Caterwauling

Got to spend a few days with my fambly this week.

I always say my Phillips crew is the closest thing I have to blood relatives. That continues to be true.

They come to Boca every year to host a conference. I didn’t go last year because Mom went into rapid decline. She liked me being home. And so, I was.

This year, I paid for a ticket and got the full day trading experience. Made some money. Hung with my peeps. Got to talk to their customers.

I have got to be the only person who uses PTO and my own money to go get education that will benefit me in my day job.

In any event, I was starting to think about my future. Love the job I’m in, I promise. But I got to thinking, these guys could use my help. I even offered it, unpaid, since they deal in options and I no longer do.

And I was only the damn Optionz Goddezz for 20-odd years!

In any event, I know I romanticize my past with them. I mean, our friendships and relationships are all real. But I have a tendency to make all my jobs seem less maddening than they can be.

Dulcie asked me if I still talk to Greg. I laughed. I said you know, the guy was a phenomenal editor and a fun person to talk to. And he wasn’t the worst boss I had. But I don’t really care to remember those years before Dave promoted me out from under him.

(Also, Dave is so proud of how far I’ve come. I am, too. I was telling Dulcie it’s so mind-blowing that we are PEERS now.)

They all treat me like a goddess. Which, obviously. I don’t think any of them ever had a sharp word or a crit for me, for as long as I’ve known them.

I did see Dave get a little cranky when the internet refused to cooperate with all of us chasing option prices at the same time. He said something in a bit of a tone that I hadn’t heard before.

One of my friends called it a tic. I thought that was an interesting way to put it.

I got to thinking about a more recent supervisor. Who I got along with just fine but we never managed to get through a conversation without me saying something that somehow triggered them and their automatic response was to knock me down a peg.

I’m talking about such awful things as “I think we need a (redacted) promo” and “cats are children.” Like it was a tic to disagree with me over something innocuous.

Now, this is not to minimize actual tics. I knew of Baylen Dupree long before her TLC show because my friend’s child has Tourette’s and the other condition, Coprolalia, where they swear and say random racist shit. I don’t even want to act like I relate to that actual medical stuff.

But there are some dudes out there who have to get in the next/last word, who have to be the “rightest” in the room, who just physically cannot help but bristle and respond when some badass goddess type is simply doing what she’s put on this earth to do.

I found a good manifestation the other day.

“I get paid to be myself. The more I show my true self, the more abundance I create.”

I will be filthy damn rich with how myself I am at all times.

Anyway, not knocking anyone for having a moment. But certainly learning some grace here by categorizing any weird instant reactions as what they are — physiological responses.

Maybe that’s all that I got from Greg, too. His tics, as they were, were to keep me at work late after being bored out of my fucking mind all day. And never give me the approval I craved so much from him.

At least I used that time to take courses and teach myself how to trade. So, I can’t be too “tic’d” off. I guess.

In S3 of “White Lotus,” there are three childhood friends who vacation at the resort around age 50.

The two with the most money and clout lament all the inconveniences being rich and beautiful brings. Then they do this half-assed “We’re so grateful!”

On the Official White Lotus podcast, Michelle Moynihan (who I LOVE) pointed out how pretentious that is to do the “we’re so grateful” thing in mixed company.

Granted, the third friend seems very successful herself. But you can tell she’s insecure and mentally comparing herself to them.

I got to thinking about that last night at Swampgrass Willy’s.

I wanted to go to the “Pink Pony Club” show. And I told Kelly I’d be in the area if she wanted to go.

She’s literally the only friend I have who’s up for any damn thing. Thank god because everything is so much more fun with her.

My favorite pics of us are usually photobombs. This was no exception.

The original photobomb was when my wino ass got into her selfie when I dragged her to Eataly near Wall Street.

At Swampgrass, there was this guy next to me who started up a conversation and asked about all our tattoos.

Which, who have I become lol.

But you could tell he was interested in HERS.

We got to talking about how I gave her her dream job twice. (Her words, and I love that she loves me for that.)

And she mentioned that she knows the DJs there that night (which was what convinced me to go, really) and she’s in a band.

