Caterwauling

I just ordered the cutest Christmas ornament on Etsy. 

And as is my default, I thought of at least six people who would love one, too. 

But as is my real default, I put seven of them in my shopping cart.  You know, instead of just sending a link to potentially interested parties. 

In the end I bought two. One for mom and one for “just in case.” Whether that’s an emergency gift or a backup in case it breaks or something for my desk is anyone’s guess. 

I have never given a gift to get anything back. I’ve never traveled to see someone or put them up in a hotel down here or bought them a meal with the foggiest notion that it was somehow now “their turn.”

But …

It cannot always be my turn. 

Can it?

You have no idea how weird it is for me to think of someone and then do nothing with that thought. 

Maybe I’m finally growing … and not just in clothing size. 

Another night of apartment hunting. Although it’s kind of calm tonight. Of course, crackhead seems to rise around 11 p.m., right when I’m ready to fall asleep to Trevor Noah. 

In any event, mom is sicker than usual. I say that a lot and I mean it every time. The pain has hit the unbearable point. 

But I think I finally realized why she fights me when I say fuck it, I’ll pay whatever it takes to get her well. 

I mean the going reason is inept doctors and wannabes have killed everyone we ever loved. They never helped. They only served to accelerate their deaths. 

But it occurred to me on the drive home …

Knowing will be the worst part. 

And mom doesn’t have hope. She doesn’t overcome. You wouldn’t see her cheering up a cancer ward if she herself were hooked up to a bag of poison. 

She’d be deflated. She’d let a broken heart do her in before any dimwit who got his medical license out of a Cracker Jack box fucks her up irreparably. 

Right now she fights to hold on. To be brave. On the off chance that all the symptoms and aches and pains can be wished away. 

A bad diagnosis would crush her. A wrong diagnosis is inevitable. And the fear that it’s all worse than we ever could have imagined, changes everything. 

I don’t type what I fear. I don’t entertain those dark thoughts for a moment. I too pray that what we don’t know, won’t kill us. 

Pray with us if you’re so inclined. 

I remember when I was let go from my last job, how I was so sad to leave such a good team.

Today, I realized most of those people are on my team now.

Funny how things that were meant to be, actually do happen. Just not in the way you expect.

Now to really bring life full circle, I wonder if we could merge with the old D.C. team somehow.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could move back, at least just for the summers …

Chief HOA cunt says she thinks I’m crazy. 

The new crackheads upstairs, she says, moved in from another unit. 

“I never had any problems with them. Are you sure the noise is coming from upstairs?”

No, bitch. Oil drums rolling across my ceiling come from the other side of the lake. 

I would bet my plaid panties that when she says they are “existing tenants,” it’s the same goddamned Big Giant Pussy only with his girlfriend Lucy instead of Thundercunt. 

Liars one and all. 

There was a wonderful gal who was the reason I got my good job in D.C. I mean, she simply forwarded my resume to the guy who would end up hiring me. But she didn’t have to give me the time of day.

I wouldn’t say we ended up as besties. But I’ve been her No. 1 fan ever since.

I thought of her today for reasons I can’t explain (laaah-sewts and such) — (aside: MY GOD when will people ever LEARN?!?!)

Back in the day, there was some schmuck who kept harassing my friend. Sexually and otherwise.

He’s … gross. And an ass. She was pretty and young and in love with her husband VERY MUCH.

My friend and the asshole were also equally talented. But his talents were valued highly … perhaps too much.

And so, she tolerated his shit for a long, long time. After all, it’s a man’s world and a man’s field we play in. But at some point she lost her shit … and rightly so.

It was mostly ignored by the higher-ups till they came up with the brilliant solution to let him go and bring him back as a freelancer … making more money.

Oh yeah, THAT’LL teach him.

He’s gone on to appear all over the TV shows/networks we all watch in my field. Ugly mofo.

My friend quit after she had to keep working with him. There were more reasons she left, which were good ones like having a baby and all. But I am not overly sure she wouldn’t have stuck it out awhile longer if she hadn’t had that “ick” factor still in her professional life.

