March Madness - Perfume Division



4 Division - only 1 Winner

 Update :  I spilled #5 all over  the bathroom and he couldn't smell it.

We're having a Perfume Playoff .  I've been complaining to Bill for several months now to find a perfume that makes him go crazy when he walks by me.  If they just bottled Home Made Bread I'd never make it out the door.  I could rub yeast all over my body but I'm afraid it may lead to a different type of problem.  With a 3 to 5 day cure.   Why do they even make a 3 or 5 if it's available in a 1 day pill form?  Idiots.  

Me:  Bill , what are you wearing, I LOVE THAT?"

Bill: ______ - fill in the blank with whatever because I'm steering this conversation.  ( No, it is NOT manipulation)

Me: Do you like what I'm wearing?
Bill: yes.
Me: That's not committed enough.  I wish you'd go shop and find a perfume you'd love for me to wear.

So a couple of days ago we're Christmas shopping at Ulta.  He sprays everything in the store on me.  We both get sick and have to go home to change clothes.  This is not a good start. 

He came up with a new system. Buy all the sample sets at Sephora and grade them. This way you can get asphyxiated by any number of designer scents.  Today I wore one that's not making it to the
Big Dance .  It smelled like my 80 year old Aunt Pearl from 1965.  With a hint of hot moth balls.  I made the rather bad choice of  wearing  it to the 3D Hobbit movie this afternoon.  Which to my dismay was mingled with someone's vomit from last night.  Probably from sampling perfumes and sitting thru a 3 hour movie of angry dirty midgets in high definition. 

We've made it thru 4 rounds so far.  I'd like to apologize in advance for setting off anyone's allergic reactions in the next few week.  Please feel free to comment on my fragrance when you smell me coming.  Or just pinch your nose and I'll get the idea.

Yes- this is all being kept track of by a highly sophisticated "Post-it Note"  system on our bathroom mirror with a scale of 1 to 5 pluses (+) and comments by the wearer and the one the wearer is trying to seduce.  We're already argued about the validity of the point system and playoff bracket.   Marriage is fun.

Today my cat caught on fire



Not Flame Retardant. 

 Just when you think it's safe to go back into the kitchen the house cat sets herself on fire.  I'm kind of pissed she did it before I thought of doing it.  To me, not her ( settle down).  It's a great conversation starter.  "hey what happened to most of your hair?"

My daughter had just gotten home from college and I was completely absorbed in whatever she was saying which is now permanently lost because at that exact moment Loki decided to make her presence known and unforgettable by jumping up on the kitchen counter.  And her aim couldn't have been any better, smack dab over the top of a scented candle.  She did land on all fours (not one of her best talents) and......stood there.  With the flame licking up the right side of her body.  And she just stared at us, LIKE we were crazy for yelling at her.  We both saw her fur start to burn (still staring at us).   Now we're frantically waving and screaming at her.  Now she's just annoyed and staring.  Which meant I had to "stop, drop and roll" a pissed off flaming cat.

The good news - it just singed her fur.
The bad news - my kitchen will never smell like Christmas again.  Just burnt hair.  Burnt cat hair. 
Also I may have lost a finger in the "roll" part as she took issue with that maneuver.  also maneuver is hard to spell.   ma-new-ver.  Whatever.    My cat was on fire. Now it's out.

Welcome home Katie.  Smell the Christmas Joy. 

My Sensitive Side

When Bill and I were in high school and just friends  I had been at his house playing pool with a bunch of our other friends.  He lived in a large ranch style home with his room at the end of a long hall.  The bathroom in the hall also opened up to his bedroom. 
.
I was born nosey.  I wandered in to his room where I discovered a small hamster cage.   I tapped on the cage.  No movement.  Hmmm.  I picked up a pencil and poked around in the cedar shavings.   Uh Oh. 

I called out down the hall. "Hey man, I think your rat is dead."      ........In my defense I had no idea that he was so sentimental about hamsters.  Or I would have never said a word.  


