Caterwauling

I asked my friend to let me know if there’s anyone talented looking for some work.

I didn’t define talented. I just said if there’s someone interesting who has some bandwidth, send them my way.

Let me tell you, the dregs of the industry have been showing up in my inbox like all of Mom’s suitors, or as I called them, “Snow White and the 7 Dorks.”

One was someone we fired and I was promoted to that position.

To read “I have some bandwidth,” I laughed. You had bandwidth when you worked here. You took two hour lunches and said no every time I asked you for help.

I don’t have any ill will. I don’t have any anything.

But to have the balls to go on to ask for my help in getting an open job that’s posted? Wow.

I of course hit delete. And I thought, shit, there is one other person this delight knows in the company. I bet they go to this person.

Yesterday, that person said oh hey so and so is trying to reach you.

Goddamn it.

I just said use the application link. I have nothing to do with it.

As I sit here and think about it, this person probably could be a better asset on an ad-hoc basis than one I already have. They can still pirouette though the parking lot for hours on end.

But, worms, can, that sort of thing.

No, just no.

“Who do I have to speak to
About if they can redo the prophecy?”

However many years ago, I awoke to some weirdo having followed me on Twatter.

I tweeted, “Hard pass, Grimace!” and moved on.

Or, should have moved on.

The Hamburglar followed me around like a wounded dog and asked if I said that. I said I sure did.

Now, what I should have done right then and there was cast a pox upon McDonaldland and never looked back.

But no, I logged into an account they didn’t know about. And morphed into Birdie the Early Bird, the newest member of that fucked-up playhouse.

If you ask me what moments I’d go back to in my life and change, that was one of them.

Today I got a notification on the Butterfly App that someone with a dumb name followed me or liked a post or some shit.

I thought tell me this twatter isn’t still pulling her goofy juvenile shit six years later.

You’re 60 years old. SIXTY. That’s like 500 in dog years.

Anyway I blocked that greige goon and moved on.

“I got cursed like Eve got bitten
Oh, was it punishment?”

In fact, I had blocked Grimace’s main account already. So they’re back to creating workarounds.

ENOUGH.

I’m redoing the prophecy.

I wouldn’t go back and erase what led to this nonsense.

But I can smile broadly that I’ve evolved.

And, it appears, I’m the only one.

I tried to get tickets to the “SNL 50” celebration that aired last night. No dice.

The audience was star-studded, so I suppose the few tickets available for the unwashed masses would have been in the basement of 30 Rock.

In any event, I didn’t love the Sabrina Carpenter and cast’s butchering of a Taylor Swift tune and her own song during some wedding scene. But Miley Cyrus was perfection.

I heard her sing “It’s been seven hours and 13 days since you took your love away” and got chills.

That’s how Prince originally sang the song.

Sinead O’Connor, another legend, changed it to “seven hours and 15 days” in her version.

Chris Cornell, best version hands-down, said “seven hours and 16 days.”

I’m not going to claim to know why each of them changed the number.

Like, today marks 611 days since my momma left me.

“All the flowers that you planted, mama
In the backyard
All died when you went away, oh.”

So, my version would’ve been that “it’s been seven hours and 610 days.”

If, say, Taylor Swift would want to record it that way, I’m totally open.

Kelly said the other night that I didn’t get to do all the things I wanted over the past several years.

I said that’s not true, and she backed off. I said I did what “we” wanted to do. And I’m good with that.

She said OK well now you can do all those things you waited to do.

“Since you’ve been gone I can do whatever I want
I can see whom ever I choose
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant, oh yeah
But nothin’, I said nothin’ can take away these blues.”

You know what I do now? Not much. Spend three grand on a hotel in NY or Vegas or NOLA — that I barely even see — or sit home eating my weight in CityPop Denver popcorn.

Seriously, my capacity for peanut butter popcorn is alarming.

Anyway I’ve been sleeping on that Prince/Sinead/Cornell song. Maybe as I eat my hot cheese popcorn today, I’ll research why they might have tweaked that lyric.

I mean, I could also burn down Mar-a-Lago on this “unpresidented” Presidents Day. That sounds fun, too. More fun, really.

I’ve had the blog closed down for internal repairs. On me, not the blog.

