So I have a new coworker today:
This is Champ. He is my boss's dog, and has been hanging out here today after his vet appointment this morning. He's a good boy - he has only licked my ankles four times, and hasn't once cold-transferred a call to me. I already like him better than some of the temps we had last summer.
How much ankle-licking would be considered inappropriate for the office? What, it's a valid question...
So okay. I've been busy. Stuff has been happening.
1. I found a king sized package of Reese's peanut butter cups in my stitchery bag that I don't remember buying, and it's kinda melty from being in the car, but hello, awesome delicious candy surprise!
2. They cut down the tree that I sit under at lunch. Why? Because they hate me.
3. Pops and I have a place to live where we are not imposing on anyone else. Big news here. Maggie loves it.
4. Some asstard smashed my car up in the parking lot at work a couple of weeks ago. Boo for asstards.
5. I got to meet dooce last week. It was an epic fail. She was awesome. Me, not so much.
6. Today is Omar's birthday. Happy birthday, Omar!
7. I have been painting all my bedroom furniture that has been in storage for the last year and a half. It was white, and I am too old to have white bedroom furniture, for cryin out loud! Now it's on it's way to being red. I saw "on it's way" because after two coats, it's still hot pink and looks like Barbie furniture. The little girls who live next door poked their heads into the garage while I was painting to ask if the furniture was for my daughter. So yeah.
8. Michael Sheen was just confirmed as Aro in New Moon. Already excited.
9. Saw Observe and Report this weekend. Disturbing. Funny, but I feel bad that I laughed at it, because some of the images are really shocking.
10. I am now host to the largest zit in all of history, now playing exclusively on my chin. It hurts to think. I can actually see it in my peripheral vision. Here that, single fellas? You like?
11. I'm planning a party with mi hermana, and alls I can say is it's SO MUCH FUN!
12. My nephew may be the cutest little dude you've ever seen. There is lots of talking going on lately. And lots of interest in the potty and poopoo and peepee. He has started calling me Aunt Bea ("AHH BAYEE"), which is hilarious to me in a Mayberry sort of way. He also tells me "Ah yuh you, Ahh Bayee," to which I can only reply, " I yuh you too, Tyler. I yuh you with all my heart."
I guess congratulations are in order, but to me, it's a sad, sad day. I just want Bret to know:
"I'm not weeping because you won't be here to hold my hand.
For your information, there's an inflammation in my tear gland.
I'm not upset because you left me this way,
My eyes are just a little sweaty today."
So my mom and grandmother came to Austin this weekend for my grandmother's birthday, and we did all of the eating and shopping that we could stand. It marked the first out-of-town trip they have taken since my grandfather died a couple of weeks ago, and I am relieved that they both are past the initial "cry because his closet door is open and you can see his shoes lined up on the shelf" phase of their mourning. At the very least, they have stepped out of the bourbon and Valium stupor that, hand to God, was the only thing that kept them from succumbing to the complete hysterics that we all were feeling, in the midst of our own personal Southern Gothic tragedy.
We got a call on Molly's birthday, February 18th, that JJ probably wouldn't make it another day. Both of us had already been to Abilene to see him in the last few months before he really got sick, when he could still recognize us and know what we were saying when we told him that we loved him. We had been mulling over the idea of going one more time the next weekend, just to get in one more "last moment" with him - though Molly was pretty firmly of the opinion that she did not want to go and see him so sick, preferring to remember him as he was in the fall. But by Wednesday, our best intentions were pretty much thrown out. We would be going to Abilene whether we liked it or not, and it would probably be too late.
My mother was alone with him when he died Thursday morning. She stroked his head and gently told him that he could let go. She reassured him that his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren were all safe and happy, and that he didn't need to worry about any of us. She promised him that Nene would be taken care of, that we would help her live out her days in comfort. She poured her love into him in those final moments. And he let go peacefully and quickly.
By noon, I was on the road with Molly and Tyler. It took us about four hours to make the drive. By the time we got there, arrangements had already been made, fried chicken and pies were already in the kitchen, and my cousins were already on flights to Texas. When my mother returned from the funeral home, I took her home, filled her up with enough drugs to sedate an elephant, and left her in the care of her boyfriend for the evening. Then I went back to my grandmother's house to help her receive all the condolence-givers that had been streaming in through the day. Some stopped by to bring food and offer their sympathies, and others lingered to exchange stories about JJ.
The last stragglers finally left at about 10:00pm, and by that point Nene was shell-shocked. She hadn't slept more than an hour in two days, she had to put on a brave face in front of people she hadn't seen in years, and she was about to have to put the man she'd loved for sixty-one years in the ground. Molly and I were the only ones there, and Nene lost her shit in peace. She was fine until she started telling us the history of one of the rings she was wearing, and when she glanced over at her left hand and saw her wedding ring, she finally broke down. It was the first time I had ever seen her cry. She let out a little moan, pulled off her ring to kiss it, and said, "Y'all, I'm not married anymore." I will never forget that, as long as I live - saddest moment of the whole trip, hands down.