Which is why years later when we were house sitting for his parents and their animal menagerie including Bill's dog Peppy which he'd had since 3rd grade and I went to let her out of the laundry room to go outside and couldn't open the door I knew there was a problem.  I leaned against the door and shoved it open and her body stiff with rigor mortis slid across the floor.  All 4 paws in mid-air.  Sh*t !  Recalling how distraught he was over his hamster I realized I would have to handle this with kid-gloves.  So I went back into the kitchen and told him he needed to check on his dog.  She seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

I am a chicken. 

Elf.....what elf?

Elf on a Shelf.  yeah, I don't do the elf.   ( hmm, that doesn't sound right.....although it's accurate in both the literal and figurative sense)  We have Rodney the Angry South Pole Penguin.   Rodney doesn't put up with your crap. First of all his name is RODNEY.  Not Pixie or Herbie or Buddy... so he already has a chip on his shoulder IF PENGUINS EVEN HAD SHOULDERS.     And Rodney doesn't even show himself, he just leaves threatening post-it notes, such as " Leave the seat up on this toilet again and you won't have a reason to raise it" - RASPP.   or   " WTF- are your arms broken? The dishwasher is literally 15 inches from the sink.  Who was your maid yesterday?" -RASPP ( RODNEY HAS STREET CRED)    or "This is a pinecone - enjoy it since you can't seem to find the toilet paper" - ROUGH RASPP  

I've had my share of angry Rodney notes....... damn him.  " WHERE ARE THE CREDIT CARD RECEIPTS WOMAN?" - RASPP - DIVORCE LAWYER.   or  "How many gas stations did you pass on the way home?" - RASPP.   or "It's impossible to have a headache EVERY night." - RASPP,  THE SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED PENGUIN.   ( all these look suspiciously like Bill's writing....but I can't be sure)

This is really just an extension of an incident that played itself out MANY years ago because of a Post-it note.  Or more accurately because of the lack of a Post-it Note.

............It was a dark and stormy night.  ( not really) .   Bill wasn't home from work yet and I was leaving for choir practice.  ( which implies that I'm stepping foot inside a church which is hard to tell from my previous profanity laced rantings- but hang with me).   I was flushing the toilet upstairs when it acted weird and the water started to rise.  I immediately reached down and turned off the water behind the toilet.  Pondered the situation for .5 seconds AS I WAS ALREADY LATE FOR PRACTICE.  And decided I'd handle it when I returned.  Ran down the steps and out the door. 

........It was a dark and story night in our bathroom. ( close).   Bill arrived home and in predictable fashion visited the master bathroom.........

....... It was a dark and stormy night in the choir loft. ( closer)   My cellphone goes off in the middle of practice and I ignore it.  The first 2 times.   On the third call I'm thinking this must be really important and I answer it. 

.......It was a dark and stormy night in our living room. (nailed it)  The voice on the other end of the phone is furious to put it mildly.  There's a lot of accusations and screaming and "where's the plunger", yada, yada, yada.   I decided I can't help the person on the other end as I CAN NOT PULL A PLUNGER OUT OF MY EAR AND TELEPORT IT TO THE HOUSE.  So I hang up.  In mid sentence.  And go back to practice.  

And this was the conversation when I got home 2 hours later.

Bill:  YOU HUNG UP ON ME! Why?
Me:  I couldn't help you. 
Bill:  I flushed the toilet and water and EVERYTHING else went everywhere.  Why didn't you leave a post-it note on the toilet that it was broken?
Me:  I turned the water off --- I would have thought that was a big enough hint.
Bill:  It's customary to leave a person a note.
Me:  When you reached down to turn water back on you didn't think " Gee, I wonder why it's off ?"
Bill:  No, there was no note and I didn't know anything was wrong with the toilet until water was coming down thru the ceiling.
Me:  Excuse me?  YOU LEFT THE BATHROOM AFTER YOU FLUSHED A TOILET THAT HAD PREVIOUSLY HAD THE WATER TURNED OFF?  ARE YOU CRAZY?
Bill:  You should have left me a note.
Me: On the toilet?  "To whom it may concern, THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS TOILET "
Bill:  It's customary.
Me: oh my god.........................I have a headache. 

