Caterwauling

After my friend E. asked me if I was antisemitic for — gasp — a meme that (correctly) expressed my frustration with zionists (among others) …

She’s returned to liking all my posts.

Look, I had no problem cutting off all my MAGA connections.

Turns out, I don’t give a fuck about my Democratic ones, either.

I got so sick of her commenting on all my shit (positively!) that I hit the unfriend button.

That’s the thing when “your person” dies.

That’s the relationship you should have saved (ok maybe not from death, though I did try).

Any other relationship?

Expendable.

I don’t have hard feelings.

But I don’t need to be reminded every time I see them of how angry their question made me.

I mentioned this shit to one of my Black staffers.

She said, “You? Is she CRAZY? You love everyone. You treat us all so well. I can’t imagine you being anything other than loving.”

That was perspective I needed desperately in that moment.

It made me realize that, as a supervisor, I have learned how to approach people better than most.

So I can’t get too mad at someone asking me something bluntly rather than thoughtfully.

I’ve ignored people’s comments. Like Renee’s family and their shitty comments about “brown people.”

I’ve also been more direct with, “Hey, I know your heart. But that phrase you used can be triggering for some. Just wanted to let you know it may be taken in a way you don’t want.”

I’ve also done the fake apology, as I did with the antisemitic shit. The “I’m sorry it came across a certain way.” Which she took as a genuine apology.

Which it wasn’t.

Fuck Netanyahu. Fuck Trump for capitulating to him. Fuck everyone who can’t see that the Holocaust and the genocide in Gaza and Ukraine are REALLY FUCKING SIMILAR.

Wanting a free Palestine makes me this? Insane.

Not to falsely equate the Holocaust with modern genocide, because that isn’t the intent. But also not to act like they aren’t achieving the same outcome through modified means.

I know Mom really liked E. She liked Renee too. And she loved Mike.

But she could still separate how they spoke to/treated me from the best she saw (or wanted to see) in them.

And she’d still think (insert name of someone I avoid like trumpers avoid vaccines) was a motherfucking dick.

Film at 11 for that one. God I hate this asshole, more today than usual, but at least I don’t have to pretend to be friends. But i also can’t cut him off.

I am well aware of all the times I smile and laugh and “9.0 hair flip!” for someone who would wipe their ass with my hair.

I’m also well aware of how I slam down the phone and can’t speak to anyone for four hours after that performative nonsense on my part.

White men and accountability, amirite?

An old college friend passed this week.

I sent his partner a note to say wow, they’d been each other’s person since we all had a “1” in our ages.

Long before we all had a “5” in front of it.

I didn’t ask her any questions. Not even when I got the funeral arrangements.

When another of our college friends passed — one of MY people — she reached out and was respectful in that same way.

I wasn’t ready to talk. I’m still not.

That’s the thing. We owe NOBODY.

Anyway, I’m sad that there’s no longer a world with Jason in it.

Good looking guy. So sweet. Cat dad. Liberal. Loved his lady, nature, his family and friends.

I mean, even if I didn’t already know him as a great person, I would have guessed that this was a tragic loss.

But knowing them both as I did — and she and I have stayed fairly connected — I know the size of a hole that his absence leaves.

I know she went through some major shit with her job recently. Eventually landed somewhere great.

But I remember thinking, how nice to have a partner who supports you burning your career to the ground to take a stand against injustice there.

So, I liked him extra for letting her be her. Just the way we like her.

Pour one out for Jason tonight, if you can. And his three cats.

Magic will tell you, no one loves you quite like the one who left you.

I read some variant of that phrase today.

A guy stole a plane in 2018. He flew over Mt. Rainier, marveling at its majesty. He took in some other mountains. Eventually, he crashed the plane in a non-populated area, apologizing to everyone who loved him.

“He didn’t survive, but he lived,” read one of the comments.

I thought about Mom when I read that.

