Caterwauling

No, I’m not referring to the Ben Affleck meme where he’s zoning out to the Simon & Garfunkel hit. 

I’m talking about when I get to the point where I don’t have anything to say that will do a situation any favors. 

I thought of a friend who would appreciate the story I can’t talk about right now. And then I figured that it would just turn into a mutual masturbation of complaining. And my capacity for compassion for anyone but myself right now is at about a negative 2 on the sliding scale. 

The madder I get, the quieter I get. And the kinder I get. Which may sound weird but when you’ve been hurt for the thousandth time while you’ve done nothing but sacrifice time, pride and privacy for the greater good, well. I could implode or I could show kindness to humans and animals who have been shown even less. 

Every thing moves us to our next levels. I intend to level up. And I suspect it will be pretty lonely up there. Which is pretty much exactly how I want it right now. 

I’m so bummed.

I had a friend in my work building back in 2009. We started here at the same time.

We both left and both returned at the same time in 2014.

Today he told me Idiot Landlord shit-canned him. His last day is Thursday.

Reminds me of the joyful people who shit-canned me the day after Christmas so many years ago. Way to celebrate Good Friday/Easter weekend.

These fools want to raise the rent 20%. But losing my buddy will make it suck 20% more. I should think that alone would justify a discount.

I’m trying very hard not to think about the Weakest Link on Team Awesome. How the guy who manages my building and removes my trash is more cooperative, thoughtful, hard-working, eager to complete a project and think a few steps ahead, make someone’s life easier, or basically just be pleasant and valuable in general that that toadstool who makes it a point to tell me that “they are to be told if they are needed past a certain hour” (cough cough FIVE P.M.) but that shit don’t come out when they are cc’ing the higher-paid set.

In any event. It makes me sad when people love their jobs and try very hard to do excellent work get let go, while others who aren’t worth much more than dog shit on a shoe will “stick” around forever and stink up the place.

I was in traffic today when the guy beside me started laying on his horn.

Scared the shit out of me.

We both stopped at the red light. (I was shocked he stopped, even though we have red-light cameras there. It’s a school zone and a retirement community all in one.)

But I am sick of people’s shit. So I looked over and said, “What?!”

He pointed to the car in front of him that was already through the light. He made dramatic gestures and started to roll down his window.

I shrugged and said, “SO?!?!”

And I ignored him after that.

I mean if you are upset that other people are alive and breathing and driving, get off my roads. And quit making everyone nervous because you and your expensive car are SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT than the rest of us.

Sure enough, when the light changed, he floored it and cut off about five people.

My standard reaction is to just say, “Bless his idiot heart.” It works in traffic, in stores, when watching reality TV, and on phone calls when people try to be smartasses and try to get your goat.

I get their game. Homey ain’t playin’ it.

This goat cannot be gotten. Sorry, drive through.

Bless your little idiot heart and may God get you out of my path sooner rather than later. With any luck, you won’t hurt yourself or anyone else on your merry way.

I was all dressed up and ready to leave the house for work today. And then the train took off and I am still talking and typing from my bed 10-ish hours later. With no end in sight.

It’s all good.

I cracked the whip all over the place today and I think it hit me in the head a few times. Without getting into it too deeply, I’m sick of the “tummy-ache twins.”

If there’s a deadline or a problem or whatever, they get a tummy-ache. One will give you the excuse the second you ask (and you ALWAYS have to ask), and the other will wait four days to say he had a boo-boo but he’s all better now.

I had the metaphorical “doormat” tattoo removed over the holiday. You want mummy to give you Vapo-Rub? Tough titty, said the kitty.

We’ll see how long they last.

I have said this phrase one million times in my life: I will kiss your ass till I have to kick it.

Well, Mummy’s got some new boots and she ain’t afraid to use ’em.

Also, it’s too cold for flip-flops right now. Maybe that’s a good thing. For all of us.

It’s been a staycation for the new year. Between my anxiety and the cat’s ass and mom’s pain, I’ve taken this opportunity to drink as much wine as my liver can process, from the comfort of my couch. 

My heartburn has been at bay till I had my first self-defeating thought of the new year. So my body violently reacts to bad things. I never knew that about myself. 

Something else I didn’t know is that it is counterproductive to share your resolutions. That’s because you get the positive feedback when you make them publicly. So who needs to achieve them, then?

From The Atlantic:

  
So I made a list in a Notepad doc this year. 

I should probably add “redirect those self-defeating thoughts.” I just hope it isn’t too late to achieve it now that I’ve typed it out loud. 

Kadie is crooning again. I’m guessing she is probably sick. This is about the time in Maddie’s life that she got sick and I wasn’t paying attention. And it’s another situation where I can’t justify a cat having healthcare when mom doesn’t. 

In any event, mom spotted activity on Whorothy’s wall and figured my nerves were already shot so I should see it. The boy I used to think was so great visited her and she had to brag about it. 

Such a loser. Both of them. 

My rage is probably irrational especially after all this time. But hey. If he wants to slime around with a homely married whore, be my fucking guest. 

It just pisses me off that the number this did on me made me vulnerable. So much so that I did some pretty dumb things in reaction to it all. Poor, poor choices … Ones I would never have made in the right frame of mind. 

But hey. If he’s dumb enough to settle for crumbs for the rest of his life, doesn’t mean I have to do the same. 

My grandmother said that a lot, for Christmas’ sake. This year has been such a cluster, I finally get it. 

