he said.

ZOMG.

Seriously.

This isn’t funny. This isn’t fun. It was flattering for four seconds that he thought of something so very ME and wanted to take me TO it.

And that’s about as long as it lasted.

If he’s on dumbass pills, I won’t be able to tell when they wear off because he’s acting like he’s on a permanent high.

Tropical Storm Isaac is hitting town. The lightning storms of the past couple of nights have been beautiful, and it was lovely hearing the torrential downpour all last night.

I think that’s about the worst of it for us. *knock on wood* — no wood so *knocking on head*

So for the past three weekends, a certain person has dangled a certain event in front of me that “we should go” to. I never had high hopes because, well, I know this person.

But I’m also not an asshole and frankly I would not mind spending some time with him. We have nothing but fun when we spend time together, but he makes sure to limit that.

(I seriously hate most of my Florida friends right now. Seriously.)

Besides, should we both finally admit that this entanglement has more than run its course, I want my last memories of him to be better than the ones currently in my head.

And I’m perfectly willing to let him make things better (or, at least, less worse). If he’s like most of the men I’ve known, he’ll come back around in three to five years to say that he was a dumbass to let me go the way he did. That would be the difference between me having a friendly conversation with him someday or me pretending my car is a bowling ball and he’s the pin!

(Of course, he’s told me before that he hates when people are nice to him. And it really bugs him when motorists stop to let him cross the street. So I’m only too happy to NOT stop for him!)

So, said event will never happen. Here’s why …

Week #1, I forget what the excuse was.

Week #2, it was, “Well, we should go next weekend because of this special thing they’re doing.” That note was sent to me the day of said plans.

Week #3 is today. I avoided the issue until yesterday morning, when I sent what I thought was a cute message to see where his widdle head was at.

As I blogged yesterday, I had his excuse ready. I figured his Raggedy Ass ex (so named for her latest red dye job that she called his stupid ass over to come see and he did. Lord) needed to have a bikini wax supervised — hell, I was even going to say, “Are we on or does Raggedy Ass need someone to heat the wax?”

But I really do try to be classy. I don’t know why.

No wonder this didn’t work out — he didn’t even know me. But I digress.

Anyway, Raggedy Ass has a roommate, whom he lets borrow his very sexy car. And he’s always there at their house, it seems — usually fixing shit and running errands for Raggedy Ass and getting drunk and supposedly passing out on the couch.

Which, I really don’t give a fuck anymore and prefer to focus my annoyance on dead-behind-the-eyes Whorothy out in the cornfields that are as scorched as her old-lady cooch.

As my friend Silver Blue noted, at least you know how many men the Titanic went down with — who only knows how many this bitch is fucking.

But wevs, right? Not my problem.

I tend to hate women more than men because we should all KNOW better and try to, if not help each other out, then not act like assholes.

I of course have more class than the two of them combined, and it occurred to me long ago that he just doesn’t feel like he deserves someone youthful and vibrant and funny and successful who doesn’t look like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.

But you know. If he prefers the alcohol-destroyed skin of old girl Whorothy and the bong-wrinkled parentheses around Raggedy Ass’ mouth, hey. YOU ENJOY THAT.

So anyway. I actually do like being his friend. Not to convert him back or anything — but because if you get him away from those crazy bitches, he is a sensitive and caring soul who is as easy as the eyes as he’s been hard on the heart.

I really had thought God had brought me the love of my life with this one. But I see now that He’s simply just making sure that I REALLY appreciate the right one when it comes.

I just don’t get why we can’t actually be friends when, frankly, that’s all that’s there and I don’t demand a fucking thing out of him while those two bitches (both exes who WON’T GO THE FUCK AWAY) boss him around.

Leaves me to wonder whether I’ll ever put my heart out there for someone again, if this is the thanks I get.

Anyway, today’s event. He apparently needs to help Raggedy Ass and her roommate to hurricane-proof her house. Weekend No. 3 that he’s dropped our plans (that were his idea) to go cater to her Raggedy Ass.

He just texted* with an excuse that didn’t make sense. He has more excuses than Whorothy and Raggedy Ass have wrinkles. Not that I expected anything more from him, but still. *double-barreled salute*

*I actually checked my phone 30 seconds before he texted because I felt like he was texting me. I don’t understand this psychic connection we have and frankly I wonder if that’s why I’ve found so many chances to give.

In the meantime, I’ll be trying so hard not to text him back to have fun BATTENING DOWN THE SNATCHES!!!

Hour 55 of my captivity.

It still doesn’t feel like work. But next to the “law of diminishing returns” on Wikipedia, I’m pretty sure you could put a photo of my tired eyes and no written explanation would be needed.

I’m giving somebody one last chance to — well, not impress me — NOT piss me off.

I was hell-bent on hatred (and contemplating just how wrong it would be to engage in some healthy “hate sex” to take out my frustrations, and I really don’t care with whom at this point as long as it HAPPENS). But then somebunny had to go and be really fuckin’ nice to me and hinder my hurt just a little bit.

“Why you wanna
Show up in a old t-shirt that I love
Why you gotta tell me that I’m looking good
Don’t know what
You were thinkin’
You were doing
Moving in for a hug
Like you don’t know I’m coming undone
Why you gotta
Why you wanna
Make me keep wanting you?”

— Jana Kramer, “Why Ya Wanna”

Although I’m sure said individual will probably find a new and improved excuse. (Again, continuing the theme of being unavailable for what THEY want to do.) I already have the lame excuse ready to hand said person since I can’t imagine they have any left.

Either way, I will be doing said activity this weekend … and if it’s alone, I can certainly think of worse things.

What was I just saying about go-nowhere friendships? I found out that the friend who has been making and canceling plans every weekend and pushing them out one week (for the past three weeks) continues to spend that time returning to the ex who bosses him around and makes him do shit for her.

You know, I was 100% in this for the friendship but, honey, that ain’t the kind of screwing I’m looking for. If you can’t possibly find time to hang out/go to lunch/do fun things WHEN YOU ASK ME but instead cater to her every fucking whim, lose my number. *deleting yours*

Friendly reminder: The more you try to hurt me, the more good-karma points I earn.

Some folks might want to check their own balances, because my points are racking up like a skee-ball game at Chuck E. Cheese and I’m pretty sure others’ surpluses are hurtling toward federal-sized deficits.