Caterwauling

I look forward to an asshole-free heaven or afterlife. My guides assure me I won’t run into the freak shows. Still, this ending is haunting me …

Really makes you think about who you pair up with on this mortal plane. At least we get the “till death do us part” escape clause. To have to upload with them too? Hard p…

The bipolar, borderline one who

Is glued to the couch

(It’s a nice couch)

Verbally assaults her mom

Drags her men

Barely knows her kids

And embarrasses herself all over social media

Comes to mind

What? I was talking about the “Teen Mom” cast.

Still LOL’ing tho at the one who thought I was calling them Moldilocks.

Way to advertise their hygiene to 800 people.

Poo-tinky.

Fitz said that to Olivia on “Scandal.” On the campaign trail, days before he was elected president.

Back when I believed in legitimate presidents and love, I heard something similar.

What kind, indeed.

Naturally I had to buy both versions of “We Can Always Come Back to This” from last night’s “This is Us” episode.

Listened to both on the way to work on a loop.

So many feels.

I think of my Momma too, just like William did.

I thought of someone else who would appreciate it. Posted the iTunes link on Facebook rather than saying “this would be our song if …”

He knows.

Lyrics:

Standing at the station
We don’t know what to say
Looking out the window
As you’re rolling away
If I’m gonna be alone
Let it be with you.

Mother don’t you cry
We’re gonna be all right
Open up your suitcase
When you get there tonight
You’re not alone
I’m always
Always here with you.

No matter where we go from here
No matter how the cards will fall
I’ll pick you up
And you’ll hold me too
So don’t give up on me
I’ll never give up on you.
Everything’s gonna be all right
I know you believe it too
If I’m gonna be alone
Then let it be with you.

Look up not down
It all comes around
Even when you’re gone
We can always come back to this
We can always come back to this
We can always always always always always come back to this.

— “We Can Always Come Back to This,” written by Siddhartha Khosla and performed by Brian Tyree Henry and also by Hannah Miller

The thing that makes “This is Us” so unbelievably awesome is exactly what I posted about yesterday.

I am still reeling from last night’s episode that took Randall and William to Memphis. And why?

Because the writers leave nothing on the table. They pack every brilliant idea they can find into each episode.

They know the show could be canceled at any moment. (It won’t, thank God — it’s been renewed for the next two years already.)

I cried and laughed and cried and did I mention cried? That’s how you do it. That’s the writer, the producer, the director, the talent, the EVERYTHING coming together.

I really need to sign up for Shonda Rimes’ screenwriting class. I have to. These stories aren’t telling themselves, you know.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you,” as Maya Angelou said.

And mine is killing me with each day that passes with it going untold.

  
I probably shouldn’t say it. 

But that’s never stopped me before. 

Not long ago, a friend and I walked into a room. And we overpowered it. 

And I got the feeling that we are truly life forces. Where everyone else was just in a rut, a routine, a never ending circle of sameness and frustration. 

We wondered how we got so lucky not to be all of that. 

Maybe it’s external. Or maybe we just have a fire on the inside that life can’t seem to extinguish. Hard as it appears to try. 

I was at a party the other day. Half the people had no idea who I was at first. But then my big mouth gets going and I can hear people buzzing in the next room, “Goddess is here! I hear her!” And that wasn’t a bad thing, for them or me. 

All the photos of me from the past year show that I look exhausted. And I feel it. But I crave the opportunity to light up a room. And get a thousand hugs and leave people feeling a bit lighter than when I crashed their party. 

I’m not acting like God’s gift here. Plenty are annoyed that they can’t break me. I refuse to wear a bow in my hair at Christmas, for example, so I don’t hear, “Are you my present?” Because the answer is *stabstabstab.*

This week I spent some time wondering whether this girl who can’t be “gotten” by any man, well, was never really wanted by any of them in the first place. 

But I don’t think that’s entirely true. I’d just rather be alone than wish I were. 

Unfortunately it has turned out to be an either/or option, for the most part. Sure I’ve been trying to have it all. But having less than everything is ultimately nothing, don’t you agree?

Perhaps I should wish for someone who loves me as much as those who don’t really know me do. 

Of course, maybe being the girl no can have is the only thing in this world I really know how to do well. 

As Joel McHale said on “The Soup” series finale last night, “That’s what I’ve been doing for the last 11 years? I have no talent.” 