Decided to reopen it today to write about a dream I had last night. So far I’ve written two posts and no mention of what danced through my mind at 4:03 a.m.

Now I barely remember what I wanted to take away from today!

I do know I was visiting with my old college adviser.

She always talks on FB about her favorite students. I’m never one of them.

Which, I was kind of an asshole at 19. So, no wonder.

In the dream, though, I gave her the kudos I felt she deserved. That her guidance was more valuable than any I received in 4.5 years of school. Which is 100% true.

In the dream she said you never showed me you cared what I said to you from ages 18 to 23. But if you could do me the favor now, listen up.

She showed me a pic of a male friend of mine and said he thinks and speaks so highly of you. Don’t write him off. You’ve done enough idiotic things, but this one I can stop you from doing.

I last spoke to this person about two months ago.

And somewhere between then and now, I decided not to reach back out.

Not for lack of wanting.

Like “Dawn” sings in the “Waitress” musical, “What if I give him my heart and he gives it back?”

Anyway I thought that was very interesting.

Not saying I’ll do anything about my mentor’s dreamy advice.

Just keeping an open heart and mind, now, rather than leaving that budding thought nipped.

Kelly made sure I had a great Valentine’s Day, so I am grateful for that.

The earliest reservation I could get was 9:15. I apologized and she said that’s like noon for me, it’s good.

Every time I went to take a photo, she turned on her Ring camera light for me. Like, unprompted.

I didn’t even know she had one and she said oh yeah, I know you like to take photos and I figured it’d be dark as shit here.

And when I got a glass of Veuve with gold flakes, she used the back of her coffee spoon to stir up the flecks so I could take a video.

Mom used to tell me I was a better date than any man she ever met. This was my chance to tell Kelly the same.

Seriously, best valentine (other than mom) and best Valentine’s Day.

I think the curse of this stupid holiday is finally broken!

In any event, I got to telling her a story about my homegirl H.

This was a good one, though. We actually collaborated — effectively — for the first time ever.

I wanted to be sure to balance out all the bad stories I’ve told K with this really good one.

Kelly said, “So do WE like her now?”

I had to pause and appreciate her for that. She said yeah if WE still hate her, that’s fine. But if WE just like her this week, I’m down with that.

THIS IS A TRUE FRIEND.

I said yeah I think it’s just this week. Because I was feeling saucy and pushed my luck, and she reverted to the mean.

In all senses of reverting to the “mean.”

But still, I’m growing here. I think we all did this week.

Kelly is purging all her shit and fleeing the coop. So is my manicurist.

I told her she inspired me with all her throwing shit away. So I went into Mom’s room and collected four boxes of shit to pitch.

(Not that the HOA will let me put it out, mind you, until Thursday. But, details.)

I told K a funny story. I was wearing a halter that secures behind the neck. And it is pretty sturdy; never came apart before.

But as I was picking brand-new Christmas decorations to pitch, SOMETHING undid my top and the whole thing went falling down.

She said, “Mom said don’t touch my shit!”

We laughed and I said I KNOW. And that’s why I haven’t touched anything in the eight months (today!) that she passed.

Kelly said I know no one is telling you they’re proud of you. Mom’s gone, Martin’s doing his thing and now I have this other boss who is his polar opposite.

So, she wanted me to know she’s SO proud of me.

I teared up a bit and said thank you. But I did say it’s just four boxes of clothes that don’t fit.

She said yeah but you didn’t have to do a single thing that you did for her. No one would have expected it, least of all her.

So go easy on yourself. You kept going. That’s more than a lot of people do.

Also how ironic but I just hit pause on “Waitress” and saw this…

Kelly, like me, isn’t going to say something to be nice. Unlike me, she also will tell you that you’re on the wrong path.

So an atta girl from her is worth its weight in gold champagne flecks.

I gave H an atta girl this week. Surprised the shit out of her.

She needed my finesse on something. Like acknowledged that it isn’t her strong suit but it’s mine.

I also said something to her about me being a softy. She said, “Learn to say no, Goddess. You’ll be much happier when you do.”

My friend N. always says that H is my lesson.

But this week, we saw very clearly that I am also HER lesson.