Fuckhead Fucklestein might have gone on to bigger and better things as a result of his shithead actions. But he will always be the Bill Cosby of that company to me.

As my one friend said today, we need to round up all these assholes and have a ball-cutting party …

Well it’s late so naturally the upstairs assholes are in full swing. 

Oh yeah. About that. Things have gotten worse. Much worse. 

I have stories to tell, but not this close to what would be bedtime but is really the beginning of what becomes three-ish hours of praying to Mecca using a karaoke sound system. With lots of rap music to follow for good measure. And slamming every door, drawer and oil drum like an entire OCD support group. 

I am not kidding about planning to leave town. Everyone else got to move away and keep their job. That’s the only thing keeping me here. If they would let me grab the seasonal rental I’ve been eyeing about 110 miles from here, I’d be very lucky. 

That’s what I will pray for tonight. You know.  Since I’ll be awake anyway. 

“Driving faster in my car
Falling faster from just what we are
Smoke a cigarette and lie some more
These conversations kill
Falling faster in my car.”

— Stone Temple Pilots, “Big Empty”

I can’t believe Weiland is dead. I mean, I can. But damn. 

He is one of the voices from my college years. I’ll never forget how I felt while I played STP on the jukebox at San Remo’s. Or on the stage at the topless bar my friends and I would stop by for lunch. And happy hour. Back when Coldplay was cool and Type O Negative was hot. 

Anyway. I’m off the grid right now. Conversations kill, indeed. When more has been said than done and when others can justify it, well, I can easily move from having done a ton to being done. 

Remember in my last post I said two cop cars were nearby? 

Well …

One of my neighbors shot his nuts off.

Dumbass was cleaning his gun and BOOM. 

This could totally turn me pro-gun …

I like to think I deserve grace, or luck or at the very least a long intermission from life’s shitshow. And I did have some grace shown to me today. 

I was in the car, literally thanking my lucky stars for the small kindness extended to me when I needed (and I believe deserved) it. I mean I did everything right. Not my fault the universe tried and failed to screw me. 

But apparently the universe doesn’t like you thinking that you earned that tiny victory. (And believe me, it is tiny. But I was still happy.)

I was stopped at a stop sign for a good solid five-count. Because, two cop cars 100 yards away.  And I almost got T-boned by the clown who stopped about four seconds after I did. 

Perhaps the real grace was not getting kilt. But I swerved hard into oncoming traffic that was mercifully not moving, and it’s only because of my actions that I am fine right now. 

Who the fuck put me in charge of safety on the roads? Why do I seem like the only one who has to pay attention and why do I get punished for doing nothing wrong?

Anyway, I thought the universe wanted gratitude. Needy universe. 🙂  But what more do I need to say or do to not have to feel grateful things aren’t worse?

The day started with more sliding glass door banging upstairs. Joy. 

Then I heard from the cunt who used to live here, because the rent is late. 

I had driven that check to the closest post office to the landlord. So it’s worrisome that it’s been missing for several days. 

So fucking help me if I have to pay the late fee. I will make today’s shooting in San Bernardino look like a party at Chuck E. Cheese. 

In addition to banging all day, mom sent photos of the soapy water the half-wits upstairs threw onto our balcony. You know. Because they can’t flush it like the rest of us. 

The problem was that Kadie got soaked by it. Who knows if they use that nasty Fabuloso shit or lye or whatever. But Kadie is so upset and so is mom. 

I asked the useless bitch in the office to please tell those morons not to do that. I said they got my cat. And last I checked, I was excoriated for throwing seed to ducks over my balcony. Not potential poison. 

Useless bitch said she would forward my email. To whom? Santa Claus? 

I wrote back to inquire whether these are new neighbors or old. No reply. 

I open it up to the universe. Someone tell me exactly where to move next. State, city, neighborhood, building and unit. I will pay. I just can’t pick because whenever I think I can’t possibly do any worse, I always do.