Birthdays Again

It's the eve of my birthday, which means it's the eve of my brother's birthday too. I've had my mini meltdown at least once today and I can tell tomorrow is going to be hard. I've decided to skip this year's age. It seems that, at least the men of my family, are cursed with this particular age. It is the age that my father died and it's the age that my brother died and so I am just skipping it.  Wish me luck.

Birthdays

Today is a particularly hard day because it was my brother’s birthday, it was actually our birthday, the day which we mutually (and not always willingly) shared.  Here I am now, unwillingly without him, on our birthday.  Today also marks 5 months since his death which is an unreal feeling to be honest.  Sometimes, in brief and serene moments of life, I will actually forget that he’s gone.  Then a trigger reminds me and it hurts all over again.   

I wanted to do something nice for my brother on this day and so, since it also happens to be Give STL Day, I donated in his memory to a couple of places.  It’s a little thing, seems insignificant, doesn’t really make me feel any better but it’s something.  Somewhere out there someone will see “In Memory of…” and even though they don’t know my brother, they’ll think of him during that brief moment and know that someone loves and misses him.

https://www.givestlday.org/gotyoursixsupportdogs

https://www.givestlday.org/poundpetsinc

Happy Birthday Dusty.

Dreading This Week

I've been dreading this week for several months now...at least, since my brother died.

My brother and I shared a birthday (though years apart), which happens to fall within this week.  This is my first birthday without him, ever.  He would have turned 40 this year and my mom and I had contemplated what to do for him since we felt like it was a special birthday.  Now, I don't even want to celebrate.  Eventually one day, the day might mean something very special but this year just hurts in immeasurable ways.  I've been dreading it, and now it's here and it feels just about as painful as I anticipated it be.  I dread every well wish sent my way, I dread every sympathetic comment meaningfully expressed, and I dread the thought of opening any gifts in hopes of cheering me up.  It's hard to thank people when the sorrow overwhelms the gratitude.  But people don't know...so it'll all happen anyway.  I will, in the very least, even if I don't express it well, be very thankful to have kind people in my life.

Our birthday will mark 6 months since his passing...6 months in which the scar still feels fresh and now irritated with what should be a celebration.

I miss him.

1 Month Out

It's been one month since my brother passed away.

Since then so many things have happened, either because they had to, or because time goes on and we have no choice.  And because so much has happened it feels like it's been more than a month.  Yet....yet somehow....as I wake in the morning and go through the motions of living life, it occurs to me that my brother is gone and it hurts in indescribable ways.  I see the little things that remind me of him, or someone says something in way that reminds me of him, or I have a question that I have no doubts he would have had an answer for....there are just all these things that make me think of him and all those things....it all that makes me feel like the day is still December 11th.  Mentally, I've been on that day this whole time.

In some ways, I've been through this before.  I have lost loved ones before.  I only within the last year and a half lost both of my beloved dogs.  I know how this goes.  You can damage your ankle with a really bad sprain and it hurts immensely but slowly heals.  It may look fine on the outside, and might function as well as can be, but now there's arthritis and it hurts all the time; you just learn to cope with a regularly sore ankle.  In this case I have a really sore heart.

I don't know if it feels so much worse because he was my brother, at times my savior, and the person that, even when we didn't speak regularly, I knew he was there.  I could count on him to help out with whatever might come up; I looked up to him because he was amazing.  He was the guy I put on a pedestal.  Sure, we didn't talk often and he was private so knowing him as an adult was difficult.  But deep down, he was who he always was to me...and in my mind, we're still just kids doing the things that I have the best memories of...I can't seem to move on from that.

Maybe this is harder for me now because in the past, I was too young or maybe too removed from a loved one to have to deal with the aftermath.  This time, I'm calling people almost everyday to sort out my brother's estate.  It's a lot of repeating the word "deceased".  It's overwhelming in task alone, but more so because I have to face the reality of it.  I'm not even alone in this.  My younger brother, my mom, and I have tag teamed this venture and it's so confusing and so voluminous with tasks that it's hard to break down.

