Caterwauling

Last time I got a good sleep was a year ago when I lived on the island and all I could see in every direction was the Intracoastal Waterway. 

This is the only photo I ever took of my bedroom, one week before the movers came. 

I miss it. 

  
That apartment is finally back on the market for $700 a month more than I paid. Which, I paid a lot. All they did was switch out the rails and put glass in its place. 

I’m not thinking of moving back. The problems were too big and so is the price tag. 

Here, I just wish someone would tell the twit above me that he can get help for his tiny bladder, as he flushes at least three times a night and wakes up my whole household. 

And he should keep his stash in his pocket so I don’t have to hear him open all 12 drawers at 11 pm and 4 am every goddamn day. 

And take off the high heels when you’re jazzercizing at 1 am over mom’s head please. 

In any event. Sleep.  I miss you so. But to say something positive, crackhead woke me up to see a pretty sky today …

I think I’ve been doing a good job of whack-a-moling the “Your friend works directly for Oprah and lives in your favorite city. Where did you go wrong?” that is on repeat in my defeat-addled brain. 

But I know me. One thing will eventually set me off and it’s going to come out at exactly the wrong place and time. 

I’d prefer to channel that outburst into calling an ex-employer I particularly loathe. To gloat. 

When I worked at Two Strikes, the CEO was taking her choir to Chicago. Two weeks before it, she told me to get her booked on the show. 

I was the communications director and the token whipping girl. I was good, yes. But I wasn’t that good. And I did try. 

The staff found it all hilarious. They sided with me (um, impossible task) but told the CEO I must be incompetent if I couldn’t get Oprah to rearrange her vacation to get a bunch of foster-care executives on her show on command. 

And yes I was punished for not making it happen. Public excoriations ahoy. 

Anyway. I wish someone would tell Her Royal Pretentiousness that I have her right-hand person on speed-dial now. 

And I would tell Lady O to never, ever associate her good name with that crazy Mussolini with a weave. 

I’ve been paying Weight Watchers forever.  With a lot of success. When I’m committed to it. 

Anyway I am still a member. And there was a members-only call with Oprah tonight. Which was awesome and I could pontificate over many experiences we share. 

But the most interesting part was when Oprah spoke fondly of her right-hand gal. 

I know her. We went to high school together. She was a year behind me and I also adored her younger sister. 

For fun I sent her a short, heartfelt message to tell her I always knew she would go far. She thanked me almost immediately. 

She said she was sitting across from Oprah when my message came through. 

What a fun little connection to rekindle in a very sweet way!

  
We’ve been under tornado watch since this morning. My stairwell was flooded by 9 a.m. 

The turnpike is closed due to an overturned truck and the Intracoastal town where I love the cake-batter ice cream is totally underwater. 

I type all of this to say that if you think staying home is a luxury, it’s just a nice alternative to death. 

Construction upstairs all day. And I think those fools with jackhammers hit something vital. Because 32 minutes of fire alarms. 

Holy friggin’ hell. And I have to stay here and have my ears shredded since mom won’t do stairs. Or rain. 

Thunder just cracked. Bye bye Dish Network. Which blows out when a dog farts, so why should the apocalypse be any different?

  
I was talking with a friend who’s about to leave for Aspen. I mentioned that I’d spent a weekend there once, and gave him a fun fact or two since this is his first visit. 

He was relieved because he didn’t want to come off as bragging about this nice thing he’s able to do for his family.

If anything, it makes me happy to see someone being able to enjoy themselves after all the hard work. 

What I didn’t say was all my prior jobs sent me cool places. My Flickr account is a reminder that I have had a pretty cool life so far. 

Aspen was made possible by a ski-loving boss who gave up his spot because he wanted me to go bond with one of my editors at a conference. 

The last job sent me to Mexico and Canada and Baltimore in the space of three months. 

Most recently, I butted my way into two local conferences and paid all hotel, gas, tolls and meals out of pocket. You know. So they’d let me go again someday maybe.  

I say it with no feeling other than thanking God that I live in the vacation capital. I can create my own vacation just by jumping in my jalopy. 

