Caterwauling

Not just an excellent Beastie Boys song, but also the title of my autobiography, apparently.

I ignored Medellin for a while. He asked if I was mad at him. I said no, I’m just over people.

Then he sent his usual series of good morning, beautiful and good night, gorgeous texts.

The stuff girls dream of, right?

I don’t know. I think I was still put off from him sending me a photo of myself when he said I had blue eyes, I said I had green (I actually said, “Wrong girl”). I mean, again, wouldn’t any girl LOVE that. And here’s me like OK, how about no.

After a few days of silence, I would say I got good and drunk but I really only had one Guinness and four ounces of Cabernet.

But I texted that maybe this is the wine talking, but I really don’t have capacity for small or any kind of talk. Hope you have a great rest of your trip and safe travels home.

I actually also wrote, “Hope you have a great time in Europe this summer,” but I deleted it. At least, I hope I did. I haven’t been brave enough to read my text or take my phone out of Focus mode.

For my entire career, I’ve said I don’t have the bandwidth to take on someone. That includes friends. But I also have been so freaking hurt by so many people, it’s definitely a crutch.

I mean, shit, how many times have I used mom as an excuse to not hang out with someone? Of course, let’s be real, I didn’t want to hang out with them.

Some got the hint after a few years. (Seriously, it finally took someone voting for TFG twice to recognize that i don’t fucking want tRumpers in my goddamn life.) And don’t get me started how I marched against TFG and said person takes me to dinner. Like, not a day for TFGers yo. But, damn I like Mexican.

Anyway, when I sent my message, I felt relief. Like finally. I don’t have to worry about having to fit this person in. I don’t have to stop hoarding clothes that don’t fit and I don’t have to be sad at neglecting my mom, cats and job that I am perpetually behind at.

Then when I woke up, I was like shit.

I mean, nobody closed any doors. But I rebuffed enough advances, and ignored enough calls, that any normal person would be like OK bitch. Maybe there wouldn’t just be small talk if you’d fucking write something of substance to talk about.

I read somewhere that self-sabotage isn’t sabotage. It’s a defense mechanism. It’s having been hurt or seeing how you could be hurt and going, nah.

Still. I feel heavier. Like, I had one person outside this house who gave a shit about me and I said, nope!

And while I suck at emoting in the moment, I’m like this boy is just as breakable as you are, honey. He likes you. Sure, maybe he’d slice you up and put you in a trash bag in the sea behind Burdine’s. But, you know, maybe he’d buy you some of their bacon-wrapped shrimp first.

I mean, what do I want? Someone nearby-ish but not. Someone with a home in the Keys. Someone who makes good money. Someone who writes in perfect English. Someone a little younger.

WTF is wrong with me? Oh yeah, I’m old and fat and anxious and surrounded by sickness. Even though I know I’m a goddess, I also know that I can undervalue myself more easily than I’d like to admit.

I just find it so hilarious that I asked Tarot if I could find love this year. Tarot said yes. I asked if he could be someone important to me. Tarot said yes. And what the fuck do I do but send him away.

Plus, I lost over seven pounds while we were talking. Just for me. But I felt like, hey, I would like to feel better and more confident when I see this boy finally.

And guess who’s packed on two pounds of pasta and bread in the past couple days? Fat. Ass.

If that isn’t typical me — getting this close to what i want and sending it away — then I don’t know what is.

So I have this guy who likes to text and call. And I like to toss the phone across the room.

I don’t have a reaction to him. Just the whole communicating thing.

Like, it’s already a foregone conclusion in my mind that whether he turns out to be a friend or boyfriend, he’ll just fucking ruin my peace and be a mistake like every other person I’ve ever met has been.

I mean, there IS this thing in my head that what if he isn’t. You know? What if he’s the guy I’ve waited my whole life for? The guy who takes me around the world and worships the very ground this goddess walks on?

Of course, I got a fright the other day when he told me he can’t wait to see my beautiful blue eyes in person. Um, what?

I said you got the wrong girl. They’re green.

Not 30 seconds later, he produces the photo I had sent to him when he still worked at Weiss, to edit for the website.

That version of the photo is NOT on the website. HE FUCKING KEPT IT.

I mean, maybe there’s something romantic and poetic in all this. But I think of how fucking Psychofag, Scoots and Cuntbreath cannot stop fucking following me around after all these years. Do I really need another stalker?

I’m back to ignoring him and he’s back to trying to get me to talk again. The last time I went dark, I said I was over people and work and I put my phone in my car for extended periods sometimes.

I think it’s more that I think back to 2019, when I figured I wouldn’t get hurt since I didn’t have any feelings. But it turned out I got very hurt and those feelings hit me like a ton of bricks the day after the plug was pulled.

Like, what good did all that do me? I gained another fucking stalker out of it. His bitch face wife became more enamored with me than he ever was, and that’s saying something.

What kills me is I’ve spent more time agonizing over all this for nothing. Just say hi back to the poor guy, Dawn. Would it kill you to be nice to someone who is taking time out of their life to pursue you the way you deserve to be pursued?

Yes, actually, maybe it would kill me.

I got a bunch of notifications overnight from Blogger, telling me that my posts have been moved behind a wall because they are so offensive.

The posts are from 2004. They are quotes from my mom, answers to old Friday Five surveys, stories about my vibrator selling days, etc.

I mean, it’s aggravating enough that Zuckerberg keeps putting mom in Facebook jail for memes she posted three to five years ago. But this is goddamn ridiculous.

I just heard yesterday that internet providers are getting threatened by our christo-fascist government if they continue to let people access information about abortion. Are the Nutzis trying to ban cussing and sex too?

It’s been a beautiful few days without Heifer. Who may be reigning in hell this week or something. Don’t know or care.

Heard that name at a meeting yesterday. Apparently someone proposed to this beast. And everyone rejoiced.

Except me. I don’t wish ill on anyone but you are never going to catch me wishing someone well who fired my friends, who is always finding fault with everything, who creates work where it is not needed and who basically is incoherent on a good day and snappish on a bad one.

I can’t really tell if anyone likes this jerk or if they are just genuinely nice people. I will go with the latter, since said jerk quitting and becoming a hausfrau doesn’t seem likely what with all the travel and conference and other perks they get.

I can’t imagine anyone missed my absolute lack of engagement at the news. And I’m the only one who didn’t type congratulations in the group chat.

I did however text the two employees she and her minion fired and said my toast is that she gets treated exactly the way she treats others.

Even they are like why are you even telling us. I’m like I know. It just feels like we are the only ones who look at this person and don’t see why they are so blessed with happiness and money and titles and promotions and the freedom to run roughshod over actual kind and productive human beings.

I imagine the other cunt who can’t stop posting about me would probably say I’m jealous. Bitch, choke on that water bottle you fellate.

I got plenty of mens on unread. (Hat-tip to Baby Girl Lisa who got mens in all 50 states.)

In fact, I do my level best to drive them away. All of them. The fact that they seem to love the neglect proves my point that men love the challenge, not necessarily the woman.

I’d pity this poor asshole who just wasted his money on jewelry and signed up for a ruined life.

And I’d fear that I have to chip in on a group gift or party.

But if this sucker doesn’t wise up soon, hell if all these suckers don’t wise up, that’s not a “me” problem.

One of my wishes is to not work at the same company with this person. I hope it doesn’t have to be that I have to leave for that to be possible.