Caterwauling

Dear S.,

You reached out to me about a job opening on Aug. 2, 2010. 

I was over the moon and fully intent on hiring you on the spot. No contest. None whatsoever. 

Thank you for coming back into my life when you did … 

Although who could resist this kind of job post, really? I knew we were going to be FAST friends right then. 

I know it ended in disaster for both of us. But it brought you to me and to all our friends who love and miss you very much. 

Hugs, 

Goddess

Dear S.,

I never hated “If I Die Young” so much until today. My mom was playing the song. For you, of course for you.

I wouldn’t say I’m any more coherent today. But I did reach out to some people about you. Everyone is hurting right now. I think they figured I’m pretty inconsolable.

Some others worry that their grief is miniscule in comparison to what mine must be, so they were keeping it to themselves.

A couple of your old colleagues reached out to me to see if I’d be up for a drink and some reminiscing. I don’t even know one of these people, but if I get a funny Sia story, I’m sold. Bloody Marys by the beach are on tap very soon. Wish so very much that I were meeting you there instead.

I got to talking with one of our girls. I didn’t say it to her but I remembered my life plan to retire from the biz at 46. I came up with that with you. When we talked about it, I was going to give it five more years and go park my pudgy pork roast ass in Paris. For a season if not for good.

Our friend says I still have time. I say I need to keep playing the lottery. (And I do …)

I think what makes you such a loss, other than your all-around amazingness, is that you did everything you set out to do. Moved to a foreign country. Put yourself through school. Got your dream job and quit after it was a nightmare. Came to Florida because I asked you to. Worked your tail off and made everyone fall in love with you. And finally, finally, got back to the country you love so much.

Really, if there’s any comfort to be found here, it’s that you ROCKED THIS LIFE you had. And you left the world a better place.

And the loss here is that you had SO MUCH MORE GOOD to share with this world.

Mom calls it the “season of Sweet Sia.” It’s all we had you for. It wasn’t enough — it’s never enough — but it was vibrant and bright and colorful and warm and absolutely wonderful while it lasted.

Missing you more each moment you’re gone,
Goddess

Dearest S.,

I’ve never had someone die and it made me wish with all my might that I could trade places with them.

But there isn’t enough wine in Lodi to take away an ounce of this pain. And all I can think is, you should be here. And I would give anything for you to have more time in your too-short life.

Mom said she remembers you and me sitting on my L-shaped balcony on the Intracoastal, talking about things that were so over her head. Finance, politics, the characters in our too-crazy-to-be-fiction world, and all our theories on their behavior and what motivated them. 

She said she was in awe of us — we were so smart, so cultured, so worldly to her. You especially. You saw more of the world than I have. And you promised to show it to me. In fact, you couldn’t wait to be my tour guide. Paris first. Then … everything and anything. And finally, we’d run a crepe shop on the Mediterranean. We would be free.

I know the moment you died. I knew something was wrong. Mom and I were on a road in the left (fast — hahaha) lane. I had to come to a screeching halt behind some twit who was going 25 mph. A car — a crimson Nissan Altima — almost wiped us out — he came upon us going at least 70.

I swerved left. Nearly killed us all. But that car swerved right. And the cauliflower heads going 25 mph in a 50 in the left lane never noticed.

Mom and I sat there in that lane for a fraction of a second. I thanked Jesus a hundred times. God knows Mom has enough problems without THAT.

But I knew something was wrong in the world right then. I wasn’t sure why the universe spared us. But I was grateful. Yet I wondered … who wasn’t so lucky?

Had I known it was at your expense (and I know it wasn’t, but bear with me. This grief is destroying me), I don’t know that I wouldn’t have told God to take me instead. You’re so young. So much to offer. So … everything that is good about this world.

Everyone called me this weekend and today. I heard from Vitamin D., from our hero P., from our far-away friend S. … and so on. (And you know how much I hate the phone …)

None of us can believe you’re gone.

And that everyone thought of me … I am humbled that they associate me with your friendship.

I thanked them all for reaching out. For loving and caring about me. For loving YOU and wanting to connect with the person they associate most with you.

