Snap Snap Bubble Wrap.

I mentioned in a previous post that June is the worst month of the year for me.  This past week has been the worst week of an already shit month.  Sometimes everything just seems so hard and quitting is so easy.  What makes things harder is that I can't stand it when people act like victims when they're usually just being victims of circumstances they perpetuated.  I guess what I'm saying is that I'm often guilty of this and I guess I'm feeling guilty right now.  But it's so hard to see your own life objectively.  


Speaking of seeing things objectively: I recently realized that I have a friend(s) who is(are) perpetually "playing the victim" and it's one of the most irritating things I've ever witnessed.  This person seems to purposely put their self in situations that clearly have no outcome other than a bad (or at least unprofitable) one.  It's mind-boggling. But it's also almost a certainty that this person would not listen to reason or any advice that would result in changing this pattern because I think they enjoy it.  I hope this isn't the case and it's more a matter of being conditioned to it.  Who knows.  I just know that I've learned to stay fairly detached from the drama because it's too ridiculous and as much as I hate it when people say this to me, I just wish they could "get over it."  Terrible things happen to people every day.  What matters is how you deal with it.

I can give advice like nobody's bidness but I can't take it.              


Allen said I was "fixated" last night.  Because of years of therapy, a handful of hospital stays and 3 years working in mental health, alarm bells started going off in my head.  I do get ideas in my head that just go round and round and round until everything else is blocked out and I can barely function and find it impossible to take in anything else.  And then I'm very slow-witted when my dream in life is to be charming and quick-witted.  {Insert Sarcastic Smiley Face} This week my fixations have been drinking and moving.  


So we decided to move and I got myself a drink.  


Allen and I went for a walk.  I had been on the verge of a tearful outburst all day.  We were at the soccer field/track in Schenley Park (which I didn't even know existed until a couple weeks ago) when he officially agreed to move back to Philly and I just unleashed.  I said "I feel like I've just been given permission to go home."  And then we started fighting about drinking and I turned around and we walked home in silence.  And so it goes.

I'm a big fan.

This past weekend was almost unbearable in so many ways.  It's been hot here, like most places, and our apartment is really good at holding in heat in the summer. Yesterday we pulled out the sheets again to cover the couch so we wouldn't sweat all over it.  On Saturday, our old oscillating fan, which came from my parents house and was at least 20 years old, started to smell like burning so we had to pitch it and bought one of those new-fangled tower fans.  It's weak.  On our shopping excursion we also came across these fancy new Dyson fans that don't have blades:

 

They only cost $300.  Yeah, that's right, $300.  Why wouldn't you just buy an air conditioner?

Anywho... There are other reasons why this weekend sucked, like the World Cup being exhausting to keep up with (Ghana! Germany! I'm losing steam!), the sudden appearance of children next door who came equipped with small fireworks that they set off at the exact same time we feed the cats, general malaise about the future, visits from Aunt Flo, NOT drinking (day 5! or is it 6?), and to top it all off, as I was getting ready for bed last night, somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom, a giant green mosquito landed in my long, tall glass of freshly made Crystal Light. WTF?  

There's a bunch of stuff I want to do but I've been feeling too down in the dumps to actually do any of it.  Allen and I are supposed to go to Montreal this summer, and Toronto for Rue Morgue's Festival of Fear at the end of August, and I want to go to the beach, maybe in Delaware since it's been a long time since I've been there.  There are two Ren Faires to go to later this year, Pittsburgh's and the PA Ren Faire actual.  We want to go to Ohiopyle, PA for canoeing or rafting or whatever, and we even mentioned going to the HP Lovecraft Film Festival/Cthulhu Con in October but airfare alone would be around $700 if we got tickets today.  Meanwhile, I can't even handle a trip to the grocery store without some kind of freak out.  Which also happened this weekend.  Annoying.

Another footy match starts in about 15 minutes so I gotta go.  I love it, I really do, but it's wearing me out.  

Here's to swimmin' with bow-legged women.   

"What's wrong with Pittsburgh?" AKA "I'm so sorry if I'm alienating some of you"

The ongoing saga of Gray v. Pittsburgh. 

Q. You know what is the best part of Pittsburgh? A. Neither does anyone else. 

People in Pittsburgh are very sensitive about their city being criticized.  So whenever I get the opportunity I like to criticize Pittsburgh.  I had no idea that if I Googled "I hate Pittsburgh" that I'd find so many like-minded people.  While a lot of the sites I found were sport-related, I also found a handsome number of non-sport related sites.  And before anyone asks the dumb-ass "Then why don't you leave?" question, please be aware that I am working on it and it's easier said than done (see below).  If you want to start a fund to help me move I'll appreciate it.  Treat me like Rush Limbaugh.  I'll actually go.       

This 38 page thread titled "Pittsburgh REALLY SUCKS" has had me laughing out loud at work for two days though most of it's written by fucking CRAZY people.  Believe it or not, I am working on the "If you can't say something nice" rule, so I'll mainly provide some highlights of what others have said about Pittsburgh:

"They are intolerant of others, impatient, know-it-all jerks."

"Pittsburghers are oddly arrogant and downright unfriendly. Anyone not from here is an outsider, and is treated like one. Ignorance is prevalent, and unfortunately even accepted. Pittsburgh is honestly the most racist, intolerable city I have ever even visited, and it's not hard to find a native who's had a few too many I.C. Lights to call you a name and pick a fight with you over nothing. Ask half of them if they have ever left (even on vacation) and many will say no, because they claim no need to.  It is really strange.  Many here have no desire but to live their entire lives here and never see nor care about anything else in the world.  Downright depressing and pathetic."

"I have never hated living somewhere so much in my life (and yes I've lived in several cities)
Everything about this place blows, the weather, the traffic, the parking (or lack there of), people are rude and obnoxious, worst drivers on earth, these weirdass roads make no sense with their 5-way intersections and random ass exits/entrances.
I can't find a job worth CRAP, and am sick of even trying to find one now.
I can't wait to get the heck out of here and am going to be miserable until I do. What a mistake coming here."