I am not making this up.           
I now leave post-it notes on everything.  It's customary.  

On the plus side no one in my family EVER leaves a bathroom until the flush is clear.  You're welcome.

I was a violet



Notice the boys were dandelions. 



In kindergarten our class performed a musical about flowers.  I was a violet.  My mom made mine and my best friend, Muffy, costumes.  They were made from purple crepe paper.  I can clearly remember my mom worrying that if we got caught in a rain shower we were doomed. 



Contemplating ripping off her ankle bling.



I also remember Rose.  I was not a fan of Rose. She didn't like me much either.  I secretly wanted the lead roll.  But I wasn't lead material.  Even if I did have the mouth for it. 

Eat your heart out , Rose. 

  

Muffy was my best friend.  She was one of 10 children.  Much to the horror of the other  mothers my mom called one of Muffy's older siblings to see if they wanted to babysit for us sometime.  When my mom asked one of the moms why they felt that way she was informed that their family was quite wealthy, as in fountains in their yard, butlers, nannies, maids. No one ever called one of their children to babysit. My mom called anyway.  Muffy's sister was so thrilled because no one ever asked them.   I remember being invited to her house to play and how big it was.  They had a playroom.  With a stage.  With costumes.  Kind of like The Sound of Music,   And they had a puppet stage with marionettes.  And every Barbie AND Ken AND all Barbie's accessory and clothes.   Our moms became friends and I remember we just really liked being together. 
Their backyard was landscaped with lights and fountains and a playground like you would see at city park.  Her older brothers convinced me that if I stepped in the "monkey grass" I'd lose a foot.  They had fountains - so I was pretty sure they spoke truth.   

We moved before the next year.  I've often wondered where she is and if she remembers being a violet.

I do.

Men are NOT visual creatures.

Yesterday I got a letter in the mail from my unstable aunt.  I've been getting letters almost weekly.  What I love about them is

1. No mention of my grandmother passing.
2. They're written on paper from 1950.
3. They're all addressed to Kelly and Jim ( my deceased brother-inlaw)
4.  Each one comes with a threat.
5.  Followed by "but I love YOU" 
6.  She illustrates the weather.

It's like a little docu-drama!  So exciting! I never know who's picture will be in there or if there will be clouds or angry thunder arrows.

But as disturbing as all this can be it's not nearly as distrurbing as having your husband looking over your shoulder at the pictures and uttering these words:

Bill:  Oh, it that you?

Me:  Where?

Bill:  That one, is that a picture of you?

Me:  Seriously?!  You think that's a picture of me?

Bill:  Well, she's wearing glasses and has frizzy hair.

Me:  Thanks for that.  And NO- it's a picture of my grandmother taken in the 1940's.

I see no point in ever drying my hair again or putting on makeup.  Or shaving my legs.   

And the first person who messages and says this looks like me I am "unfriending"  , I mean it.

--crap, I do look like this.  Shit.

You had me at "Rats wearing vests"

 

How Bill believes I listen to him.
And why I believe Stephan Pastis lives in my house.

 Last night on our way back home from the bookstore Bill shared what he had been reading, which is really his sneaky way of telling me I'm not taking care of my body/mind/fill-in-the-blank in a way that benefits me/him/Blue Cross Blue Shield.
It was about rats that were used in a test to prove interval training at high intensity for three minutes got the same results as rats that excercised for three hours at low intensity.  Oh, and they put weighted vests on the high/less time intenstiy rats.  Which was where he lost me.  Not that I couldn't follow his thread of conversation it's just I was stuck on envisioning rats in vests.  Who makes these vests? Are they like the orange life-saver  vests on cruise ships?  How long does it take to convince a rat to put one one?  If it's weighted how did they determine how much weight was too much weight?  Did the rat say , "too heavey, too heavey".  Who cares how much exercise a rat gets?

All of which he did not find funny. Which is why I didn't ask if rats that wore weighted vests during sex performed better quicker as compared to rats that took fricking forever with the same results.  Even though this was what I was thinking.  Plus I was still in the car and it was a long way to walk home.