Friday was a blur of cold cuts and shopping (it all happened so fast, none of us had time to get anything appropriate to wear to the funeral before arriving). Thank the baby Jesus for shopping. The day flew by, and we were able to think about something else for a few blissful hours. Sweet relief! Molly and I have said this many times - our mom can shop. The woman is determined. It truly is a wonder to behold.
The viewing was that night, and JJ was beautiful. He looked so peaceful, like he was just resting. If his glasses had been perched on his nose, it would have seemed like he was just taking a little nap. In a casket. In his designer suit. His expression was a little mischievous, as if he were thinking of a dirty joke to lighten the mood. His hands were all wrong, though. They were too bony, too cold. I'm so glad that I have the memory of them, warm and paper smooth, cupping my face the last time I visited him.
We had gone to see him that morning, when we accompanied Nene to the funeral home to meet with the director about the services that evening. But then it was just JJ in the chapel - that evening, it was JJ, surrounded by a sea of flowers. I wasn't prepared. It's funny how something so ordinary, so expected, can have such an unexpected impact during times of grief. There was my grandfather, lying in the most exquisite bronze casket, embalmed and dead for all the world to see, and it was the flowers that made me cry.
There were just so many of them! Nene had ordered a casket arrangement of his favorite yellow roses - I have never seen such enormous blooms. Roses and lilies and daisies, potted plants and standing bouquets, baskets and vases, in every color imaginable. And the attached cards, with their notes about how much the sender loved JJ, or how he was a second father, or how our family was in their prayers - I just couldn't take it. Later on, standing at his side, I thought about the babies that I haven't had yet who will never know him, and how it would have made him so happy so meet them, and that resulted in the stereotypical stumbling-away-sobbing-and-wailing one expects at a good Southern funeral. You're welcome.
The church service was held at my grandparents' church on Saturday morning. I am fuzzy on some of the details here - I sat with Molly, and the two of us cried our way through what I remember to have been a very formal, very traditional Episcopalian funeral. Then we made our way to the cemetery, where JJ was laid to rest by a tree on a cold, windy day. After that the weekend was mainly spent with my nine hundred cousins and relatives, either drinking toasts to JJ or looking through old photo albums, or taking group photos because it's just been so long since we were all together.
Rachel drove in from Fort Worth for the funeral (and to visit her mother), so I was able to escape for a couple of hours and drive around with her. It was amazing. I have no words for how much it meant to me that she came - amazing.
So now we're two weeks into life after JJ. I keep remembering things that were special about him, things that I don't want to forget. So I am going to make a list here, if that's okay, so that I can look back later if my memories start to fade.
- his hair - always perfect, parted on the left, by god!
- his stutter - "D-d-d-d-do you need some m-m-money? W-w-w-well, take this anyway..."
- his cigars - even when he stopped lighting them, there was always a "geegar" in the ashtray on the porch.
- his fingernails - clean and trimmed, I can see his hand resting on the breakfast table next to his coffee cup
- Don Williams - I believe in love, I believe in babies.
- Jack-n-Jill donuts - he was my chauffer before I got my driver's license, and we would go every afternoon for a Dr. Pepper and an apple fritter
- heart shaped boxes on every single Valentine's Day, until I moved away after high school
- how he called every boyfriend any of his girls ever had "Buford"
- his face, beaming with pride at my high school graduation
- how he danced with my grandmother
- how he could sing like a bird and never trip up a single syllable
- how his hands used to shake before he got implants in his brain
- how he flew into a rage when he thought I had been hurt in one of my parents' many fights
- how he hugged me tight at my uncle's funeral thirteen years ago
- how he looked on a riding lawnmower, with his straw hat and a cigar
- the smell of his truck, like tobacco and leather
- how there were always orange slice candies in the glove box, just in case his sugar dropped too low while he was driving
- the way that he would say, " I haven't had my hug yet!" as soon as he would see you
- the family reunion last year, when JJ hadn't met six-week-old Tyler yet (Nene and Mama were in Austin for his birth, but JJ had stayed home) - I tried to intercept him outside an elevator at the hotel because, of course, I hadn't had my hug yet, but he completely blew me off - he had heard that his new great-grandbaby had finally arrived, and he was trucking down the hall faster than I had seen him move in YEARS. It was awesome!
- sitting with him on the couch in May, holding his hand
- sitting with him in the hospital in August, watching the violet blue sky and flipping through TV channels to find him Olympic coverage
- eating salted cantaloupe with him at the dining table when I was still small enough to stand in the chairs without getting into too much trouble
- the way he would say my name, like it was the answer to a question - "BEH-cky!"