"Pittsburgh feels like a large trailer park where everyone is forced to wear yellow and black. It is easily the most irritating place that I have ever lived. "

And sadly, my biggest fear addressed: "Cut your losses and run from this place now! Western Pennsylvania is a vacuum. Most people who want to leave cannot, because their financial situation is perpetually bad. They can never get ahead, but they keep saying 'as soon as I get ahead, I'll get the hell out of here.' It never happens for them though, and they are stuck here forever.
GET OUT NOW WHILE YOU STILL CAN!"

And why do they still allow people to smoke inside at way more places than are necessary?  And why are there no street signs at intersections?  Why are there so many roads that suddenly don't have sidewalks?  What the fuck is wrong with the public transportation in this town?  Why don't you just have everyone pay when they get on like civilized cities do?  And what's with all these damn bugs?  Why does Rick Sebak's voice make me want to throw things at the TV?   

Recently I thought I had reached the acceptance stage in my grieving for someplace other than Pittsburgh.  Hopefully everyone reading this is educated enough to be familiar with the Kubler-Ross stages of grief, if not wiki that.  Unfortunately my acceptance was short-lived when Pitt fucked with me yet again and told me no, you are nothing but a temp and that's what you will always be to us.  This has sent me crashing back into stage 2: ANGER.  And here I sit.  Temping in anger.

I think my household as a whole has reached its threshold with how much Pittsburgh we can take so we are looking into other options.  While I would like to go "home" for a while, somewhere in the MD/DE/PA tri-state area, we are also considering New Orleans.  If you have suggestions on places to live in other states I'm open to hearing about them.  At least one of us has to have a full-time job and we like to pay no more than 20-25% of our income in rent but don't want to live with other people to make that happen... Crazy, I know.            

"Back to the Front"

Did all y'all know that there's a connection between "Tim & Eric" and "Ink & Dagger?"  Every time I think about that it makes me uncomfortable. Just sayin'.  Wiki that.

I am desperate. Yes. Again.

Desperate for real karaoke, like it used to be. Up north.
Desperate for the beach, like it used to be. Down tha shore at Ocean City, NJ.
Desperate for a vacation. (Maine or New Orleans?)
Desperate for a friendship. (Left blank.)
Desperate to get the hell out of here. (Pittsburgh.)
(Like I would go back to work at Episcopal desperate.)
(Like drop everything desperate.)
(Like pack up the cats desperate.)
Why didn't my brother get to keep the house desperate.
When are we gonna eat crabs with Allen's parents desperate.

Yet not desperate enough to move to Little Cambodia.  Sorry fellas.  I'd rather live on Battlestar Galactica and be Starbuck cos she was tough and drunk. 

I think I miss myspace.

So today Theresa says to me: "I can't believe someone hasn't snatched you up already."
"Me neither," I replied.  "I don't know what's wrong with me."
That stumped her.
No shit.
It's like I'm some kind of timebomb.

And then Brandi was mocking faculty: "I'm so smart I don't know how to tie my shoe laces!  I've got so much going on up here I can't even fill out this form correctly..." 
Yeah, I know.  That's what happens to me.  So I'm a PhD at an AA level with a master's degree.  Shameful.

"You're good at everything," Allen says to me on Sunday.
As if that made anything easier.  It doesn't.  Good at everything but drawn to nothing.

Speaking of: I may be about to embarque on a NURSING DEGREE out of boredom and a desperate need to leave Pissburgh.  But is it something I'm interested in?  I can't say definitively but it's the only way I know to get out of here.  Allen also asked if I would end up being one of those nurses I've complained about, the ones who could give a shit about anything except a paycheck.  I said no, I'd be one of the ones who cared too much and got burnt out that way.

Another degree.  Jennifer Gray, BA, MLIS, BSN, MSN.  It means nothing to me.  It seems to mean something to others.  It's really not hard once you figure out how to play the game.  Collect 'em all.  I suppose I'll eventually work my way up to collecting PhDs, though I refuse to teach.  "Those who can -- do," and all... And I hate children, no matter what their age.  Besides, most things can't be taught.

So I might as well collect the student loan debt.  I don't plan on leaving anyone behind who would have to cover it. 
Epiphany!

I miss playing Runescape.  But I still don't understand the "Dungeoneering" skill.  Lame.

Oh, I almost forgot: "There are a lot of Precious's in this world."  Direct quote from me.  You're welcome.  Runnin' with chicken. 

"Suck my left one." Odds & Ends for the Weekend

Being a woman who likes football (soccer) can be difficult, particularly at times like these.  Men become noticeably more shitty and just plain stupid in their assumption that I can't possibly understand what's going on or know what I'm saying when I talk about the game.  But most bothersome of all is the horrible person-negating dismissiveness they display.  By the way, did you know it's all about the goal differential?  Maybe you didn't know this, but guess what? I do.  Recognize.   

Allen said something funny yesterday.  He asked me if I knew "that song, 'Oh the Joy,'" the one that goes, "bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah."  I was seriously concerned for a minute that he might actually think it was called "Oh the Joy" instead of "Ode to Joy."  After all these years I still have trouble telling when he's being sarcastic.  

Phil Knight kinda looks like David Lo Pan.


That stupid "Samba Baby" is so not as cool as the "Smoking Baby."

In James Franco News.

And, finally:

So funny I'm still laughing, not so much at the "article" but at this line: "Kombucha is some sort of Ancient Chinese bullshit." Agreed.

"Beautiful Suicide"

It's strange how a Kanye West song can remind me of this:

Truthfully, it's not strange at all, he pretty much mentions it in the song.  I'm sorry the dl link there doesn't work any more, it's a good song.  If you like that kinda thing.  That photo, by Robert Wiles, is truly gorgeous.  It's from 1947 and I only first saw it in 2009.  Disappointing since it looks like something that was made for me.

Entries are going to be a little sporadic over the next few weeks while I jock out about the WORLD CUP.  Maybe you've heard of it.  It's one of my most favorite things in the WORLD.  I'm such a jock about it that one of the faculty members I've been working with gave me a copy of the New Yorker because it has an article about the England/US rivalry and Tim Howard which she wanted me to read and, inexplicably, a recent issue of France Football, which is all in French but has an article about the French national team.  I spent some time reading it this morning.  No, I don't generally claim to know French, I took a few years of it in high school but that's it.  It's day five and I haven't missed a match yet.

