Caterwauling

I wish the shooting of two young, vibrant news anchors just outside of Roanoke by a nutty ex-employee would get more coverage.

We let go of four people in the past year. And hoo boy can we say “grudges,” boys and girls? Yes we can.

And I hang out by myself all day in a building that’s, shall we say, accessible.

Not to mention, I have nutty neighbors who are unstable at best and violent at worst. And to come out to my car yesterday to find BOTH were dead? Something’s rotten in Denmark, friends.

One of the big reasons I left D.C. was that Stalker Boy would never move away from the region. I figured he could find someone else to annoy.

But there’s batshit everywhere, friends. Commensurately more in Florida, it seems, although Virginia has an overabundance too. And I seem to keep stepping in it no matter where I call home.

In any event, I saw a friend post after the shooting yesterday to go hug someone you love. And it made me sort of stabby for reasons I usually discuss here but somehow just can’t right now.

Let’s just say with “Below Deck” starting its new season on Bravo TV (um, *squee*), it makes me think about how Kelley wore down the very emotionally guarded Jennice until she fell for him … and then he dropped her two weeks later.

Go hug someone you love. Ain’t me. I’ll hug my damn self since you all seem to want to give everything and then some to other people you don’t give half a damn about.

In the aftermath of the shooting, I’ll also get down on my knees and kiss the ground that no one has taken me out or truly hurt me, physically or mentally

I used to live in fear of “nothing special” happening for/to me. Now I wonder whether I shouldn’t embrace it.

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?

Once upon a time, there was a department (not mine). It had a pretty good manager and three worker bees. One worker bee was a little older than the other young’ns, and way more experienced and more friendly and did WAY better work.

He was also paid the least and treated like dog shit by the fellow bees. I was dating that one. Really liked him, too.

The manager quit. Layoffs happened and the best one was let go. Two little twerps remained.

At some point the more-offensive of the two remaining twerps got himself fired. Good fucking riddance. I hated him. He was the meanest to my guy. And my guy was sweet and kind-hearted and had a nice word to say about everyone.

This twerp was the only person I’ve ever seen him have a problem with. Ergo, so did I and I STILL bristle when people throw this asshole’s name into conversation.

Third little twerp hangs on by a thread. Incidentally, I stopped asking for anything from this group after my friend was gone.

After close to three years, I hit up second twerp for the easiest of the world’s easiest tasks.

Did they re-earn my trust? My respect? My business?

NOPE.

I think Pinhead, Second Twerp and White Comic Sans Font on a White Banner (I’m refraining from comment on that screwed-up stork gift) need to go form their own company. On a boat. With a hole in it. In the middle of Hurricane Erika’s path.

If this Hurricane Erika is anything like the one whose path I crossed in 2010, it’s a fitting end.

Speaking of …

The End.

Thank you, lord

For thinking about me

I’m alive and doing fine. 

I got to thinking about a lot of things last night.

Russell quitting his job to take care of his wife. Is that what is going to happen to me if/when Mom gets sicker? The only thing in life that gives me any sort of purpose is work. Or maybe it’s money. But I think it’s work. I do like what I do. But what if I had to take care of her … could/would I? And how long would it take for me to kill us both?

Russell loving his wife for nearly 70 years when every man I know is at his wits’ end trying to figure out how to cheat or at least whack off without being caught.

Oh, who am I kidding. Every man I know … and probably me if I stayed with any of them long enough.

Related, I have nothing to say about the Ashley Madison debacle other than that maybe we need to finally redefine privacy as what we in management know as, “You can see and do all the evil you want. Just don’t speak about it … yours or anyone else’s.”

I’m feeling terribly uninspired. I want to say it’s because of the lack of sleep/peace/sanity. Although the psychos upstairs did give me one good night on Saturday. Or maybe it’s that life is progressing at the speed it’s supposed to be (i.e., not warp speed).

Or maybe I was built for mental warp speed but my body can’t keep up anymore, so I should just get comfortable for a change.

Or maybe I need to leave the party before they ask me to. Or decide for me.

Because, people making decisions on my behalf has never ended well.

