Caterwauling

BECAUSE SHE’S DEAD.

I died in my dreams last night.

Just goes to show that the old wives’ tale is not true that when you dream you’re dead, you actually die.

I was driving along the ocean with the sunroof open. The waves were massive. And one came over the causeway and filled my car with water and sand.

Somehow I kept the car in control as it got thrown toward the shore.

But it stalled out from the salt water. And once I got the engine to turn over, it would only go in reverse … and the brakes didn’t work.

Finally I must have run out of gas. Breathed a big sigh of relief that I lived through it.

Then a truck turned left out of a driveway and plowed into me.

I threw open the door and rolled to safety.

But it was just my spirit.

My physical body was in the car, bloodied like Renee Good after that ICE agent shot her three times.

I met some crazy gay guy and a precocious little girl at the scene. Along with her (living) mom who could see us all.

Wasn’t the afterlife greeting I expected. But, it was weird to not even know how to get back to my old life, my STUFF, my loose ends.

I wonder if that were all church-related, as I spent the entire day yesterday in one.

My homie was the emcee of the show.

One of the speakers scoffed at “all you atheists who are that way because your mother died.”

Well, I sure didn’t see god in my dream afterlife. But I didn’t see my mother, either.

My cousin Jean had gotten hit by a tractor trailer. Interesting how that came back to me.

I often have the fear while driving, or at least the thought, that I’ll get hit and go sinking into the Straits of Florida.

Fred the Tree!

I wish I could take away some meaning.

But maybe the meaning is the whole “you leave your achievements, your insecurities and your potential when you go.”

What I really took away, other than a backache from sitting on a metal chair for nine hours, is exactly what the Devil tarot card showed me the other day.

Which is there’s money on the table that is MINE and I have not GONE AFTER IT because I DON’T KNOW HOW.

Now that the STOVE has gone and stopped working after Friday’s power outage, all my money apparently is going to go into moving.

But what if I manifested it? Like I always seem to?

Anyway.

Maybe my snark at everyone claiming to be saved by Jesus via a QR code yesterday is biting me on my ample ass.

But maybe this was me dying and being resurrected, as it were, to do whatever the fuck it is I’m meant to do.

If only said death had come with the clarity on where to start this new life.

Literally every text in my phone right now.

Friends. Family. Candidates.

Listen, as my Nicole starts off all her texts to me. 😀

I came to the conclusion that the least depressing thing about my apartment was Cocoa and Momma dying in it.

As I shop-vac the A/C closet … as I drag litter up the steps … as I kill ants and can’t use half the kitchen sink and there isn’t enough electricity to power the vacuum cleaner AND my workstation …

I realize I’ve been mentally checked out for a long time.

It’s not just the house. Though Gram always said “it’s the house’s fault” to everything.

Maybe she’s right.

I was telling my boss, who believes we were put on this earth to CREATE …

I don’t create here. I manage.

I wrote 16 books by the time I was 30 in shittier apartments than this.

I haven’t so much as written a grocery note here.

And really, how can I be inspiring at work when I am not inspired in general?

I mean, probably grounds for a layoff for even saying that. But he knows I am not one to claim my way is the best way.

I always say that, despite myself, I appear to be in love with my qualities that frustrate you the most.

And frankly we are all in love with ourselves, for better or worse.

Can’t argue with that.

It would just be nice to wake up and be in love with life.

And it hit me in a big way that ain’t gonna happen here.

Like no I do not want to Teams/Facetime from this shithole.

No I do not want to do an ounce more than what’s expected of me if it means it’s going to cut into my free time.

I mean, the last part isn’t really true. I’m going to some all day religious shindig tomorrow (kill me) to support one of my employees.

And I met Don Jr. twice and Eric once, so no one will ever say I don’t do ANYTHING to support my job.

But I did a tarot reading and it said I have been leaving big money on the table.

And man did that resonate.

I don’t want to leave money on the table.

It’s mine and goddamn it I’m going to figure out how to get it.

So if you don’t hear from me for more months, expect to hear from me again from a completely different place in life.

Maya Thompson “Mama Maya” posted about a new movie called “A Sacred Pause.”

All I had to read was one quote, and I’m in.