As for what's really going on, and to get back to that photo up there, let me just say that June is a bad month for me.  It's always been the month of the year that I think most about death, dying, and wanting to die.  It's the month when I "tried" to die when I was 16 (or was I 15? I don't recall, it was that profound...).  But a lot of people I know have "tried" to die at some point in their lives so it doesn't make me special.   

Another reason I may be sporadic is that when I start a depression cycle it comes on hard and it comes on fast, faster if I'm drinking too much, and I'm entering one of those cycles now.  Monday was a night of nothing is easy, nothing works right, everything's wrong.  At 9:25 I was in bed after I finally found a working, decent quality upload of True Blood around 8.  Then I took a shower and climbed into bed, hoping to retreat into the Henry Darger-esque saga I've been writing for the past 10 years.  Wiki that.

Another reason I may become sporadic is that, as with most things in my life, this will (has already begun to) become like a chore to me, this blog.  Anything that initially excites me, soon, very soon, begins to bore me.  I remember being so angry at my sister when she called me "fickle" when I was 17 years old.  But she was right.  I was then and I am now.  And I get bored so easily or lose interest in things or people (maybe you), jobs, eating right, exercise...  Then I found $5 and  I had a dream and you were in it...

And did you ever notice that summer is never idyllic anymore?  It definitely isn't here, where I live.  It's like summer isn't even an event here as far as I can tell.  I remember having fun summers, I swear.  But I could be making that up.  BTW, Lily Dale opens for the season on 25 June.  Mike, Jeanne, I'm looking at you...   

I'd like to thank the people who have told me in person that they read this blog.  I appreciate it mightily.  You may also feel free to comment here once in a while if the spirit moves you.

C'mon England!  But if not England then Germany... or Brazil!  WORLD CUP 2010!!!

Freakin' Weekend Special Edition: If I Had Infinite Amounts of Time

Based solely on what's currently available to watch instantly on Netflix, if I had infinite amounts of time I'd watch the following TV shows:

Watch for the first time:

Torchwood (All Seasons)

The Hills (All Seasons): Out of curiosity, until I wanted to shoot myself in the mouth.

The Tudors (All Seasons)
The Rockford Files (All Seasons): Because it's mentioned so often in MST3K episodes.
McCloud (All Seasons): See: The Rockford Files

Lewis Black's Root of All Evil (All Seasons):  (Who knew this existed?!?!)

Explosive funnyman Lewis Black hosts this courtroom parody program in which comedians such as Greg Giraldo, Paul F. Tompkins and Patton Oswalt ridicule pop culture targets like Paris Hilton, Donald Trump, Oprah, Viagra and video games. Highlights from the first season include debates over which of the following is more evil: beer or weed; high school or "American Idol"; and Kim Jon-Il or Tila Tequila.

Skins: Vol. 1:

Nicholas Hoult stars as scheming teen Tony Stonem in this BBC America ensemble drama that captures a slice of high school life at fictional Roundview Sixth Form College in Bristol. The series also focuses on the everyday lives of an assortment of other characters, including an openly gay student (Mitch Hewer), a habitually hard partier (Joe Dempsie) and a girl with an eating disorder (Hannah Murray).

Forty Deuce: 

A Los Angeles burlesque club is the subject of this four-part reality series from cable channel Bravo and director Zalman King. Its name a paean to the glamour days of New York City's 42nd Street, the Forty Deuce club offers plenty of strippers but no full nudity, and its bombastic owner, Ivan Kane, proves a savvy businessman determined to carry through his vision of celebs and skin on Los Angeles's uber-hip Melrose Avenue.

American Gothic: The Complete Series:

Welcome to Trinity, S.C., a small town with more chills than charm, where sinister Sheriff Lucas Buck (Gary Cole) won't let anyone -- including local doctor Matt Crower (Jake Weber) or the determined Gail Emory (Paige Turco) -- stand in the way of his evil plans. Sam Raimi (The Evil Dead) served as producer for this cult-hit television classic created by teen idol Shaun Cassidy, which lasted for a single season.

Watch again:

The A-Team (All Seasons)

The Guild (All Seasons)

The Tick: The Complete Series

Archer (Season 1): Over and over again.  Yuuup!

The IT Crowd (All Series): Also good to watch over and over again.

Strangers With Candy (All)

Stella (All)

Both Categories (cos I've seen some but not all):

Dr. Who (Starting back when Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper were together, aka Season 1, through now.)

Wildboyz (maybe?)

Mythbusters (All Collections): I'm told I could probably get behind this in a serious way. 

Also: I can tell you now that you should not ever be fooled by Thirtysomething.  I thought, hmm, this show was huge when I was a kid and now I AM Thirtysomething so maybe I should check it out.  You don't need to check it out.  Let me guess, you already knew this.  

Sooo...What's up everybody?

More bad news from the land of "why the fuck am I still here?" aka Pissburgh.  I've had it in for this place since forever and unfortunately it knows how to fight back.  I guess.  I don't know.  It's probably all me secretly sabotaging myself.  It just feels like... I just don't belong here.  What's that song where the last line is "...I don't belong here..."?  Wait, is that "Creep" by Radiohead.  It's like the theme song of my life.  Always. 

The news is that I did NOT get the job I wrote about a couple/few weeks ago.  Who's surprised?  Raise your hands.  I'm not.  Par for the course.  I'm shit at interviews and there seems to be something wrong with me in general that puts people off.  I guess it's my "go get 'em" attitude.  Or because "Ima creep, Ima weirdo." 

The whole situation is ironic (In a non-ironic way?  That's the only cool irony.  Duh.) because for a while I was like "I'm gonna get this job, I'm gonna get this job!" and then I was like "Oh my god, what am I gonna do if I get this job?  It's gonna suck!"  And since it's taken so long to hear either way I've made the following contingency plans:

1. Get the job: Get a new apartment in Pissburgh.
2. Don't get the job: Move back east (and still get a new apartment).

Now I have the answer and it turns out to be the harder of the two and so I'm FUCKING UPSET that nothing can EVER be even REMOTELY EASY.