I’m thinking about Europe again. And also about cleaning the office. I have enough SkyMiles to get the fuck out of town. I also have a new vacuum cleaner and other supplies in my trunk.

Last time I was planning a trip to Europe, I got shitcanned. Last time I cleaned an office, I got shitcanned. Well I had to shitcan myself but I’ll spare you that sob story.

In any event, I’m getting real fucking tired of planning my life and seeing it spread its butt cheeks and shit all over any semblance of progress on my part.

I made a random comment on a story on Facebook. It was about a bunch of girls on a wine train being thrown off for being too loud. I said let the girls have fun and maybe throw my violent neighbors out instead for screaming at each other, their kids and me for five-plus months.

People commented to say violence cannot be tolerated. Screaming turns to hitting.

Tell that to my HOA. Or maybe that explains why they don’t/can’t do anything … because they get threatened too.

I went to a gun store yesterday. Ended up with pepper spray and a taser for when I can get Big Giant Pussy to sneak his balls out of Thundercunt’s purse long enough for me to zap them.

I’m tired of being afraid that they’ve messed with my car (again). Or that they will mow me down in the parking garage. Or that they could have any power over me.

I survived a stalker. I really don’t need this shit.

Anyway. The guy at the gun store said, “Ever consider concealed carry?” I said, “Nah, I’m a Democrat.” I did not say, “More than you know.”

Last night as Fraggle donned her concrete shoes and STOMPED ALL OVER MY HEAD past 10 p.m. (I mean, she started after 10 p.m.), and I screamed my fucking head off to go to bed already, I thought about that gun. And how I would have shot through the ceiling if I had it.

So yeah, no concealed carry here.

I went to the police and fire stations yesterday. Nice people in my town. Truly. They asked where I live and I said the complex and they said, “Umm hmmm.”

Not only do they know the place, I think they know exactly who I mean. Even though they didn’t say it. They wished me luck and gave me the number of someone I need to call to discuss this further with.

Don’t think I won’t do it.

I just feel bad that even the people who are willing to put their lives on the line to protect me, can’t do it. Says a lot about this world. And that makes me sad.

Maybe I need that trip to Europe after all. I just can’t imagine leaving Mom to listen to those fuckwits all day and night alone with no protection.

For what it’s worth, when fuckwits went silent, I LOVED my apartment. Loved, loved, loved it. It was everything I dreamed it would be.

See what happens when I dream? *crush* I don’t know if it was kind or cruel of the universe to give me a taste of what I’m obviously not allowed to have.

Of course, isn’t that what relationships and jobs are for? WHY MY HOUSE INSTEAD?!?!!

Mom and I ran into Russell today.

Mom ran up to him in Wal-Mart when she recognized him. Handsome man. Looks just like her daddy did. I wasn’t sure whether to throw myself into the giant banana stand or to go say hi.

I said hi, and when I said, “It’s nice to see you, Russell,” he was floored that I remembered not only meeting him two years ago, but his name.

I said there aren’t too many handsome men around here like him. He’s hard to forget.

A light bulb went off. “You’re the one who bought me dinner!”

I laughed and apologized since it was kind of a disaster. I said I remembered his wife was in the car, wondering where he was.

Mom asked how he’s doing now. She said she remembered he wasn’t feeling great the day we met him.

He didn’t mention the cancer this time. He did point to the cane in his cart and said that’s new since he saw us last. And he uses a walker around the house.

He still gets around better than Mom, although I had the grace not to say it.

He’s 91 now. His beloved wife of 68 years died three weeks ago. He went to the nursing home every day for over a year to feed her. But then she got too sick to eat, and he spent the last six months holding her hand.

His eyes welled with tears as he told us about this wonderful love, and how he quit his job 31 years ago to take care of her after she was in an awful car wreck, and how he doesn’t understand how life can keep happening without her.

Russell said they never had one fight in 68 years. (I thought about the Ubangis who can’t go 6.8 seconds without going ballistic on each other.) He said most couples fight about money and sex. He said he gave all the money to her and he wasn’t all that sexy, so apparently that’s the ticket.

We all laughed. We all choked back tears. It was a wonderful, wonderful stroke of fate that brought us together.