Lil dude says he’s in a band. But when she said which one, he couldn’t name it.

He came and went a bunch of times. Always with a new question for her. Like hi third wheel, go away.

When he left us for the SIXTh time, she said what I wrote in the headline. “You are too young and too poor for me.”

Kelly got herself a guy who whisks her out of state at least once a month.

He works in Florida a couple days a month and lives elsewhere, so this is literally the relationship I would want too.

Not with him, though he is my age and she’s actually a bit younger.

Anyway, I got to thinking about those friends in White Lotus. And how it’s not pretentious to say we are accustomed to men of a certain age, career level and income.

I confessed that I was with one of the most well known figures in our field, years ago. And he chased me. I was her age at the time.

He still sends me messages and memes, so he must remember me fondly. I just wish I’d gotten trips and more perks, but I had decided to leave D.C. and things ended there.

Anyway. When lil dude bothered us for the seventh time, that’s what she told him. You are too young to support the lifestyle I have become accustomed to.

I love her so damn much.

I told her, too, she took me out for Valentine’s Day and bought me dinner and was the best date I’ve had in a long time.

Hard for me to settle for some dude who isn’t so adorably considerate and so much fun to hang out with.

So, we need men who can take good care of us in general.

And like she said, we need to find guys who take us to Europe.

She’s holding out for that. Maybe I will, too.

I know I have to do a lot more work on myself first. I am not ready to be with anyone in a serious way right now.

For fun times, yes. But there still ain’t room in my house or maybe even my heart for much more.

There is definitely room for friends and fun drinks. The Pink Pony Paloma was pretty terrible, but I had at least three of those Brat shots.

I love that we can buy our own damn drinks.

Weirdly it feels like Kelly is showing me what to expect from others. To demand it if I’m not getting it. And to know that I have a friend out there who wants to see me have it.

Got to talking to my best friend about all the things.

Including all the stuff I would never dare post.

For her, after a nightmare year, it looks like a dream is about to come true.

I mean, it’s not going to look quite like she planned. But still, it’s more than she expected at this point.

I said to her, since hell has frozen over, I’m speaking it into existence now. We will meet stable men this year.

I also told her about getting a call to give a reference for the seven-foot ballerina. And my reply being he’s really good at two-hour lunches.

She loved it and said what I have as this post’s headline.

Speaking of meeting stand-up men …

I dreamed one of my boys showed up at the conference I’m attending next week. He invited me to (tropical island nation) and someplace else. But I couldn’t make it to the someplace else because I’ll be in (redacted). But please tell me about (tropical island nation).

I texted him when I woke up. Didn’t mention that we were making out in the dream. But I did tell him the rest.

He surprised me by saying no, no plans for (tropical island nation), but sounds intriguing.

But he really surprised me when he said maybe the message from your dream is that I’m supposed to stow away on your trip to (redacted).

I almost typed back that he’d be a sexy stowaway. But I did say he’d be a sweet one. He said he sure hopes I’d think so.

We talked back and forth for a bit between all of Friday’s awfulness. A very welcome distraction.

I thought about what I’d said to my BFF, that this is the year we meet sane men and that I was speaking it into existence.

Literally spoke it into existence on the same day I talk to a sane man. Whoa.

I wish he were coming to this event. I know the company sponsoring it and, actually, they are the ones who introduced me to him.

I asked my tarot cards two questions — what do I think about him (Three of Cups, photo above) and what does he think of me (Four of Wands).

Well damn.

3C can go a few ways.

Friends you have a blast with, which applies.

Reunion with someone you are fond of that leads to something more. Intriguing.

Or multiple suitors.

I mean, honestly, I win any which way.

Four of Wands, what he thinks of me. Well. That’s the marriage card.

Hah.

4W can also foretell of a romantic reunion.

Anyway. What an interesting pair to pull.

The follow up spread was pretty good too.

Will i see this person at (redacted) and how will it go? Am emotionally enlightened man, soulmate card, generational wealth.

Insane.

I’m not saying it’s my year. Dreaming doesn’t come easily or at all here anymore

But I’m also not saying it isn’t going to be, either.