We lived a small life. But she always said I gave her more of a life than any man did or could.

I thought about my grandfather, always so happy with so little. I spoiled Mom as best as I could. Though I could have done better. Did as much as she’d let me.

Like my grandfather, she was so grateful for so little. A good meal, a waterfront house, a couple weekend trips a year.

I barely looked at her because I worked so much. But she spent long days making crafts with Kadie and collecting beautiful things and memes.

And she was happy.

She didn’t survive her awful illness.

But oh how she lived. And loved.

Two Easters ago was our Last Supper.

I ordered Ruth’s Chris. The one in West Palm, though Boca was superior. But, Boca closed.

Mom was already barely eating, but showed interested in a ribeye sandwich.

Two of those, no onions, coming right up.

Well, it was one of those “oh did the customer want EXTRA onions” experiences.

Got that shit home. The bag reeked of onions. Even though I tossed the onions in a baggie and ran them straight out to the trash chute, the house reeked of onions.

I called and disemboweled the manager verbally.

He said come back and we’ll make it right.

“It’s my mother’s last Easter,” I had spat out. “We don’t get do-overs anymore.”

I know I’ve written here that the last food she had was a tiny bit of my birthday cake. (That I’d ordered early. and that she promptly threw up.)

But this was the last real meal we attempted.

She couldn’t cook anymore. She couldn’t even stand. The cancer had ravaged her organs and her bones.

Anyway I got to Ruth’s Chris for a wine tasting the other night. First time there in two years.

My rage was still palpable.

But it was also my Easter dinner, as it were, though a few days early.

And there was an amazing wine pairing happening with every course. So, had to do it.

Glad I did it.

The food was amazing, the wine was amazing.

Oh, and I won a $40 bottle of wine.

(Don’t ask me how I won it. I just WON IT, OK?)

Joe and Kathy next to me were very happy about that. Joe won a bottle too. Judy at our table was not amused.

But this was a core memory unlocked that none of them knew about.

Not that the place owed me, necessarily.

But … the place certainly gained favor with me after two years of not going near it.

My friend who incited that Democrat on Democrat violence has continued to like all my posts and make nice comments.

I blocked her.

For fucking real, if I had the audacity to say oh do you not like fat people (which I am) … because they posted a meme that is ANTI PEDOPHILE and ANTI GENOCIDE … I would hope they’d block me, too.

I’d say I don’t know why I’m still annoyed.

But I know why.

Just because you close a door, doesn’t mean you don’t look at it sometimes.

At least we’ll always have our annoyance with Don’t Treadmill on Me and one of their specific minions in common.

An old friend got mad at some meme I posted about being sick of waking up in a world where old white men are killing women and girls.

The word Zionist was used. A word I have never used in my life. But one I thought was correct in its context. And yes I did that gut check before I posted it.

So my friend, who’s known me over a decade, decided I’m an anti-Semite.

I got to talking to another friend. Not about that, but about how I have always voted others’ interests above mine.

How I put up with low-EQ people in the world and workplaces and everywhere and try to see life from THEIR viewpoints.

When they haven’t (yet, I hope) learned how to do the same for me and anyone else.

How I excuse THEM for being good at, say, running a business and not necessarily talking to the people in it.

And then to have someone — first of all, call me that shit over A MEME — incite what i can only call Democrat-on-Democrat violence …

And dude, I SEE why people vote for the pedophile party.

I mean, I have heard the pedo and even adult-woman grape rumors for years and not just about tRump.

But, yeah, if we are all gonna hold each other accountable BUT NOT THE GODDAMN RACIST PEDO RAPISTS in charge, come the actual fuck on.

I didn’t feel held accountable. I felt inconvenienced.

Yes I believe Israel has the right to a homeland. But I also believe it has no goddamned right to exterminate Palestinians to have it.

So if that makes me hate that particular Zionist and his henchmen, do I REALLY need to explain that to someone who — I thought — believes the same?

