Caterwauling

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.

‘Tis the season for all the sad memes that remind you you’re not the only orphan in the world.

I saw one written “by” someone who had passed. Don’t be sad, yada yada.

As the line in Ethel Cain’s “Strangers” goes, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

I got to thinking about my hard-working celestial army.

How they are always watching and arranging things and moving the odds ever in my favor.

How they had neither a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of, on this earth. But how happy I know they are for me and all the cool stuff I get to do now.

Then I got to thinking about who I’d haunt.

No offense to anyone, but I don’t see myself doing much more than a check-in with the earthlings I know.

Like, I don’t even know who I’d leave my money to.

My thought is to donate it to cover unpaid vet bills. Bail money for punching Nazis. Gender affirming care for trans kids. Abortions for everybody.

I don’t have THAT much to give, so I better pick one cause.

But just as I hope Momma et al finally get to see the world, I too hope I get to (re)visit all the places that fascinated me.

And I hope I get to do it with my celestial army of hoomins and kitties.

The guy I was interested in for the past year just became a grandfather.

A grandfather.

JFC.

I’m over here like wait I haven’t even become a mother yet.

I mean … I still could, I imagine. Not that I’d want to. But what a mindfuck.

In any event, he was on my New Year’s resolutions list for 2025.

So was setting a toe in Europe. (Nope.)

Shedding some pounds. (Does it count when I regained them plus some extra?)

And a couple other things. (Oh well.)

I would get into the “not denied, just delayed” of it all.

But … if I’m at the age of seeing guys with GRANDCHILDREN, maybe I need some new goals?

Might as well resolve to stay fat and hang out with my cats more.

The kid is cute, though. Fighting my natural urge to send ALL THE PRESENTS is taking every bit of strength I’ve got.

On one of Kylie Kelce’s recent podcasts, she said how much she hates opening gifts in front of others. But she loves gifting to others.

She also said she’s not one of those “It’s my birthday month!” people. She’d rather no one knows.

I … am shocked how much I relate.

I love when people send gifts to my house. I can open them if or when I want.

Sometimes it’s right away. Sometimes it takes a few days. Sometimes I’ll open one thing within the box and come back later.

Now, the few people I have in my life happen to be pretty good gift givers. So it’s not a problem to open in front of them.

Oh but the giving.

I can’t even count how many gifts I send out in a year. All year. I don’t wait. I could throw myself in front of a Brightline literally any day of the week, eight times a day if I wanted to.

I have the mother of all gifts landing in Los Angeles any day now.

The recipients have NO idea.

When I was a kid, I remember (with all the cringe in the world now) telling my Gram that she could just show me love instead of buying me stuff.

OK how much do I hate myself for that? A lot. SO much.

But really, gifting was her love language.

She grew up with nothing.

She had nothing.

But when she had something?

She gave it to me.

(And she regifted it when I was done with it, as I took very good care of everything.)

I should have used the things more.

Taken less good care out of them.

Loved the shit out of them.

Rather than saving them for … what? A daughter I would never have?

Anyway I really try not to send people too much shit.

But I also can’t help myself.

I just hope they use the stuff I send them … more than the stuff I “keep nice” in case someone else can use it someday.