Caterwauling

Kadie is crooning again. I’m guessing she is probably sick. This is about the time in Maddie’s life that she got sick and I wasn’t paying attention. And it’s another situation where I can’t justify a cat having healthcare when mom doesn’t. 

In any event, mom spotted activity on Whorothy’s wall and figured my nerves were already shot so I should see it. The boy I used to think was so great visited her and she had to brag about it. 

Such a loser. Both of them. 

My rage is probably irrational especially after all this time. But hey. If he wants to slime around with a homely married whore, be my fucking guest. 

It just pisses me off that the number this did on me made me vulnerable. So much so that I did some pretty dumb things in reaction to it all. Poor, poor choices … Ones I would never have made in the right frame of mind. 

But hey. If he’s dumb enough to settle for crumbs for the rest of his life, doesn’t mean I have to do the same. 

Went over to one of my boys’ houses last night. I heard wine so I was in. 

He picked a Chardonnay I’d never tried. It would have been great if it had time to breathe. But hell, I don’t have time to breathe. And I drank it happily since I didn’t have to drive. 

Boy did that stuff punch me in the head today. I mean it didn’t help that the cat yowled all night again. But I can guzzle red wine from a Slurpee-sized cup and be fully functional. Am I off my game or what?!

Ugh.

I wish I had friends. Then when I have offers coming in like I do right now, I just want to scream.

I already have phone anxiety. People need to text, I always think, instead of call.

But then people text and then I have that same punch-in-the-gut feeling.

I waffle between “I prefer people I only see every now and again” and “If you’re not going to be around for much longer, why invest in you?”

I think of all the people who walked out of my life without a word or explanation and I think of some others, why can’t people let me do that too? Why do you want something from me I’ve never gotten?

Then I think well maybe do I tell the world to go away so I don’t have to get a raging case of anxiety every time the phone rings or chimes?

But what if that means I would never hear from the people I might actually LOVE to hear from someday?

This doesn’t refer to the messages in Faceypages messenger. Honest to God I hate clicking on that app. I’m always glad when I do. But it just takes me a good long while to get there. So if I owe you a message, know I’ve responded happily in my head, at the very least.

The cat howled all night. 

All. Fucking. Night. 

Then I got up to find the person who owed me something, never sent it. So my sleepy self did the work. 

And then he sent the work I needed. When I was done. 

I can’t get into what an existential mess it has turned into. But it is three hours I won’t get back, all before 8 a.m.

At least I was awake for pothead upstairs to go through all his dresser drawers right above my bed. I swear this asshole can’t remember where he hides his stash from day to day. 

Of course my favorite time of day is when he goes on and off his balcony a thousand times, opening and closing the door with gusto each time. 

I’m tired. And tired. And did I mention tired? 

My mom is still friends with her high school besties. I’m the oldest of their kids — oddly, we were all only children, two girls and a boy. 

The girl liked the same designer purses I did. Then she moved to the same part of D.C. that I inhabited. Then after I said I wanted a certain kind of car, she wanted it too. 

Coincidence? Maybe. Her parents gave her everything. Every opportunity. They did without do she could have it all. 

She turned out lovely. Beautiful inside and out. And successful. And generous. 

She got engaged in London today. 

I’m trying to be happy. But I moved to D.C. to get the great job with all the great international travel perks and the great apartment and the great guy and the great life. 

But it went to her. All of it. 

I just don’t understand the universe right now. 

My grandmother said that a lot, for Christmas’ sake. This year has been such a cluster, I finally get it. 

After Italian Christmas and ham and whatnot, today I needed to get my Jewish on. 

Gram used to take us to Squirrel Hill to Rhoda’s (now Kazansky’s) on New Year’s Eve for corned beef and latkes. And I got to go across the street to Mineo’s for pizza. Which, omg heaven. 

Mom would make us tiny open-faced Reubens on cocktail toast. And Gram and Grampy would enjoy a highball. 

Those were the days. 

I go to Flakowitz now. You may know it from Guy Fieri’s “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.” I know it for good food and flamingly disappointing service at two out of three locations I frequent. 

