Caterwauling

Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pantaloons ablaze.

Motherfucker.

So done. So goddamned done.

But hey. The patriarchy is intact. Incompetent as ever. But, you know. “Change.” Go with that. 

In any event. I was looking forward to getting a better rate on my student loans thanks to Hillary. I also wanted to go back to school. 

Not only did America shit on that, but my stocks are down too. 

I’m not ready to make nice. But if the world burns like it already appears to be, would it really be a loss?

I took a small break from reading Obama/Biden memes (the only thing I haven’t blocked before books get banned and intelligent thought gets laid to rest) to see something interesting on that social platform thing. 

Recently, a friend proclaimed she finally got a man. Her life’s dream. Waited 43 years for this blessed event. 

She finally posted a photo, too. Took her long enough. 

So, yeah. I see she’s doing that over-40/settling thing I tried not too long ago. 

Just what I don’t want. Dopey man and dopey kids. All about sports. I don’t see an ex which means there’s no hope of offloading the little cherubs for goddess time. 

It’s times like this when I regret feeling like having mom cramped my style and that I missed my window of opportunity to get a good man. I don’t have to deal with some dope. Never did. Never will. 

She’s so goddamned gorgeous. She can do so much better than this. 

I hope, by the time I’m ready, I still can too. 

From Quartz:

“Donald Trump’s election victory has not only terrified liberals, minorities, and much of the planet, but has shaken some people’s faith in democracy itself. That this bigoted, lying, self-contradicting, autocratic, anti-science, tantrum-throwing man-child could become the world’s most powerful leader surely shows the very system for choosing leaders is fatally flawed. That far-right parties, emboldened, may now win several upcoming European elections surely shows voters cannot be trusted. Perhaps democracy has become too democratic. Perhaps we need epistocracy, where only the most knowledgeable can vote.”

Now that’s not what the publication is endorsing and in fact says that’s not the answer. 

What I’m focused on is that, as Dave Chappelle astutely pointed out on SNL last night, we elected an internet troll as our leader. 

And before I see any more conservative butthurt over a pretty fair monologue overall, Dave is giving the angry Yam (my words, because who knows yams better than I do) a chance. 

I’m trying not to lose my religion that the popular vote is now half a million names higher in Hillary’s favor. The Electoral College was meant to keep us hysterical women and dark-skinned folk from having too much of a say  

Hell, even Trump had spoken against the electoral college. I think it is the one thing we agree on. Well, he disliked it till he won through it. Typical politician. 

Oddly, the bulk of my fear doesn’t lie with him. 

I mean, sure, he’s just another big CEO with big promises who will end up being mostly ineffective and the business of America Inc. will survive despite itself. 

But the system is rigged — there I agree with him too — just not in the same way he believes. 

The system will get him impeached or indicted by the party that never wanted him. We will get a President Homophobe and THAT is what knocks my knickers to the floor. That dead-behind-the-eyes Pence is our Dick Cheney. 

I do hand it to Bush the Second, though. In hindsight, I think he was a solid leader. It took me too many years to see that. I figured he would wage a war on women. He didn’t. He did a lot of good things. And that mofo was so so smart. He played it down. Underpromised and overdelivered. 

In any event, I feared Cheney like I fear Pence. But  I never feared my fellow Americans then like I do now. I’m still wearing my Hillary shirt and mom says I’m gonna get us killed with that and my “love trumps hate” bumper sticker. 

Look. I have a friend who is a proud deplorable. And she doesn’t realize all the racist shit she has said over the years. I fear her. With her gun ready to fire and ethnic joke ready for the right audience. Isn’t contributing to the economy in a noticeable way and doesn’t care to. 

And I’m not saying my over-informed vote counts more. But I admit my liberal smugness motivates me to vote for the greater good more than my personal betterment. (I hate Obamacare too but it helps a lot of people, even if not my people.)

Maybe this is my lesson. Help yourself first. Everybody else is. Nobody voted with my well-being in mind. 

I got too comfortable with the nice black man in office and the idea of the pretty white lady taking over. 

I got lazy thinking things were great. They aren’t. They weren’t. They may never be. 

I want to be out there protesting. I am thankful you can do that in this America. Even if people you don’t care about tell you to stop your tantrums. 

Hey if a vocal minority can get Starbucks to re-issue its holiday cups because their message of unity is too divisive, why can’t a majority of voters take to the streets to ask for their voices to be heard too?

Also from Quartz:

There is now much soul-searching to be done for those who believe in keeping up the case for liberal values and open borders. But the answer is not to alter the nature of democracy. When democracy has picked an autocrat, it’s already too late.

I read a story before the election about an elderly woman who early-voted for Hillary and died happy the next day. 

She’s the lucky one. 

The arrow going backward is ironic …

There’s a street down here. Yellow Brick Road. (Honest to goodness.) On one side is a house with a simple Clinton-Kaine sign. Across the street, the house has 11 signs that include “lock her up” and “hang the bitch.” I know it’s one street in one town. But if anyone asked me why I lie awake, that’s the story I tell. 

The way Election night is going so far, I might as well go to bed. The apocalypse is about two hours away. And I haven’t been able to catch my breath since Patrick Murphy lost to little Marco, the ghost senator. 

How the fuck can people vote for an angry yam, though? I am on the cusp of the mother of all yam fits. 

Breathe. 

Drink. 