Seriously, all I want is a fucking full-time job and it really doesn't fucking matter what the fuck it is because shit is not that fucking important in the first place.  Life isn't about what fucking job you have so you shouldn't have to jump through fucking hoops and act like you really give a fuck about a fucking admin job because it's FUCKING BULLSHIT!  It's not that deep.  (So why does it hurt so much?) 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxpblnsJEWM

"He did pass away." Pt. III

The thrilling conclusion of the 3-part series "He did pass away."  If it feels a little rushed that's because it is.  I just need to be done with it right now.   

Thursday morning my niece Jessica and I drove out to the house on Fell Road.  My father had literally been dying in there over the previous weekend and so there was an unpleasant odor throughout the house.  My brothers, brother-in-law, and nephews had already loaded up the mattress from his bed and the carpet from the bedroom and taken it away along with some of the other furniture.  The house had been disinfected days ago but the smell still lingered.  There were 13 adults moving around in this small one-story house so while it did take the majority of the day it really didn't take all that long to clean everything out.  Most of the things in the house were not worth much so a lot ended up being sent to the dump.  Dan, one of my nephews from Virginia, climbed up into the attic with me to bring down the few boxes that were still up there.  Most of my mother's glassware collection that had been up there was already gone, my sisters having taken it out last summer.

I don't know what they did with all of it, and I don't care, I was just glad it wasn't still there.  For some reason in her later life my mother became obsessed with collectible glass and then proceeded to buy so much of it, mostly at yard sales, that it filled the attic.  There were some xmas decorations and some boxes of my old toys.  Nothing good, a bunch of Cabbage Patch dolls and other junk toys that my 9-year-old niece Lexi and I dumped out on a bed in one of the spare rooms and went through.  I told her if there was anything she wanted she could take it.  She took a couple of things but we pretty much both decided that it looked like a bunch of trash and threw it away.  I generally am not one to be sentimental about objects but having said that I'm going to share an odd exception with you in a moment.  I ended up bagging up the Cabbage Patch and storing them in my sister's basement but when I looked at them again a couple weeks ago I told her I didn't want them and she could throw them out if she wanted.  

My family has never been wealthy, or even very financially comfortable.  Some of us live modestly out of necessity, some of us go the other direction people who were raised in a lower income family go and end up hoarding "treasures" from the dollar store.  But almost all of my siblings are tacky.  For some reason my taste in things tends to be a bit more...let's say, discerning, so some of the things my relatives were taking or deciding not to throw away were boggling my mind.  Near the end of the day I went into the bathroom and noticed that on the wall were these white plastic wall decorations (one of the things was holding fake flowers!) and a matching mirror.  I can't even find similar images of them online they're so tacky but let's say they were something akin to this:        

 

And these things had been hanging there since, like, we moved to that house in 1987.  So I grabbed all of these tacky monstrosities off the wall and shoved them in a trash bag and put it in the back of my brother's truck to be taken to the dump.  It was not the first time I had done that with something terribly ugly that day.  Later my sister asked me if I had taken, meaning to keep, the stuff off the bathroom wall and I just smiled and said, "Yup." 

I ended up with some useful things, like a paper shredder, a blood pressure machine thingy, a blender with a real glass container thingy, some other stuff... I claimed all the Pyrex bowls and quickly become annoyed when my oldest sister kept pointing out that they're "collectible."  Then there was the cast iron frying pan.  For years my sister Diane has had a claim on this frying pan which is really old and so it's well-seasoned, which is what you want in a cast iron pan.  Suddenly I was being asked if I wanted this frying pan, which I did, why not? but I was so perplexed by my sister suddenly not wanting something she had wanted so badly for years.  "I bought my own," was her response.  I brought my own as well, assuming I'd never see this one again.  And so it goes.  Now I have two.  Which I will rarely use.  

Speaking of lack of sentimentality: Much earlier in the day I had gone into the laundry room and found an old denim jacket that my father used to wear hanging on a hook next to his winter coat.  It's old and has paint spattered on it and what looks like dried blood in places and it's well-worn.  I found myself putting this jacket on and wearing it for the rest of the day.  I have it at home now and wear it out sometimes.  I find it hard to explain what attracted me to it in the first place or why I want to wear it.  I guess it's because even for all the pain he caused there were a few not so bad moments, too.  And he looked good in this jacket.  And after all, he used to be my daddy.  Listen to me, being a sentimental bastard.

A photo from the mid-80s in the kitchen of the Tony's Road house.

So the big deal of the night was that my father was buying us dinner.  Unfortunately it was at Shady Maple.  Prior to arriving I was super-stoked on going.  Even when I first got there I thought it was hilarious, probably because we were having a good time on the way.  Jessica was driving and I was in the passenger seat with Kenny and Brian in the back.  Brian was telling jokes and Kenny told a story about being arrested at the beach and we were all yelling about "Maple Shady!"  Chris refused to go even though it was free food.  Now I totally understand why.  He had been there before and believe me, once is enough for "Maple Shady."  You walk into this place and it's all fake fancy and huge, it's exactly like a casino except there are no table games or slot machines, just a buffet and a gift shop.  I made the joke but I'm not sure anyone in my family's ever been to a casino so it was greeted with silence.  We were escorted down this long hallway, all 19 of us, and given two tables in a banquet room.  The buffet is in its own huge room and runs for...a while (see the photos in the link) before it repeats on the other side.  It was awful.  There was this thing called "filling" which I kept being told was a bread stuffing but it just looked like a brown shape.  And there were the most massive fried chicken legs I've ever seen.  Then I watched in horror as almost every member of my family ate one of these genetically modified, hormone injected curiosities, including the small (the term is relative) children.  Even though I was eating meat at the time I just could not bring myself to touch those things!  They were that unnatural. 

After everyone had gorged themselves, myself included, we all had to wander around the gift shop downstairs for an interminable amount of time.  But that wasn't the end my friends!  No, there's another store to go to!  The Amish (Mennonite?) department store, Good's! which, whoo hoo, is open until 9!  So I guess that means we have to stay til 9?  It sure does!  (Was it only 9?  We must have gone to eat super early...)  At one point I looked around at those of us gathered out front waiting for the serious shoppers and saw Jessica, Kenny and Brian.  Holy Fuck, WHY ARE WE STILL HERE!  This is us!  We're not waiting for anyone!  Jessica, can we please go?!?!  No, we couldn't.  She wanted to say goodbye to my sister's family who were going back to Virginia the next day.  

