Caterwauling

Well. More like nearly 2 a.m. on Sunday morning.  But semantics. 

I heard that song at 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. yesterday. The local classic rock station is clever like that. I was driving both times. 

Had a great day. The best in a long time. Would love to sleep now but Assclown upstairs is looking in all his drawers for his drug stash and I wish he would find it already.  

Am pretty sure he just smashed open his piggy bank. I hope it was his skull instead. 

Also I have a lot of worries right now. But I thought I might try to say something positive in the event it bores me to sleep or death. Whichever comes first, at this point. 

Last Christmas the gift I gave most was the gift of goodbye. 

It wasn’t done in any spirit other than knowing it was time. To let others deal with whatever they have prioritized. To get out of the way and get out of my own way, in a way. 

You wonder if anyone noticed. Or whether they are relieved because it’s what they needed or wanted all along.  

I was inspired by an ugly cookie. Made with love.  

I know what would have made it beautiful. Yet I have no plans or reason to use (or share) that particular skill. 

But it did inspire the gift I COULD give. 

It was the right thing to do. 

And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I’ve done the right thing.  

Maybe that’s what it will take for things to finally, finally go my way. 

The friends I had in Pittsburgh when I left were some of the best I’ve ever had. 

It’s interesting how none of us have kids. Ain’t nobody got time for that. 

I realize they are all with the people they were dating when I left. I also find that interesting. 

Not so much here. The only constant in my life is mom. 

I think I am the lucky one …

That moment when you remind yourself to reply to that email from a long-ago friend and then “your” song comes on the radio at the takeout place where you’re waiting for your dinner. 

Made the mistake of wearing a little pink Key West tank top and cutoffs on our coldest night of the year. 

But other than the aching bones from my front-row metal bleacher seat beside the Intracoastal Waterway, I had a great night at the Boca Raton boat parade. 

And the cops were friendly! And helpful! I felt safe and welcome. 

Amazing, that. As was this …

  
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. 

“Driving faster in my car
Falling faster from just what we are
Smoke a cigarette and lie some more
These conversations kill
Falling faster in my car.”

— Stone Temple Pilots, “Big Empty”

I can’t believe Weiland is dead. I mean, I can. But damn. 

He is one of the voices from my college years. I’ll never forget how I felt while I played STP on the jukebox at San Remo’s. Or on the stage at the topless bar my friends and I would stop by for lunch. And happy hour. Back when Coldplay was cool and Type O Negative was hot. 

Anyway. I’m off the grid right now. Conversations kill, indeed. When more has been said than done and when others can justify it, well, I can easily move from having done a ton to being done. 

Cat at the Gulf of Mexico. 

I opted not to feed my duck today. I figured the bitch and her ugly friend and all 40 of their dogs were parked downstairs all day, waiting to jump me. 

Honest to Christ, anyone that obsessed with making sure a duck isn’t fed is just imbalanced. Does she kick homeless people too?

It was a rainy day here but the skies cleared just in time for the celebrity wedding up the street to begin. I wish #Jofia all the best and I love it that they are starting their life together in one of my favorite ZIP codes. 

So mom got deathly sick today in Walmart. She takes mini strokes in there all the time. But she won’t  ever let me take her to the hospital all since it was a joke the one time I did before. 

Both eyes went blind and she insisted we check out. Which was a disaster of course for so many reasons.

Yet she still managed to be awesome. The cashier was almost out of bags and asked a manager to get more. As we were leaving, we saw the manager doing anything but fulfilling her request. So mom told me to grab a bunch of bags and take them to her. 

I’m like are you kidding me? That was a mess and you’re falling apart on me. She said yes. 

So I grabbed two big handfuls of bags and took them back to the “express” line. The cashier was dumbfounded. “Oh goodness, thank you!” she exclaimed after I said your manager looks like he forgot about you. 

I think she might have wished she had been a little more gracious during my transaction.  But it’s ok. Mom doesn’t let near-death keep her from teaching me how to have a heart.  

Love her so damn much. 

I do a lot of complaining (exhibit A: caterwauling.com), and while I want to complain about a colleague senselessly getting hurt by some rogue dog (gulp), I just want to say how I love how my team rallies and everyone rushes to help out. So, I just want to say thanks to people who will never read this, because we are awesome together. 

Awakened to my alarm, not to a crane being dropped on my head. For the first time in 226 days. 

The peace didn’t last long. Whoever was upstairs made a point of displaying their pissed-offedness by banging the sliding glass door and whatever furniture could withstand their violence. 

You know, business as usual. 

But then a glorious thing happened … Nothing. Two men were seen dragging paper towels, suitcases and a round glass tabletop down the hall to the garage. 

They banged the door shut one last time. 

And all was well in Whoville. 

I celebrated by walking downstairs for the first time in six weeks to feed the last remaining duck who didn’t leave. 

He was hungrily snacking on popcorn and seeds when I saw human movement over my shoulder.

I was scared, but I looked. 

It was a man in the first floor apartment directly beneath mine. (I’m several floors up, and he probably witnessed the thousands of bread and seed showers we used to host.)

I figured he’d be upset. But he grinned big and gave me two thumbs up. He loved the ducks, too. 

As they say in Whoville, my heart grew three sizes today. 

And judging from the way my pants fit, so did my ass. But, details.