Wanted to say honey I checked my biases 20 years ago. I went through a lot of self-reflection and soul-searching. I am wildly aware that even though I’ve gone through some shit because of privileged white men, I’ve benefited from the system in a way my brothers and sisters have not. And it’s up to me to speak for them.

What I did say was a very I am angry at any goddamned white man who doesn’t know how to fucking act and SO SORRY IF THAT OFFENDED YOU.

I haven’t been back on the socials since.

Her reply was oh I didn’t think you were antisemitic, just had to check.

Which only made me more annoyed.

I mean, I treat the Z word like the N word. Don’t let it leave your lips.

Now I’m over here wondering who else has some big feelings about me posting it as one of the dozen memes I usually post in a day.

No I’m not really thinking that. I’m over here streaming the “Elizabeth Taylor” music video since the pedophiles in charge have cut AIDS funding but proceeds from Taylor Swift’s new video go to Elizabeth Taylor’s AIDS foundation.

If anyone wants to challenge someone like me about not being sensitive about others who need help more than I ever will, they can kiss my pudgy pork roast butt.

I’d “cry my eyes violet” but I’ll save my tears for the useless 11 am meeting with DTOM. Who I can assure you does not think about how any of their comments land on anyone.

Figures.

Meet a hot guy. Who likes me.

With money. Nice car. Harley.

From New York City.

And … comes clean eventually that he’s seeing someone else.

Like … I mean, an upgrade in every way from every other situationship.

“We were supposed to be just friends
You don’t live in my part of town, but maybe I’ll see you out some weekend
Depending on what kind of mood and situation-ship I’m in
And what’s in my system.”

And honestly, even the honesty is refreshing.

But if the ball’s in MY court?

Hard pass, Grimace.

It’s funny.

I’ve been walking around thinking how I always meet someone when I’m leaving.

And wondering if it was a sign to stay … or a sign to not get involved so I don’t give up on my plans.

And I’ve had all that anxiety, too. Like. his car is IMMACULATE. He’s HANDSOME. Not a cat hair on his high-priced Emirates and other couture.

Literally — I asked the universe for a Disney daddy — and I got a Disney Hong Kong daddy.

For a minute, I was walking around thinking the universe finally sent me a good one.

And maybe I wouldn’t have to sweat can I get a 2BR vs. a 1 BR because someday, it might not all be on me financially.

Amazing.

And while I know I am a catch, my mind was still racing. Thinking about my shitty apartment and my shitty cats (seriously, woke up to poo-poo on the rugs I washed YESTERDAY) and my holy terror at giving up my alone time.

Well, that resolved rather quickly.

I should probably say call me if anything changes.

But would that make my next Manhattan excursion better or worse, to have company next time that isn’t Kelly?

Ciao, bello.

I yelled at someone yesterday.

They deserved it. But I imagine this won’t go unpunished.

We all know someone who is committed to misunderstanding you so they can gaslight you.

A boss, for instance.

Also, if I were still reading a certain person’s social media, that’s a textbook example.

I say I like a sandwich. They say they were born in the restaurant and that I don’t understand sandwiches. I attempt to explain that Miss D. Point, well, Miss D. Point. Shitposting war ensues.

There’s this person IRL who literally jumps down my throat if I say something in a way that doesn’t make sense to them.

Christ, I ask my TAROT CARDS clarifying questions.

Guess what? That works on humans too.

But I don’t get those.

Usually I laugh, apologize, rephrase.

Other times, I figure I died six hills ago. Too dead to die on this one.

So, when I found someone inside my throat yesterday after I answered their question, I didn’t smile and laugh like I usually do.

I emitted a guttural uttering that, I assure you, my ancestors felt.

And I said my god, this is why I don’t tell you anything. This shit is getting old.

Yeah I’m bout ta get my ass handed to me.

Right after, I texted a friend who used to interact with this person.