So, even if it didn’t feel like a good week at times … it was, in fact, a good week.

I just upgraded my Disney+ membership to get HBO Max.

I lost MAX when my HOA switched us from Xfinity to Fision. So I was waiting for the S3 premier of “White Lotus.”

Happy White Lotus day, to those who celebrate!

The quote in the SL came from the trailer.

I’ve been struggling with a similar thought for a year now. Ever since I quit feeding the neighborhood kitties.

There are more kitties now. A gorgeous Siamese showed up. She looks ragged. I mean, living here will do that to anyone.

I still occasionally see all the others. Especially at night, their little glowing eyes haunt me as I drive past.

The HOA is useless. Today they’re whining that we generate too much trash. Um, we have one dumpster and everyone is here from up north. So shit is piled to the sky.

I dunno, maybe get another dumpster? No, they tell me to keep my trash till Thursday mornings now.

I got to thinking about my lack of contribution to society on Friday night.

I made a reservation at Dada. As ever, you have to make it for two. Kelly offered to come. So, hell yeah. Best valentine I could ask for.

I got there early so I walked around a bit.

Saw a tiny homeless woman in a pink beanie get excited because she saw a discarded bag. When she got to it and saw it was just full of trash, she ran to a dark corner and curled up in a ball.

I watched her for a while. I saw a guy go stand her, and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to attack this vulnerable lady.

I was thinking about the bill in my pocket that I’d brought to pay for parking. Parking was double because of the holiday, so I used an app. So I wanted to give it to her.

I said excuse me and she looked up with tear-filled eyes. Big, gorgeous blue eyes. I couldn’t help myself. I gasped and said you are so pretty!

She took my hand and held it to her face. So I could feel the tears.

She had been hugging a stuffed toy dog for dear life. She held him up for me to hold. But I didn’t want to take him from her. So I petted his head and said what a handsome boy.

I could tell she wanted to talk. But I am an asshole and said I just wanted to give you this. She didn’t even look at it and said something I couldn’t understand.

I don’t think it was a language barrier. I really think she was just so down and out of energy. And we were near the bar with all the live music next to the railroad tracks.

Hearing is not my best quality even on my best day. Nor is listening. So I said good night and ran closer to the oncoming train so I could sob without anyone hearing.

I think of her a lot.

I think of the mama cat who brought her baby to me in a parking lot. Who I ran and bought chicken for but they had already gone by the time I got my order.

I hope they found what I left. I’m sure something did.

I think of running out last night to do an errand and the kitty who howled to get my attention. I didn’t find it. And I kept walking. But how smart these cats are, to see a human and ask for help.

And I think of what little safety net the government offers, being pissed and shit on by Elon and the Felon. And how that little old lady probably doesn’t vote. These kitties don’t vote.

No one knows any of them are alive. They are literally alive out of some miracle. And they probably won’t be, not for much longer.

No one CARES that any of them are alive.

And maybe it is my job to care.

I do care. I just don’t do anything about it.

I mean, anytime I’ve done kind things, I’ve been abused. But what about the creatures who need a “me”?

I can go make more money and get takeout food and feed my own cats with it. But they can’t.

Not even a fully functioning government is gonna reach them.

Mom used to say that she spent her life trying to soften my hard edges. And that she was going to die and I’d be hardened again.

Not true, Momma. I see why she cried every time she saw a hurt or hungry animal or person.

I do too.

I just … keep going. Which she couldn’t do.

I feel bad all the times I said no sense in crying. Nothing we could do.

Maybe I will finally put a cat carrier and blankets in my trunk.

Maybe I’ll finally save an animal who may still be alive who’s been hit.

Maybe I’ll buy someone a meal instead of handing them a 10-spot and hoping they can make it to a place on foot that has something under $10.

This is why I get mad and vote and rage-post. I want someone to join me. Someones. And I want those with more power and money and reach than me to say hey, this cause should be important to all of us. Let us help you help them.

I think I’ve become the type who’d rather throw money at a problem than solve it.

Glad to be in this position, honestly. But I gotta stop beating myself up over it.

I won’t. Not until I get back into mental fighting shape to do the right thing instead of just thinking about it, anyway.