I’m not certain if you recognize the Jonny Van Zant song (“Brickyard Road”) I quoted in the title. I heard it in high school and have loved it for as long as you’ve been alive. But you loved you some Skynyrd, so maybe you heard Little Brother’s song somewhere along the line.

Facebook keeps showing me our memories. So few photos of us. But so many photos of good food, good drinks and many, many late nights spent in parking lots — thinking of ANOTHER thing to talk about. And ANOTHER.

Man, you and I would try to wrap up early to go back to work (or get up early for it — or both). And suddenly 8:30 p.m. became 2-ish a.m. and we were by ourselves under a streetlight somewhere … gabbing the night away.

I can’t help feeling like I failed you somehow. That you aspired to my stupid work ethic and surpassed it as only you could. That we kept the rest of the world at arm’s length. And then, eventually, we did the same to each other.

And if I can’t trade places with you, in a way I feel like the only right thing to do would be to join you.

I’m not going to. Not that I know of, anyway. God only takes the good ones. You never had an unkind word to say about anyone. You spoke your truth clearly and confidently. Your employer loved you and so did everyone else you ever met.

But as I read the tributes on your Faceypages wall, I see colleagues upon colleagues. You were great to work with. You were a great leader and team player. You worked hard and made everyone feel important. ALL WORK.

I feel like I was partly responsible for that.

And I also feel honored …

That you let me get close.

That you let me know the real you.

That you loved me so damn much … and let me love you right on back.

Back before gay marriage was a thing, you joked that we were soulmates. Too bad we can’t get married, Goddess, you’d say. We are more alike than any man we’d ever met. Shame we can’t give up on sex or else this would be the perfect arrangement!

We would laugh. We always figured we’d be friends. We said men would be secondary to our friendship. Not that we wanted it that way — we just figured that’s how it would unfold.

And in the past year or so, even though we weren’t as close as we were when you lived in Florida — I could still reach out and THERE YOU WERE. Every time.

Anyway. I had so much to share with you. So many things I knew you would relate to. But we hid behind our professionalism. Smiled over the crazy things. Chose not to bond — preferring to keep secrets in our respective “families.” Families — that we love very much — built independently of each other.

And here we are. What was truly the greatest kind of friendship, stopped in its tracks.

And for what it’s worth, those things you did say a couple years ago — as bluntly as possible to me — were 100% correct. Rather, they were prescient rather than true at that point. But, you know. I had nothing to lose after it was out in the universe.

(You were right. He wasn’t worth it.)

OK I am guessing the wine is kicking in, thank you Lodi Estates. Which you would love. We always enjoyed the pursuit of amazing Bloody Marys, pinot noirs and rum drinks.

I told everone who called to have a Bloody or a good red wine tonight. And to “Cheers” to our girl.

We just all wish you could clink those glasses right on back.

Love you so much, I can’t even breathe. And not sure I even want to anymore …

Love always,
Goddess

Dearest Sia,

I know you’re going through your life review right now and don’t have time for the likes of me. Yet I feel you everywhere around me. I hope I am not too bold as to assume I’ve gotten a pretty kickass guardian angel. Because you can expect me to be talking to you a whole lot more than I did before this weekend.

I shouldn’t have come into work today. I try not to blog from here but I hope they will understand today. I was actually fine till someone said your name out loud. I was praying he wouldn’t. Praying. Praying like I should have when you were fighting for your life. Which I didn’t because you’re so tough. I never thought you wouldn’t make it.

The boys are used to hearing me laughing in my corner. Today they hear sobs. They are staying away now. I am grateful for that.

You will find this funny. When your name came up this morning, my friend thought he was talking about the singer. She pinged me to say no, she’s not dead. It’s an internet hoax. I Googled it.

At first I was stunned. Like, WTF is going on right this minute? Are you people all trying to make me insane?

And then I laughed. My first laugh since …

I explained we were talking about the lovely lady in my Faceypages profile photo. Yes, that girl. The one so young and full of life with the fire in her eyes. That one that should be here right now.

Mom misses you, too, Sia. When I told her the news, she crumbled. You were hers, too. She loved you so, so, so much. We are so sorry that we didn’t connect more, invite you over more. You never wanted to intrude. You knew how sick she was and how hard it was for her to be “on” for company. But you were family. You would bring the Chianti, mom would make the lasagna and I would just enjoy you both.