And I was in a cooking mood anyway.  Which made me think how much a rat would have to swim to work off butter and cream.  Because every time I see the movie Julie and Julia I get all worked up to cook, bake, frappe and generally whisk anything in sight.  It usually lasts long enough for me to purchase another french cookbook to add to my burgeoning collection.  And disappoint myself by hunting for mushrooms who's names I can't spell much less pronounce leaving me to sound like a drug addict as I try to describe what I'm looking for to the produce clerk.   " Yes, I'm looking for some spaneii7?wyi mushrooms, you got those?"    "yes, it's spelled with the number 7 because it's FRENCH".     If you don't blink you can actually pull this off.

( Which is why we were at the bookstore to begin with, where I  tried to buy another of Julia's cookbooks but there was only one copy that had been mauled by "others", simply unacceptable.  It's a problem I am burdened with.  I also never take the first slice of bread.  Or wear bowling alley shoes.)
 

So instead I made my momma's chocolate meringue pie.  No mushrooms, french or otherwise.  Still, after all these years I have to read the footnotes I scrawl along the edges of the recipe card.  Like - remember - "Make the pie first , THEN the meringue"   Meringue is temperamental.  It , much like my husband, does not like to be kept waiting.  But unlike Bill it can't be distracted by frilly lingerie. Or rats wearing vests.   

 

I suspect these were Home Schooled Cows.   I suddenly feel inferior to a carton of milk.  Judgey bovine.



Who are these people?

This is the statistical breakdown of countries that are reading my blog. Of course "reading" could be a stretch.  More like random chicken pecking or passing out on the keys only to wake to see some squirrel picture.  I know it happens to me all the time.  

United States	3258
Russia	204
Germany	48
Ukraine	45
United Kingdom	6
Latvia	6
Canada	5
Poland	5
Moldova	4

I looked Moldova up.  IT'S REAL , PEOPLE!! 

Wikipedia confirmed official Coat of Arms.  So there.

Why we don't camp. Ever.

 

My snake whomping stick.  And Bill. circa 1984  



Bill and I don't possess the "camping" gene.  We're defective in that area.  And we learned this about each other very early in our marriage.   Our friends invited us to their cabin in Possum Walk , Arkansas when we were all newlyweds.....so 28 years ago.   We left town before they did with a plan to meet up at the cabin.

A couple of important things we learned about each other , we both suck at driving at night, we'd rather sleep. And we are both real pains in the butt if we're traveling and hungry.  The backroads of Arkansas did not have a McDonald's anywhere in sight. Or any other fast food joint.  So we were ready to kill each other when we finally arrived at the cabin.



Not a girl scout manual.



The cabin ( which is still there) is on the side of a bluff.  It's an a-frame cabin that was hand built by my best friend's dad.  Beautiful spot, no electricity , way way off the beaten path. - just nature.   Complete with critters.  I like nature , on Animal Planet.   When I used to go with my friend , Jill, as a teenager , she would hike alone for hours and hours while I sat on the cabin deck overlooking the gorge and read.  And I liked it that way.  Because I'm terrified of nature.

We arrived after dark.  And where we were it was more than dark it was black.  I'd been there enough to feel my way to the cabin and get a couple of Coleman Lanterns for us so we wouldn't have to wait in the pitch dark until Jill and Jim got there.  However neither one of us possessed matches.  The only time in my life I wished one of us smoked.  We brought both of the lanterns back to the car and pondered how to light them.  Well, there's a cigarette lighter in the car and one of us got the bright idea to try and ignite a leaf and then stick it in the lantern.  I thought I was brilliant.   I don't know if they've changed the design of lanterns since 1984 but these were full of propane and you had to pump them and then set a flame to some opening to light them.  I was standing outside the car while Bill tried to get a leaf to catch fire.  After several attempts we got one lit. Then ONE of us ( the details are murky here) picked up the primed lantern and tried to light it INSIDE the car.   