Of course I can't let this beat me, or define me.  I know this.  I know I am not alone.  I try to be thankful everyday for the people I have, for the help I have, the kindness of friends and family, and for the fact that I am at least able to live in a way that I think would make my brother proud (the one real person I've always tried to impress).  So yea, I get up everyday, and I go to work, and I go teach class, and I do the house and parenting stuff, and I try to fit in all the other stuff...and in general I do these things as well as I can and I try not to dwell on my brother's death.  And I try not to be that person that's whiny or airs dirty laundry or dwells on a subject.  But, on the inside, mentally I'm not where I should be; physically I am trying; and yes I am angry because he's gone, and angry because, for everyone else, time goes on and I so desperately want to go back in time; and the guilt...well, I will always wish I did more.  So forgive me my few rants and ignore my red eyes should catch me after I've been crying.  This will get better, but one month out is definitely not my time.

Sad

The sadness hits like a ton of bricks, each and every night.  I think of all the things I should have said and never did. A terrible lesson learned in a devastating way.

Spreadsheets

My brother passed away on Sunday, December 11, 2016 and it's an all consuming event.  There's every stage of grief to deal with and there's no doubt that I'm stuck and dwelling in the depression stage.

I hate how life goes on...everyone joyfully posting on Facebook, everyone happily attending Christmas programs and parties, everyone defending their greatest causes and concerns...everyone just going on.  And here I am stuck wanting to go back in time, if even just a week.  But time does goes on, and I have to keep going or get railroaded so I do what I do best, I just work.  I work on taking care of my child, I work on work stuff, I work on sewing projects, I work taking care of my brother's funeral, I work on taking care of  all the stuff that happens to someone after they die.  And in this process I learn a little more about my brother each time.

I had a recent discovery this week after talking to my brother's employer.  Dusty (or John if you prefer) was an avid spreadsheetist.  It was yet another thing we had in common, and I never knew that.  It is at least a comfort.

One of the things his colleague said she would miss was that he was a wealth of knowledge, the go to guy for work questions, or computer questions, or just trivia.  She then said that she would also miss his spreadsheets (which made me smile).  He apparently had a spreadsheet for everything; and if he didn't have it, he'd make one, and for anyone that asked.  It broke me a bit to hear this because, as silly as it sounds, it was a common denominator.  I love spreadsheets and do as much as I can with them.  I also often find myself helping others with their spreadsheet needs.  He did this as well!  (How did I not know this?)

And so....there's a guy in my office who always comes to me with spreadsheet questions and today, when he stopped by with one, I felt this little flutter in my heart knowing that my brother and I shared this common bond of helping coworkers with spreadsheets.  I helped perform this little task, promptly walked back to my desk and quietly shed some tears.

Dusty

My older brother Dusty died today and I'mean heartbroken and devastated.   I miss you bubby.

Douglas Adams - 61

Today Douglas Adams would have been 61.  He passed away on my birthday (May 11) in 2001.  I will always remember the day I found out.  It was some time past May 11 and I was at a Creeper Lagoon show with Amanda S.  We were talking to one of the musicians from Creeper and having a coherent conversation.  It seemed to me as if out of nowhere this guy spouts out, "Douglas Adams in dead"!  Obviously something spurred this thought but I was too shocked with his comment to think of anything other than finding out the truth.  That evening I verified the sad truth.  Douglas Adams was dead.  I can never listen to Creeper without thinking of one of my favorite authors.  Maybe that's not a bad thing.  (Google honored D.A. with a Doodle today).

I find it fitting that today my mantra is, "Don't Panic".  I have a couple of deadlines in the next 24 hours so I will repeat this to myself until I'm done.  But as always, we're never really done at the deadline, so I part with this quote, a dear Douglas Adams favorite...

"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."

18 Years Ago Today

I remember what I was doing 18 years ago today.  I sat at my Aunt JoAnne's home with my younger brother at my side.  We were informed that at nearly 1:00 in the morning, my father had passed away.  July 24th, 1994. He was only 39 years old.

