Caterwauling

Normally I’d opt to spend Friday at home. Not today. Went in early, hauled ass all day, and took what may be my last beach walk before being ripped away from the Ave. for the second time. 

Met a guy at the shore. I always meet people in this particular town. Nowhere else, though. My social life wilts beyond the downtown city limits. 

I was telling one of my boys recently that I never let my weight bother me much. Even at my biggest, 75 pounds ago. Even when I started this job, 47 pounds ago. Even now, when I honestly feel bigger than ever even though I’m obviously nowhere close to peak pudge. 

I thought about my appearance for a hot minute, when the guy said hi. Probably my last day wearing shorts and a Starbucks shirt over a bikini top. Gotta give a care where I’m going. But I’m happy with me. And I wish that were enough. 

As I had said to my friend, I wasn’t hurting for cute clothes or guys. I liked me well enough. Still do. People get that and are either intimidated by it … or want to be around it. 

So the guy introduces himself to me as Dave. Tan, nice smile, lives in Boca. Good hair. Maybe Italian. Probably Jewish. (Again, Boca.)

Wanted to walk with me for a while. (D’awwww.). Assured me he wasn’t crazy; just hoped to have a conversation with a friendly fellow local. 

Single, no kids. Very nice. Weak handshake, though, which bugs me. I have a firm one and expect not to crush a man’s hand. 

Funny how I decided in that instant that this wasn’t going anywhere. 

Nice chat, more or less. My walk back to Stockholm was longer than his. Another handshake (ugh) and I never looked back. 

I think I intimidated him anyway. I’m shy and quiet and unassuming … in the first five minutes. Then I’m strong and articulate and not afraid to show I’m smart and strong.  

Well except in certain company that’s made it clear my kind ain’t welcome here. Story for another never. 

In any event, I am always looking for that spark. Once in a blue moon, I even find it. But the idea of giving up even an inch or minute of my space to anyone less than fucking amazing is bothersome. 

Maybe nobody is that amazing. Fuck, maybe I’m not that spectacular, either. (Just ask that “certain company” who mindlessly asks me the same five questions every now and then without ever listening to the answer.)

But I’m not giving up on amazing and spectacular. And  even if it never comes, I’m not intetested in being distracted by anything else. 

Not anymore, anyway. I have enough unspectacular to last 10,000 lifetimes already. Present tense. 

So yeah. I am glad this came and went. Nice, pleasant, forgettable. I already am going to miss my existing lunch buddies. And happy hour specials. 

Wednesday nights at Smoke, I will miss you most of all. Free wine and cheap chicken-lettuce wraps give me life.  

One more Wednesday left. Trying not to return to peak pudge as I try to soak it all up since I may never get it again …

Some people, you’d want to follow over a cliff if they asked you to. 

The rest will lead you to that cliff and push you over. 

You meet far, far fewer of the first kind. 

Well. Another trip to cancel.  

I hate moving. 

Was hoping for more time. 

Hope for no penalties since this ain’t the first time I took a hotel on faith that I’d be there on that day. 

Thanks, Facebook Memories. I get something like this once a week. 

Miss you, Sia. So, so much. 

Well now that this dress finally fits, I’m going for plus-size Forever 21 model. Since any weight over about 140 means you need at least a 1X. 

Love the matching head wrap. Forever 42 here, all. 

Give it up to this fat-bottomed girl, who dared to wear her first fatkini in public yesterday after a good number on the scale …

I made peace with someone who has bugged me seven ways to Sunday for a very long time. 

I don’t know if they know it. Or if they ever realized how upset I got around them before.  

Been waiting a long time for them to do something for me. I mean, a long time. And the person whose behalf I requested it on is ready to give up on both of us. 

And while there’s always the chance I’ll get in trouble (or canned, a la the last employer. You know, who punished me for standing up for talented but not yet properly motivated people), I realized they really do want to do a good job. They just aren’t built for the 14-hour shifts that frankly I can’t do anymore, either. 

So let’s cram a lifetime into eight-ish. It’s possible. We can do it together. 

This small moment is big for me. It’s grace, pure and simple. 

I was telling a potential new hire that I meet people where they are. That everyone has something to contribute. That all anyone needs is someone to meet them on their level to help them move forward. 

He had asked how I like to communicate. I said not a phone fan BUT it’s stupid to try to meet the “boss” where they are. It’s the “boss” who needs the workers to produce. If you want to chat for an hour every day and you deliver top-quality work, then pick a time because I’m there for you. 

He liked that. And I’ll stand by it. 

So getting back to my point, I stood by what j just said to a stranger. And I met someone where they are. And funny how, once they “got” what I wanted, they are able to work on it with purpose. 

I notice I can let tasks pile up. Not to aggravate anyone but myself. If I don’t get it, it takes me a while to figure out why and how. But once I arrive at those conclusions, I fly through the task. 

So why make people guess and mind-read and overcome their frustration that you can’t be clear? (Or in this case, they hate email and I hate the phone. Lo, I picked up a phone. Easy.)

