Caterwauling

It’s a Hermit year for me. I mean, it’s been a Hermit decade so far. But I’m finally ready to embrace what the solitude holds

S. would have been 37 today.

For a while there, I was doing the living that she no longer could.

Most of those leaps turned into belly-flops into drained, cracked pool tiles. But still. I met a lot of beautiful people and ate a lot of pretty food and visited gorgeous places that are out of reach to most people.

The real way to honor her, other than leaving the country and never coming back, is to find a friend. A real friend. And keep them forever.

The last time I saw her, we were both in our phones with our boys du jour. These guys were long gone by the time she was.

It wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t EVER like that. I think we were both just exhausted from life and embracing pain disguised as pleasure instead of the usual pile of plain old pain.

I wish we could sit around today with some Chianti and Retsina, although it was a boy who introduced me to Greek wine and not her. With some hummus and pita her famous cheese casserole and whatever delicacy Mom made for us.

I wish we could compare All the Notes and learn from each other and laugh and cry and wait too long to do it again but we’d eventually do it again.

What a shame that I lost S. and gained a big old C who can’t quit me instead.

Try this instead of boo-boo cow-ing all over Twitter that your mocking of people’s grief is not mocking at all.

Fuck Yus-less assholes who mock grief and lie about it.

Every day, I sit down to write something here.

Every day, I think of the awesome people who read here who might sympathize, empathize or maybe even benefit from my stories.

Who might provide a laugh even if it really isn’t funny. Who would nod and say, I enjoyed reading that, thanks.

I miss those early days of Ye Olde Bloge. And Ye Olde IRC Chatroom and MySpace and wherever else I had friends.

Then I think of the freaks who don’t have an idea of their own so they come here for something to write about as their own on some other medium.

Because without me, they are nothing. Even with me.

I mean, it makes sense. I say things that they don’t know at their advanced age, like maybe don’t announce to the world that the protector of the house is out of town or how about don’t say shit meant to insult me when there are other people out there who are taking that insult personally because you can’t think past the end of that schnoz on your puss.

In any event, my heart is with Gabby Petito’s mom as the dumb fuck Moab cops release a statement that they should have arrested Gabby and maybe this could have all been avoided. (ARREST THAT TINY, SWEET GIRL FOR WHAT.)

It’s also with the parents of Stanley Davis III who was killed at an intersection by my house. A fucking Braddock Beach cop who’s been involved in now THREE incidents like this chased this poor kid up the street and now he’s dead. And, um, where is the body camera footage?

I have been arguing with some dumb Karen on our local rag page on Facebook because she thinks Stanley’s parents should be charged. With what, another shitty cop killing another black child? I’m like how about an ounce of compassion for yet another family who has to go to bed tonight without their baby? She told me it’s time for me to shut up. Oh HELL no.

All you miserable fuckers who have nothing good to say to or about me can seriously go be useless somewhere else.

I stopped to say hi to my friend Christopher today.

He didn’t remember my name, which I told him I didn’t expect him to. But he was tickled that I knew his.

I get that “feeling seen” thing. I really wanted to show that I saw him as a nice guy I was happy to talk to. Because, it’s the truth.

He seemed in good spirits. I’m not sure all the stories he told me are true. If they are, this guy needs to be a stand-up comedian. Even if they aren’t, well, all the comics I know are gifted at masking their pain behind others’ laughter.

It wasn’t all smiles, though. He told me he stopped his cancer treatments. Nine years of radiation was enough.

He got an offer to stay at a shelter where everyone does drugs. He said no thanks; I’d rather stay on the streets.

But thank goodness he said no, because he knows someone who’s willing to let him stay at an apartment for three months for free — to focus on recovering from his illness and too long on the streets.

So many life lessons. Know when to say when. Never jump at the first offer. God is good, all the time.

The stories came fast and furious. He was in Los Angeles during the Rodney King riots. Got shot with a rubber bullet there. Ended up in Vegas for a while. Was a biker and went to culinary school.

Won’t go back to Ohio, even at his family’s urging; he’ll take too-hot Florida over a day of snow. Has a mom and a brother named James who can’t cook and a sister who’s the single mom of twins.