Less than 12 hours before that where I was exhausted from being at the hospital, Aunt Jo asked if we'd like to stay at her house with her over night.  My older brother who had no fear of being home alone chose to get dropped off at home.  Drew and I went to stay with Aunt Jo.  I went to say good bye to my dad, to say I would see him in the morning.  By this time he was already in a coma, and as I went to give him a kiss good bye I knew it was the end.  Despite all the signs, the words, the "understanding", this time I knew it.  When I kissed him good bye, the last time I ever would do so, he didn't return the kiss.  I'd watched him in a coma for at least a day or more and had no idea really.  This time I did.  I would never converse with or gain affection from him ever again.

I said good bye, I touched his face, and I walked out of the room where I pressed my back to the wall and sunk to the ground in an uncontrollable fit of tears and sadness hoping no one saw me.  I calmed down to a point and remember (of all things) a nurse asking if I wanted a Popsicle. 

18 years later I still remember the lack of response the last time I said good bye.  I still regret not being a more loving child, a more supportive child, just a better person in general.  I still regret mean things I said to him or about him.  I've learned that you can't live life in such a way that allows these regrets to seep into you.  Sure, everyone has passionate bouts where they say or do the wrong things...but I had more of those than most, and perhaps some justified.  By the time I got to say goodbye, my father didn't know.  Now all I can do is show up at his grave and remember the last place his body ever was...

Dani will never know him; he never got to see me graduate high school or college (twice!); nor was he able to walk me down the aisle and have a father-daughter dance with me.  These things are what hurt.  But to every sad thing I know there are positives.  My father was unhealthy and now that isn't an issue.  He met Holly before he left us, a very rare opportunity for fate to show its face.  Our lives could have been tragically different if things were the way the had been the last year's of my father's life.  A thousand "what-ifs" are all we can speculate. 

I suppose my father's passing has made me a better person, more understanding, and watchful of the horrible words I may say.  It made me grow up at 15 years old.  It made me appreciate the things I had and things I earned.  It made me proud to talk about my dad, to honor him.  To this day, 18 years later, it isn't easier, I've just gained more understanding.

Alice Cake and Twitter Tea?

I've mentioned this once before via Twitter, but just saw something that made me think about it again...

When I see someone walking with scissors or a knife having the point facing anywhere but down, I begin to think, "didn't your mother ever teach you to carry sharp objects with the point facing down? You've got to be careful or you'll fall on it and die"!

Then it occurs to me that maybe the said individual doesn't have a mother! What if, his mother was carrying a knife (point up) and fell? What if she fell on her knife and stabbed herself to death?

Oh the horror!

That thought usually manages to trigger some horrible dream I had, and as always, that's what happened this time, though, a bit different, it had to do with me having to carve electronic chips out of dead bodies. I don't know why I did this, I don't know who I had to do this to, and I can't recall when I dreamt this. I just thought moments ago, "hey, I had a dream about carving out chips of bodies". The bodies were more of a cake though, like Alice in Tom Petty's "Don't Come Around Here No More" video.

Of course this gets me thinking about the new Alice in Wonderland coming out. I'm totally creeped out by the story in general, and all fabrications of it beyond the book simply intensify that which I find creepy. Irregardless of my "creep out" factor, I will be watching it! I really can't wait. Less than one month to go!

Now, to wrap it all back up, Alice made me think of tea parties, which reminds me, I've not had Twitter Tea in some time!

Never Being Repaired

All of us will inevitably go through life with some terrible story that we will never forget until Alzheimer's or death. We'll each carry that story with us close to our hearts recalling every tiny detail as we remember them. It's hard to share those stories, for each time we tell them we realize how much we have forgotten, but we also recall how painful some of those details are to us. My story goes like this.

I was 15. My friend Kelly and I spent countless hours in her backyard escaping from reality. We knew everything about each other, that we were at least willing to share. As such, she knew how I wished my father dead. I did so nearly every day. I wanted him gone for the abuses he inflicted upon my brothers and my mother. Despite what I ever endured, it seemed nothing in comparison to my poor mom. She loved him so dearly, did she not see? Looking back from 15 years in the future, I now understand that she did see, and yet her love was unwavering. It is hard to not love someone when the love is there, even when that person breaks your heart continually. I will never say what I would have done in her situation, it is not for me to judge. I know what is considered the best decision, and it was tried but to no avail.