You know that whoosh noise you hear when a gas grill catches ?  Imagine my surprise when the car ( from which I was NOT sitting in )  flashed bright.  One of us screamed.  That would be me.  There was a lot of cussing.  Also me.   I don't think I remember seeing someone exit a car so fast.  But not as fast as the accusations....

Bill: Why did you prime it?? Are you trying to kill me?

Me: Prime it?  Why the hell did you light it INSIDE the car?

  

Probably reading a first-aid manual. or annulment instuctions.  



Bill:  I didn't light it INSIDE the car!

Me: Well tell that to your missing eyebrows!

Bill:  Are my eyebrows missing?

Me: I'm not sure I'm blind from the flash.

Bill:  You make me crazy.

Me:  It'd be easier to tell that if you had EYEBROWS

Bill:  (lots of grumbling and groping to check for missing eyebrows)

We sat in the dark for another hour until Jill and Jim got there.  I was pretty sure we'd be eaten by a grizzly bear or an anaconda.  Or both.    When they arrived they showed us where the matches were stored.  Which will be helpful if we ever go back.  Which we haven't.  Not even in the daylight.  Because camping is very dangerous.  Very very dangerous. 

Go Do -That Voodoo -That You Do- So well



View from our room.  You can't see the ants that were living in our couch.



For our 28th anniversary Bill took me to New Orleans.  And it was fun.  And scary.  And painful. But mostly fun.

My designer Happy Meal Watch rendered Debbie speechless

We stayed at The Ritz Carlton.  Oh, they loved me.  Especially Debbie the disgruntled concierge.  Who I later learned was named Karen.  Which may OR may not have explained her rather surly attitude.  But just in case she reads blogs note to Debbie/Karen,  your whole job revolves around customer service.  Smile and don't smirk when I ask you to break a hundred dollar bill. Maybe the smirk was because I had to ask for directions OUT of the hotel.  The people in the atrium were beginning to suspect I was a stalker. 

Our first morning out to eat breakfast we ran into a squall.  It turned Bill's umbrella inside out.  Which I! was silently grateful for as it had "Collierville Dragons" printed on it.  And that was just easier than screaming WE ARE TOURISTS to all the panhandlers and miscreants that we were sharing the overhang to stay dry.   It was very romantic especially with the smell of urine wafting down Canal Street.   Snuggle with me honey.





How my self-esteem took a nosedive.



We ate at Jimmy J's.  The bartender was "Jack" from Will and Grace whose name was John.  As was all the wait staff as well so it was fairly easy to get someone to come to your table.   We were greeted by "Hello - want some fresh squeezed grapefruit juice sweetie? "  Bill said yes.  I checked to see who the hell I was eating breakfast with.  We liked it so much we ate breakfast there three mornings. I ate there just to watch "Jack" who like to yell "Hello Bitches" to people I'm assuming he knew.  And got to see a car "booted" just outside the cafe as all the staff was atwitter with excitement.  I never wanted to leave - the food was amazing. 

Our big anniversary dinner was at a restaurant called Stella's.   It was 16 blocks from our hotel.  We walked.  I wore heels.  My feet were a bloody blistered hemorrhaging mess by the time we got there.   I couldn't concentrate on the 4 course dinner because I was in agonizing pain.  Plus I'd squeezed myself into some underwear called Spanx which must be code for Death by Boa Constrictor.  I had brought my "skinny" dress to look extra sexy for Bill.  And it would have worked if he were into sausage casing in bloody shoes.  So many boundaries. When we ate there 6 years ago it was much more casual.  Not so much now.  We had to flag down our server to ask how to eat the first course.  Literally.

Bill:  Hi Katie , do we just put the whole thing in our mouths [ pointing to a pureed mish mash on what appeared to be one of those ceramic Japanese soup spoons- just one]  Katie:  Yes [ in whispered disbelief]



The "mood" probably wasn't helped when I threatened his life if he didn't get us a cab back.   And he did because he still had hope the evening would turn out well.  Bwahahaha.  And it did.  For me. Because there were hostess cupcakes waiting for me in the hotel.  Because we would have had to taken out a loan for the Honor Bar.  Which is not very honorable.  But did have some rather interesting items in it. 