I could just throttle the one who asked me how to let one of Snow White’s seven dorks apply for an open position.

Did I get a fucking call for a reference? I fucking did.

I didn’t say anything bad.

I didn’t say anything good either.

Hell I even said maybe they’d be useful. I wouldn’t know because I didn’t see them do any of those tasks they say they are good at.

I hope the message got through.

I probably have draft posts in my dashboard about the visceral hatred I had for this person.

Which I’ve been glad to forget.

But as yesterday went on, I said my least-favorite phrase this idiot used to say.

I opened the Snipping Tool to screenshot something, and I said, “Snip snip!”

This motherfucker used to say that to me a good 11 times a day.

He was installed as my supervisor. Rather, my beloved department was dissolved and I had to interview with this twit and another twit to see if I was worthy of absorbing into their department.

Motherfucking idiots. I hated tap dancing for them. Two losers.

The good news is, they recognized that I was running circles around them in my previous role.

Naturally they wanted the kid from the gifted and talented class so they could slack.

They knew I would never let the company fail.

Anyway part of my job is to edit shit and publish shit.

Back then it was the biggest part of the job.

So I was editing and publishing a good 12 issues a day in my previous department.

In their department, I had to fold my publications into their crappy publications. And edit their crappy publications too — specifically to raise them to MY lofty editorial standards.

Anyway this Dork insisted that, when I sent a publication live, I send him a “snip snip.” That is, a screenshot that PROVED I sent it live.

Look.

I ask my own team to send me proof of scheduling.

Because we’ve had so many problems with Salesforce … of random shit going live without anyone hitting the publish button … or of things being scheduled and misfiring.

Also I have junior people doing that now. So really, they know it’s a total CYA thing to have proof of sending.

But for me to be a senior managing editor at the time … who’d been in the biz 15 years at that time …

I was furious that this inept piece of shit would literally come and TOWER over me at my new cubicle in the main hallway (after having had a gorgeous office in Delray Beach) …

This MF who couldn’t schedule an issue to save his LIFE …

And chastise me that “I didn’t get my snip-snip” …

I was enraged on the regular.

Look I know the way to handle a micromanager is to report every time you pee and what direction you wiped in.

But this asswipe would never help me when I needed help.

He took two hour lunches.

Came in after 9 and would pirouette out at 4:30 with one of his “well since you have things under control.”

And would tell me he couldnt’ help me edit any of my (now) 21 publications because he had too many emails to read …

LIKE I FUCKING DIDN’T ALSO HAVE MEETINGS AND PEOPLE I SUPERVISED …

And to be up my ass that I didnt’ take the five seconds to email him proof that I was doing my job …

I would say oh I thought you had so many emails that you didn’t have time to read all of them. Thought I’d save you the effort of clicking on something else so maybe you could help me sometime.

When they fired him and promoted me, I didn’t even NOTICE he was gone. Other than that I didn’t have this seven foot tall ballerina breathing on me.

When my boss asked me if I knew him, I said yep.

And when he said ok what can you tell me about him, I didn’t say any of this.

My boss and I are cool. Not the how-was-your-weekend type of relationship.

The only thing we have in common is we have cats and we both enjoy “The Descendants” franchise on Disney+. And honestly that’s all I really know about him outside of the work.

I get 20 uninterrupted minutes with him and I use it wisely.

Dude ain’t asking me for no snip-snip. He gives me 40 things to do and assumes they get done.

I don’t even bug my people. They post the snip-snip (I would never call it that) and move on with their day.

I am more social with them. One just had a baby on Wednesday. I know all their kids and pets. We chatter all day.

But more importantly, when they ask me for help, I am an instant yes.

I will never say oh gee but I have emails.

Fuck dem emails.

My job is to support the people who serve our customers.

I may even do too much of their jobs sometimes. But I also know I am giving them the bandwidth to focus on other things that are important — for our marketing team, for our customer service team, etc.

So, by all means, apply for a job here. Just don’t be a useless POS and think I am going to say otherwise.

I asked my friend to let me know if there’s anyone talented looking for some work.

I didn’t define talented. I just said if there’s someone interesting who has some bandwidth, send them my way.