So it was a summer evening that my mom hurried over to Kelly's yard. Her face and eyes were red so I knew something was more serious than normal. It was this moment that I heard the first phrase that I would replay over and over in my head, "they say he has about 2 weeks left". I don't know that I said anything, how could I when the wind was knocked out of me. As soon as my mom was out of hearing range, Kelly said, "looks like you got your wish", yet other phrase I replay in my head. It's this phrase that haunts me to this very day. The phrase that has willed me to never use the word "hate" towards any individual, and the phrase that always makes me think wisely before any wishing is had.

I have to admit that I can't sufficiently recall the details of these two weeks at all. I had for some reason failed to believe that dad could die. He was the cat with nine proverbial lives. He'd lived through much worse. I saw him every day. Every day he lay in that damned hospital bed I would tell him about my daily adventures with Kelly. Surely he wasn't leaving.

At around 6 in the morning the phone rang. I answered at the same time my mom answered. I kept quiet, knowing I needed to hang up, but not wanting to sacrifice the knowledge of the call. The nurse told my mom that "he is slipping into a coma, perhaps having you here to talk to him will keep him from slipping too quickly, and if nothing else, your chance to say goodbye". It was only moments later that the four of us, mom, Dusty, Drew, and myself, were at the hospital, beside dad, who would never speak to us again.

Everyone told me how brave I had been, how it was difficult to go through this, and yet I was strong, not crying, not yielding to the stress. I needed to be strong for my mom, this was no time for faltering will. The reality was though, that it hadn't hit me yet. After a few days of enduring dad's coma, my aunt offered to take me and my brothers to her house for some sleep. I gladly accepted as I was exhausted and knew Drew wouldn't go without me. I walked into dad's room full of loved ones, walked passed the eyes watching me, and to dad's bedside. I looked at his yellowed face and leaned in to say "bye dad, love you". I gave him a kiss on his still lips. I will never forget the feeling of kissing someone and getting no response. It is the most unloved feeling I have ever known.

I don't recall leaving the room, but the next memories I have are of me sitting in the corridor outside his room crying for the first time. I have a memory of a nurse giving me a Popsicle. I know that Aunt JoAnne dropped Dusty off at home since that is where he wanted to be, while Drew and I chose to sleep at Aunt JoAnne's home. I awoke the next morning and was sat at the couch in the living room with Drew; Aunt Jo told us that our dad had died at 12:54 in the morning. I did not cry. I did not speak.

It was about 2 weeks after we buried my father when his dad, my grandpa, was over repairing the air conditioner. I was excited that I got to help! I couldn't wait to tell dad. I sat in his chair waiting for him to get home from work, and as time passed I thought he was running late. I walked to the window to peer out and saw his truck sitting in the drive way. It was this very moment that I finally understood that my dad was gone. He was never coming home, he would never hear my stories, he would never sit in his chair. I had my heart broken by him on many an occasion, but this time, it would never be repaired.

Twisted Clarifications and Additions

I wanted to step back to my Twisted Traits blog to add another trait, and to clarify one that apparently has people believing I am a morbid person who likes to hang out in coffins.

ADDITIONAL TWISTED TRAIT
-Your idea about food pantries having can throwing donations. -Amanda

CLARIFICATIONS FOR TWISTED TRAITS
-The can throwing thing:

This is one of those instances where knowing me helps make sense of the oddities you might read about me. I've learned to accept my idiosyncratic self as is and to try and make do with the tools I've been given. One of those idiosyncratic tools is the art of throwing heavy objects to release frustration. We all know someone who does, or wants to do this. I like to call these people the "stompers". You know who I'm talking about; your friend or family member that doesn't get his or her way and stomps wildly in a tantrum! Had they a heavy object to throw, they could very well be aiming at your head!

So, I have a brilliant [or so I think] idea! A food pantry could set up a "throwing booth" where "stompers" such as myself could come, pay a dollar, bring a can, and hurl it as hard as possible at some cushioned backdrop! It serves three very valid purposes! One is the obvious release of frustration by said "stomper". Two is the donation of canned goods. Three, the food pantry also gets a monetary donation. So, tell me how this is a bad idea?