Like:

This looks like fun!

Let's take a closer look, shall we? 

Uh-oh...I better get started on the Intimacy Mood Juice.  And Gummie Bears.  They're kinda sexy. 

I don't know if this is for sex or my ob-gyn visit. Or both.  I looked up the website.  Go ahead, I'll wait.....
I'll be dropping a suggestion off for Debbie/Karen that the Ritz invest in the Kuma-Sutra Kit.  Maybe she won't be so cranky with props.  

Glaringly missing from the basket.......and it's for every wound.  Gun shot, intimacy, hemorrhaging feet. Band-Aid seems a little too happy about my misery.  I'll be letting Debbie/Karen know. 

No Intimacy mentioned but I feel like I might be getting screwed ........plus I'll be naked for 6 and 1/2 hours.


I love New Orleans. Can't wait to go back.  I know Debbie/Karen misses me. 



Free gift with purchase ...unless you're clueless

Special Gift with Purchase!

All I did was try to check out at the local office supply store.  A simple task.  Usually.  As I  the pulled my shopping bag off the counter something fell and hit my foot.  I turned around and saw a something next to my foot.  I reached down and apparently grabbed the wrong end of a baggie. 

And dumped the contents on my sandaled feet.  And they were now covered in green stuff.  It actually looked like belly button lint that might have inhabited my grandma's navel.  I'm guessing here trust me.   Which was immediately cleared up by the clerk yelling "OMG - THAT'S MARIJUANA".  My equally loud response " Really?"





finally an explanation for these hairstyles and grandma's smile

And then she said it must have belonged to the guy that was just here.   I sensed that this did not ease the discomfort of the people in line behind me.  So I turned to them and asked "Do you think that's enough for a cigarette?"  And we all agreed we had no idea if it was or not as it was difficult to determine how much was there and how much was in my shoes.  My personal experience with pot is extremely limited to one encounter in 1972 when my grandma (recently deceased, probably drug related) spent the summer cultivating a most beautiful plant that had "shown" up in her backyard.  When she showed it off to my mom and aunt they promptly called the local sheriff, whom I'm assuming they knew personally, and he came out and had it removed and destroyed.  My grandmother was humiliated but still proud of her gardening skills. Take that Martha Stewart!!! 

 Back to the local office supply store  --- After telling me I should wash my hands the clerk announced she was getting a broom and scurried off.  A little too quickly now that I think about it.  Since I had already checked out I didn't see the point in staying so I went  to my car.   And saw the guy that had left shortly before me.  He took forever in his truck.  Probably thinking " what the hell did I do with that damn baggie?"   And then thinking " why is that woman watching me?"   And then "Why is this woman following me?"   

He didn't seem too panicked, except for maybe when the strange woman followed him to his house.  So I quit.  And then mass texted my family.  It's just easier that way.   "be home from office depot after i get all this marijuana out of my shoes"      They live for my texts.   

If you search "pot" on their website an office phone system comes up.  Also the word "pot" is cleverly inserted into their name.  I think it's a code for something. 

Why Bill worries about me

For months I waited to see what the furniture would look like in this new store that was being built in east Memphis.  Everytime we drove past it I couldn't believe it was still empty.  Finally I voiced my frustration aloud as Bill was driving past the empty store front glass windows. 

Me:  I can't believe how long it's taking to get furniture in that store.  It looks like it should have been ready months ago.

Now you see it.........

Bill:  What store?

Me:  The one over there with the huge windows.  Not a single piece of furniture in that place.

Bill:  Ummmm,  WHAT STORE?

Me:  [ pointing to empty store]  THAT STORE !! I've been wanting to go inside and see the teakwood furniture but there's nothing there.  It's been like that forever.

Bill:  Teakwood furniture?

Me:  yes, the teakwood furniture store OVER THERE [more exasperated pointing and huffing]

Bill:  That says taekwondo..................

Me:   oh.    That word is confusing.    It should say karate.

Bill:  But it's not karate.  It' s taekwondo.

Me:  How would you know the difference?

Bill:  I know enough to know it's not furniture. 