“Sometimes, there’s not a ‘happy ending.’ Sometimes, there’s just a meaningful ending.”

Mama Maya’s story was what inspired Taylor Swift’s song “Ronan.”

Which is MY song for MY baby who I also only had for four years.

It’s two years since Cocoa passed, on the 26th.

We should be celebrating six years together. Instead, we’re in the second year that she hasn’t set paw in.

Same with Mom. I just managed to get through a whole 2025 without her. What do you mean, I have to do it again in 2026?

I got to talking with my old friend Drew yesterday. We met in college. He was roommates with someone I wish would lose my fucking number already.

Drew just moved here from Orlando via Chicago.

I’m ready to move from here to Orlando.

So, we have things to talk about.

I was telling him I love love love Delray, where he’s at.

But I need a bigger change than to just move back there.

A meaningful change, as it were.

Just to sum up yesterday, for example:

1. The HOA said the electric would be off all morning. So I went to my favorite coffee shop in Boca Raton.

My laptop died and my portable laptop charger, for which I paid like $50 in the Atlanta airport and it works with my MacBook, just wouldn’t charge it.

2. I tell you this to say that I wasted 20 minutes of that laptop battery on the phone, being FIRED by my A/C guy as a client.

They love me. They just say I need a new A/C unit. And they do not want my landlady’s business.

3. I do think the owner is an asshole and I do think he’s fucking with me when he says they don’t want to keep doing repair jobs into perpetuity when I need a new unit.

3.a. But I also think it’s awful that they won’t give me the name of the plumber and handyman they promised to pass along.

3.b. And that they won’t do the follow-up visit they promised to do this week. So I will continue to Shop-Vac my unit, I guess.

3.c. The Shop-Vac is very good with the pervasive ant problem I’ve had for six years, so there’s that.

3.d. And they will only talk to me if the landlady orders a new unit and pre-pays for it.

3.e. Kelly said if I order and pay for the unit, she and Genevieve will uninstall it and sell it on Facebook Marketplace when I move.

4. I came home from Boca to find that the electric was never shut off.

4.a. The electric was supposed to be off to power up the refurbished elevator. But lo, no flashing appliances. Alexa was playing music. And yes, the A/C was running/dripping.

4.b. The electric is supposed to go off today if the job didn’t get completed yesterday. It didn’t even get started, apparently.

4.c. I don’t complain about free cable because it’s free. But it goes off at 6 am every day. And I can’t get it back on till after 7 or 8 as it “updates.”

4.d. For some reason, the updates happened at 3:30 am. I know because I watched “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” after. As I contemplate, do I go back to Carmela Coffee again today or just stay home and work.

4.e. A lack of a plumber does not mean both toilets, both tubs and anything in the kitchen actually drain/flush correctly. No matter how much of that Green Gobbler shit I buy, which is the most effective thing I’ve bought for these purposes.

4.f. Hindsight being what it was, I think the repair guy saw the state of disrepair that the house is in and figured why fucking bother. Even though I’ve paid them a thousand dollars for two visits. That’s why you fucking bother. But they don’t want to keep fucking bothering.

4.g. So, if the unit goes fully out of warranty in July, do I have no AC after July? Or after it breaks next?

5. In the midst of all this, Mike texts to whine that I must not want to see him again. BITCH. You’ve spoken 11 words to me this week, and they have all been about you. I am BUSY. If you want a goddamn valentine, fucking act like it. GOD do all men have to be LOSERS.

Basically if I am paying (redacted) to live in a place that frustrates me (See: no elevator, not even leaving the house when we DO have one because of bully neighbors) …

Why not pay that (and, apparently, then some) at a place where maybe I can find some joy and … gasp … meaning?!

That’s what the point of this post was supposed to be.

There is no happy ending. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

But maybe, just maybe, if I can find some meaning in the pain of losing everyone …

Some meaning in getting the freedom I never dreamed I’d have …

I could treat this for what it is: a sacred pause on the way to who/where I’m supposed to be next.

I dragged a brand-new WetVac up five floors yesterday.

Since my AC went kaput for the second time in six months.

And while the lovely maintenance guy at least brought it back from the dead on Friday afternoon …

There was more standing water in my house than in the panties of six Kardashian women at the Essence awards.