Mom and I are thrilled he’s still alive and in our ‘hood. (Well, not THIS dump, thank God. I wouldn’t want him here.)

We weren’t sure if we should force our number on him to stay in touch. We didn’t. I did tell him it did our hearts so much good to see him, and I hoped that maybe we gave him a little bit of a bright spot in his day.

He gave us each a big hug goodbye and he waved and smiled at us.

I know this was another “God moment.” I don’t know what to make of it. It’s like seeing my Grampy again. It also gives me hope that ___ Beach isn’t the most fucked-up city on the entire planet. Not a ton of hope. But some.

One of my Tweeps asked how one could hate an entire race of people.

I need more than 140 characters to answer that.

Before I moved to the latest projects (I say this after growing up in REAL projects. That cost about two grand a month less), I think I liked everyone. Or, at least, I didn’t write off a person’s entire family or country of origin because they were a dick.

A dick is a dick. Sorry you happen to be related to him/her. I won’t hold it against you.

Then I met Thundercunt, Big Giant Pussy, Fraggle and Baby Who Cries as Much as Daddy.

I went out dancing Friday night and someone asked what nationality they are. Which would normally make me flip my shit. Because that’s just wrong.

But in this case, I was only too happy to say I “hate-ee” them very, very much. So they must be from Haiti.

Everyone laughed.

I got home late after a fun night. I was asleep not two hours when Big Giant Pussy started loud-talking right over my head. I found out Thundercunt was doing the same over Mom’s head.

I wonder if they spent the night in different bedrooms, after yelling and rattling the ceiling all day and bouncing the kids to and from the parking garage.

In any case, the morning was filled with their bullshit. By 10 a.m., the “yo-yo-motherfucker” music was BLASTING. These twits don’t seem to consider maybe a Rugrats soundtrack or Baby Einstein. You know, kid-friendly stuff.

In any case, they were fighting over the music.

Mom and I ran errands late in the day. I was so tired, I burst into tears. So so so tired.

Here’s the deal. I hear people with that LOUD voice, with that horrible accent, bellowing and blubbering through stores like I hear upstairs … and I LOSE MY SHIT.

I know my hatred is directed right up at 2409. 100% hatred, all for them.

But …

Anybody who looks and sounds like them? On my shit list.

One nasty woman in a store started bellowing at mom. Mom gave her a dirty look. The woman snapped at her for looking at her that way.

Now, Mom normally wouldn’t say shit even if she had a mouthful. But not this time. She said, “How about not SCREAMING in my ear like you’re uncivilized?”

Go, mom!

I know everyone says God doesn’t change situations; he puts you in situations to change you.

So I’m turning into a short-fused, angry asshole over this bullshit. And I don’t know if these fuckwits are from Haiti but I really, really feel threatened and afraid by their sharp voices, threats that they’re going to “get” me and the fact that they will get all up in my face and antagonize me.

Further, I hate being disrespected. Everyone else here says hello and holds the doors and treats me nicely. Who the fuck are these uncouth asswipes to use my hair to wipe their stank asses?

So to answer the Tweep’s question, how can someone hate an entire group of people? Well, that’s how.

I would feel less threatened, yes, if they looked and sounded like me. Or if they responded to reason. But you wanna act like a savage and I don’t have anyone else setting a positive example, well. I may be a jerk but I’m assuming dipshit till proven otherwise.

Fourth year of flushing four weeks’ vacation down the crapper.  I only wish I could poop this much.   

I was editing last night when someone IM’d to ask if they could call for clarification on a simple task. 

Since my editing deals with numbers, and because I HATE the phone … And, also, I hate people … I didn’t reply. 

Phone rings. Hilarity ensues. I find sledgehammer with which to numb my brain 15 minutes later. 

Today boss writes to ask why a section of a hugely circulated Thing wasn’t edited right. 

Guess what section I was editing during bloviatingly inane phone call. 

It’s my own fault. But it doesn’t stop me from being really, really annoyed. 

Donald Trump’s new immigration manifesto seems aimed toward the Hispanic community. 

I’ll tell you what. You get rid of that fucking Haitian Nation that’s been loudly tap-dancing on my psyche (and my ceiling), I’ll be your campaign manager.