Caterwauling

 
When I came down to Florida seven years ago this January, even though I didn’t want the job or apartment I would end up taking, I knew in my heart I was done with D.C. 

Sure I wanted to go back to visit. Which I haven’t done but once and it was a whirlwind. But I knew it was time to go. 

I returned to southeast Florida last night, and felt the ache of my soul being in southwest Florida. 

It’s time to go. 

I may or may not have been fishing today, wondering what a move would mean for my livelihood. But I didn’t ask and I won’t make any assumptions. 

The job prospects are about as sad as the paltry number of apartments available for longer than a vacation rental on the Gulf Coast. 

But remaining here in this shitpile of an apartment beyond the four months left on my lease … and noisy mofos upstairs, whether the same or different ones … means I should probably be on suicide watch. 

I don’t even want to leave forever. Just a year. Maybe two. Anything to kill this ache inside that living here doesn’t feel right and may never work out. I mean, how many shitty overpriced apartments can one person take, and would the next one simply be the next stop on the fuckup train?

I can’t sleep. Even when I travel. 

I requested a top-floor hotel room and I was still awake every hour on the hour. I’m always waiting for the noise that will destroy my soul. 

And now I’m at home and listening to whomever is upstairs banging doors and windows and shit. 

It beats hearing domestic violence and kids with no toys or bedtimes. But I can’t figure out if it’s Big Giant Pussy or someone new who never sleeps, either. 

I had an epiphany while I was away. I need to leave southeast Florida. I despise the people here. And instead of fighting for scraps of happiness here, I want to move to the Gulf Coast for the next year. To be amongst nice people and saner drivers. 

I don’t know what that means work-wise. But I found a house I want to buy there and it would be nice to have it all. You know, for a change. 

Cat at the Gulf of Mexico. 

Packing up and leaving town. But first, waiting for breakfast that I will eat in the car because, attack cat. 

One from yesterday …

I don’t know what maid in her right mind sees the “going green” sign on the door — i.e., no service till after I leave, thanks. Because, attack cat inside — and she comes in to put a pleat in the toilet paper and leave me one fresh wash cloth and a $5 gift certificate. 

If you’re going to invade, at least leave a girl some new coffee pods. Sheesh. 

Anyway, it’s my last day and while we have already achieved our bucket list, I have no idea what lies ahead. I have a list but something tells me it will involve more of the same that we’ve done. And that’s ok by me. 

Fort Myers Beach   

Now entering Sanibel  

Beach hair

 A pint of Holiday Cheer (peach, pecan and caramel)

 The Fort Myers beach clock, conveniently next to the parking lot where I’ve spent a small fortune 

Mom made me a shell rose at Bowmans Beach
 

I’m grateful Starwood made it difficult to spend more money. I hate this shit festival of a hotel. No outlets, no towels, and a sink that’s outside the bathroom. I went out last night to buy a power strip!

Add in the fact that any temperature you set the wall unit to that’s above 70 will blow hot air. Froze my fanny off last night. This room wasn’t made for Floridians! 

The lovely thing about vacation is limited cell phone battery and therefore use. But I did peek in on Facebook. And saw one of the guys posting passive-aggressive shit that would feel aimed at me if I were inclined to be paranoid. Or concerned. 

On a day when everyone’s fake-grateful (and maybe one or two actually are blessed and know it), stay silent like I did rather than sharing that shit. 

Or just post photos. That works too.  Just not the million photos he told me that he took of me when I wasn’t aware that he refuses to delete …

I am waiting around for Prunella to get ready to leave town. We have different ideas about “getting an early start.”

We also don’t seem to see eye-to-eye on “Mom if you tell me you want to leave Thursday because you’re sick Wednesday, don’t be looking at me Wednesday night saying, ‘Oh I got ready today because I never know what you are going to do.”

Filed under “Day that ends in Y.”

Its been a shit year. Having my debit and credit cards hacked, money stolen out of my Walmart account, an undeserved moving violation ticket, a disaster of a hire, everyone else getting privileges that I am excluded from, boy problems, a lawsuit and not one but two apartments from hell and all the bullshit that goes with it, I’m on the edge.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say thank God for having a roof over my head, a job to pay the bills, a clunky old car that somehow always manages to get to where he’s going and (albeit a shell of) a mom who worships the quicksand I walk on.

I will say this. I am glad not to have the wrong man cramping my style.

Looks like Prunella is ready. I will consider my nails dry enough and I will get us the hell out of here. Because, I can. And I’m really grateful for that, more than anything …

It’s 5 p.m. and I was hoping to be on the road right now. But I still have work to do and I haven’t packed.

Also I am pissed off at Starwood.

I booked a hotel and, a few hours later, decided I wanted to buy an extra day. So I tried (and failed) to be able to do so through the Starwood app. It said I had to give up my room type because they were out of the rooms I like.

So I fired up Priceline.com and saw my type of room available, at the rate I had locked in.

But rather than having to switch rooms, I called the hotel and said I would like to add a day. I did not care what rate I had to pay for the additional day.

Welp, the guy told me I could add that day … and totally lose the deal I had gotten on the days I had paid for already.

So let me get this straight. I as a member got a great rate. I as a member wanted to spend more money to buy an additional day. I as a member would have to pay another $15 a day for three nights I had already paid cash for.

Hmmm.

They told me to call HQ and didn’t give me the number. I said I will happily take my business elsewhere.

I mean, I will go for the days I already paid for. But screw it. I’m tired and I’m going to stay local tonight.

Last year I had stayed at Hilton and decided to extend my stay. They said sure, took my card and charged me THE SAME RATE for the extra day.

Guess who gets my business from now on … and who should have gotten it in the first place?

Well, I think the duck-kicking bitch won this round. My old duck who hung around is now gone. If I know her, she probably kicked him and sicced her ugly beasts on him and did him in.

I guess all neighbors have to be shitheads. The Hyatt family down in Plantation does a massive Christmas light show every year. And the city is closing down the roads to the house and making people park and walk a mile if they want to see it.

On top of that, they are fining the family $250 a day.

Their house is the only sign of Christmas south of Orlando. They ask you to donate to food banks and the Humane Society and children’s charities, if you’re so inclined to show your appreciation.

My mom can’t walk 10 steps without wincing in pain. No way we can attend this year.

It’s people like the Hyatts who make life wonderful, and people like Cuntzilla the Duck-Kicking Bitch and probably just one or two grinches in Plantation who ruin it for everybody.

I will just be over here writing reports if anyone needs me. And watching out my window for a duck-kicking cunt who needs her ass beaten …

I was going to a friend’s house for the best Thanksgiving meal ever with people I adored. 

This year I am wishing I could get my hotel fee refunded so I can do busy work for free at home because of this person and also meet impossible deadlines for a project that used to be theirs. 

I hate the world today. Obviously. 

Last Thanksgiving  when I wasn’t one marshmallow short of a yam fit …