Caterwauling

I got to work with a cool dude today. 

I was worried because people of the same name generally have similar personalities. And I’ve not been a fan of anyone with Dude’s first name. 

However, I love a whole bunch of D.C. and Florida friends with the same last name. Although there appears to be no relation, I think the good last name will trump the first name curse. 

Too bad I’ve never met another tolerable Goddess. Am I as annoying as I find my fellow rays of sunshine, or simply saved by my family name?

I opted not to feed my duck today. I figured the bitch and her ugly friend and all 40 of their dogs were parked downstairs all day, waiting to jump me. 

Honest to Christ, anyone that obsessed with making sure a duck isn’t fed is just imbalanced. Does she kick homeless people too?

It was a rainy day here but the skies cleared just in time for the celebrity wedding up the street to begin. I wish #Jofia all the best and I love it that they are starting their life together in one of my favorite ZIP codes. 

So mom got deathly sick today in Walmart. She takes mini strokes in there all the time. But she won’t  ever let me take her to the hospital all since it was a joke the one time I did before. 

Both eyes went blind and she insisted we check out. Which was a disaster of course for so many reasons.

Yet she still managed to be awesome. The cashier was almost out of bags and asked a manager to get more. As we were leaving, we saw the manager doing anything but fulfilling her request. So mom told me to grab a bunch of bags and take them to her. 

I’m like are you kidding me? That was a mess and you’re falling apart on me. She said yes. 

So I grabbed two big handfuls of bags and took them back to the “express” line. The cashier was dumbfounded. “Oh goodness, thank you!” she exclaimed after I said your manager looks like he forgot about you. 

I think she might have wished she had been a little more gracious during my transaction.  But it’s ok. Mom doesn’t let near-death keep her from teaching me how to have a heart.  

Love her so damn much. 

Big Giant Pussy decided to blast his music at 4 a.m. above mom’s room and then drop an oil drum over my bed 30 minutes later. 

He needs to run along and die already. But at least I haven’t heard Thundercunt’s mouth or their bastard children’s feet, so it’s still a win.

But …

I ran into the duck-kicking bitch and she ripped me a new one today. 

I went downstairs to feed our lone duck. All his friends left but he still hangs around, hoping someone will show him some kindness. 

Something told me not to take the elevator. So I ran down the stairs. As I opened the gate to leave the building, the elevator doors opened behind me … and out came three ugly, unleashed beasts. Four if you count the cunt. 

I made it a point of slamming the heavy wrought iron gate door in her face. I think it got the littlest, ugliest dog. But it gave me a head start before she could stomp up to me. 

Before I say anything, let me point out that the condo bylaws prohibit:

1. Dogs above 20 pounds

2. Dogs not on leashes 

3. Dog poop left to bake in the sun.

The condo even provides bags and trash cans for pet waste. 

Condo bylaws say nothing about interacting with wildlife. 

My duck ran up to me. His little webbed toes were touching mine. We have a game where I throw food and he jumps to catch it in his mouth. It’s the cutest thing ever. 

I saw psycho bitch so I walked the duck away from her. But not fast enough. 

She screamed at me, “Um, we try NOT to feed the ducks here!”

I said OK and threw him another bite. 

“The ducks RUIN the grass!  See how it’s MISSING in places!”

It’s missing because dogs piss and shit all over it. Duh. 

I said, “Funny. It’s been missing since before I moved here.” And fed my boy some more. 

She was flipping out at this point. And I was thanking God for my unique ability to remain calm in the midst of her psychosis. 

I forget all she said. She did rage that the “people UP THERE” … and waved up toward my unit … feed the ducks and they attract tons of ducks and we don’t want that around here. 

Rather than questioning the Royal “we” or saying “we” think she needs her ass beaten, I said, “um it’s one duck.” And I fed him more. 

At this point she’s losing it that i won’t stop feeding him. She screamed a whole bunch more and left. 

A second duck waddled over. She comes by from time to time. And my duck did what he always does — he turned his back to me so I would feed his friend. 

The ducks who live here are clearly more civilized than the residents. 

The bitch watched me the whole time from 50 yards away. Huffing and hands on hips. 

Can you imagine being so unhappy with your life that it OFFENDS you that someone shows five minutes of  kindness to a living creature?

I had enough food to feed the neighborhood. But I was thrilled to give the ducks a little nibble and I didn’t want them hanging around for her to run back and kick them. 

Think about that for a moment. That’s how awful she is. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. 

I ran back up the steps and filled mom in. She said the cunt honestly had no idea who I was. Like she completely forgot that she charged me around the lake.

I thought maybe she was too smart to bring it up because I have some very nasty comebacks ready for moments like these. Like maybe she was pretending we hadn’t met, like I was. I was committed to discounting her existence. 

