Caterwauling

Livin’ la vida Boca, but doing it in Orlando for a change. It’s momma’s birthday weekend and we were overdue for an escape from that overpriced prison we call home. 

The baby duckie died. Maia’s dog dropped him and the rains came and flooded the lake. The baby’s body floated belly-up and all the other duckies gave him his space. 

When the workday was done, I cried in the shower for a good 20 minutes. Maybe more. Maia walked her shithead dog, this time tightly leashed, and she was too busy playing on her phone to notice what had become of our fuzzy yellow friend. 

I’m haunted. But maybe it’s good for mom that we know he’s gone. She would still be worrying, hoping he would be there to greet us on Monday. 

I would never wish Thundercunt’s loud mouth on anyone. But if she happens to be in her usual fight-picking rage this weekend, i wouldn’t say I have any sympathy for Maia and her bloodthirsty dog. 

On that note, Kadie is so calm in our rented villa. She’s not jumping out of her fur and glaring at the ceiling. For a change. I love it here. And I hate going back home after this sliver of peace. 

The only joy we get out of living at this dump is feeding the ducks. Yesterday some dickhead yelled at me for doing it. I did not say “How about you clean up when your dog shits so it doesn’t bake in the sun and I have to smell it” in response, as I should have.

Today Thudercunt woke us all up around 5.a.m. with her mouth. So we went out to feed the ducks.

We have four mama ducks with babies of varying sizes. One has 10 tiny babies, another has seven slightly bigger ones, another has nine that are a little bigger, and another one has three.

Other ducks come and go. We name them. There’s Tom, who never gets any food, just like our friend Tom whose wife takes all the money and he literally starves. And then there’s Mike, named after my Mike who we always called Weird Duck (because, it fits). And so on.

Two days ago, one of the nasty stork-type birds (hate them) attacked one of the nine babies. But even though he’s hurt and limping, he tries so hard to keep up with his brothers.

He usually makes it up to our sidewalk so he can eat. But yesterday he wasn’t able to. And that makes us so sad.

Today our baby DID come up to us. We were thrilled. He’s slow and has so much trouble walking. But he did it!

And then … Maia’s dog came out of nowhere and picked him up in his mouth and tried to eat him.

He somehow got away, but was hurt twice as bad. His momma came back for him and pushed him into the water.

Mom started screaming and crying. Maia looked at her like SHE (Mom) did something wrong.

I hugged Mom. I didn’t say a word. What could you say? Maia was supposed to be my ally here against Thundercunt. But she’s just as bad as the rest of the assholes here who don’t leash their nasty dogs.

The ducks just came back for a snack. Without their little brother. He’s probably too hurt to walk now. He might even be dead.

We are so sad, we could just die. He tried so hard. He was such a happy little duckie. He loved coming to our house and eating seed.

He reminds me of my mom. Sick and can’t walk but tries so hard to be good. 

We are going away tonight. Mom hates leaving her ducks because no one else loves them the way she does. But I guess it’s good to get away and get them out of the habit of visiting us.

Maybe they will move to a better neighborhood. Lord knows we need to do the same.

I want to tell you how awesome my mom is.

You know I have lead-footed psychos upstairs who are either kung-fu fighting or dancing the jungle boogie all day, every day, any time of day.

It’s easy to hate them, as you can tell. I gave up on my “maybe they are just young parents who fight a lot and don’t mean to destroy the peace” mantra about two weeks into my current five-month stay.

In any event, it’s Mom’s birthday weekend, and I got us a cake. We were enjoying it immensely when we heard the Baby Who Cries Like Daddy stomping around in the hallway.

Mom’s psychic senses kicked in. And she says, “Those kids have never had a piece of cake in their miserable little lives.”

I said really. And she said yes. None. Nothing special. Nothing fun or celebratory.

She said think about what life must be like to be surrounded by fighting and body-slamming and constant chaos. No wonder she cries all the time. She feels unsafe, unsure and unloved.

That doesn’t give us any sympathy for the shitheads she calls parents who can’t control themselves, let alone the kids. But to go through your miserable little life with no cake?

Now THAT is tragic, and probably a fine reason to call DCF and have them put in a house with cake.

Not our house. It already sounds like they are in there. And no, mom isn’t sharing her cake. But isn’t it nice that she can look past the absolute shitshow our apartment is to feel empathy for people who deserve it least?

I have a guy in my newsfeed who is always posting about how wrong it is to circumcise boys. It’s treacherous. It’s murder. It’s insanity. Uncut men rule. 

So every time I see this, I throw up in my mouth a little. Obviously, he’s uncut and so are his kids. 

Not for nuthin’, but I heave a very happy sigh of relief when I see a man is cut. Chances are, I’ve groomed for the occasion. Is it too much to want to see something equally tidy and manicured?

Between the poo-tinky building I sit in all day and the jungle boogie I’m treated to all evening/night/morning, I’m turning to the universe. Halp?

With my screwy sleep schedule (i.e., only getting shut-eye when Thundercunt and Big Giant Pussy and their lead-footed brats can shut the fuck up for more than 20 minutes at a time), I missed a meeting today.

I was driving to the office at the time and could have signed in, but it was raining and honestly my brain wasn’t fully on anyway.

I was just really surprised to have three different people ask if I was OK. My boss, especially, was concerned. Because, neighbors.

You know, it’s sad that it has come to this — that me not being available/alert round-the-clock is pretty much 100% caused by the screwballs upstairs threatening me and making every moment I’m alive pure hell.

But it does my heart good that someone knows I walk around with pepper spray, I fear walking to my car (whether I’ll be attacked or that they tampered with it) and that I’m on edge ALL THE TIME … and that he would know exactly at whom to point the finger if so much as a hair is found out-of-place on me.

It just breaks my heart that it’s come to this.

I booked another weekend away. You should see my savings. It’s toast, buying all these damn hotel rooms. But the price of sleep — at the expense of someone else’s kids/family when I don’t have one of my own (oh, and FUCK THAT) — is worth the cost right now.

Stuck in the Career Comfort Zone? 4 Ways to Tell When it’s time to Make a Job Jump

My metric is simply, “Leave before they ask you to.”

Judging by this article, and by my long work history, the moment you realize you’re content (for you, as the state of being content varies among all of us) is the time to get the F out of Dodge.