Tonight I was in Boynton Beach, a city that is just cursed as far as I am concerned. And instead of eating my sammich normally, I opted to fork-and-knife it. 

And thank god because there was a twist-tie holding my steamed spinach (smothered in about a pound of melted provolone) together.

I give myself credit for not vomiting it up. Am lady, after all. 

I put it on a napkin and handed it to the server. But it’s not like I was seeking a free meal out of it. And I didn’t get one. 

But given the median age of the customer base is about 86, I said a little prayer to thank heaven that I was ok and that it happened to me and not someone who might have choked on it. 

A lady came by and threw a piece of stale cake at me. And the waiter avoided me for a good half-hour before he threw the bill at me. 

Everyone else got to see the dessert tray. And I was hoping for marble cake. Which is the best thing they have. But alas, no dessert choices for me. 

What offended me most is my damn sammich came swimming in onions after I clarified with the server that it did not come with onions. And as he took the bill he said, “You didn’t say no onions on both meals.”

Bullshit I didn’t. I specifIcally said I don’t want an onion in any form to arrive at my table. I’d rather swallow the damn twist-tie than smell an onion for 40 minutes. 

I normally get the matzoh ball soup, but it was a disaster when I got it in Boca last month. I’m pretty much down to Wellington as the only Flakowitz I can deal with. 

Pity. Boynton is the only one with a deli. No corned beef for New Years because I am not spending another penny there for a good long while. 

Maybe I’ll ship a Mineo’s pizza here instead …

I was telling mom, we could have turned on the gas and been dead in here this Christmas, and no one would have noticed. 

Granted, everything is electric. And I couldn’t go an entire day without bitching that the idiot upstairs is building pipe bombs and praying to Mecca over his goddamn karaoke system. But still. 

If two colleagues and two cousins hadn’t reached out, I would have thought we were dead already. I’m still waiting to hear from the handful of people I texted 12 hours ago. 

It’s times like this when you wonder whether any friend or man-friend is good enough. Hanging around waiting for a good one is a lonely business. 

But wine and lasagna never disappoint …

Now how do I cure this shit?

Concealed Anxiety

Everyone else is posting photos of all the presents under their tree. All I have under my tree is a motion-activated bird that tweets every time the car goes near it. Because, fragile ornaments. 

What’s sad is that the thud muffins upstairs are banging shit around so hard, the bird is tweeting up a storm. And we have really high ceilings. 

Right now I’m watching Dish’s “crackling fireplace” channel and detoxing from the three spirits that visited me last night in the form of Amarone and two bottles of Pinot. 

I’m also reading up on how Americans are leaning left politically again. It’s a great read. 

I used to be a democratic centrist. I even registered as an independent a couple times. But post Bush the Younger, I’m a democrat again. 

It’s mostly my way of balancing the tug o war with the batshit wing of the other party. 

There is no such thing as being a centrist anymore. You have to lean all the way left in order to achieve any sort of compromise. I’m not compromising from the middle. Glad to see some of my favorite Washingtonians see it my way. 

On Faceypages, I looked up a girl I used to babysit. She was horrible. Pretty little girl but very mean. Loud and obnoxious and violent. 

She grew up physically beautiful. Has three kids now who look like her. But man, the mouth on her. 

Her husband died a couple months ago but that did nothing to humble her. 

She grew up poor like I did. Got a good job like I did. And instead of having any respect for our moms — who never had a pot to piss in and still don’t — she rages against the poor. 

She’s a pharmacist. And her company lets them, at their discretion, not charge the most indigent customers. 

Instead of shutting her stupid mouth, among all her wacky conservative bullshit postings she laughs and says she would charge the poor folks more if she could. 

I can’t wrap my head around her. Other than to say she’s just like all my former friends who vote for trickle-down economics. And we all know how THAT turned out. 

In any event, you’d think losing your husband would soften you a little. But once a bitch, always a bitch. 

I’m glad I turned out the way I did. I just wish I were the one shaping three young minds and not her. 

In any event, it’s 9 am and day drinking is next on my agenda. Cheers, Jesus. And sorry this is what your world looks like. 

Now here’s a conversation I’ve had more than once. 

And not always in my head.