It occurred to me that he’s likely seen as much of the world as I have, but from an entirely different perspective.

I said well I was happy to run into you again. And if I pass by next time and he’s not here, I can be excited and not scared for him.

He told me he’d pray for me, for something I told him about. I teared up and said, you can count on me doing the same for you.

Funny. I never tell anybody anything. Yet I can tell this man my biggest secret and he gets it right away.

I hope he gets his happiness. For however long it can possibly last. And I hope it’s even happier than even he could have dreamed.

I needed to see him today. Thank you, God, for something my heart can feel good about.

My soon-to-divorce friends are a case study in social media strangeness.

I see competing posts. One mostly positive affirmations and heartwarming memes. Then you scroll down and it’s accusations from the other about cheating and claims of depraved shit.

Being the first/only to air grievances must be like whoever yells the loudest is clearly the rightest. Makes sense only to the one who gets hoarse.

I tried to defriend the S.O. but apparently they have four accounts and I’m still connected to one.

Pro tip: One really doesn’t need fake accounts. Log out and boom, all the drama your heart can possibly take still awaits.

I want to turn away. It’s hard when you see your friends get trashed.

But I prefer to know people’s mental states and physical locations. Certain types are all too willing to give both away.

It’s as if they don’t realize that, in their quest to be heard at all costs, they are making the other person the sympathetic character.

Wonder how long the shitposting will drag out for. Three years? Five? Till death will they stalk?

I was already reeling from the loss of Betty White when I caught up with a work friend today.

She’s been out on bereavement. Her mom died on the same day as Betty.

I can’t stop crying between all that and Bob Saget’s death. This is Gen X’s nightmare week. Everyone we grew up with … gone.

Everyone I know has Covid, too. Luckily they just seem to be miserable and not dying off, like they did last year. I still can’t believe Jane, Ginny, Jesse, Sue, C.J. and so many more are gone from this world. My world.

They say be gentle to yourself. Iz pandemic, after all.

Meanwhile I have a friend who’s getting divorced. God, it’s ugly. His spouse friended me years ago. I figured because I am witty and delightful. Now I see it was to keep tabs on all of us.

My friend used to read this page, so I am not saying shit other than, ask me if I am surprised by this outcome.

Per usual in this situation, one is taking the high road and saying nothing. The other is blathering and trying to drum up support from people who never really liked them in the first place.

TBH, I am happy to be able to befriend the hysterical one. I always called them Drama. The more you whine and complain and drag your S.O. under the bus, the more the sane among us go Jesus Fuck, SO glad my friend got away from your psycho bitch ass.

Now, of course I won’t SAY that in case they get back together. But fuck, good riddance. Bye furrlicia. Take that nasty ass anywhere but my timeline, please and thanks. Christ, my friend can do SO much better.

What’s funny is I reached out to my friend on Christmas Eve, after quite some time of not really saying hi.

I had said, you are on my mind. I just want to know if you are OK.

He said he was. That’s all he said.

I KNEW some shit was going down. I know a psycho bitch situation from 985 miles away. The “sudden” divorce confirms it.

In any event, I am just sad today, for so many people. 65 (Saget) is too young to die. But damn, it sure gets you out of dealing with some shitty health and relationship problems along the way, doesn’t it?

There’s a troll who gets so mad at me that I publish my old ZIP code on Twitter.

Maybe they don’t believe I lived there.

Per this old photo from 2015, I did.

With my suicidal screen door.

Still not jealous of anyone else. Ocean and Intracoastal air > glue and fish sticks.

Also, I’ll stop posting things to tweak ol Nutter Butter when ol Nutty Butty stops invoking my witchy ass with every post. If ya don’t want me in ya bidness, stop inviting me.

Someone wrote recently that they think I’m jealous of their house.

Here’s my view right now.

Good one.

Mom said it’s boring since we gave up Nutter Butters for the new year.

It was pretty boring reading that Nutter Butter wrapper. So it’s a draw.

I wonder if they use the water to dilute bleach. ?