Eventually we made it back home and to bed and the next day Chris drove me to the train station in Philly, almost taking the exit to the airport until I yelled, "No, TRAIN STATION!"  

I've pretty much come to the end of my story.  I've been dragging my feet on the ending most of the day because I just want to move on.  I will tell you that a disturbing side affect of this trip, and the one Allen and I made a couple weeks ago, has been that I think about moving back, a lot, not necessarily to Cecil County but at least in the general area.  This side of the state has yet to feel like home and I doubt it ever will.  And I'm jealous of what my family has, their jokes and their camaraderie, but I also know that it wouldn't be the same if I saw them every day.  It wouldn't be as funny.  I can see that from listening to the things Chris tells me, he's still too close to it.  I know that time and distance have changed the way I feel about my family and I am grateful for that because it allows me to love them better.  I guess the moral of this story is that [insert cliche about family]...       

By the way, when Allen and I were there last they asked if we wanted to have dinner at Maple Shady.  We declined.               

The quote that is the title of this 3 part series comes directly from the voice mail message Jessica left me when she called to tell me that my father had died. 

[Bonus Material: I asked Chris to sent me any thoughts he had regarding my behavior that week and this was his oddly flattering reply, I doubt I said anything even remotely this eloquent and I hope he won't mind that I'm allowing all of you to read this.]

What I remember most from January was your prediction about our family's behavior at the funeral.  You said that they wouldn't own up to the reality of your father's harsh behavior in the household - specifically his [...] toward your mother - and stated that you would prefer they accept that reality as to promote healing for a family without him rather than do the cutesy funeral thing as a rite of unfulfilled passage and perpetuation of a fairy tale as to fit the mould of some happy Norman Rockwell home.  Naturally, it all unfolded as you had divined.

I'm still glad he is dead but his ghost sort of just lingers in the periphery.

I also remember the funeral home.  You approached his casket and cried and shook like many normal people would.  You were one of the few who decided to grieve openly rather than pretend like everyone else.  One thing you kept saying was "He hurt mom."  Uncle David wanted to console you but he knew that he had accepted this a long time ago. [?]  There was a bit of bravery on his part.  It was eerily reminiscent of what had happened in 1993 just before you went to hospital. [Another story for another time, maybe.]

Eww. I've Got a Crush on You.

Celebrity crushes.  This so embarrassing and funny and probably going to look horrible.  I'm not one of those women who can unashamedly flaunt their love of someone famous and infinitely unattainable.  It just seems so sad so it's weird for me that I'm doing this at all.


I don't know how long any of these links will last and I'm NOT tagging them so enjoy a little glimpse into my...  I don't know what, my world of celebrity crushes, while it lasts.

Alexander Skarsgård, although I rarely find him attractive as Eric Northman from True Blood, he just doesn't look good as a vampire.  Yeah, I just wrote that, "doesn't look good as a vampire."  As Sgt. Brad "Iceman" Colbert, however... He's so tall and viking and handsome...swoon.   

Orlando Bloom is probably the one I'm most embarrassed about.  I don't know why I'm embarrassed about it.  Oh, no, wait, yes I do but I can't tell you.  And it's not because he's a terrible actor.  Forget it.  But if he had an American accent, which he can't do btw because he's such a bad actor...  Anyway: Crush, crush.    

 

                 

I've had a crush on Anthony Kiedis since I was 14. Really.  It's crazy.  Allen and I were walking last night and this guy was blaring a RHCP song from Blood Sugar Sex Magic and I felt second hand embarrassment about it.  Because I have been shamed regarding my love of AK and this band by my husband.  Yes, it's true.  And I can't unshame this shame because, really, I should be ashamed.  I mean, they're kinda terrible.  But I still love this tiny man beyond comprehension.  I guess I always will.

Here he is again with my next crush, Robert Downey, Jr.

I think my RDJ crush may be more of an RDJ as Tony Stark crush.  Cos he's the awesomest.

 

 

Daniel Craig, holy moly.  What's up, James Bond? 

 And then there's my inexplicable attraction to...Ludacris.  It truly is inexplicable cos when I look at him I'm actually like, eh, but there's something about him, I don't even know what to say.  Maybe it's the music.

Jon Hamm is hilariously funny.  No, really.  Maybe you've seen him on SNL in the Jon Hamm's John Ham skit or listened to him on any number of comedy podcasts.  Well have you?  Here's a photo of him being Jon Hamm hot and a photo of him being Don Draper hot:

And a photo of him being beard-o hot with the next entry:
James Franco is dirty.  I mean he looks dirty, like he needs to take a shower.  Maybe that's the attraction, but I think it has more to do with the fact that he goes to school for arty things and this is the result and then he plays a character on General Hospital.  That's hilarious and hot.

 

"He did pass away." Pt. II

Outside the funeral home, the WORST funeral home I've ever been to, where conveniently my mother's funeral is already planned and paid for, I met my 13 year old niece Mariah for the first time.  She's the daughter of my brother Tom, who is the longest hold out from the family implosion of 1993 (another long story).  She looks disturbingly like my ex sister-in-law except with blond hair and feels nothing like an actual member of my family.  She's not awkward and she goes to private school, pretty telling if you ask me.  I was later informed by my brother-in-law Charlie that Mariah's mother Paula has gotten ridiculously fat since I last saw her which pleased me to no end.  We then spent a long while standing outside while those who drove put the vehicles in order by oldest to youngest child at the request of a funeral home employee.  Why that was important I don't know.

Just as a bit of background, my parents have 8 living children, 4 boys and 4 girls.  This was the first time we've all been together since I don't know when.  At least the early 90s but maybe earlier.  And it was incredibly weird how we all just kind of slipped back into things being like they used to be.  I apparently am still the emotional and dramatic youngest child who fits in better with the younger kids, nieces and nephews, who are actually closer in age to me than any of my brothers and sisters.  Rick and Tom are jocks, Ken's the nerd, Janet plays the mom, etc. 