Let me tell you, the dregs of the industry have been showing up in my inbox like all of Mom’s suitors, or as I called them, “Snow White and the 7 Dorks.”

One was someone we fired and I was promoted to that position.

To read “I have some bandwidth,” I laughed. You had bandwidth when you worked here. You took two hour lunches and said no every time I asked you for help.

I don’t have any ill will. I don’t have any anything.

But to have the balls to go on to ask for my help in getting an open job that’s posted? Wow.

I of course hit delete. And I thought, shit, there is one other person this delight knows in the company. I bet they go to this person.

Yesterday, that person said oh hey so and so is trying to reach you.

Goddamn it.

I just said use the application link. I have nothing to do with it.

As I sit here and think about it, this person probably could be a better asset on an ad-hoc basis than one I already have. They can still pirouette though the parking lot for hours on end.

But, worms, can, that sort of thing.

No, just no.

“Who do I have to speak to
About if they can redo the prophecy?”

However many years ago, I awoke to some weirdo having followed me on Twatter.

I tweeted, “Hard pass, Grimace!” and moved on.

Or, should have moved on.

The Hamburglar followed me around like a wounded dog and asked if I said that. I said I sure did.

Now, what I should have done right then and there was cast a pox upon McDonaldland and never looked back.

But no, I logged into an account they didn’t know about. And morphed into Birdie the Early Bird, the newest member of that fucked-up playhouse.

If you ask me what moments I’d go back to in my life and change, that was one of them.

Today I got a notification on the Butterfly App that someone with a dumb name followed me or liked a post or some shit.

I thought tell me this twatter isn’t still pulling her goofy juvenile shit six years later.

You’re 60 years old. SIXTY. That’s like 500 in dog years.

Anyway I blocked that greige goon and moved on.

“I got cursed like Eve got bitten
Oh, was it punishment?”

In fact, I had blocked Grimace’s main account already. So they’re back to creating workarounds.

ENOUGH.

I’m redoing the prophecy.

I wouldn’t go back and erase what led to this nonsense.

But I can smile broadly that I’ve evolved.

And, it appears, I’m the only one.

I tried to get tickets to the “SNL 50” celebration that aired last night. No dice.

The audience was star-studded, so I suppose the few tickets available for the unwashed masses would have been in the basement of 30 Rock.

In any event, I didn’t love the Sabrina Carpenter and cast’s butchering of a Taylor Swift tune and her own song during some wedding scene. But Miley Cyrus was perfection.

I heard her sing “It’s been seven hours and 13 days since you took your love away” and got chills.

That’s how Prince originally sang the song.

Sinead O’Connor, another legend, changed it to “seven hours and 15 days” in her version.

Chris Cornell, best version hands-down, said “seven hours and 16 days.”

I’m not going to claim to know why each of them changed the number.

Like, today marks 246 days since my momma left me.

“All the flowers that you planted, mama
In the backyard
All died when you went away, oh.”

So, my version would’ve been that “it’s been seven hours and 245 days.”

If, say, Taylor Swift would want to record it that way, I’m totally open.

Kelly said the other night that I didn’t get to do all the things I wanted over the past several years.

I said that’s not true, and she backed off. I said I did what “we” wanted to do. And I’m good with that.

She said OK well now you can do all those things you waited to do.

“Since you’ve been gone I can do whatever I want
I can see whom ever I choose
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant, oh yeah
But nothin’, I said nothin’ can take away these blues.”

You know what I do now? Not much. Spend three grand on a hotel in NY or Vegas or NOLA — that I barely even see — or sit home eating my weight in CityPop Denver popcorn.

Seriously, my capacity for peanut butter popcorn is alarming.

Anyway I’ve been sleeping on that Prince/Sinead/Cornell song. Maybe as I eat my hot cheese popcorn today, I’ll research why they might have tweaked that lyric.

I mean, I could also burn down Mar-a-Lago on this “unpresidented” Presidents Day. That sounds fun, too. More fun, really.

I’ve had the blog closed down for internal repairs. On me, not the blog.

Decided to reopen it today to write about a dream I had last night. So far I’ve written two posts and no mention of what danced through my mind at 4:03 a.m.

