Caterwauling

I often wonder why, when all is going haywire, people can’t show me grace if I lose my tongue or my composure. 

So I don’t make it a habit of parting, however temporarily, with either. 

But i can only tell myself so many times to think of the problems others have that turn them into less-palatable versions of  themselves. 

I get that they transfer their stuff onto me that’s meant for someone else. Or maybe I do deserve it, in their minds. I don’t know. 

I won’t respond either way, though.  I’m a safe recipient. 

Until I’m not. 

Grace is a two-way street. And it’s feeling pretty lonely right now. 

My mechanic always tells me, don’t make an appointment — just show up super-early and we’ll take care of you.

I got there super-early today, and they said they were too busy. Perhaps make an appointment?

And guess who scratched her car getting out of the too-tight parking lot that she was planning to leave on foot when she parked in the last spot.

It shocked me that people can actually tell you, nope. Too busy. Can’t help ya.

You can DO that?!!! SIGN ME UP.

I decided not to go back. Ever. It’s like I was telling a friend yesterday — take resistance as a sign. Do something else. Go someplace else. Listen to the universe.

My friend has a different outlook. He said resistance is just the universe’s way of testing you. It wants you to try again till you bust down that silly roadblock.

Roadblocks ain’t shit, to paraphrase him. We are stronger than those any day.

He’s probably right. Especially when I seem to encounter resistance just about everywhere.

But I also feel I’m doing a disservice to my gut and my spirit guides when I’m too stubborn (or otherwise stuck in the mud) to follow their signs.

And let me tell you, if the burning I’ve had in the back of my throat for the past year every minute of every day (and night. Especially at night) isn’t a sign, then I don’t know what is.

I believe in dressing for the job you want. Since it’s usually not the one you have

Yesterday I did the designer suit thing. It wasn’t Jones but it was DKNY. On clearance, natch. 

But still. Dressing for a seven-figure paycheck that doesn’t include two or more decimal places. 

Today it’s dressing as a freelance writer. Because, who has time for pulling it together? 

The problem with dressing down is having a computer that’s dressing for the trash heap. So if you need to find alternate options for hardware and/or Internet — and/or walking down to the tracks and throwing your PC on them — you’re screwed because people are gonna see/smell you. 

So I got to hang with Bill Clinton yesterday. 

Omg wow. 

  
I last saw him in 1992 in Market Square in Pittsburgh. Pre-cell phone cameras. Before I voted for him twice. 

I’ve been to Hillary events in D.C. Never got close to her. But that’s ok. I voted for her once and I will damn sure do it again. And again. 

And how mind-blowing to go to a Hillary event in Palm Beach and be in the third row to watch her husband speak?

He’s still magnetic. Still makes eye contact with absolutely everyone. Still knows how to hit you in the feels — which he did before that phrase was even a thing. 

I have a million photos. Which I will share in time. I got a lot of other local politicians too so I want to make a little yearbook entry, if you will. 

 But what I need to write about is this. 

I had to police my Facebook comments all day on the few photos I put up. 

I made my photos public. So I shouldn’t be surprised to get anti-Hillary sentiments from people I’ve never met or even friended. 

I was surprised that more people didn’t like my pics of a former U.S. president. Shocked, really. 

  
I get that you’re not fans of prosperity and the era of the balanced budget. Whatever dudes. 

Sadly, I get three times as many likes on a sunset or a picture of a hot dog. 

But the tiny handful of comments that were not fabulous and actually critical of not just people I support but the FORMER FIRST FAMILY, PEOPLE … Cheesus. 

I ain’t the Bushes’ biggest fan, true. But I would shake their hands if I could. That would be pretty historic and I’d want to show grace. Because, that’s the right (and cool) thing to do. 

I mean, politics is my passion. What I do all day is interesting. But damn this is MY Super Bowl. 

And if you’re going to vote for the political equivalent of the New England Patriots, I’m terribly sorry you haven’t reached my enlightenment but kindly don’t shit on it. 

I got to hang with Bill Clinton, yo. Respect. 

 
Tired but happy after standing for SIX HOURS. #imwithher 

Had the strongest urge to call off and write all day today. 

Then I went back to work. 

And I have to pay to park all week. Seems like a good time to get away from it all. 

Too busy at work last week to go to the PostSecret event I paid for. 

Purchased these on my anniversary date when I lost all my  paid leave. Again. 

I got to see “How to be Single” today. The “Robin” character may very well have been based on me. I think I need to move to New York City now. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve had that stupid love feeling. I mean, I have gotten sucked into a few situations I would have happily avoided if I weren’t pursued. What girl doesn’t want to be pursued, even if the guy and/or the situation otherwise wouldn’t interest you?

One line at the end of the movie struck me, that you’re always in a relationship even if it’s a parent or friend or a combination of people. Basically you need to learn to be alone because all those relationships go away and you need to have basically “done you.”

I don’t know anyone better at being alone than me. Even in a room with someone else. Especially in a room with someone else. 

The other thing that struck me from the film was all the guys were good at heart. Lol. Only in the movies. 

Yeah. I should be writing these movies instead of watching someone else’s version of them. 

Me with my two loves — wine and coffee …

My breakfast at home from mom …  

(I love my NYC mug and Chicago coasters.)

And then I took mom to Texas Roadhouse, where they gave us heart-shaped chicken. 

  
Her dish was prettier than mine. You wouldn’t catch me eating a potato that isn’t a sweet potato. 

So now that the holiday has been celebrated sufficiently, let’s get some sleep. Since Fuckhead McGillicuddy had me awake till 7:30 a.m. And I slept till 8 a.m when my cat wanted food. 

A half-hour of sleep. Yay.  Maybe tonight will be better.  So far though, Kadie is the only one down for the count. I’m hoping the GOP debate will help me sleep through Fuckhead tonight. 

There’s something depressing about working late on a Friday. 

Any day, really. 

And I’m talking past-dusk late. I ain’t in the 4:59 or even the 6:59 club. 

It makes me think back to all my single years when my cats were alone … I needed a thousand sets of sheets and pairs of skivvies because I never had time for laundry … and I declined or ignored requests to hang out because, work. 

I thought of that as I fought with my PC most of the day and week. And as I am bailing on another outing tonight I honestly didn’t bother fully committing to in the first place.  As I broke two keys on my personal laptop because I was beating on it in frustration over the remote machine. 

At least when I was younger, I should have gone out more. Now mom doesn’t want me leaving the house, and I’m so buggy-eyed tired that I don’t have it in me to be upset anymore. 

There was construction upstairs all day. Jackhammers ahoy. And Fuckhead McGillicuddy (my newest name for him) will no doubt take his nap now and bounce off the walls all night. 

I remind myself that I was not put on this earth for all this monkey business. But what if I was? What if my small tastes of power and joy and love are all I get?

In “Scandal” last night, Liv learned to live without her power. It sucked. She found a way to get it back. You can’t forget the taste of it once you’ve had it. And being at the mercy of others’ is about as appealing as death.