When I walked inside I couldn't go near the open casket at the front of the main room.  I went immediately to the side room and sat in a chair facing the opposite direction where I stayed most of the morning.  It seemed that I was the only one having a rough time with this.  Rick talked to me and was understanding of what I was feeling although I don't remember exactly what we said to each other.  Then Tom was sitting across from me and asking me inappropriate questions while I was visibly upset like, "So, what do you do?"  Are you fucking kidding me you strange person who I used to live with but haven't seen or spoken to in almost two decades?   

After a little while Chris and I went to find a coffee shop on Main St.  We talked as we walked and I felt significantly better being outside but when we came back I was told I couldn't take my coffee inside and I wanted to start screaming.  Janet appeared to be running things, standing by the body and receiving the...guests? visitors?  Then my nephew Dan was doing some sort of sermon and his wife, whom I had never met before yesterday, was singing some hymn, Rock of Ages or something.  I was getting angrier by the second and ended up walking outside, grabbing my coffee off the ledge near the front door and then slamming the door as I exited.  I stood around outside, realized the funeral home was right across the street from the very first place I ever went for psychiatric therapy when I was 14, got a little more angry and started sending Allen text messages about how fucking ridiculous all of this was.  I finished my coffee and went back inside only to realize that I was at a funeral home that didn't provide tissues for the bereaved.  I was forced to go into the bathroom and get some scratchy paper towels.  I went back to my seat off to the side and noticed that my mother's not crazy sister and brother had also sat over here, separating themselves from the fakery which I thought was very telling and it made me wonder how much they knew about what I knew about my father.  At some point, before my outrage took over, I said hello to my cousin Bob and aunt Emily.  They informed me very matter-of-factly that one of my other cousins, Brian, their brother and son respectively, had recently been killed in an auto accident of his own causing, telling me basically that it was for the best in his case.  Apparently he had drug and alcohol problems.  Well, then.

Eventually the service was over and only family was left.  Chris, who cleverly referred to himself as a "Paul" bearer (my father's name was Paul), offered to go up to view the body with me but I never did get too close.  I went as close as I could, which was still about ten feet away.  Standing there staring at this shell that represented so much anger and hatred and pain in my life...I just burst into tears again.  Then my oldest brother David put his arm around my shoulders and comforted me.  "He ruined her life!" I said to him.  As he should, he reminded me that she let him do it, she stayed with him.  While I don't 100% agree with this, it is ultimately true, she did stay with him for over 50 years to the detriment of EVERY ONE of her nine children...  So she's not entirely blameless.

    Last photo I have of my parents together.  This was taken the day Allen and I got married, September 20, 2002.

Soon his body was loaded into the hearse and we all drove to the grave site.  My brother-in-law Don delivered a surprisingly appropriate eulogy.  I think he said something about how some of us had sometimes wished for or dreamed of this day, how he had been a total asshole to his family.  Not in those exact words, obviously,  but he didn't shy away from the truth.  Afterwards, everyone wandered around for a bit, looking at other family graves: My brother Mike, that cousin who was killed in a tractor accident when he was like 12,  Uncle Emory, my father's parents and others.  Each of the daughters took a rose from the flower arrangement lying on top of the casket.  I didn't really want the rose, I just wanted to spit on that damn box.  I ending up throwing it away not long after, once we were at the church for the "wake."

Going to Pleasant Hill church was not what I had wanted to do or what I had planned on doing, Chris and I were supposed to go to lunch at the Howard House but he forgot to drive or something.  So there I was, at this church that had given me so much grief over the years.  Oh, look, it's Mrs. Kramer, who made me sing in front of everyone as a child (with a microphone!) when I knew perfectly well that I couldn't sing.  And there was that time that she made me and Sally Richarts play our flutes for the congregation.  She was a fucking nightmare task master, I definitely want to talk to her for longer than necessary.  There's Mr. Kramer, showing an appropriate lack of interest in both me and what's going on around him, thank christ for old men.  Here's someone named Brenda, remember her?  Um, oh, yes, of course.  I'd love to talk to her for an uncomfortable amount of minutes about her children who were significantly older than me who I didn't hang out with.

Finally the food was ready.  If you haven't heard me talk about it before, there are four food groups in Cecil County: Meat, Bread, Cake and Diet Soda.  I was actually eating meat at this point in time but I was still freaked out when I looked at the aluminum tray of grocery store fried chicken and saw an actual chicken feather.  On fried chicken.  So naturally I exclaimed, "There's a feather on that piece of fried chicken."  "That's not a feather," my sisters said indignantly as they tried to place it on my aunt Emily's plate.  So I removed the feather and, sticking in their face, simply said, "Look at it.  Feather."  Emily, who is pretty much blind, was grateful that she didn't end up eating a feather.  

My cousin Faye showed up at some point and was awesome and funny, cursing every once in a while.  I noticed for the first time that she has this weird facial tic, which once discovered was hard to stop watching.  Cousin Bob tried talking to me about buying a house and other adult things, he's not too much older than me but was obviously unaware that I'm not really an adult despite my appearance and so I just sorta smiled and nodded as well as I could until I could get away.  When everyone that was not immediate family had left, we had Charlie bring over the box with the hidden house cash in it and we counted it out into eight equal piles.  Then we took photos in the church proper, often waving our individual stacks of cash around.  It was glorious.  And probably for the best that I not publish the photos now that I think about it.  

When we got back to Janet's house later that evening my brother Ken was nearly in insulin shock from taking too much after his blood sugar went through the roof from eating too much so we had to get him some juice and more food.  He's like a genius computer nerd but obviously not so genius about his health.  Me, Janet, Ken, Diane and Charlie sat around talking.  I was able to get Janet to pay me for my train ride from Philly to Newark, DE.  I thought she had thrown a $10 bill in my bag.  Turned out to be a $50 from the petty cash stash.  I was pleased.  Ken had on a Cthulhu t-shirt without realizing it and I was shamed.  Chris and I were planning on going out later because I really needed a drink after all that happened that day.  I was so tired and Chris wanted to take me to some bar in Wilmington but we settled on something closer, Howard House in downtown Elkton.