I can’t believe this is real.

Fly high, little lady. Don’t hang around me too long. You were never meant to be trapped in a body. You wanted to see the world, and you saw your fair share in your three decades on this blue marble. Now you can see it all.

I hope you are waiting for me so you can show me everything when it’s my time to join you.

Love you so very much,
The one you always called Goddess

If anyone has the nerve to look at my sad eyes and ask if my best friend died today, my answer will be …

Yes. Yes she did. 

Best friend I ever had. We both worked too much and too long and too hard to see each other enough. 

And here we are today, out of chances to fix that.  

Goddamn it, world. 

Sia and Brownie in my old backyard 

The first night of the DNC convention has me so pumped up, I could run a marathon. Truly. If it didn’t involve running or sweating, that is. 

Can’t talk about it on Faceypages. Lord knows some Hillary haters will get butt hurt. And then I will have to ignore them out loud while plotting to fly to their swing states and tie them to their beds so they don’t write in Jill Stein on Election Day. 

Speaking of Faceypages, mom was horrified that I reposted an 11-year-old photo that showed up in my Memories today. 

I mean, yeah, I’m a good 70 pounds lighter today. But I loved the day and the people I was with. That was back when K from NC was Lachlan from Seattle, when M was Liv and when Neil was his real name, D. 

Mine is the last blog standing. And those are what linked us before that day. D and I were neighbors. But none of us would have even known the others existed without our blogs. 

And for one night only, the Internet met in the funkiest little restaurant in Old Town Alexandria. 

Forgive me if I loved the smile on all our faces, even if my pudgy pork roast ass took up half the photo. 

Here it is, along with an “after” shot from yesterday at a Boca beach. It’s nice to know that it’s possible to get better with age …

Confession: I feed the animals after dark. 

After last year’s events where Shady Melissa threatened me and stalked me and eventually reported me for feeding ducks, I’ve hidden in the house. 

But awhile ago I started feeding other ducks in our massive compound. And of course everywhere else I go. 

Recently there’s been a duck who could fly to the second floor. Trying to get our attention. He’d go to the apartment just below and wait. 

So I would sneak down and feed him when night fell. 

As it turns out, he is a she. And she was pregnant with 11 ducklings. 

Well naturally no one can control or leash their dogs here. So I quickly went from feeding 12 to 5. Mom has been in hysterics, texting me each day that she was down to 10, then 9, then 7. Now it’s four. 

So I’ve been leaving food under a tree for them every night around 11:15 pm. Every morning, they swim over to our side of the lake to eat. 

We also have two turtles who come to the buffet. (I put out a ton of food — three kinds.) and other birds. And lizards. 

It’s better than the Palm Beach Zoo. Although I suspect your bum after dinner at Chipotle is more entertaining than that tourist trap. 

Here are some of my friends … 

(Mr. Lizard, momma duck and the tortuga twins)

I am afraid momma duck may not come back now that her secret spot under the bushes has been discovered. 

Plus the awful dog owners congregate here. They smoke cigars and drink beer and gossip about us residents loudly. Terrorist plays his music on 11 in addition to building bombs. Dogs run around pooping with reckless abandon. They attack ducks while these illiterates proclaim their superiority like it’s the RNC in Cleveland. 

Anyway. I know these clowns would attack me since they are allowed to break the law and no one else is. So sometimes I have to take detours and try three or four times before the coast is clear. 

But it’s worth it when mom wakes up after a miserable night under Islamic Caitlyn Jenner and sees her menagerie. 

It’s Christmas morning every day till the lazy fucks wake up and walk their loudmouth mutts. 

But it’s ok. I am making the best of my time here. Finally. 

Sleep tight, duckies …

Rather than focusing on the positive, and instead focusing on the not-negative, has been a good thing for me. Finally, something I can commit to!

Ran into a friend on the street yesterday. Was just in awe of how nice she was as she introduced me to a friend. She said she knew about me long before she met me. She paid me one compliment after the next. I said to the friend, “Isn’t she nice? That’s who I want to be when I grow up.”

