This is the invitation.

We were not invited

We had seen this piece of paper on her social media and maybe out on the block, but it blew into our yard and Calvin brought it inside. I don’t think we’re going.

Who will go? I’m wondering if the movers with the moving truck that is parked on our block two to three times a week as the movers hang around inside the house or do gardening work—they might come. Maybe the son of one of her oldest friends, a young man who is obsessed with trains and very friendly and kind, will attend.

I’m hoping this young man won’t because he has a strange interest in me and I have blocked him on social media. I felt terrible about it but every time Maggie would post on Facebook about me having sex with her husband or being a failed writer or how I should go back to Scarsdale, this guy would start DMing me on Facebook.

The first time it happened I told him to leave me alone on Facebook and in exchange I wouldn’t block him. I didn’t want to block him because he has social issues and I did not want to make him feel bad.

Then a year later it happened again and reader, I got mad. I fear this is so juvenile that if I were someone with readers, I could get canceled for this. But Maggie posted some nasty thing about me, and then tagged this kid and said something friendly and then he said something friendly back, and I got really mad.

I was so outraged that someone who wanted to be my friend (in whatever fashion he could imagine) would be friendly with a person who just randomly attacked me a lot. And that I was forced to see because I need to check her stupid social media every day or at least every other day just to make sure she isn’t really going nuts. If I could not check this woman’s social media, I would not.

I sent him a DM saying I didn’t appreciate that he was friends with someone who was criminally crazy to me regularly. I think that’s what I said. That’s what I was thinking, that this very confused young man should defend me on Facebook if he was going to try to have pizza with me.

He did not agree and was very upset that I was upset. He sent me a very long email. Then his mom emailed me. Then he group texted all these parents I knew from Daisy’s special ed school, people I haven’t talked to in years but remembered fondly. I know that every one of these parents would not think, “oh that Wendy Ditmarston and her tacky Queens mental problems.” They would know that the young man is not in charge of himself and would be kind and understanding.

But I don’t want this story told about me by an unreliable narrator, randomly

I don’t want kind, pitying understanding from past acquaintances. That was never a relationship I’ve wanted from anyone. And this kid was out there stirring it up.

So then I blocked him. I did not have any generosity of spirit toward him. In his email he told me not to tell Maggie that we were in contact because he was afraid of her. That iced my heart right up. Even though I know that this person is totally unable to see my point of view or truly anyone else’s point of view, and that is their specific dilemma, I did not have the emotional stuff to get over that.

I am afraid of Maggie. The intensity of my fear varies every day and I make a lot of jokes about it and I write this blog as though it were 2004 and I laugh with the neighbors about her putting cayenne pepper in a shrub she planted and leaving a note for dog owners to stay away. I try to make the best of a bad lot.

But if a person wishes to be my friend in any capacity they must defend me online to attacks from mutual “friends.” If they don’t, then no contact and a fuck off.

Present fear level

Low to medium. She’s always around and she’s planning a party. But there wasn’t any music in the morning this week and she didn’t go after us too often on the FB. A few days ago the police came and there was talk about a car being stolen but then nothing. Today she is silent, there is no hammering, the moving truck didn’t come around, and Calvin just ambushed me as I was typing to make me talk about whether or not she has a terminal illness.

She’s posted that her doctor says she has a terminal illness, and she reposts those blood photos and then more blood photos. It’s so gross.

Yes, I know I owe you the mooning shot of a few weeks back

I didn’t upgrade my subscription to post video, but Calvin claimed he snagged the clip so I’ll get a still. And just to clarify, when I use the second person, I’m also referring to myself. It’s so very hard to remember what has occurred and when. The family has used my blog to date things. The summer of 2020 was a strange time. Did the Love Tub happen that summer or the following summer? Definitely that summer but we needed the blog to properly place it.

Wyatt, for example, was in therapy. He asked to do it and were all, c’mon, you’re good but he insisted. We were in a money panic at that time. What he did in therapy was remember the pandemic and what happened. Apparently after the Great Flood, he stopped speaking to the friend he played video games with because he lost his computer room and when he got it back, the kid was gone. The kid was his actual real life friend, but he saw no one during that time and they were never in contact again.

So our memories are wonky.

So there you have it! The moon of Maggie with date and time. Maybe I’ll upgrade so you can see the Moon Mount and Dismount. Very agile.

One nice thing

Calvin and I went to a Queens municipal building to get our Certificate of Occupancy. Maggie reported us to the Dept of Buildings so now we need to cure our record by getting retroactive blueprints and permits for the additions made to the house in the 1980s.

Our house was built in 1937 (plumbing in 1948!) so the Certificate of Occupancy was only on microfiche. The building (home to the Boro Prez and lots of illegal parking and some other offices) brought back memories of my job as a court searcher for a private investigator in 1997. I went to all the city government building and pulled records. I had a beeper and would Xerox things, and Trump was one of my targets because he got divorced and Ivanka hired my PI firm and then she didn’t pay her bill. The PIs sued her and I searched the documents. [NOTE: Invariably Donald Trump files would be given to me with Ivanka’s files because the clerks weren’t that careful and let me say that Trumps don’t pay their bills. They don’t pay florists and dry cleaners and cleaners and contractors, in any borough, at all levels including small claims, the most frustrating records to pull because without lawyers and hefty fees, people are insane and I yelled at lady in Queens Small Claims for cutting the line in the most egregious fashion.]

Good times. Very lonely but except for yelling at the lady in Queens small claims, serene. I went to Staten Island a few times and that was scary because where are places? But I found them.