Me:  I got nothing. 

The Best Funeral Ever, so far.

I love this painting.  and white people have boring funerals.

After my grandmother's funeral debacle I started thinking about funerals I've attended.  And this one was ......interesting. 

About 10 years ago a woman and a man we assumed was her husband had just moved into our neighborhood.  A couple of weeks later the man died unexpectedly in Atlanta and was brought here to be buried.  Our neighborhood, a very small cove of ten houses felt terrible for the woman. None of us knew her very well only through the occasional wave from our cars or the front porch.   Three of us women decided to attend the funeral to show our support for the wife.

The funeral was somewhere in Memphis.  I couldn't find my way back there if my life depended on it.  Our group arrived about thirty minutes before the service was scheduled to begin.  We went inside the church and found a pew toward the back.  As we sat there we started wondering why no one else was coming inside.  The open casket was in the front of the church but no one was paying their respects.  We pondered amongst ourselves if we had misunderstood coming in but we decided to stay in our seats.



And I'd like to look like her too



And then a line started forming - the mourners began filing in from the back of the church making a line to the casket.  The array of stunning funeral wear was a sight to behold.  I'd never seen so many hats. Hats with feathers.  Hats with sequins.  Hats with sculptures. It looked like Broadway production.  I was so jealous that we don't wear hats like that in our church.  I love hats! In fact I've put a requirement that all women attending my funeral must wear very flashy hats. Possibly with a live chicken sitting on the top.     As each person made their way to the front they visited with the body.  I mean held lengthy conversations.  More than a few took pictures with the deceased.  One video taped it.   It was weird. And still no one took a seat.  Instead they all filed back out into the parking lot and re-cued the line.   We were the only three women left in the church.  Then they marched two by two into the church amening and Jesusing all the way down the aisle and then filling the pews from the front to the back.  Still ablaze in pageantry.  There was wailing and shouting.  And the obligatory woman passing out.

As the service started the minister was preaching about Brother Smith that had died.  At this point we realized that the last name didn't match the woman on our street.  They weren't married at all.  Or maybe we were at the wrong funeral.  Too late to leave, we were already committed.  Then the minister started calling out sinners IN THE CONGREGATION by name.  I wondered how that would go over at our church and found myself completely amused at the thought and then terrified. as I imagined my own name being shouted out --- MISS BURRISS you are a sinner!!!!  I'm sure I would be sinning in my head alone as I was being called out.  ( right now even......STOP SATAN)  Several people got up to witness their faith OR speak about the deceased.   About 3 hours into the service, yes- three hours, a woman came up from the back and announced that she had something to say.  She talked about the deceased then said " and I know Brother Smith would want me to share the song I just released on my new CD and so I will sing that now."  The organist didn't miss a beat and followed along with her as she belted out a tune that was "available for purchase".    I couldn't stop smiling.  And it was amazing.  I hoped the dead guy was happy. 

There was so much energy in that little church we wanted to stay until the service was over but there didn't seem to be a plan for it to end any time soon.  We had to sneak out back of the church and get home before, well before the next day.   

I'd say it was memorable in a good way.  Different but still much better than the one I just came from. 

Here's to you GRANDMA !!!    May you be wearing the fanciest hat and singing in heaven's choir!!!

Love you,  miss you. 

The 2nd worst funeral ever

My Grandmother passed away last Wednesday and I made the trip with my husband to Kansas City to attend her funeral.   That was the good news.

The bad news was there was a high probability for a significant concentration of crazy in a small confined area.  Jerry Springer's guests have little on my family.  And I wasn't disappointed.   What is it about weddings, funerals and Thanksgiving that make people lose their minds? 

I left home in 1983 and never went back for a reason.   My mother who had her own issues to battle had perfected her ability to smother a flame by sucking all the oxygen out of a room by sheer will.  She had so much time and energy invested in being a victim she was not about to give it up or let anyone around her break free either.  For most of my life I thought it was just her then after she died I went back to visit thinking the coast was clear only to encounter the mothership had landed and taken root years earlier in the form of her mother and siblings.  Bill said it was like walking into a vacuum or black hole. The amount of negativity under one roof made you question your will to live.  Or your will to let any of them to live .  