She said OMG they are KNOWN for that, and it’s NOT COOL.

It was comforting to not be the only one who’s perpetually misunderstood.

I don’t think it’s purposeful.

OTOH, it’s weekly.

And while I know to measure my words to avoid it, sometimes I just don’t.

I was trying to show that a person is wildly valuable in all the best ways and in an extra detail oriented way.

But what they thought they heard was said person is sacrificing all else to focus on this detail. Who said that? Not me.

I did spit out exactly that — I am trying to praise someone for ALL they do.

And typing it out now, it’s just so absurd. Like, there was no fuckup anywhere that I was trying to explain away. It was just conversation. You know, with performance reviews looming.

Not only is this my main complaint, it’s my only complaint. So I know I am LUCKY AF.

But thinking about my friend’s ex-roommate who is STILL posting shit about her … when my friend is off living her best life … really made it clear to me that some people will just see what they can do to set you off. Then cry victim, in this ex-roommate’s case.

So I am particularly sensitive to it.

And that’s what my point really is. Trying to figure out where people are coming from. So you can see a problem from THEIR side before you come in hot to address it.

That’s why I’m beloved. I never had the Machiavelli chip; like me ANY day over that.

But being over 50, I am not losing sleep over being unloved by people who do seem committed to NOT loving me.

Well, I knew that living in FL-87 would pay off at some point.

We elected Emily Gregory to a FL House seat over some dumb ass Republican dopey man who doesn’t even live here.

I got to thinking briefly about some ignoramus who talked shit about me for saying I live in Palm Beach.

After years (17 years TODAY!) of me living here.

And of me not even TALKING about it all that much because I don’t want people to think I have money.

I asked that heifer’s cellmate I mean life mate if they voted in the election today.

But alas, THEY don’t live here and — gasp — NEVER DID.

“You lil’ stupid ass bitch, I ain’t fuckin’ with you
You lil’, you lil’ dumb ass bitch, I ain’t fuckin’ with you
I got a million trillion things I’d rather fuckin’ do
Than to be fuckin’ with you, lil’ stupid ass.”

I’ll let the forthcoming “I was born here and ate a sandwich here before you were born” remain far out of my sight.

As I’ve done for … what, is it a year now? More?

“Bitch, I don’t give a fuck about you, or anything that you do.”

Omg that felt FANTASTIC.

The winning. And quoting BIG SEAN.

The other one.

Hah.

“I mean for real, fuck how you feel
Fuck your two cents if it ain’t goin’ towards the bill, yeah”

When Mom was about to leave, I got a performance review that I was too exhausted to be affected by.

I was given a list of books to read on improving my productivity.

Mom died three weeks later.

I never heard about those books again.

It was two years ago tomorrow that she last left the house.

A very stressful drive to Deerfield Beach. Where I got a lousy parking spot and she was in pain and couldn’t walk and couldn’t really see the beach either.

I knew we wouldn’t be back.

That’s why, the day she did pass, the first thing I did was drive to Deerfield Beach.

To show her the way, since she never drove there herself.

I got to thinking how the guy at Poppie’s called me bubbly.

I think that my attitude has spared me from a lot. May not be productive at times, but I make it a good environment for everyone. I coach and encourage and, if you’re not showing me your O face from your treadmill, I can make you feel like you matter.

But I really am sad.

So if you catch me smiling, don’t think I’m healed or over it or moving on.

If you catch me smiling, I assure you, I am five seconds away from remembering that my mother is dead.

So, let me have those moments before I remember the most important thing in my life has left me forever.

Trust me, if I had the chance to get my mom back …

If I would give up this nonsense life where tRump kills and SAs children … women are getting shot in the streets …

Where I refuse to have sex with a man till my period stops (whenever that may be) bc I am tired of birth control and oh I have no rights to my own body anymore …

And where I have to hide my social media from people who think Charlie Kirk was the tits …

I would do it in a fucking HEARTBEAT.