After Italian Christmas and ham and whatnot, today I needed to get my Jewish on. 

Gram used to take us to Squirrel Hill to Rhoda’s (now Kazansky’s) on New Year’s Eve for corned beef and latkes. And I got to go across the street to Mineo’s for pizza. Which, omg heaven. 

Mom would make us tiny open-faced Reubens on cocktail toast. And Gram and Grampy would enjoy a highball. 

Those were the days. 

I go to Flakowitz now. You may know it from Guy Fieri’s “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.” I know it for good food and flamingly disappointing service at two out of three locations I frequent. 

Tonight I was in Boynton Beach, a city that is just cursed as far as I am concerned. And instead of eating my sammich normally, I opted to fork-and-knife it. 

And thank god because there was a twist-tie holding my steamed spinach (smothered in about a pound of melted provolone) together.

I give myself credit for not vomiting it up. Am lady, after all. 

I put it on a napkin and handed it to the server. But it’s not like I was seeking a free meal out of it. And I didn’t get one. 

But given the median age of the customer base is about 86, I said a little prayer to thank heaven that I was ok and that it happened to me and not someone who might have choked on it. 

A lady came by and threw a piece of stale cake at me. And the waiter avoided me for a good half-hour before he threw the bill at me. 

Everyone else got to see the dessert tray. And I was hoping for marble cake. Which is the best thing they have. But alas, no dessert choices for me. 

What offended me most is my damn sammich came swimming in onions after I clarified with the server that it did not come with onions. And as he took the bill he said, “You didn’t say no onions on both meals.”

Bullshit I didn’t. I specifIcally said I don’t want an onion in any form to arrive at my table. I’d rather swallow the damn twist-tie than smell an onion for 40 minutes. 

I normally get the matzoh ball soup, but it was a disaster when I got it in Boca last month. I’m pretty much down to Wellington as the only Flakowitz I can deal with. 

Pity. Boynton is the only one with a deli. No corned beef for New Years because I am not spending another penny there for a good long while. 

Maybe I’ll ship a Mineo’s pizza here instead …

I haven’t felt very good for a long while. The stress, while not very high in general, has manifested in a semi-permanent case of heartburn.

I never say anything; I don’t want to hear about it from people with kids (which is every one I know these days) who love to tell me that I couldn’t POSSIBLY know what stress is.

Everyone’s got to top you, you know? Like, just come out and say my stresses — mom, apartment, money, sanity, loneliness (well the 1% of it that isn’t self-imposed), car and other random people who need to lose my number — are lesser than yours.

Of course, everyone thinks their stresses are worse than anyone else’s. But it’s easier to just put on a happy face and let everyone think all is well. Because then you don’t have to hear about their woes. And I like the silence very much.

I saw an opinion piece today about when it’s time to cut friends loose. And I had to laugh because every single bullet point describes me. In other words, I don’t pick up the phone … ask about jobs/kids/significant others/parents … reply in a timely manner unless I need something … or say hi just to say hi. Nope, not me.

Small talk has always annoyed me. Standing around parties, going 19 rounds with the same person — “Things good?” Yup. “What’s up?” Nothing. “Done anything fun lately?” Nope — makes me nuts.

Then because it’s Christmas you get the inevitable, “What are you doing with your time off?” I mean do you kick them in the nuts because they get two weeks off and you don’t, or just go mate with the bottle of wine that you swear has your name etched into it?

I am feeling old because I don’t want to drive anywhere anymore. I mean there are redneck assholes no matter where you go. But they all seem to be concentrated in Palm Beach County. And I’m sick of, say, seeing holiday lights like I did last night. And then getting tailgated by some asshole for two miles who doesn’t see the posted 25 mph signs so he is screaming and throwing the finger 22 times on a barely paved road. ‘Tis the season to despise humankind more than usual.

Calgon (or wine. Whichever), you know what to do.

There was a wonderful gal who was the reason I got my good job in D.C. I mean, she simply forwarded my resume to the guy who would end up hiring me. But she didn’t have to give me the time of day.

I wouldn’t say we ended up as besties. But I’ve been her No. 1 fan ever since.

I thought of her today for reasons I can’t explain (laaah-sewts and such) — (aside: MY GOD when will people ever LEARN?!?!)

Back in the day, there was some schmuck who kept harassing my friend. Sexually and otherwise.

He’s … gross. And an ass. She was pretty and young and in love with her husband VERY MUCH.

My friend and the asshole were also equally talented. But his talents were valued highly … perhaps too much.

And so, she tolerated his shit for a long, long time. After all, it’s a man’s world and a man’s field we play in. But at some point she lost her shit … and rightly so.

It was mostly ignored by the higher-ups till they came up with the brilliant solution to let him go and bring him back as a freelancer … making more money.

Oh yeah, THAT’LL teach him.

He’s gone on to appear all over the TV shows/networks we all watch in my field. Ugly mofo.

My friend quit after she had to keep working with him. There were more reasons she left, which were good ones like having a baby and all. But I am not overly sure she wouldn’t have stuck it out awhile longer if she hadn’t had that “ick” factor still in her professional life.

Fuckhead Fucklestein might have gone on to bigger and better things as a result of his shithead actions. But he will always be the Bill Cosby of that company to me.

As my one friend said today, we need to round up all these assholes and have a ball-cutting party …

Remember in my last post I said two cop cars were nearby? 

Well …

One of my neighbors shot his nuts off.

Dumbass was cleaning his gun and BOOM. 

This could totally turn me pro-gun …