Now I barely remember what I wanted to take away from today!

I do know I was visiting with my old college adviser.

She always talks on FB about her favorite students. I’m never one of them.

Which, I was kind of an asshole at 19. So, no wonder.

In the dream, though, I gave her the kudos I felt she deserved. That her guidance was more valuable than any I received in 4.5 years of school. Which is 100% true.

In the dream she said you never showed me you cared what I said to you from ages 18 to 23. But if you could do me the favor now, listen up.

She showed me a pic of a male friend of mine and said he thinks and speaks so highly of you. Don’t write him off. You’ve done enough idiotic things, but this one I can stop you from doing.

I last spoke to this person about two months ago.

And somewhere between then and now, I decided not to reach back out.

Not for lack of wanting.

Like “Dawn” sings in the “Waitress” musical, “What if I give him my heart and he gives it back?”

Anyway I thought that was very interesting.

Not saying I’ll do anything about my mentor’s dreamy advice.

Just keeping an open heart and mind, now, rather than leaving that budding thought nipped.

Kelly made sure I had a great Valentine’s Day, so I am grateful for that.

The earliest reservation I could get was 9:15. I apologized and she said that’s like noon for me, it’s good.

Every time I went to take a photo, she turned on her Ring camera light for me. Like, unprompted.

I didn’t even know she had one and she said oh yeah, I know you like to take photos and I figured it’d be dark as shit here.

And when I got a glass of Veuve with gold flakes, she used the back of her coffee spoon to stir up the flecks so I could take a video.

Mom used to tell me I was a better date than any man she ever met. This was my chance to tell Kelly the same.

Seriously, best valentine (other than mom) and best Valentine’s Day.

I think the curse of this stupid holiday is finally broken!

In any event, I got to telling her a story about my homegirl H.

This was a good one, though. We actually collaborated — effectively — for the first time ever.

I wanted to be sure to balance out all the bad stories I’ve told K with this really good one.

Kelly said, “So do WE like her now?”

I had to pause and appreciate her for that. She said yeah if WE still hate her, that’s fine. But if WE just like her this week, I’m down with that.

THIS IS A TRUE FRIEND.

I said yeah I think it’s just this week. Because I was feeling saucy and pushed my luck, and she reverted to the mean.

In all senses of reverting to the “mean.”

But still, I’m growing here. I think we all did this week.

Kelly is purging all her shit and fleeing the coop. So is my manicurist.

I told her she inspired me with all her throwing shit away. So I went into Mom’s room and collected four boxes of shit to pitch.

(Not that the HOA will let me put it out, mind you, until Thursday. But, details.)

I told K a funny story. I was wearing a halter that secures behind the neck. And it is pretty sturdy; never came apart before.

But as I was picking brand-new Christmas decorations to pitch, SOMETHING undid my top and the whole thing went falling down.

She said, “Mom said don’t touch my shit!”

We laughed and I said I KNOW. And that’s why I haven’t touched anything in the eight months (today!) that she passed.

Kelly said I know no one is telling you they’re proud of you. Mom’s gone, Martin’s doing his thing and now I have this other boss who is his polar opposite.

So, she wanted me to know she’s SO proud of me.

I teared up a bit and said thank you. But I did say it’s just four boxes of clothes that don’t fit.

She said yeah but you didn’t have to do a single thing that you did for her. No one would have expected it, least of all her.

So go easy on yourself. You kept going. That’s more than a lot of people do.

Also how ironic but I just hit pause on “Waitress” and saw this…

Kelly, like me, isn’t going to say something to be nice. Unlike me, she also will tell you that you’re on the wrong path.

So an atta girl from her is worth its weight in gold champagne flecks.

I gave H an atta girl this week. Surprised the shit out of her.

She needed my finesse on something. Like acknowledged that it isn’t her strong suit but it’s mine.

I also said something to her about me being a softy. She said, “Learn to say no, Goddess. You’ll be much happier when you do.”

My friend N. always says that H is my lesson.

But this week, we saw very clearly that I am also HER lesson.

So, even if it didn’t feel like a good week at times … it was, in fact, a good week.