When Michele and I went to New Orleans right before The Plague, my friend T was supposed to meet us there.

Meanwhile her friend Jim not only met us there but took us all around the city for two days. Bought us our first hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s. Took us across the river to a bar we’d have never found on our own. Took us to a gay bar he (total married straight dude) loved.

Like, some dude I never even met was kinder to me than a guy who had a crush on me.

(Presented to me by my friend Brenda, who introduced us. Also the way he reminded me of yodel-Leahey-hoo with his scared rabbit actions, I would never have guessed.)

Also yodel-Leahey-hoo accidentally texted me the other day. I didn’t even bother to reply because he pissed me off the last time Kim got us into a three-way text. Don’t ask. Jesus don’t ask. It is not worth it.

Anyway, when I went back to NOLA last year to see Taylor Swift, I told no one.

I mean, I bought the tickets in December 2023 for an October 2024 event. Mom was functional when I bought them but went downhill fast a few months later. I didn’t even know if I would get to NOLA if she would have been here.

Also, I am a big believer in do great things and tell no one.

Also also, there was no fucking way in hail that I was going to let T know I’d be in his hood again. That mother fucker blew every chance he had of keeping me in his life.

Anyway, when I made my first post from the NOLA airport, I got an instant response —

“You should have told me you were coming! I would have made plans to meet you!”

I put a big fat laughter emoji on that one.

It’s three months later and I realized I hadn’t seen any posts from him.

He unfriended me.

Hah.

Loser.

Was it the laughter emoji? You had no problems with me being in NOLA alone the first time.

Jim happened to save the day and frankly the entire trip.

I was happily alone the last trip. Then there were all the Swifties I met along the way. And I am still texting with some of them. Even tonight, in fact!

Kelly and I always say we are THOSE people or THAT girl.

But really we are just matching energy.

Toodaloo, T.

One of my boys is Going Through It.

I could use all caps and it still wouldn’t be enough. I mean, THROUGH IT.

He really wants to take the high road, and I know he will.

So from a very good place, he put up an Instagram video.

I was in the middle of arguing with Howler, so I figured at least scroll Insta to relieve the tension headache that was building.

So I saw this video shortly after it was posted.

I texted, “Um, Homie? Take that down.”

He said you have a bad feeling, Homie?

I said well, my opinion and $5.25 will get you a vanilla latte. A small one.

But, I spend time on the low road. My profile says I am a low-road Democrat FFS.

So I say this as “the big sister you never wanted,” but I too cannot control my mouth. And I never seem to stop being surprised when consequences walk in.

Please enjoy my gift of hindsight and protect yourself before unintended consequences find you.

He took it down.

I told him I know his heart is in the right place. But I know the low road types. And the only time they aim high is when they have a chance to knock down someone on top.

I also reminded him he’s literally got 13 miles left in a 13.1 mile marathon. You have bigger trials ahead. Save your energy for the higher-stakes ones.

I appreciated that he listened to me and found my advice valuable. I hope it turns out to be correct.

More people need to do that. Like Howler, for starters.

I blast No Shoes Radio or Coffeehouse from Mom’s room at all times.

I had wanted to wake up and start an entry with this Taylor Swift lyric:

“Been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night
But now I see daylight
I only see daylight.”

But I heard Sammy and thought, there’s my title.

I fell behind and I’ve got to run just to get back to where I was.

My wheels have been turning in wet cement.

I mean, they always were. Don’t anyone ever blame my mom. She should have sought more treatments and more doctors and more appointments.

She always said this job will throw you out like the last one. Don’t fuck this up on my accounht.

With the turning of the clock to 2025, and the grief of there being a year without her in it, something has changed within me.

“I’ve just had a vision
Almost like a prophecy
I know it’s sounds truly crazy
And true, the vision’s hazy
But I swear someday I’ll be
Flying so high (defying gravity).”

I wrote last about how all my new friends probably think I’m this fancy traveling Swiftie.

Well, there are also people (like my new boss who everyone is always scared of) who don’t remember me being a workaholic with big ideas and dreams.

He knows someone in total maintenance mode.

And again, don’t blame mom. We had a way here.