Anyway … it WORKED and I am not doing a Slip ‘n Slide down my hallway today.

Leaving the temps at 79 also helped. Lowering it to 78 right now.

The good news is, I am getting the name of a plumber and a handyman tomorrow. And my AC guy is coming back to see that I didn’t break anything.

Just in time for the entire building’s electricity to be disconnected Tuesday and possibly Wednesday.

Supposedly to send power to the new elevator switch.

I haven’t been in that elevator since September.

Because it’s been OFF.

So, I need that plumber because my sink is leaking like a Kardashian at a Soul Train reunion. No wonder the bitch sells underwear.

Anyway.

With all these repairs put off as long as I could (Because, elevator) …

Even the AC, which hasn’t run since before my last two Disney trips …

As I was fighting with my toilet for the umpteenth time to JUST FLUSH ALREADY this morning …

I thought, enough.

I mean, it’s possible that one week from today, I could have an elevator, functional AC and maybe even a non-flooded kitchen.

Which, whoa.

And I will have it at the low (redacted) monthly rental rate I signed on for in 2019.

But one of my employees just moved to a really cute place in State College.

He said his cat freaked out because they have visitors. “They actually repair things here,” he said.

And I was jealous.

I who live at the beach and can see the sun rise over the Intracoastal Waterway each day …

Would KILL to call someone and they actually fix something.

Now, I recall my last two apartments, where they sent their brothers-in-law or other dudes they picked up at Home Depot.

Who quarter-assed the repairs on their best days.

So, I’m not bullish at all.

But me and my Bobby McGhee … er ChatGPT got to talking to day.

And it found me the perfect place to live.

In Downtown Orlando.

And I can find exactly no reason not to tour this place and hand over my credit card.

None. What. So. Ever.

I mean, yes, pet fees. Pet Rent. Trash fees. Pest control fees.

Whatever, man.

Look, I had originally said one more year. Suck it up for ONE MORE YEAR.

But … it’s going to keep sucking in the meantime.

Where I live now is a weekend visit, not a lifetime.

When I went to DC, I did more in five nights/six days than I did in eight years.

I can come back to DaDa. I can come back for our company events.

And I don’t have to deal with this shit for the other 300-ish days.

Even the Hard Rock, which I love, I’ve had enough of. And Orlando keeps me on the Brightline so I can go to Miami anytime I want.

I mean, talk me out of this, but other than the increased cost (sigh), net-net, I don’t see a reason not to.

I mean, other than having to put off Europe for another 10 years.

Well, fuck.

I was talking to a guy recently who’s divorced.

He said he knew on the honeymoon that it was doomed.

But he lasted until she filed for divorce. Because he doesn’t believe in giving up on something you committed to.

RED FLAG.

I said you stayed with someone you have been disappointed with since THE HONEYMOON.

And you waited six years for HER to file for divorce.

He’s like well yeah I don’t give up.

I said you gave up on the HONEYMOON, it sounds like.

And you waited for her to fix and, ultimately, to end the relationship.

Bye, Felicia.

This is white men in a nutshell, isn’t it? Just hang around and/or torture her …

Then say OH THE DIVORCE CAME OUT OF THE BLUE.

When you KNEW it was a bad fit in the first place.

GOD.

I mean, this wasn’t the only red flag from the conversation.

But assuming I could get past the hairline, the posture, the teeth, the BREATH, the lack of ambition and the general boorishness …

He was also emotionally not a catch.

I’m watching “Materialists” on HBO Max and normally I wouldn’t comment on someone’s appearance.

As not only do I have an entire wall of mirrors in this ’80s aerobics studio-inspired condo …

But I also own a 10x magnifier mirror. Because, one witchy chin hair otherwise eludes my over-50 eyes.

And the first 10 minutes of the movie is about a nice woman who is willing to “settle” for someone who makes $150k and stands at 5’11”.

Like, younger me would have said that was awful. 50 me? I think that’s a nice baseline.

I mean, at least this boor I’m talking about was a good 6’2″. But can’t make a stitch of conversation unless it’s about himself.

And he’s not that interesting.

Reminds me of someone I just blocked for the 72nd time. Likes to complain about his wife and everyone, really.