I just upgraded my Disney+ membership to get HBO Max.

I lost MAX when my HOA switched us from Xfinity to Fision. So I was waiting for the S3 premier of “White Lotus.”

Happy White Lotus day, to those who celebrate!

The quote in the SL came from the trailer.

I’ve been struggling with a similar thought for a year now. Ever since I quit feeding the neighborhood kitties.

There are more kitties now. A gorgeous Siamese showed up. She looks ragged. I mean, living here will do that to anyone.

I still occasionally see all the others. Especially at night, their little glowing eyes haunt me as I drive past.

The HOA is useless. Today they’re whining that we generate too much trash. Um, we have one dumpster and everyone is here from up north. So shit is piled to the sky.

I dunno, maybe get another dumpster? No, they tell me to keep my trash till Thursday mornings now.

I got to thinking about my lack of contribution to society on Friday night.

I made a reservation at Dada. As ever, you have to make it for two. Kelly offered to come. So, hell yeah. Best valentine I could ask for.

I got there early so I walked around a bit.

Saw a tiny homeless woman in a pink beanie get excited because she saw a discarded bag. When she got to it and saw it was just full of trash, she ran to a dark corner and curled up in a ball.

I watched her for a while. I saw a guy go stand her, and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to attack this vulnerable lady.

I was thinking about the bill in my pocket that I’d brought to pay for parking. Parking was double because of the holiday, so I used an app. So I wanted to give it to her.

I said excuse me and she looked up with tear-filled eyes. Big, gorgeous blue eyes. I couldn’t help myself. I gasped and said you are so pretty!

She took my hand and held it to her face. So I could feel the tears.

She had been hugging a stuffed toy dog for dear life. She held him up for me to hold. But I didn’t want to take him from her. So I petted his head and said what a handsome boy.

I could tell she wanted to talk. But I am an asshole and said I just wanted to give you this. She didn’t even look at it and said something I couldn’t understand.

I don’t think it was a language barrier. I really think she was just so down and out of energy. And we were near the bar with all the live music next to the railroad tracks.

Hearing is not my best quality even on my best day. Nor is listening. So I said good night and ran closer to the oncoming train so I could sob without anyone hearing.

I think of her a lot.

I think of the mama cat who brought her baby to me in a parking lot. Who I ran and bought chicken for but they had already gone by the time I got my order.

I hope they found what I left. I’m sure something did.

I think of running out last night to do an errand and the kitty who howled to get my attention. I didn’t find it. And I kept walking. But how smart these cats are, to see a human and ask for help.

And I think of what little safety net the government offers, being pissed and shit on by Elon and the Felon. And how that little old lady probably doesn’t vote. These kitties don’t vote.

No one knows any of them are alive. They are literally alive out of some miracle. And they probably won’t be, not for much longer.

No one CARES that any of them are alive.

And maybe it is my job to care.

I do care. I just don’t do anything about it.

I mean, anytime I’ve done kind things, I’ve been abused. But what about the creatures who need a “me”?

I can go make more money and get takeout food and feed my own cats with it. But they can’t.

Not even a fully functioning government is gonna reach them.

Mom used to say that she spent her life trying to soften my hard edges. And that she was going to die and I’d be hardened again.

Not true, Momma. I see why she cried every time she saw a hurt or hungry animal or person.

I do too.

I just … keep going. Which she couldn’t do.

I feel bad all the times I said no sense in crying. Nothing we could do.

Maybe I will finally put a cat carrier and blankets in my trunk.

Maybe I’ll finally save an animal who may still be alive who’s been hit.

Maybe I’ll buy someone a meal instead of handing them a 10-spot and hoping they can make it to a place on foot that has something under $10.

This is why I get mad and vote and rage-post. I want someone to join me. Someones. And I want those with more power and money and reach than me to say hey, this cause should be important to all of us. Let us help you help them.

I think I’ve become the type who’d rather throw money at a problem than solve it.

Glad to be in this position, honestly. But I gotta stop beating myself up over it.

I won’t. Not until I get back into mental fighting shape to do the right thing instead of just thinking about it, anyway.