And when I say it was "good" news I mean my grandmother was 97 years old and ready to go.  She was tired. She had lived a long life of caring for many other family members thru the years and was worn out.  The last year had been really difficult as she was still fiercely independent.  My aunt was suppose to be taking care of her.  We discovered ( we being another cousin and my sister who reside in KC) that my aunt was not doing that.  And with much difficulty , and meetings and consulting with my grandmother when said aunt was out of earshot we ( mostly cousin and sister) were able to get grandma to a secure setting in assisted living to meet her needs. 

This did not go well with the aunt .  Mostly because the aunt has been living off the retirement and pension checks of my grandmother.    And also because this meant we would need to sell the house as directed by my grandmother.  And so we've had to start legal proceedings to get her out of the house in order to sell it.  Btw - apparently she believes if she never opens the envelope she has not been served.  And then the ugly set in.  or got worse as in this case.  ( Lest you think I'm being too harsh my aunt also receives retirement and a pension that she uses to support a family member that injured her back as an ex pole dancer and is now claiming disability.  I'd like to see the form she filled out. 
How did you injure yourself?     ------ Fell off stripper pole.
Is this a work related injury?    --------Yes, it is work related
Will you be returning to work? ---------Hell no, not as long as the government foots the bill - woohoo!
Are you possessed by the devil? -------Yes, but that's not work related.
This particular relative, (God help me) has managed to scare the crap out of my elder relatives by memorizing the entire book of Revelations and terrorizing them with End of Times stories. 

I am not making this up. 

It's very difficult to get a mother to speak against her adult child even in an abusive situation.  Which really was the situation with my grandmother and aunt.   And even more difficult to get outside help.  Especially across state lines.  And it's harder still to look your aunt in the eyes and know that this is NOT the same person you knew as a child.  But what can you do.......not a darn thing.

And now the aunt and her puppet master the pole dancer are furious and vindictive.  And chose grandma's funeral to come unhinged.  Grave side.
The aunt started screaming and pointing her finger at my poor sister who has become her target of choice the last year or so.
It was surreal.   I was dumbfounded.  My sister just turned away and went to her car.  My aunt headed towards me and I held up my hand and shook my head .  All I could manage was "I'm not doing this here, Bill unlock the car." and I left.  Still holding the flowers I had picked up to put on my grandmothers casket.

And then we said we needed to go home.  Drove three exits , got a hotel room, watched the Olympic Games Opening Ceremonies.  And had a beer.    I told Bill I just couldn't believe what had happened.  He said he couldn't believe I believed it might be a normal funeral.  He said you can't out think crazy.  Crazy will just suck you into it's vortex and beat the life out of you.  I think it just pisses me off to be continually shocked at the level of crazy they can stoop to.   

Also I'm considering a full blood transfusion.  I don't mind being crazy in the good sense of the word but batshit crazy is not my idea of a good time. 



soothing sounds of nature



And another thing - if you're not going to carry out the person's last wishes LIKE bury me in a blue dress, seriously, how hard it that?!  What the heck?    I think I'll just wander off somewhere like the elephants do to die.  They buried her in white pajamas.  WHITE PAJAMAS!  Never once did she say bury me in pajamas.  She still got her hair done weekly , her nails done, her teeth fixed ---does that sound like a woman that wants to be buried in pajamas?    This same group did the same crap when my mom died.  She didn't even want a funeral.  Not only did they have a funeral it was open casket. AND because my mother liked nature so much they played the sounds of eagles screaming instead of hymns over the speakers during the service.  Nothing like the screech of a predatory bird overhead as you mourn the loss of a loved one.  SCREEEEECHHHH   SCREEECHHHH.    I couldn't keep a straight face the entire service.

The flowers are on my kitchen table. 

Check on your grandma and grandpa - make sure they are safe from their own loving relatives.  Especially if any of them are angry ex-pole strippers.  I'm tired now.  Thanks for letting me get that out of my system.