The owner would always call me to brainstorm about new projects. I had to be sharp, and I was. Because it was my chance to contribute ideas and raise objections.

But otherwise, my big crazy ideas were mine to sit on till the right time to mention them again.

Anyway, all Wicked-like, I finally finally remembered who I was.

The girl with big crazy dreams and ideas who never had an outlet for them.

I haven’t had any big crazy dreams or ideas for a long time.

But I finally realized yesterday, wait, I want those again.

I think the new boss would be receptive to them. Maybe if I had/shared them, my team wouldn’t be so nervous all the time.

Not even had/shared, but implemented them. Which is a whole cultural shift I haven’t embraced yet. Like … wait, I have to effect change after years of not?

The new boss had put me on the spot about coming up with big dreams and charting my own path.

As ever, he gave me no boundaries or expectations, but you know he has them and isn’t communicating them.

I get it now, like I finally get “You Said Something.”

The first thought I had is what if I catch up and then outgrow everything in six months, like I’ve done before?

Well. What if I do, indeed.

If I outgrow my clothes, I stuff myself into them until I shrink enough to fit back into them.

But what if it’s life where I should be buying a bigger size … and rocking it?

I was introduced to this concept in terms of investments.

Oversimplified, it’s where one is on par with the other. Like, if you want to buy a crypto ETF, you can trade BITW or BITB. (Or one of many others that are, or are currently coming, online. Give me a SOL one any day. And I hate ETFs.)

As someone who’s a bit more than a crypto neophyte, it’s not that simple to say they are pari-passu. But I’m in blog mode, not analyst mode, so don’t construct anything I say as investment advice.

After all, if I knew fuck-all of anything about how to get rich off the markets, you’d never see my pudgy pork roast ass again.

In any event, I’ve met a lot of new people recently. Not at or through work. Unless you count the Agora invasion.

When I say I’m Agora-phobic, it’s not all people but specific people who used to work there.

What I have met are Swifties. Manhattanites. Feminists. Like, getting the fuck out of the maga microcosm that Palm Beach has become is good for the soul.

I’ve sent some of my Swiftie friends pics from Cornelia Street in Greenwich Village.

From Electric Lady Studios in the West Village.

From Key West.

And stories to match.

I get nothing but love and support about my travels.

One made a nice and well-intentioned comment about my shopping bags. Like I look totally like a New Yorker with my beautiful printed bags.

And I thought … these people have no idea about me.

I don’t mean in a bad way. I just mean, I was going to say oh that’s just one bag I acquired.

And the other bag is holding my gutchies because I am not paying for the hotel, so I couldn’t drop my shit off.

I didn’t say that. They are happy for me and … guess what?

I am happy for me, too!

Also I do say I work in finance. Almost like an apology sometimes, that my life is actually pretty good if you don’t know everyone I love is dead.

Am I rich? No. Am I close? Also no. Do I have enough if I need it? Ask me after I get out of the car dealership.

Do I still have a full belly and joys in life that only money can buy? With gratitude, I can say yes I do.

I kind of like being someone that anyone can admire or aspire to.

I think they talk about me as their worldly friend Goddess.

Someone who was sweet to them when she — they later learned — was in the throes of grief.

Someone who does fun things and includes them in it with photos and souvenirs.

Someone who deserves the joys because she’s nice and also because “She looks like she’s been through it.”

“Are we only biding time ’til I lose your attention
And someone else lights up the room?
People love an ingénue.”

Yes there is a Taylor Swift song for everything.

In any event, it’s not that I am in love with whatever image I hope people might have of me.

On the other hand, I am no longer quick to qualify it.

Sure I’ll always enjoy a compliment and say “I got it at Ross!” if that’s in fact true.

But nothing wrong with saying, yes, thank you, I do love Hotel Indigo because it’s worth the price tag for the toiletries alone.

My adopted nieces call me their cool Aunt Dawn.

And honestly, if I give people a little hope that a little girl from the projects could grow up and have some fabulous things and experiences between heartbreaks …

And that they absolutely can too (and should before FOTUS throws a burqua over us all) …

Then really, that would make me as fabulous as my people make me feel by celebrating and not begrudging me.

In any event, I live for those moments when I equate feeling fabulous with being fabulous.