-The coffin thing:

I do not lay down every night and pretend I'm hanging out in a coffin.

Sometimes when I lay down at night smitten with an inane bout of insomnia, I go through thousands of thoughts. And when I lay just right with my hands folded this way or that, I start to think that I must look like I'm laying in a coffin, which leads to thinking about dead bodies and what it might feel like to be in the coffin with that frilly white pillow puffed up around my decaying corpse painted and modeled just so for everyone to see, and stuck that way for eternity. When I say "I like to lay in bed and position myself in various "coffin positions" to see what would seem a best way to rest forever"; I don't mean to make it sound like I have the time of my life and that I would even do this often, because that is not the case; but in terms of major bouts of insomnia, it is just one of those odd and perhaps twisted things that I do. I also honestly believe everyone does this, or has done this at least once in his or her life (especially children after first seeing a loved one in a coffin). If not, you will now!

The Surreal Week Is Finally Over

Friday night I had the pleasure of spending my evening with my good friend Mike. He made me dinner (tomato sauce with pasta and garlic bread per my request); and then we watched TV (some cooking shows, drinky crow, others). I also finally got to pick up my birthday present from him which is a certificate to a demo cooking show at Kitchen Conservatory.

I thank him dearly because he really went out of his way for me, and he had to deal with me in a mood he probably had not anticipated. So thanks.

Saturday night I had the pleasure of celebrating two very belated birthdays (Sharline and Eva) and one less belated birthday (James). It was hot outside, but fun none the less. I hope everyone, especially Sharline, enjoyed the evening!

Later that evening I spent some time online talking to James and going over some social media stuff, which was fun! So thanks for that James!

Sunday I had the pleasure of hanging out with Eva going to the Loop, eating at the Noodle Co., shopping around odd stores, buying a crazy CD and picking up some random gifts. We also went to Whole Foods for the first time, and that store is A-MA-ZING! I loved it!

So here it is, Sunday night, and I'm just happy the last week is over. Deaths: Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Sky Saxon, Bob Bogle, Billy Mays, beloved pooch Queens, and my Zune. I had my first real concussion (caused by my own stupidity). I purchased maps for the TomTom, UK and Ireland, so that I may geocach and find my way around! I sewed patches on my travel bag.

I see that my friend Shane has gone to Donegal for trip, I hope he has fun. Perhaps one day, when I can get around to it, we'll get to talk. I'll be sure to keep him in my prayers/thoughts.

I should head to bed now, so I'll speak/write again tomorrow. Here's to not texting when we shouldn't!

I would love to have this: Drinky Crow

If You Know, Please Tell Me

I never understand how people can just let their heart be out there open to the attack of the world. It's like slaughtering oneself. I can't do it. Perhaps I've learned that all will end in broken pieces so just don't put yourself there for the torment. If you know, please tell me. How is it that people have carefree hearts?

On another topic, this week is surreal to me (4 famous ppl dead, 1 dog put to sleep, 1 dog with bad hives, 1 concussion, 1 indescribable mood). So much has happened that I'm beginning to believe this week was really an entire month and I've just lost track of time. If you know, please tell me. Have I really lost time?

I am getting tix for three shows (Eng. Beat, TMBG, Rev. H. Heat). I think they'll be good shows to catch. Did you want to tag along? If you know, please tell me. Are you going?

I had a nightmare last night about a friend's former ex-fiance. I had dreamed that he was "stalking" me. By "stalking me", I mean that he was stalking my friend through me and my blog. He went through and favorite'd any post she was mentioned in and I found out he was a friend of mine through myspace through a fake name. It was creepy, I woke up sweating. If you know, please tell me. Are you really following me?

Word-
digitard: Anyone who has difficulty using technology for even the most basic of tasks, such as making a call on a cell phone.

Random Dialogue

Annoying Stuff:
Would everyone please stop asking me my opinion of North Korea? Would everyone please stop telling me about North Korea? It scares me. It scares the living day out of me. I will be severely disappointed if I am not DEAD before the world erupts into total and complete chaos from biological and nuclear warfare.

Interesting Website:
Drunk Texts, which I am known to send quite a few!

