Caterwauling

Back in the days of real bloggers, interesting people and even more interesting stories, a girl I knew posted a photo of her tear-stained face.

But she was happy. She had cried out all the crap.

I can’t remember her exact caption. It started off, “And just like that …” and ended with joy or hope or at least a clean slate.

So I have been in neighbor and other misery, right? Well on top of the shit day that yesterday was, my broken wisdom tooth started throbbing.

But as I was walking back from the cafe (where I have to use the bathroom since my building sucks), a guy walked up to me to hand me a card from a new dentist up the road — and the dentist does endo work.

OMG SIGN FROM ABOVE that things could get better?

I was pondering my friend’s photo caption, “And just like that …” and how things can change on a dime.

I mean one day I was Pinhead-enraged. The next I was Pinhead-free. Yesterday my tooth ached; yesterday afternoon, a solution may have been placed right into my hand during what was otherwise a nuisance trip that cost me too much work time.

So in a fit of hysteria, I wrote on Faceypages about the horrendous living situation and ended it with, “I need a new everything.”

And just like that, I awakened to a job offer in another state.

Well that’s one way to get rid of the neighbors.

I don’t know the guy who’s asking. I mean, I know his NAME. It’s a small field. His people and my people have crossed paths a few times.

We’ve never met and I’ve never worked there. But he heard good things from people he trusts and wants to see where my head is at.

I don’t know if I’ll reply because when I am truly ready for a new everything, I don’t think it should include “what I have already done for the past 20 years.”

But when you think about it, wow. And just like that, everything really could change.

Whether it’s the right change or just change for the sake of it, however, remains to be seen.

No sleep. When the banshees did let their screaming abate and I was lulled into a false sense of relaxation, they threw something heavy at the floor at 4 a.m.

Diiiiiieeeee.

Get to work. Place still stinks. I go find a worker who was supposed to be helping. He doesn’t help but asks me on a date.

Second one to ask.

Because, girl who hangs out alone all day is an easy target, I guess. I hate leaving the door unlocked but damn the stink in this building is enough to choke a whore.

Not a single ladies’ restroom is available on any floor. I have been holding my bladder all day — was supposed to run errands at lunch but no lunch break — so it was easy to reject the date because it was either that or homicide.

Homicide is still sounding like a great idea anyway. I’ve got a long list and a whole lot of anger to let out.

Another night of playing “how many times can I call the cops on the jagoffs upstairs before they stop fighting/stomping/throwing things.” Whee!

“Someone who spends 1 hour a week making $75,000 a year will likely be happier (all other things being equal) than someone who spends 80 hours a week to make $75,000 a year.”

ValueWalk, “Happiness, Time, Independence & Dividends“

Although I don’t know if I agree that money can only buy happiness on an income up to $75,000. Maybe if I had someone else in the house making the same or more, I’d be a lot happier. Of course, I’d just be thrilled to not have to float the rent check between the due date and payday …

To go get some lunch to escape the ass smell for a few minutes, or to hope I can leave at a reasonable-ish hour and not have to return to this butt-funk?

I’m ready to cry. 

So other than feeling like absolute ass yesterday, not to mention two broken toilets at home, no toilets at work but a hideous sewer smell choking me all day, life is good.

Got into a fight with the landlord and his idiot henchman. Now it seems I have to pay for repairs. I don’t own that fucking house. Shit can fucking stay broken. Do you think I have a problem with Harley-engine-loud toilets bugging the neighbors? FUCK NO.

They said it’s in the lease that I have to pay. Well, it ain’t in the lease that I have to deal with psycho neighbors, is it now?

I have so much to do in life. Important things. But I expend all my energy on stupid shit like this. And I have to write a rent check with a smile on my fucking face all the while.

I knew this would be a disaster when, after I signed my lease and moved shit in, I was told to sign a lease addendum that made my rent due five days sooner. If I weren’t out five grand in first month, last month, pet and security deposits — and if the walls weren’t literally about to cave in at the old place — I would have lit the lease addendum on fire. Fuck, I would have torched the whole thing.

Alas, now my rent is late because payday is in two days. And the cunt who lived there who didn’t tell me about the banshees upstairs is always quick to tell me I owe them a $50 late fee. (I always paid on time before; her bitch ass can’t do math or read English enough to see that my check always arrives on time.)

And I will be damned if I have to pay an extra $50 for all my aggravation.

Can someone please tell me why every building I live or work in is cursed?!??

The following post is TMI and way too personal. I recommend anyone with any sense to not only not read it, but to not follow this blog. Read the rest of this entry »

I don’t remember my dreams that often. That’s probably because I have banshees upstairs and sleep is a thing of the past. (I called the cops on them three times last night. Who keeps fighting after the cops leave?!)

In any event, I dreamed that I had brand-new twin boys with a guy who looks like Chris Hemsworth. And my company was upset that I was going to be having a life and not spending as much time there, so they hired a hitman and shot him and one of the boys.

I realized that they were firing at “Chris,” who was holding both boys, and I threw myself over them to shield them. But when I looked up, two out of three were dying and I was bleeding too.

I don’t know what happened to me physically, but I knew I had amnesia. And that these people meant a lot to me somehow. And I knew that I needed to name the surviving twin after “Chris” but I could not for the life of me remember his name.

I think I ended up naming the boy Cooper because I thought that’s what “Chris'” name was, but I could never be sure.

And that’s interesting how my subconscious is convinced that any chance I have at happiness will be taken away from me somehow.

And what woke me up, you ask? Well, the banshees started screaming, of course.

I try so hard to be positive and only surround myself with good people, good energy and good things. But not even being able to relax at night is setting the tone for nothing but bad days, and now worse nights ahead.

In other Pinhead Part 2 news, I spent from 6:15 to 7:!5 p.m. trying to do the task I asked them to do. Which would have taken them five minutes. And I still couldn’t figure it out.

In a lesser company, you could count on this cat to become the CEO.

At least they got to leave at 5. Wouldn’t want to disrupt the order of the universe by making them hang till 5:05 to help a sister out.

Oh wait. I can’t call myself a sister. The Paula Deens and the Hulk Hogans and the other people of the world lose their careers over that shit. But kill someone and you get off scot-fucking-free.

I’d rant about the Sandra Bland case, but I’m all out of rage today. All I can say anyway is that the only justice we’ll see will come from karma, not the justice system. I’ll add her arresting officer and the prison staff where she died to my list.

And or what it’s worth, let’s quit excoriating the people who use offensive terms about people of color and start punishing the ones who kill them OK?!?!