But I think mom is right. This bitch is so loony, she might forget meeting me this time. Does she do this to everyone who feeds the ducks? I ain’t the only one. 

That said, say hi for fuck’s sake. Or say nothing like most other residents. Who the fuck is she to think she can approach anyone? And tell ME what to do when she’s broken three condo laws in that five minutes?

I hope Santa dislodges the hunk of coal up her ass. It’s got to be miserable being so pissed off at the world that seeing a duck eating some leftover movie popcorn makes you take a stroke. 

What a miserable way to live. 

I could just as easily be offed by one of these Daesh nutjobs. And all I have to show for it is another four weeks’ vacation lost and dealing with another new hire who is probably too lazy to be a suicide bomber but who the hell knows, really.

The neighbors are still upstairs but not as hideous as before. I think they moved out Thundercunt and she got the furniture and the kids. Big Giant Pussy is probably enjoying his last days of having separate houses. 

She still comes over and screams, and they kept a few oil drums to drop and roll. I had seen BGP carrying out a glass dining room table top. How any glass lasted with them is beyond me … I figured they had to have smashed it all. 

Not that I’ve slept. The cat has a charming new habit of howling in my face at 3, 4 and/or 5 a.m. and won’t quit till she gets wet food. 

I have so many thoughts on my brain that have nothing to do with this place or work. Like last night’s “Scandal.” 

I was so thrilled that Shonda had Mellie filibuster the Senate to preserve Planned Parenthood funding. But the best part was at the end when Olivia was on the table. 

I was on Twitter and I was reminded of just how many of us instantly recognized that machine. You don’t forget those things. You know what’s in you will soon be in it, the moment the button is pressed and the whirring begins. 

I mean, I’m sure the wingnuts will be denouncing the episode, the storylines, the fact that women are people with careers, limited means and functional minds of our own. But the story needed to be told, and it was told beautifully. 

The fight she had with Fitz immediately after, I got it. I developed rage after my time. Actually I probably always had the rage; I just failed to be able to contain it after that. 

But you don’t want the repuglicans to recognize that. You just thank god the option was there for you, and shake your head in disgust that they try every day of every year to make sure no one else gets to spend that $400-ish (that the government does NOT cover) to invest in their own future. 

You know what good came out of it for me? I got a whole lot better at impulse control and decision-making. 

The bad that came out of it is a lingering sense of regret that what I gave up would have been better than what I got in exchange. 

The office is reeking of stink from one of the downstairs restaurant’s bathrooms. But the Lync connection is fooked so I can work instead of being in a meeting. Given that the AC is behaving today, I’m calling this one a win. 

I do a lot of complaining (exhibit A: caterwauling.com), and while I want to complain about a colleague senselessly getting hurt by some rogue dog (gulp), I just want to say how I love how my team rallies and everyone rushes to help out. So, I just want to say thanks to people who will never read this, because we are awesome together. 

Sweltering as usual in the place where the AC works intermittently. 

Would rather be home in the near-silence. 

Trying to remind myself that i will never again have to hear the OPEC oversupply of oil drums rattling me out of my skin every five minutes. 

Just a shame to have to give up the quiet at work at the same time I finally could be enjoying it at home. 

Awakened to my alarm, not to a crane being dropped on my head. For the first time in 226 days. 

The peace didn’t last long. Whoever was upstairs made a point of displaying their pissed-offedness by banging the sliding glass door and whatever furniture could withstand their violence. 

You know, business as usual. 

But then a glorious thing happened … Nothing. Two men were seen dragging paper towels, suitcases and a round glass tabletop down the hall to the garage. 

They banged the door shut one last time. 

And all was well in Whoville. 

I celebrated by walking downstairs for the first time in six weeks to feed the last remaining duck who didn’t leave. 

He was hungrily snacking on popcorn and seeds when I saw human movement over my shoulder.

I was scared, but I looked. 

It was a man in the first floor apartment directly beneath mine. (I’m several floors up, and he probably witnessed the thousands of bread and seed showers we used to host.)

I figured he’d be upset. But he grinned big and gave me two thumbs up. He loved the ducks, too. 

As they say in Whoville, my heart grew three sizes today. 

And judging from the way my pants fit, so did my ass. But, details. 

It sounded like upstairs has been potato-sack racing in spurs for the last 20 hours. 

But then I saw a bunch of strange men … and a moving truck. 

I’ve gotten fooled before, but I did take a photo of their open door and assorted crap outside of it.   

I know better than to be hopeful. But, you know, after 240 nights without sleep, I’m kinda ready for more than three consecutive hours of peace.