Caterwauling

I ordered some cookies from the local store of a national gourmet chain.

When my order was up, I told a worker that I was Dawn.

He was clearly packing up my two cookies. But he said no, these are for Michael.

Michael was a safe six feet away. I said oh look at that; we got the same order.

For a moment, I had that “this is how it happens” thought. Like in “Sleepless in Seattle,” Meg Ryan and Bill Pullman both ordered lettuce and tomato sandwiches (hers on wheat, his on white) and they met because the orders got switched.

Anyway, Michael regretted to inform them that he did not, in fact, get snickerdoodles.

And our “Sleepless in Seattle” turned back into “Braindead in Boynton Beach.”

I took my order and mourned what could have been not with him, but with that five minutes I’ll never get back.

Between Ye making the world less safe for Jewish people and Yael Braun being another wife who believes her contribution to society is to shitpost about Taylor Swift, I know to avoid people whose name starts with “Y.” Except my friend Yvonne. She’s awesome.

In any event, what really got my taco in a twist was that Taylor always writes at least one hauntingly personal track. I’m not talking about the ones about Scooter Braun. (Another name to avoid, Scooter.) Although “My Tears Ricochet” and “High Infidelity” and “Vigilante Shit” are worth many listens.

It’s more that Yael et al sit around and listen to deeply moving lyrics like those in “Bigger Than the Whole Sky” and they STILL choose to make a nuisance of themselves. When Taylor is clearly giving us the gift of going through Some Things and a lifeline because we’ve gone through, or will go through, them too.

I get it. Taylor uses her voice and people react just as publicly. I too have tried to just live my life and tell stories and entertain or at least just PROCESS in the only way I know how. And I too know what it’s like to have those who want to be heard feel compelled to weigh in. Hell, I stay quiet and they still complain.

Anyway, I give Taylor credit for still writing and singing and producing songs. I would understand if she decided not to, so as not to give that hausfrau more reason to @ her. And I love her for what she’s probably doing, dressing for — and getting — her revenge.

Didn’t like this song at first and wasn’t sure why.

Then the memory unlocked of the time I wasn’t going to show up somewhere and I did.

And the moment we saw each other was so joyful, the whole place erupted.

“Can I ask you a question?
Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room
And every single one of your friends was making fun of you
But fifteen seconds lat?r, they were clapping, too?
Then what did you do?”

Happy I forgot that moment. But happier still that I found it again.

There’s nothing like walking into a room and seeing someone there hoping that the next person to walk through the door will be you.

In a way, I wish the veil were always so thin.

Then I remember that I drink at night in October because it’s the only way to get any sleep.

Maybe I’ll let myself dance with the dead tonight and see what messages I’ve been missing.

I don’t miss my high school friends. But for 10 minutes today, I missed the way we would snark and plan to leave town and never look back.

Last night was our class reunion. It took 10 minutes to go through all the posts and photos. And about 30 minutes to unroll my eyes from the top of my head at the comments.

I didn’t really know anyone, so I’m happy I didn’t move heaven and earth to attend.

My town didn’t have a high school, so we had to go to the next town over. It was clear only two people from my side of the tracks were there. And they were the organizers.

I couldn’t tell you, even with name tags, who those other people were. Other than “I’s leakin’, Miss Kirby!” I forgot about that till now. Wish I could un-remember.

The two organizers teach first grade and university. So that explains how they managed to deal with all the inane questions and comments, before AND after the event.

I was particularly, ah, surprised that a friend of mine who didn’t go is commenting on every single post. Like, we all knew we had zero intention of going. The “oh sorry I couldn’t make it” on every post wasn’t necessary. Nor was the cool shit they were supposedly doing during it.

What else annoyed me. Oh yeah the “we had to leave early to get up early.” (The event ended at 8.) The “my kids had sports and dance” excuse. The “I’m going to a wedding; can we have another event tomorrow.” The “I can’t attend on Saturdays in October but any other month works.” And a few other random, “Can we move the event and/or plan other events around the same time.”

Watching the reunion was better than attending it!

Anyway, it looks like the girls pulled off a nice party. Which is what I wanted for them. Maybe if they have 20 years to recover from this one, they’ll feel like planning the 50th. Lord knows none of the rest of us would.

One comment from the reunion chat made it really all worthwhile for me.

A gal I am friends with IRL said oh looks so nice. Hope everyone had a wonderful time.

Two girls said we missed you. My friend said, “I missed you two.”

In other words, not a soul else.

And this is why we are friends!

At least, two or three people said what a lovely party, everyone looks great and glad yinz had fun. Not surprisingly, they are all Democrats. I liked their posts. That was it.

As for my day, I hit a farmer’s market nearby for some apple cider donuts, hit five Ross stores in Broward, and avoided people all over who wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. No regrets here.