Like, I wonder if the wife ever tried to leave him, but he bullied her for it like he bullies me for not being legally required to withstand it.

All those times he complained to me about her … maybe she was telling her family what a loser she thinks this guy is. How she has to make the money and manage the household.

I mean, I don’t know any of this.

But it has definitely made me pick this red flag out of the sea of them as the most prominent.

Also, at least have some money and looks if you’re going to be a douchebag.

Like the line in the movie said. No one’s ugly if they have enough money.

Though I like the quote I just paused the movie on better.

Dakota Fanning: “I’m going to die alone or get a rich husband.”

Her friend: “Same thing.”

Doesn’t sound so bad, does it.

I mean if I were to have a type, that’s easy.

I love me some PE.

Trump needs to just fucking die already.

I don’t care, FBI and CIA. Fucking put me down as wanting him and the whole Heritage Foundation and all the other criminals in that orbit dead.

I have a dress I bought a million years ago.

I called it my Kennedy Center dress.

I probably even blogged about it at some point.

My intent was to make enough money to buy a ticket to the Kennedy Center and to wear it there.

The dress wasn’t cheap by my low-paid standards back then.

ETA: Holy cats! I made a post in 2004 about saving up for this dress!

Shit, it was STILL more than I’d pay for my usual Ross Dress for Less and Shein wear.

JCP FTW!

I did have occasion to wear my Kennedy Center dress to other shindigs over the years.

But I also bought it at my highest weight, so really it has never actually fit right.

That said, a lil nip-tuck would fix it up perfectly.

But … I never dreamed the Kennedy Center would be RUINED.

The flatulent fascist put his name in front of it.

Which is actually illegal, as I understand it. You can’t rename a historic landmark.

Like, we’ll never rename the Donald Jennifer Trump Memorial Port-a-Potty and Roadside Prison.

That’s ALL his for eternity.

But the Kennedy Center is still one of my bucket list items.

Or, it WAS, I guess.

I did get there in November when I visited my fair city for opening night of the Sarah McLachlan U.S. tour.

But I stayed outside.

Yes Cindy i do go inside museums and cultural institutions. If you are still using me for Twatter fodder.

I mean it was a Sunday morning and all. Since you need to know.

And the board had already been overrun with orange ass lickers.

Though I do appreciate knowing the name change/transition was NOT unanimous. The losers muted the one lady who did try to vote against it.

Still … that orange piece of fuck took away Mom’s life, Jane’s life, Ginny’s life, literally everyone I know who died of covid and/or covid hampering their healthcare when they were dealing with fucking cancer.

I think it’s time HIS life got taken away. Whoever REALLY got Charlie Kirk and left us with his awful wife. Because it wasn’t who that idiot Kash Patel arrested.

Yeah I said it, Spooks. Come at me.

How about he dies just like that nice lady that ICE murdered in cold blood in Minnesota today?

That would put the ice in nice!

And now he’s taken away my Kennedy Center dress dream too.

I hope he dies agonizingly. Long, painful, no one helping. No cameras watching, just like whatever he did to kill Jeffrey Epstein and Virginia Giuffre.

I PROMISE you, I will never commit suicide. I am of sound mind, good health and great spirits.

But I will be in better spirits if that motherfucker just fucking dies already. Die. Please die. Die now. Dieeeeeeeeeeeeeee already.

I changed my real name on the socials.

It’s something telemarketers call me.

Though I’ve been known to use variants of my name on mailing lists, to see which fuckers sold my name. Looking at you, the entirety of the financial publishing world.

Anyway, since I “transitioned” online, almost all interactions with me have ceased.

Couple people even wrote and said they were about to defriend me because they are wary of strangers/potential tRumpers.

It’s just funny. I went from Mom knowing my whereabouts and thoughts 24/7 … to the interwebs having a good idea about both, a few times a week … to now literally living in a bubble.

Sometimes I think, well at least I have my cats.

Other times, like when I drove my ass to and from Lake Buena Vista a couple times between Christmas and New Year’s, I think, even that’s too damn much of a commitment.

Especially after the last trip when I bought litter on the way home and had to drag that and my suitcase up five floors.