We sat at the bar and had some drinks and talked about life, my shitty father, shitty friends.  The bartender was clearly ready to close up shop around midnight.  It was a Wednesday night in Elkton, after all.  We went back to Janet's and my nephew Kenny was still up.  I guess I was a little drunker than I thought, even though I'd only had two shots of whiskey and three beers at the bar.  I started going on about how it was all thanks to me that the younger kids had had it so much easier as teenagers.  I paved a path through hell so they could get away with so much more.  I found out recently that my nephews Kenny and Brian are somewhat legendary for their hacking and hijinks at Rising Sun High School.  My sister-in-law's stepson, a soon to be senior at the school, was in awe when I told him I was related to them.  I was so proud.  Then we talked about Sophia Lamar for a while before I absolutely had to get some sleep around 2am.  

The next day the family was going to clean out the house where I had lived off and on with my parents from ages 9-19.  Truckloads of stuff was sent to the dump.  The rest of us loaded up the stuff we wanted to take home with us.  Later that evening was the experience that's come to be referred to as Maple Shady.  It's like a casino where you can only access the buffet and the gift shop.  More on this and the conclusion coming soon in "He did pass away." Pt. III.   

"He did pass away." Pt. I

Since the majority of my relatives behave much like I do, with a general indifference to direct requests for action, I may never receive copies of the pictures I wanted from my father's wake.  I love saying "wake" in reference to my family.  Especially since they're mostly made up of Irish (hence the crazy) and when I think of the words "Irish" and "wake" together I imagine a rockin' good time.  Ha ha ha ha ha.  Yeah but no.  I'm just going to get on with the story.


My father passed away on Sunday, January 17, 2010.  He was 79.  My niece, aka the family whipping girl, called to tell me around 9:30 that evening.  She had been given the task of calling any and everyone who might need to know. 

At that point in time it was believed that it was a subdural hematoma that caused his death.  I think that still is the main cause of death but you can also get a number of speculative responses from my sisters.  Apparently he had fallen on Friday and had been bleeding since then.  But, you know, he had a doctor's appointment on Monday so it could wait, I suppose.  My cousin Wayne had been looking in on him pretty regularly since he had begun alienating his children again and my siblings who live in the area did not like to visit him often.  My mother, who has Alzheimer's, has had to be in a nursing home for a couple of years now so he was living alone.  Wayne found him that afternoon, actually bleeding, semi-conscious and asking for help.  The details are sketchy but I think Wayne called Rick (my brother) and one of them called 911.  He was taken to the hospital where he lasted a few hours and then passed away peacefully, commenting that he was too tired to stay awake any longer.  He had simply lost too much blood and his organs could not recover no matter how much they gave him.         

I hesitate to give too much back story, it would take much too long.  Let me just say that my father was not a good man to his family.  He did many, many bad things in his life but the worst part is that I, along with most of my brothers and sisters, realize that personality-wise he was a good-time guy, a lot of people liked him.  You just didn't want to be related to him or in a relationship with him.  He was also an alcoholic and he, in combination with her own family, hurt my mother in an almost unspeakable way when she was only 16 years old.

My plan for this piece of writing is not to talk too much about the past but about what happened that week in January when I went home to Cecil County to bury my father.  Get ready to meet an interesting cast of characters.
       
Sunday night I got the call that he was dead and I just didn't know what to do.  It wasn't what I expected.  I expected it to be my mom.  Or that my nephew had done something crazy (take your pick of which one).  By choice I hadn't seen him since September of 2002, and I really didn't know what to do, what to feel.  I just sat on the couch.  Allen asked me what I wanted to do and I just kept saying "I don't know."  Monday was a holiday so I had a little time to think.  I woke up that day and knew I had to go for two reasons.  1: If I didn't go the fact that he was actually gone would never be real to me, and 2: There was cash hidden somewhere in that house.  Turns out I was not the only one who knew about the cash.  We may be from Cecil County but we're not stupid.  Monday is also the day I started to cry.  I cried because I was angry about how things had been, sad about how they hadn't been, and relieved that it was finally over.  Unlike my sister, I have not once experienced any guilt.

I decided to take the train since it was my cheapest option on such short notice and seemed much more pleasant than a bus.  My family is also lackadaisical about providing necessary details (another habit I share) so it was unclear as to whether the funeral would be Wednesday or Thursday.  I made plans to arrive Tuesday evening and stay until Friday.  I requested that Allen not come with me, feeling that this was something I needed to do on my own and also because I didn't want to (wrongly or rightly) feel like I had to keep him entertained or rush back to Pittsburgh too soon.

My sister Ruth and her family from Virginia as well as my brother Ken from out near Seattle also arrived on Tuesday.  Ken, who, like me, is married, chose to come alone as well.  My brother Rick sort of snorted at me and seemed incredulous when I told him that I had purposely asked Allen not to come and his absence was not an indication that our marriage was falling apart like his recently has.  He was just being all around weird that week anyway, not that he's usually normal (big fan of conspiracy theories and aliens, it would seem).  Rick had offered to drive me to the train station in Philly Friday morning but when I ended up telling him Chris (my nephew) would do it he asked me if it was because I was "afraid" to go with him.  Well, when you ask me questions like that, yeah, I kinda am.  I understand that Rick would probably like to talk to me but I also understand that Chris (not sure if he'll read this) REALLY needs to talk to me.  Rick and I have had about 17 years of not talking, a little more time won't hurt.    

The viewing/funeral was on Wednesday.  I'm normally an anxious person so as you can imagine I literally thought I was going to combust.  I am not good at funerals, they're so unnatural and sterile and just weird.  To make it worse, no one at my sister's house drinks coffee so I was coffee-less, anxious, and nearly in a panic but when my sister offered me Ativan I was afraid to take a whole one.  I made her cut it in half because I didn't know what it would do to me.  Control freak.  Turns out I probably could've used a handful. 

End Part I.  To be continued on Monday.

Get Yer Creep On.

No intro.  Just go.  You're wasting time.    
28 movies in alphabetical order:

28 Days Later (Danny Boyle): Hannah: Are you trying to kill me?
Selena: No, sweetheart. I'm making you not care. Okay?

Alien (Ridley Scott):  No, not the chest bursting alien, it's Ian Holm I'm worried about cos "Ash is a god damned robot."