There’s bigger shit to do and it’s nice to have a clean slate so you can tackle the new things. 

And now, I can. 

Took mom to see “To Joey, With Love” the other night. I dragged my feet going to this movie. But I’m so glad we went. 

It’s the love story of the country singers Joey + Rory. But it’s so much more than that. 

What was meant to be a focus of their homesteading and raising their baby daughter, turned into a beautiful chronicle of their little life as Joey was diagnosed with, and died from, cancer. 

It’s also the best advertisement of how a loving momma nurtures her child with Down syndrome. How all children have value. How Joey loved that smart, sweet baby. 

The joy in all their hearts, every day, struck me. They loved and trusted God every step of the way. Through the life He gave them … from the baby He wanted them to have … to the path He planned for them to take. 

They were lucky to be successful. They were smart to scrimp and save. They could afford their year off. And they could focus 100% on Joey’s treatments and, ultimately, her final months. 

Thy will be done, they sang. This was their journey. 

I thought about how I’d be dragging my IV and port to the office every day in the same situation. Assuming full employment till recovery or death. 

And the “thy will be done” hit me like a ton of bricks. Did God choose this life for me and does He think I’m ungrateful for all the rocks I have to roll up the hill?

I mean, do I aspire to more or do I finally trust Him to guide my next move … Even if it’s to stay in place?

I liked the idea that God chose the baby they were meant to have. That means He picked the family I was supposed to have. And the job. Maybe not the apartment, though …

Or like Rory, the family he was supposed to have for now. Not that he will love again. You can tell, he will never be the same. 

I guess trusting God sure beats trusting humans who have let you down before and who let you down again just 12 hours of leaving the theater. 

There’s a lot to be said for giving your problems up to God and letting them be His to solve. 

I think I lost my faith when a million prayers for mom’s health went unanswered. On the other hand, I still have her. So there’s that. 

I still don’t have anyone else to love or trust. Plenty to hold in downright contempt. And a few I like from my daily interactions to leave behind whom I will miss. 

But faith would tell me better days, things and people are coming. 

My prayer is sooner rather than later, and the strength to thrive in the meantime. 

So basically with five lunch breaks left in the town I love, and about 47 restaurants I assumed before Monday that I’d still have time to try, I gots some eatin’ to do.

I ordered a salad from a place where Sia and I celebrated a happy hour or two. They decorate in Steeler everything for the fall season. So, feelin’ the love, right?

Well.

I could tell the gal wasn’t listening to me. I even said I’ll wait till she has time to focus to order. She insisted I order anyway while she cashed out someone else and made another person a cocktail.

But she did repeat my order back to me. So I waited.

Lucky me, a guy sits right next to me. There are maybe four people in the whole joint that seats 120. And he lights up cigarette after cigarette.

Now, we used to go there because we could smoke … in our smoking days. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had the urge. To go there OR to smoke.

Well naturally my order comes out fucked up. I mean, FUCKED. UP.

The server took it back to the kitchen. I ran after her to tell her I didn’t even want it. I mean, I had exactly 20 minutes for lunch because it’s a busy day. And I’d just spent the last 10 huffing secondhand Marlboro.

I could hear the kitchen guys yelling at her to LISTEN when a customer orders. They read the ticket right.

(Insert: I took Mom out for her birthday. We said absolutely no onions. The server showed us her pad where she underlined NO ONIONS. We got fucking double onions. I kid you not. The cooks only SAW the word onions. And I didn’t order the $25 dessert they were pushing since they’d probably put onions in that too.)

I’ve had quite enough of having to wait and pay and smile and be a good sport.

In fact, in my little notebook today, I wrote that it feels everyone’s job in corporate America is to be a good sport. First and foremost. The rest is so very secondary.

So I said no thanks. I only had so much time and I don’t have another 10 minutes. Gotta run.

And I did.

Went to one of the other 47 places I will miss. At this point I should have just gone to an event I had to skip because of how much there is to do today. The food was wonderful. Service left a lot to be desired. But getting what I wanted was glorious.

It’s too bad about the first place. The food looked BEAUTIFUL. Minus the dressing and the GALLON OF ONIONS on it. That I guarantee they would have just picked off. 

I notice when I’m leaving a city, everything starts to go wrong. Like it’s the universe putting its foot up your ass, Red Foreman-style, to make you not look back.

I will look back. I will pillar-of-salt look back. I will pine and do everything I can to come back. Just, not to these places that insist on shoving their onions in my face.

Went to grab breakfast at my favorite place. 

My favorite barista from another place was telling my favorite cashier (yes I love them all) that he just put in his two weeks’ notice. 

My cashier asked if there are other openings where he’s going. 

I said I was bummed since he’s the only one who can make a good drink. He seemed happy to hear that. 

That’s the thing. Most people don’t need a compliment. They just need to not feel regretful every time they open their mouth. Because you can take that mouth and everything that wants to come out of it to rhe new salad place down the street. 

I probably won’t follow my favorite barista. But then again, you never really know with me, do you now?