Odd Threat:
Justin, my blog crush, was threatened today with "watch your back". I am assuming until told otherwise that it is a sort of facetious threat. Weird though.

Random Dialogue:
Why won't you answer me, ever? Is it too much to ask for from you? Am I just not good enough for a response? Do you want me to leave you alone? Why won't you just tell me? I hate feeling insane. Even worse I hate feeling ignored. I also really hate repeating myself.

Word:
F-U money: Any amount of money that allows you to maintain a desired lifestyle without employment or assistance from anyone.

Excerpts From Yesterday

Yesterday was an interesting day for me, I wrote about it yesterday, here are some excerpts with an addition at the end!

Okay, so first of all it’s Tuesday! When I woke up this morning I had thought it was a different day, but I checked and it is for sure Tuesday! I meandered into work late today, mostly because my eye lids refused to open for me, but also because my building was hypothetically supposed to be blown up today (long story). Right about now, the CIA and FBI are scanning this because the words “building” and “blown up” are in the same message. Don’t worry ladies and gents, it isn’t really, and wasn’t really going to happen (hence the usage of hypothetical); so go on and look for other terrorists more likely to perform devious acts!

Now back to my story! I wandered to my desk and everything was in a disarray as I had left it the day before when I rushed (as quickly as public transit can rush) home to my pillows! “Oh well” I thought to myself, “I guess this means I DO have to work today”! As soon as I set my bag down and hit the button on my computer that makes him think, a flock of humans came and perched at my desk with stacks full of papers to organize! The confused expression on my face didn’t deter them either! They kept bringing papers and saying something to the effect “Good she isn’t dead, she can organize these now”! I had wondered if they thought I was really dead? I asked, and indeed they thought I was a goner! What I find most interesting about this scenario is that while they thought I might in fact be dead, no one bothered to call my house, inquire with the appropriate officials, or come by to check on me. I guess they had assumed my rotting corpse would give off enough of an odor that someone would find me. The gratitude goes a long way for me! Most people knowing me would read this and see the sarcasm spewing out of the previous phrase, don’t worry if you didn’t catch it. A lot of my sarcasm goes undetected and I often appreciate that people don’t always know how cynical I truly am!

Anyway, where was I, oh right, getting a hold of me. So they did send me a million e-mails (or more like 23). They even had a co-worker text me. I didn’t respond to anything. I don’t think it quite qualifies as dead, but considering I rarely choose to not answer someone, they knew something was wrong. In fact there was something wrong. I was not at work and I was sleeping. 20 hours of sleeping! One might understand my confusion of day-of-week having known I slept for 20 damned hours! And considering that I was in a semi-conscience state of existence, I would say I was at least partially dead. That of course is a touchy subject with many. I was even asked today at lunch if I had a suicide pact. I at first thought “Really?”, but then I quietly recalled the past month and it occurred to me where one might get that impression, so I simply shrugged it off and said “No, I won’t make a pact, it will just be me and blue Kool-Aid”. That led to a conversation about Kool-Aid.

So when I was being returned to the office after lunch, I walked by my coworker Joe Berra! Joe is an older guy, really awesome, rugged around the edges and never passes up the opportunity to hold my hand. It started out as hi-fives, that turned into hi-five-secret-handshakes. Now I just give him a five and he holds my hand while he talks to me. Today he asked me where I had been hiding for the past couple of weeks. He knows I wasn’t hiding, that I in fact wandered the halls at work teary eyed while gawkers stared and whispered! He was being polite, an etiquette that often gets lost on my dry sense of humor. Knowing however that his line of questioning was polite and mostly fishing for answers, I gave him one. “I’ve been hiding at my desk wishing it were a rock, how ‘bout you?” to which he responded, “all right, how are you holding up?” My first instinct was to answer him with a lesson in human anatomy, explaining the skeleton and such, but yet again I knew he was fishing, so I gave him an answer. “I’m alive which is about all I can say, how ‘bout you?” He responded by nodding and holding my hand tighter. I hadn’t quite expected that. I in fact expected quite the opposite. You are familiar, I am sure with passersby to whom you briefly speak. For instance, a passerby says “how do you do?” and you respond, “spectacular, how ‘bout you?” only to get no response or the obligatory “you take care too” which was in no way part of your brief conversation! I had really expected something along the lines of “you take care too”. I was quite astonished giving Joe Berra more credit than before. He’s also great to hug as well. I try to keep that to a minimum while at work!