Repeat. 

Let’s rewind back to when I was only exhausted from another night of waking up in a cold sweat every hour over Yam I Am …

Walked into the office five years ago today. Time for some Little River Band …

This is our fifth year baby
And I feel like I’m in jail, Lord
I’m holding on to this card
Can’t seem to get it in the mail
And the card reads …
Happy anniversary baby
Got you on my mind
Happy anniversary baby
Got you on my mind

At the time, I was most excited at the prospect of getting paid biweekly again after 11 months of sweating every cent.

That’s the thing abut low expectations. It was more like a series of pleasant surprises than crushing disappointments. Which was a welcome change.

It’s a coin-flip whether the other opportunities I sought heard about along the way would have panned out.

Maybe the hot Italian with the chiseled jaw isn’t the marrying type after all, but the less-exciting guy takes care of you better because he knows you can leave him for the better-looking, richer one who sweeps you off your feet.

Look at all the people who have come and gone in that time, after all. Many have gone on to better things. Some are still searching.

I could have landed in either camp, or back in the “Hey I’ll write you a book for 250 bucks” zone because another client screwed me and I was desperate.

Standing at the sink now, looking at the mirror
Don’t know where I am or how I got here
Well the only thing that I know how to find
Is another vice

Here’s to the devil you know. This one at least will drink some whiskey with you. And not tell anyone the next morning how you skulked out of there all Miranda Lambert “Vice”-like. So, there’s that.

I have zero idea how I have smart friends voting for Trump. 

At least I can explain the lazy people from school (and mom’s. Wow they cray up there)  who never amounted to much and had three husbands and 10 kids and expect to be taken care of. Clearly they don’t realize us Trump Twos will be deported so he doesn’t have to look at us. 

Everyone wants to attack the media for being too liberal. Which, here in this final stretch where no one cares about Trump’s Russia ties and the FBI obviously throwing the race his way, hell yes. I am glad the media is saying “Jesus Christ you illiterate fucks — don’t vote for him.”

I hate that the emails are still an issue. I hate that hate speech and nasty tweets are preferable to thought and strategy and agonizing over every decision, as those emails prove again and again. 

I never thought of myself as the literati. Unlike most Trump voters I know, I studied hard and worked hard and sacrificed everything to get a little success. I don’t get a handout. I don’t expect one. And I don’t go name-calling the other candidate because I actually can make a reasonable argument without looking like a petulant child. 

I wish one of my smart friends whose sensibilities have short-circuited can talk intelligently why they think a misogynistic, violence-inciting failure of a businessman and morally bankrupt human being should be the face of my America. 

This is not the year to “fix” centuries of politics. This is the year to make sure we aren’t shipping the gays off to concentration camps and allowing even more of a rape culture than we already have. 

I’m not sure though whether I fear that fool in charge or a revolt among the illiterati if he doesn’t. 

That’s not my America. I have every seriously been contemplating Cuba as a less-ridiculous regime to live under. Ponder that for a moment. 

Anyway. The good (or at least better) guys still have a chance to win. 

Let’s make America Clinton Again on Tuesday, people. 

OK, we know I woke up early and couldn’t access my computer so I drove in. Fine.

I go to Starbucks and say “Hey I’d like to use one of my many rewards.” I plunk down a salad, ask for a turkey bacon sammich and request my java.

My bill is WAY too much, I notice as I scan my phone.

Fucker said well you didn’t tell me you wanted to use a reward.

Fuck him — I’m going back to my old Bux up the street. This is BS, the one I am closer to now.

Then they ran out of turkey bacon sammiches.

I put everything back and said nice knowin’ ya.

THEN, I’m locked in the castle by myself when Paco the Painter lets himself in.

I thought he was nice at first. Introduced himself to let me know he’s here. He’s going to be doing some more work today and tomorrow. And could I use your bathroom?

I say sure. And am immediately treated to the biggest, stinkiest SHIT any human has ever taken.

IN ANY EVENT.

Then he wanders in and starts hitting on me. He likes white girls. He likes white girls my age, which he’s guessing is between 35 and 40. I think he said something about living in Boca and preferring girls with no kids. Hell if I can tell through the accent.

Now, my Trump-supporting friends would say send him back. But I’m a reasonable person and not into voting for a nutcase. And I fucking BLAME TRUMP for showing men how AWESOME it is to be so forward and crass with women that they can just do it in their goddamn sacred space.

He asked if I am here every day. I said I need to work now. He wasn’t happy.

He also asked if I were single. I said no. He said something garbled that I translated into basically “how taken am I.” I’m like dude, not married but not looking. Got it?

And apparently he’s living with someone in Boca. I don’t know. Can’t give a shit … not in public like he did anyway. Ugh. No wonder my attraction to men seems to wane with every passing year.

Thankfully I have locks on my door so he can’t get in here. I hope.

Utter and complete horseshit.

And I’m really hungry and undercaffeinated, too.

One day we will laugh about this. That day however is not today. As I choke on paint and poop fumes.

Capping off the world’s most ridiculous week is the fact that my home computer can no longer log into my work desktop.

So at five A.M. (because that’s how badly my productivity has been dented this week), I hauled ass to the new space. With my laptop.

And the goddamned sprinklers came on and soaked me. And my laptop.

Working weekend (and therapy) here I come. Oh just kidding. Who has time for therapy?