Never mind that I hate driving more than just about anything. 😉 Of course, I hate it just less than doing nothing fun at all!

So I have like five realtors working on my escape plan. And tomorrow is the day I have to tell that Putz of a landlord whether I can suck it up for another year or whether he can shove this prison up his ass sideways. 

Now there is construction upstairs. Nobody told me. But having the house rocking for the last week sort of gave it away. I finally called one of the useless HOA girls and she said they are gutting the place and it will be several weeks. 

Can a sista catch a break ever?!?!

It’s not even the moving that bugs me. It’s the loot. It’s the crap we bought to replace the crap that’s in storage. 

It’s also that limbo between saying you’re out and actually getting a place. I noticed a ton of inventory come out yesterday. Today 80% of it is already under contract. Tomorrow it will all be contingent. And I will await the next batch of homes on whatever day it hits. 

Mom said let’s stay here if Putz doesn’t raise the rent. But that was before Renovation Hell. Plus whoever is living up there still tromps around in high heels and throws marbles at the floor every two and a half hours. 

I try to be grateful I have a home. But I get the feeling the only reason I work is to pay for this dump. And that is just not OK. 

I was going to post about the lady who blared her horn at me at a red light today. When I was fourth in line behind a bus. Sigh. 

But I’d rather talk about the nice guy who, when I was crossing a street yesterday, called out, “Be careful!”

I was walking west and he was headed south.  He saw a car flying  (I’d gander going 55 in a 25) and about to careen on two wheels around my corner  where I was crossing. 

I ran as fast as I could and yelled out “Thank you!” And waved when I was safe. 

I am quick to hate the drivers and neighbors I encounter. But it’s heartwarming to know there are kind people here too. 

I used to think snowbirds were the problem. God knows tourists mucked up the flow when I was in D.C. 

Visitors aren’t the problem here.  It’s the douchebags who have set up residence in my county, for the most part. 

Give me a tourist any old day.  Better yet, get me away from the other residents and it’ll all be just fine. 

Well. More like nearly 2 a.m. on Sunday morning.  But semantics. 

I heard that song at 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. yesterday. The local classic rock station is clever like that. I was driving both times. 

Had a great day. The best in a long time. Would love to sleep now but Assclown upstairs is looking in all his drawers for his drug stash and I wish he would find it already.  

Am pretty sure he just smashed open his piggy bank. I hope it was his skull instead. 

Also I have a lot of worries right now. But I thought I might try to say something positive in the event it bores me to sleep or death. Whichever comes first, at this point. 

Last Christmas the gift I gave most was the gift of goodbye. 

It wasn’t done in any spirit other than knowing it was time. To let others deal with whatever they have prioritized. To get out of the way and get out of my own way, in a way. 

You wonder if anyone noticed. Or whether they are relieved because it’s what they needed or wanted all along.  

I was inspired by an ugly cookie. Made with love.  

I know what would have made it beautiful. Yet I have no plans or reason to use (or share) that particular skill. 

But it did inspire the gift I COULD give. 

It was the right thing to do. 

And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I’ve done the right thing.  

Maybe that’s what it will take for things to finally, finally go my way. 

Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker. Pounding all day, every day. Blasting “Johnny B. Goode” and other bullshit music off the balcony. 

I told myself to only blog positive things this year. 

Maybe after Chinese New Year. 

Kadie is angry and wants to nap.  I would be happy to be able to think while I work. But I do feel the same way …

Rather than talk about what’s causing tonight’s insomnia, I’ll just use this moment of silence to honor the fact that Bon Jovi released their first single “Runaway” 32 years ago. 

Tonight I was driving home with the sunroof open (60 degrees out and six layers of clothes on) and rocking out to “Livin’ on a Prayer” on the classic rock station. 

And I had that moment where I was like, whoa. 

When the song came out in ’86, I was a pre-teen in Pittsburgh. 

Who knew that I’d be 40-something, jamming in my car on a Florida interstate to that very song? 

Still halfway there. Still Livin’ on a prayer. Still hot for Jon. Still Gina, dreaming of running away. 

What a difference 30 years doesn’t make.