After organizing papers all day, and randomly slacking off at work because I was too tired to actually work, I ended up catching the Metrolink to my car affectionately named Jacob, after the Jacobian Matrix that only true math geeks would know about. The whole train ride to Jake I thought about how I should have parked at the Fairview Heights Station because it was so much closer to Millstadt, but I instead used auto-pilot and drove to Emy Park Station. Doh! What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking, it's all coming back to me now! I was about halfway there when I had a coughing fit on the train the indicated just how sick I actually am as opposed to the facade of being well! A seemingly nice guy got up and moved from me. I don't blame him, I wouldn't want my cold either. When I got to the Station, it was raining a little bit. I like rain a lot. The dreary weather is just something I like. Other weather is good too, but cool rain just feels good. Anyway, to stay on track with this story, I get into Jacob and drive to Millstadt for another wake/visitation.

The wake was not so much as one would expect. Yes there were people that were upset, and people crying. It was sad. There were lots of great photos of Grandma. I got to talk to Grandpa. I reminded him of the time I accidentally called him instead of Amanda. He apparently thought I seemed insane, to which I replied, "Well that's because I am just a little insane". But the point to which I am getting is that, with Amanda and her way too awesome co-workers, we laughed. I laughed so hard I actually had tears. This came at the expense of Ray who is now my Facebook friend. I have a crush on Ray. Maybe I have a crush on his personality, not unlike my blog crush on Justin Z.! In any case, that is really NOT what I am talking about, I'm talking about people laughing. I think it is good to laugh at funerals! People have lots of time to cry, so why not share great stories by which people would want to be remembered. It was pouring when we all finally left, and all agreed to meet down the street at a seemingly quaint diner/pizza joint. Seemingly quaint was just the beginning!

We all met up, Ray and I noticed Amanda was annoyed. Everyone got their orders and Amanda and I went for a walk to Grandma's house just around the block. It was raining, but the cool rains that I enjoy. It's sad to see Amanda so upset because she typically has a superior "tough guy" facade. The house means a lot to her. I hope it stays in the family for many more years! I won't dwell on her venting, that's hers, not mine!

We got back to our seemingly quaint food place, food was there. I learned at this point that I did not order food that I was supposed to order. Oh well, I hadn't really intended on eating, I just felt bad for everyone that had intended on eating some of my food! We heard some great stories at dinner. We all, I genuinely believe, had an enjoyable time.

Our seemingly quaint food joint turned sour about this point. The waitress shoved her way into our group, "I need your dishes", with a later comment something to the effect, "I'm going to wash the dishes and you need to leave so we can close up". We made a couple of jokes but she didn't laugh. We really annoyed her. I can't say I am unused to this reaction. I believe I annoy most people regularly! I really didn't say that as proudly as it sounded!

We were finishing up our drinks when we noticed that there was a single Blue Moon pilsner glass sitting on the table (and we really didn't want to deal with the mean lady washing it). Ray had ordered the Blue Moon. We had joked that he should steal it. We intensely joked that he should steal it. One young lady who I will call Assilem, put the glass in her purse. There was prompting by everyone at the table, and stronger encouragement from others. In any case, we as a group left the establishment with one stolen glass. We all took a walk to Grandma's house. It was freezing out. I don't say that jokingly, I believe it was really below freezing. When we returned we were affronted by the mean lady who complained she was missing one Blue Moon pilsner glass. We all stared. She then pointed to Ray and said, "I believe it was you that was drinking out of it". At this point Ray walks up and shows he does not have it on him, but mean lady really wanted this glass. Assilem joked about Ray slipping the glass into her purse when she wasn't looking and then wanted him to take the fall for it. If there had been a bus, he would have been under it! Moments later Assilem is telling Ray to "grow some balls" while the nice Mr. Policeman came out to find out why we were wasting his time. Several of us tried to ease the tension by telling him we took it and gave it back, all was fine, we were leaving but he still needed a name for his report. It wasn't any one person's fault in my opinion, but Assilem wanted Ray to take the blame since he drank from the glass. I offered up my name for the cop for two reasons. One, perhaps the most guilty of our party would feel guilty enough to take the blame (which eventually happened), and secondly, I was after all a witness far too willing to tell the truth about the whole ordeal. It was late, besides, it's not like I have never had my name in a police report! Ray protested, the cop annoyed by us wanted to know in whose possession the glass was in when it left. Assilem, thrower of people under the bus, spoke up and gave her info. The cop had already told us no one was in trouble, we were to just leave. She didn't make it easy, but we eventually were told to go. We said our goodbyes and left.