I loved my last sitter but I have a sneaking suspicion she didn’t come each of the 10 days I hired her for.

I mean, who would want to run up these steps 10x in a row?

Lord, on top of that, the fire alarm went off for three hours yesterday. Even the fire department was here and couldn’t figure out how to shut it off.

Life without a chaperone isn’t what I thought it would be, Dawes.

Sometimes it’s better; sometimes it’s not.

The only thing I can say is at least I don’t have to worry about someone else being inconvenienced, at best, or trapped at worst.

Kelly said she needs my help manifesting. She’s blocked.

I felt blocked too, so I did an experiment.

I told the universe on New Year’s Eve to bring me a man in his 40s who’s divorced, kids optional. Who lives near Disney and has an IncrediPass.

So … I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when I met Mike. On New Year’s Eve. Divorced. Recently moved to Kissimmee from Philadelphia.

The only really weird part was I got in line for a photo and decided nah, not in the mood.

So I came back … and the line was longer.

And there was this guy decked out in Eagles and Disney gear, annoying the guy in front of him.

I have zero idea why I became charitable. But I figured I should at least give the guy in front a break from this conversation he was clearly not interested in.

Mike was loud. Talked a lot about himself. Did ask questions but didn’t seem like he listened to the answers.

When we got to the front, the photographer asked if we were together. I was like noooooo I want my own pictures thanks.

Mike waited for me. And he had listened after all, asking if I wanted to see Glimmering Greenhouses one more time before it’s gone for the season.

Hell yeah I did.

We went to Soarin’ and went on The Land and it was fun even though it wasn’t dark enough outside yet.

We met his friend Gil, whereupon I realized ohhhh these are the Disney Vloggers.

I like watching their stuff but they annoy me online lol.

Apparently there was a tribute to Adam the Woo at Magic Kingdom that night. Who I distinctly remembered getting kicked out of Disney for going into backstage areas where he didn’t belong.

But in any event, Adam just died so now there’s talk of a Charlie Kirk like memorial. To a vlogger.

My guess is it won’t happen. But in any event, what a weird turn my day took.

Another guy came by to comment on the Eagles jacket. Got lots of those comments. And Mike lit up and had so much fun with it.

This guy mentioned that The Symphony of Us fireworks would be at 6:30 and we’d be singing Auld Lang Syne at 7 p.m at the England Pavilion.

That’s why I upgraded my Sorcerer/DVC pass to IncrediPass. I wanted to ring in the new years all over the world.

Of course, it was like 40 degrees and I was freezing my bunny off. So my plan was to see France and England and then boogie back to Hollywood Studios.

(A story for another day of how I got intercepted by Disney security on the way to Hollywood. JFC I’m such a dumbass sometimes.)

Anyway, proving once again that he listened to me after all, Mike offered to buy me a drink at the France Pavilion.

Hell. Yeah.

We got frozen hot choccy martinis, my favorite. Also those were to have been discontinued the day before, so we got lucky.

He was super bummed that I had had one an hour before I met him.

Oops.

But this was about to be my fourth of the season. Last year I got ONE and I was grateful. Four … and another sexy Philadelphian bought my third one too? LUCKY GIRL.

Tra la la long story short, we ended up drinking our martinis right where the French cast members counted down to new year’s in their home country. And everyone erupted in song.

Mike apologized for making me miss new year’s in France, but we were only like 300 feet away. It was fine.

He loved how low-key and laid back and happy to be there I was.

He loved my intellect and jokes and knowledge and spirit.

And of course he asked why I was single and if he could have my number.

When he said I’m a catch, I said, “I know.”

What I didn’t write here were all the red flags I saw and we didn’t even hit the Spain pavilion. (Because Epcot made plans for one but never built it, hah!)

TBH he reminded me of Frito from Idiocracy. In a good way. But probably not a good sign overall.

But yes, we traded numbers and talked back and forth as he ran to MK and I went to Britain with literally EVERY OTHER PERSON IN THE PARK.

And then I went to the dance party in Hollywood and back to the hotel for amazing food and even more amazing fireworks.

So, I rang in the new year exactly as I wanted.

As I manifested, really.