Then she proceeded to tell me all these good things about the new person I was meeting. He was like uuh, I’m not that great. I said well now you know *I’m* not THAT great, either!

We all laughed. It was a very nice moment.

I meant what I said. That’s how and who I want to be. I want to always be the person who lifts people up rather than hurts them or drags them further down. And I want to only be surrounded by those types.

Rather than complaining, I’m making an honest attempt to just be grateful. Sure there are putzes in this world. But there are people like my friend, too.

There are people on the roads or in buildings you frequent who are a cherry tomato or 10 shy of a salad. But, you know. In the grand scheme of things, you really only have to eat a couple bites and leave the rest for someone else.

Then there’s the eternal internal battle to either be like everyone else, or be the opposite of everyone else. I think over the last year I’ve looked at how happy certain people were, and aspired (or the opposite, I guess, of that word) to be like them. But that doesn’t really agree with me fully.

I mean yes it’s good to relax and disconnect. I learned that and appreciate it now that I’ve experienced it. But you can’t be in “off” mode more than “on.” I can’t, anyway. It leads to nothing but crippling anxiety for me.

Yet I get it. I get it big-time.

A friend was typing recently that she wonders what people say about her when she’s not around. For me, I’m pretty sure people laugh at all my problems. Or at me. Which is why they are no longer going to be on display — here or anywhere else.

But as for that friend, I think of her often and very fondly. Which I let her know.

As I said, it’s not hard to make someone’s day. Especially when it’s the truth. And I think if we all spent a lot more time making people’s lives better rather than taking every opportunity to do the opposite, we wouldn’t have bloodshed and protests and hate and “presidential” (used loosely) candidates calling for RBG’s resignation because she dared say his candidacy is a farce.

I often say “ain’t that America,” as a hat-tip to my beloved John Cougar Mellencamp. But that ain’t an America I want to be in. So, I’ll do what I can to make my little corner better. I implore everyone reading this to do the same.

I got a message from my h.s. friend last night:

“What was the name of that guy who used to hang around you? The tall one with all the hair?”

That made me smile.

I told him, “That’s a story for the ages.” And I left it at that.

It occurred to me later how I have such a small box of high school keepsakes. But a case from college and a whole storage unit’s worth from my career. (Before we went digital.)

I think that’s pretty proportionate enough to represent the weight each era should have on your life.

But so funny to be taken back in time like that.

As it turns out, he and I have friends in common. The recently rediscovered friend and I, not the tall guy with the hair.

Well it’s more like I’m close with the male half of a couple, and he knows the guy’s new girlfriend.

I admit I was curious to know what he knows about this chick. Social media may not be painting as favorable a picture as she deserves.

He was neutral-to-kind in his reply. I of course am a master (mistress?) at reading between lines. And I find myself wishing I didn’t ask at all, since I want so much to like her. 

Reminds me of how my friend (the half of a couple) felt about my then-relationship with the tall guy with the hair.

Pinhead, he called him.

A most-accurate description, I must say. I ain’t (and was never) mad at that.

He never told me what to do with Pinhead. He simply made it clear I could do better. When and if I was ready to do just that.

I guess we all have to make our own decisions.

And to live with them.

At any and every age.

While the hoodworks kept us up all night in Braddock Beach, I was fortunate to reconnect with a long lost friend from high school between instances of peeling the cat off the ceiling. 

He stayed cute. And I might admit I got that weird wonderful feeling I did when I was a sophomore and he was a junior. Back when we worked on the school newspaper. Back before I was jaded as all hell about boys. 

(I still have his newspaper staff photo. I don’t even have mine!)

Anyway. I was reading a story he wrote about some girl who had bullied him in middle school. He ran into her at the grocery store and got up his nerve to say hello even though he was fighting everything in him to want to confront her and tell her how she hurt him. 

He wrote how he liked her then and how she publicly humiliated him. How it made him so hesitant. How many opportunities he missed because he was afraid the same thing would happen again.  

He was always sweet and kind to me. Funny what people are hiding that you would never know about if they didn’t mention it some 24 years and 11 months later. 

Anyway. I don’t think much about high school because of all the bad. But it is nice to remember some of the long-forgotten good. Also, typing with a cute boy isn’t a bad way to spend some time!