- how he looked, sitting in a chair on the porch, enjoying a warm sunset, watching the birds, waving at the neighbors, never too busy to take in a few moments of stillness
Wow. I've gotta reign this in. If I don't stop, this post could stretch on for days. There are just so many things, so many little quirks that made him him, that I want to cling to. There just won't ever be one like him. I'm lucky to have had a JJ.
So I'm an Idol fan. You already know that. I write about it every year. I have clear favorites and clear not-so-favorites. For the most part, I think most of the theatrics and fluff that goes into the production is unfortunate, but I'll put up with it if I have to in order to hear some great singers come out of nowhere. I am withholding comment here on the top 12 contestants until it's all final in a couple more weeks.
But I have to say this - I like Nick Mitchell/Norman Gentle. He has a good voice, he's fearless on stage, and he certainly has people talking. Fans of the show either love him or hate him (and it seems there are far more who fit into the "hate him" category, seeing as he was dismissed by the voters last night). Personally, I looked forward to his performances, and thought that his alter-ego antics were much better than the crap salad that we were fed a couple of years ago by Sanjaya.
I read this today, and thought it summed up my thoughts pretty well:
No, he doesn't have the pipes that some of the contestants do, and for that reason alone, he deserved to be eliminated from the competition when he was. But I am not unhappy about his involvement up to this point. His performances were always entertaining. Yes, he clowned and wore a costume, but under all that he was still singing better than most of his competition, who were too busy taking themselves too seriously and psyching themselves out of decent performances of their own. And to that end, musical comedy acts are on the rise - groups like FOTC, Tenacious D, and The Lonely Island don't seem to be hurting for fans.Mitchell isn't making a mockery out of the competition. I believe 100% that like every other contestant who has graced that stage, he believes that Idol is his best chance at stardom. If he's making a mockery out of anything, it's the self-importance that drags the show down, and the cookie-cutter images of both pop stars in general and Idol contestants specifically, and what's wrong with that?
...
Choosing the next president should be serious. Choosing the next American Idol should not. Very few people get to perform live for 30 million television viewers. It's an exciting and rare opportunity, and if Nick Mitchell wants to, God forbid, have fun with it, why should anyone have a problem with that? He's taking a reality show in the autumn of its years and making it exciting. If anything, he's the hero in this situation-- not the villain.
So there's this delicious taco joint a few minutes from my workplace, and they make the best chorrizo and egg tacos of all time. If I have time in the morning before work, I love to stop in and grab a couple - the salsa is so hot, I can skip coffee and still be jolted awake for the day. Plus, the restaurant itself is the epitome of the "Keep Austin Weird" movement - it's quirky and kitschy and funky and 100% local. One of my coworkers gets takeout from there when he wants to take a working lunch because it literally takes less than ten minutes to go there, order, and return with piping hot food, and you can't beat that when you are pressed for time.
However. Something that he orders - I think it may be the Mojo sauce for the fish tacos - makes me want - no, NEED - to puke. He's eating it in the office down the hall right now, and it's taking every ounce of self control I can muster to keep from dry heaving the contents of my empty stomach into my desk-side trash can.
I don't know what it is. If I were pinching my nose and eating it myself, it would taste delicious. I KNOW that it's fresh and healthy and great tasting. But the smell, oh god the smell! It's the most horrible thing - I can't even think of an adequate description to relate to you how truly heinous it is. It instantly turns me inside out. My cheeks start to tingle, my mouth starts to water, and I can feel the vomit start to rise. AND I AM NOT A PICKY EATER! Obviously! But one hint of a whiff, and I have stomach cramps. Even later today, the memory of the smell will irritate my gag reflex, I just know it.
I have to leave the office now - it's too much. Peace out.
So ok, my grandfather died, and it was sad, and I might have something to say about that later, but I just got some news that makes me so uncomfortable that I kinda want to throw up all over the place! Dude! My cousins, The Breeders, are breeding again. As of Christmas 2008, there were five babies in my extended family (Tyler being one of them, with only one being older than him). Assuming that all goes well and everyone comes out like they are supposed to, there will be a total of NINE babies at Christmas this year. And that's just counting the ones that have been conceived so far! There's still time left to add to those numbers before the holidays!
Let's do the roll call real quick - Cousin #1 has a two-year-old, a (barely) one year old, and another due in July. Cousin #2 has a twenty-month-old, a six-month-old, and is expecting twins (!) in September. My aunt DeeDee is expecting baby #1 in July, so if you include my little Tylerino, that's NINE GODDAMN BABIES!
I mean, REALLY?!?! Really?
My cousin's wife has spent all but 10 months of the last two and a half years pregnant. She will have FOUR BABIES under three years old at the same time. Her hands seemed to be full enough at Christmas. I can't even imagine! I would lose my effin' marbles. LOSE. My MARBLES!!!!
So yeah, that's all. I can't handle it.
"Fuck Yeah! Cloud Sandwich!"
Don't steal from me, please. I know fake karate.
© 2005-2008 JelloUniverse