I told Kelly next year we’re going to go to ACTUAL PARIS. Epcot was cool but if I am gonna freeze my balls off, I want a Christmas Market and a hot baguette at the end of it.

Anyway yes I’m still talking to Mike.

But this was a lesson to learn for me.

Not only does your girl here still have it …

The gift of manifestation, that is …

But that I need to get a little more specific about it.

So let’s make 2026 the year of amour.

I seek to manifest a handsome man in his 40s, divorced amicably, spiritually healthy, and who can afford a Club 33 membership for both of us. And who either wants to take me to all the Disneys or who wants to pay for me to take Kelly.

So mote it be.

And so, by this day next year, it will be.

I take inspiration from Pampers commercials apparently, as that’s where this title came from.

I was really thinking about how the “president” wears Pampers and was amused at the alliteration.

I wasted today completely. I do that every day I am home, really.

Every week, I take a list of work into the weekend. And every week, I say I’ll do it later … later … later.

It’s how I treat every deadline. I could work on it Saturday morning and have the rest of the weekend free.

Or I could work on it Sunday at 9 p.m. and it’s still done for Monday.

Boss type people hate that.

But what they don’t know is how miserable it is to function that way.

Like, I don’t build furniture or do anything other than basic cleaning to make sure the cats have bowls and clean potties.

So, then I feel doubly like ass. I didn’t do anything for the team or myself.

But that stupid Pampers commercial gets me.

Look, I know I’m not going through physical growth spurts.

(Ahem, tell that to my credit card when I bought a bunch of shit in one size on Black Friday … and had to buy bigger sizes at regular price two weeks later.)

But Kelly told me the other day that she’s seen me do a lot of healing in 2025.

To quote, “A LOT.”

Like well it’s more fun to cry in Orange County — both of them — rather than Palm Beach County in a depressing house with a depressing MAGA neighbor.

What no one knows is I got brave and threw out a bunch of Mom’s bathroom stuff.

I’ve kept everything “just so” — her beloved hot rollers, her toothbrush, her shaver, her hairspray, her vibrator. (Hah, sorry Momma!)

And I didn’t throw it all out. But I need hairspray in my Disney suitcase. And I don’t like her shampoo. And I already used her body wash. So I’m down to the rollers and that final item I can’t bring myself to touch. 😀

I even threw out one of her towels and one of her nightgowns.

I kept the towel she used last, as I like it and I can always donate it to the animal shelter like I did with most of the rest of her brand-new bedding.

I also kept the nightgown with the blood on it from where I got a little lax with changing bandages because everything hurt her so much.

Anyway I’m starting to be ready to go through more of her stuff. And really, let’s face it, to let it go.

None of it is expensive; just cherished. By her.

I imagine the only thing I’ll keep are the hot rollers. They are older than I am. And my grandfather redid the wiring, so that’s probably the last of him I have, other than his guitar and his flag bolo tie.

In any event, I admit I lie in bed like Cindy Brian Wilson did.

(Just throwing some red meat to my one reader! Also BNL didn’t write a song about either of us, so I expect she’ll be delighted we have something in common. She’ll probably be at Disney next, just you wait.)

Anyway I get it. When you just don’t wanna and wouldn’t even if you could.

Of course, when I had someone to take care of, I wanted to and there was no “couldn’t” in my vocabulary.

Sorry to say I either need someone to take care of (no) or a good scare (probably coming) to get my ass in gear.

Of course, when you’ve lost the most important things, fear is really hard to come by other than FOMO.

I have a feeling my FOMO is about to get tested in a big way.

Kelly said that too — she doesn’t feel settled either right now.

Like, something is UP in the world and it isn’t just our idiot president bombing eight countries in a year and kidnapping the Venezuelan president in the next.

Oh well. Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Gonna keep growing in place in the meantime.

I texted Kelly last night to say hello before I threw my phone i to the Guitar Hotel pool.

Tired of not looking or feeling good and having to pretend I am not online.

I mean I really am AFK a lot. But how do you tell everyone you feel and look like shit when you aren’t out?

Kelly says she ignores FaceTime and calls back like a normal person.

Or she ignores calls and then texts back.

I may have to employ those tactics.

But first I gotta deal with 26 unread texts.

Maybe next year.