It made for an interesting night. A wake I will never forget!

Funerals Suck and Justin Rocks!

So today is a new day, but you know that already.

Today is Amanda's father's funeral. It makes me miss my dad. I still plan on going to lay on top of his grave and just crying for about an hour. You'd have no idea how much you'll miss some one until they are no longer around to hold you when you just need to be held. I could talk hours about my own dad; I have a lot to say about him. He was a good person, some of the time, and a bad person a lot of the time. It's what one might expect with an abusive alcoholic father. I wrongfully wished him gone for a long time. I had always assumed that his drinking and desire to be "outta his mind" were due to the fact he was unhappy with his life, unhappy with his family. He degraded me often, so I had also therefore assumed, he didn't want me around. I knew his alcoholism was a disease, something he couldn't quit. It took me a really long time to know there was a difference though. The sober guy that was my daddy was the coolest man on the face of the planet. He was funny, smart, and loved music. We would rock out all the time together. We listened to everything! When I was small and we would be travelling by car, he carried me up the apartment stairs when I fell asleep from the ride. When I was upset, he'd let me curl up in a ball in his lap and he would just hold me. Those are the things I really miss. But what I guess I'm really getting around to talking about is the funeral, not really my dad.

So this funeral, will be a Catholic service at some little church in the middle of Nowhere, Illinois. Last night was the visitation. I really loathe that part. People go and look at a dead body to see what the person, if they were still alive, might look like. I have an aversion to dead bodies for one. Secondly, I don't want to remember or see what some one would have looked like alive if they weren't dead. I want to remember the good things. When I think of dad, I think of the dead version of him, in the casket so that when you looked just right, he was smiling! So when I go to these things, I try only to glance when I have to, and spend more time ignoring than anything else.

But I've gone on long enough about some of my idiosyncrasies; it's time to move on to some one else's! That someone would be Justin, my favorite blogger [said with a dreamy smile and twinkle in my eye]! He didn't mention me this time, but a coworker that I don't know. In this story, Justin goes by a supposed character name of Mitch, of which I highly approve! His blogs are always thoroughly entertaining with little hints of sarcasm and misanthropy. I feel that while I don't know him at all, and have a slight aversion to his desire to be an architect, I feel he is a kindred spirit! He is after all my blog crush! I treat him as though he were Douglas Adams, an untouchable writer! But instead he is Justin Mitch Z! Ahhhhhh!

So I want to thank Holly for taking the time to blog, you go! No one has to write excellent to blog, you just need to do it! And if you are lucky, you might get one very interesting freak named Steph to fall in love with you!

I want to thank Eva for taking time yesterday to sit down to dinner with me and let me vent and whine pretty much the whole time. I don't share a rank, which is good to know!

Thanks people for reading, you don't have to; so I hope this is at least entertaining with a mix of odd humor, distaste for mankind, and a draw of strong depressive mood swings!

Onward with the word of the day:

ACB: Short for "air-conditioner booty". A woman whose buttocks, when viewed from the side, resemble a wall-unit air conditioner protruding from a house.

In use: Jodie's ACB was knocking people's drinks off the table last night!

Denny

It's been a long weekend, and it's only Saturday at 11pm. Yesterday a good friend of Badger's died from a heart attack. It's sad to see this happen to such a great person and to his family. Denny was an awesome guy that I am sure went unthanked too many times and never knew how much he meant to some people. Life is way too short!