I’m with ya, brother. I’m with ya. 

The neighbors are still upstairs but not as hideous as before. I think they moved out Thundercunt and she got the furniture and the kids. Big Giant Pussy is probably enjoying his last days of having separate houses. 

She still comes over and screams, and they kept a few oil drums to drop and roll. I had seen BGP carrying out a glass dining room table top. How any glass lasted with them is beyond me … I figured they had to have smashed it all. 

Not that I’ve slept. The cat has a charming new habit of howling in my face at 3, 4 and/or 5 a.m. and won’t quit till she gets wet food. 

I have so many thoughts on my brain that have nothing to do with this place or work. Like last night’s “Scandal.” 

I was so thrilled that Shonda had Mellie filibuster the Senate to preserve Planned Parenthood funding. But the best part was at the end when Olivia was on the table. 

I was on Twitter and I was reminded of just how many of us instantly recognized that machine. You don’t forget those things. You know what’s in you will soon be in it, the moment the button is pressed and the whirring begins. 

I mean, I’m sure the wingnuts will be denouncing the episode, the storylines, the fact that women are people with careers, limited means and functional minds of our own. But the story needed to be told, and it was told beautifully. 

The fight she had with Fitz immediately after, I got it. I developed rage after my time. Actually I probably always had the rage; I just failed to be able to contain it after that. 

But you don’t want the repuglicans to recognize that. You just thank god the option was there for you, and shake your head in disgust that they try every day of every year to make sure no one else gets to spend that $400-ish (that the government does NOT cover) to invest in their own future. 

You know what good came out of it for me? I got a whole lot better at impulse control and decision-making. 

The bad that came out of it is a lingering sense of regret that what I gave up would have been better than what I got in exchange. 

John Boehner just resigned his role as House Speaker and his seat. 

We can do worse. And probably will. 

I don’t know whether to donate to Planned Parenthood or Hillary or Emily’s list or to the Democratic Party.

I don’t have near enough to save the world. But I can tell you I’m more terrified than buoyant. The curse of understanding the issues and what’s really at stake, I guess. 

I don’t even know where to begin today.

1. It’s International Peace Day. Quick, someone tell my neighbors.

2. Someone has shit-stirred. And I’m not sure whether it’s a recent stirring (i.e., to get a reaction out of me now) or whether it’s an old, crusty, pot of dried-up turds (i.e., it was done long ago and I’m only now hearing about it). Either way, in your dreams, dirtballs of the world.

2.a. I’ve done better. So much better. The best, actually. No need for me to slum it, thankyouverymuch.

3. Carly Fiorina is the devil. As if we didn’t know that when she got her ass handed to her by $HPQ. As someone said, if she wanted to run Planned Parenthood into the ground, she should have just become its CEO.

4. Scott Walker is out of the race. Speaking of race, that same someone said Scott Walker is what happens if a racist fucks a manila envelope. Sounds about right.

5. Take Ted Cruz with you. Or Eddie Munster. Or Count Chocula. (Have you ever seen them all in the same room? I think not.)

6. And Marco Rubio. Because, that kind of batshit belongs in Florida where he can only fuck up one state and not 50. This is me taking one for the team, you know.

7. Some people need to lose my number. Seriously. Please. I beg. I’d beg on my knees but they’d like me on my knees. Which, don’t make me use teeth. I will, you know.

Steeler fans are pissed off about dog-abuser extraordinare Michael Vick joining our humble ranks.

These same people didn’t say shit about a whole bunch of others on that team *cough Ben Roethlisberger* past and present because that motherfucker knows how to win.

Now suddenly everyone’s on their damn moral high horse.

Look, I like animals more than people too. I get it. But I’ve had too many weak links on my teams through the years — the kid who called us all “stupid,” the one who had every excuse for not working for a month at a time, Pinhead, White Comic Sans Font on a White Banner, and various people who weren’t employed by the team but rather who pissed us off by proxy because we were forced to use their services — to recognize that “nice” doesn’t cut it.

Nice IS nice to have. But given the choice between nice and inept/unable/unwilling … and not-so-nice but DAMN THAT MOTHERFUCKER CAN PLAY BALL … well …

Play some ball, motherfuckers.

I want to win this shit. It feels like I lose at everything in my life. At least let my sports teams give me something to look forward to.

Prove us wrong, Vick. And kick Rofflesburger’s ass every now and again to keep him in line, eh?