Blue Velvet (David Lynch): "Heineken?  Fuck that shit!  Pabst Blue Ribbon!"  Dean Stockwell's eye movements when interacting with Dennis Hopper are amazing.  Dennis Hopper is brilliant: "I'll send you a love letter. STRAIGHT FROM MY HEART, FUCKER. You know what a love letter is?! It's a bullet from a fucking gun, FUCKER!"  Oh, the insanity!  What freaks me out about it is that it feels like something that could happen to me.  This movie might be why I don't like to leave my house.  Dennis Hopper will be missed.

City of the Living Dead (Lucio Fulci): The weird ass dust bowl scene near the beginning when the weird dude, Bob, goes into that house and then there's a blow-up doll and the look he gives the blow-up makes me want to die.  And then there's an earthworm baby and everything's okay again.

Creepshow (George A. Romero): There are so many good parts in this movie but the only truly creepy part is "They're Creeping Up on You."  I'm nearly that neurotic about bugs.  That's what scares me.  

Cutting Moments (Douglas Buck): Forget Joey's brown, what the fuck did you just do to your lips?!?!  Even after all these years I still have to watch this through my fingers.

The Descent (Neil Marshall):  Near the end, there's this moment when Sarah, the main character, falls into a pool of blood but she doesn't come out the same or sane.  Then things get awesome.  Sorry, Juno.

Event Horizon (Paul W.S. Anderson): Sam Neill saying, "Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see," always makes me want to yell "fuck you" at this movie.  Somehow Laurence Fishburne calmly asking, "What are you talking about?" doesn't make it better.  Overall, not a very original movie but it still gives me chills.

The Exorcist (William Friedkin):  Regan at the doctor getting the damn spinal tap.  For the sound effects.

The Eye (Pang Brothers): Seriously, why are you sitting in her chair?

The Haunting (Robert Wise): Atmosphere + naivete + neuroticism = terror.

Haute (High) Tension (Alexandre Aja): France is terrified of  lesbians, clearly they are all murderers (see also: Martyrs).  Forget the fact that the twist makes absolutely no sense, I love it when dad loses his head. 

Jaws (Steven Spielberg): The first shark attack, duh.  "Come on into the water!"   

Ju-on (Movie, 2002) (Takashi Shimizu): Please, not on the stairs.  Not with those noises.  Hearing her hit the floor.  I think I just pooed my pants a little bit.

Kairo (Kiyoshi Kurosawa): C'mon, buddy, you know she's coming over that couch.  But I wish she wouldn't.

Los Sin Nombre (The Nameless) (Jaume Balagueró): It's the ending.  It's all about the ending.  Wow, are you kiddng me?  Wow.  That's truly... that's just wrong. 

Martyrs (Pascal Laugier): This movie was so brutal and kept getting worse until the switch.  If you've seen it you know what I'm talking about.  Up until that point it keeps going farther and farther into "oh my god what are you doing" territory, so much so that this is one of the few movies that I thought I was going to have to turn off because I just couldn't take it anymore.  But then the switch.  It saves your sanity but you were also hoping to find out how much more you could take.  God damn it, why didn't you leave that house days ago?
 
Mulholland Dr. (David Lynch): What is that thing behind the dumpster outside Winkie's?  Seriously.  And what's wrong with that cowboy?

Pan's Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro): Getting beat in the face with a bottle.  It lasts for less than 10 seconds but it's 10 seconds I'll never forget. 

Paranormal Activity (Oren Peli): This movie as a whole gets an "eh" rating but the scene where the main female character just stands next to the bed for 3 HOURS seriously gives me the creeps.

REC (Jaume Balagueró, Paco Plaza): Because of the end.  In that apartment.  In the dark.  And the screaming.  And THAT THING that's going to end you.  In the dark.

Ringu (Hideo Nakata): Just when you thought you were safe... Wait, did I forget to turn the TV off?  Shit.  Well, I'll just watch and see what happens.

A Tale of Two Sisters (Ji-woon Kim): The sets are so beautiful.  The sisters are so adorable.  But dad's acting weird and step-mom's such a bitch!  And then you find out what the deal is and you clap and yell, "Again! Again!" like a little kid.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Tobe Hooper):  The guy is twitching on the floor and I know what's coming and then, wham!  He slams the door.  Every time.

The Thing (John Carpenter): Creepiest part for me is when the "dog" gets put in with the other dogs and everything just goes to shit.  Those poor dogs.

Twin Peaks Fire Walk with Me (David Lynch): So much creep in this film, like when Phillip (David Bowie) comes into the office acting all crazy.  The weird "turkey in the corn" scene, "gobble, gobble."  Laura's croupy crying when she sees Leland come out of the house, the engine revving, and the brutal murder.

Uninvited (Soo-youn Lee): That's just... Jesus... I'm so sorry.  I'm just going to go over here and kill myself for you.  Thanks. 

Zombi 2 (Zombie) (Lucio Fulci): "Come in Guadeloupe!"  The origin of my Facebook address: http://www.facebook.com/comeinguadeloupe btw (what?).  And, yes, it's the eyeball scene.  Titled "Ocular Terror" in the 25th Anniversary edition of the DVD. 

Honorable Mentions (because I was a child when I saw these movies):

The opening scene of Nightmare on Elm Street II on the school bus.  Nothing creepy about it today, but when I was 8 and riding the bus every day I was convinced that this was going to happen.

The tea scene in 1990's made-for-tv miniseries of Stephen King's It.  The scene itself isn't very scary but knowing what happened in the book makes it scarier.

The part in Cujo when the kid can't get his seat belt off and the dog is trying to get into the piece of shit car and everyone's screaming and the car won't start and my mom always had shit cars too, kid.  And dogs were always trying to kill me and one time I had to climb on top of a Pontiac Fiero because a big dog was chasing me.

Honorable Mentions (other):

Se7en (David Fincher): Sloth.

Jacob's Ladder (Adrian Lyne): Subway? Bathtub? The story's kinda goofy but there are some crazy horrifying scenes in this movie.   

Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme): Searching in the dark.

Night of the Hunter (Charles Laughton): This is a gorgeous film start to finish.  Stylized brutality.  Particularly creepy if you grew up going to church.

Hellraiser (Clive Barker): Frank Cotton. 

Rebecca (Alfred Hitchcock): The tension in this movie keeps you on edge the whole time but the scene with the new Mrs. DeWinter and crazy-ass Mrs. Danvers in the west wing will make you cringe.  "I keep her underwear on this side."