dark side of the loon (and random thoughts)
At his own mother’s funeral “Z” walked up to his friends, and with the concerned expression of a caring host, he said “Everyone looks so awkward” -such a loving gesture, to be concerned for the other attendees in the wake of his own loss, and he adds “Do you think it’s the dead body?”
_________________
My family is much like the MASH tv show that used to appear on our TV every night at 11:30 pm (without the bombs and cross-dressing). There’s been a lot of death in our years, and a lot of laughter. The worse it gets, the more we laugh.
When my mother was sick, people treated her like she was already dead and they were just paying their respects. She hated that. Nobody would tease and joke anymore. (except the family, like me, of course. I was wearing her post-chemo wig doing mom-impressions and making fun of her, which made her smile).
The day she died, as my uncle was pulling up the drive, my father, sister and I were at the dining table. The thin, withered shell of what was once my mother was still in her room, waiting for the funeral home to pick her up. Should we have cried? We had cried off and on for months already. Should we have been somber? We’d been watching death take her in installments every moment of every day for months, how much “somber” can one take? What possible level of “somber” could really match that moment, anyway?
As my uncle approached the house, we were loudly laughing at our mom impersonations. Dad again told the story of mom at the Doctor’s. Her ears weren’t clearing right so he told her to “hold your nose and blow”. She pinched her nose and blew out her lips, right in his face. He was terribly offended. She heard everything so literally, she had no idea what she had done wrong. To this day, when any of us take something too literally, we say “hold your nose and blow” and laugh.
After mom had died, my sister moved out with the child I loved as my own, my only friend moved away to be in the care of her mother, as my friend was bed-fast with what they thought was MS, and my boyfriend vanished refusing to so much as return a call, I lost it at one point. I had no one left to take care of and was hit suddenly with all those griefs at once. After a bit of a breakdown I don’t like to admit to, I was taken to the hospital and they called my dad. He showed up and waited with his youngest baby daughter for the ambulance that was to take me from the hospital to the loony hospital. That is not likely a moment every dad dreams of.
We stood in somber, awkward silence for a few minutes until I started to sing the Doctor Dimento song “They’re coming to take me away, ha ha!” and he joined in for a verse or two. When the ambulance arrived, we were laughing and singing. They probably wondered if they should have brought father-daughter matching strait jackets, but I am eternally grateful to my dad for his good humor at a stressful time.
___________________
There are fair-weather friends who are there only when you are fun. Don’t invest too much in people like that. They like you if you are bubbly, and they share only their bubbles, not their substance. Maybe that’s part of why I prefer a dry wit and dark humor to a bubbly smile – it just feels more real and solid. Dark soil is the richest, and the most fertile, just like the fertile minds of most of the dark-humored people who’s company I enjoy, although I know they are just like that because they’re full of $#!t. :P
When life knocks you down, takes your lunch money, and kicks you in the ribs, you’ll know the nice people by who is there to give you a hand and let you cry on their shoulder. But, don’t mistake these for true friends. Some folks just like a few tears on their shoulders – it makes them feel big. A real friend points, laughs, helps you up, and then laughs with you every day after that about who knows what else. A real friend rolls with the dunces and is there with you through shtick and thin - giving you a hard time about it all the while and laughing with you, at you, and all around you.
I hope that, when my life is over, the people at my funeral will be people who stuck with me for years, if I ever find people like that. I hope they will put those springy giant-eye glasses on my posed and painted shell and spend hours around the beer and root-beer taps sharing stories of all the silly things I’ve done, and all the times I took things too literally, like the time someone asked me “what sort of shape is your house?” (meaning what shape is it IN, as in what CONDITION) and I said “Square-ish”. I wasn’t trying to be witty, just honestly trying to answer the question. I can be such a dunce. If my sister had been there, she would have laughed at me, pointed, and said “Hold your nose and blow”.
_________________
My family is much like the MASH tv show that used to appear on our TV every night at 11:30 pm (without the bombs and cross-dressing). There’s been a lot of death in our years, and a lot of laughter. The worse it gets, the more we laugh.
When my mother was sick, people treated her like she was already dead and they were just paying their respects. She hated that. Nobody would tease and joke anymore. (except the family, like me, of course. I was wearing her post-chemo wig doing mom-impressions and making fun of her, which made her smile).
The day she died, as my uncle was pulling up the drive, my father, sister and I were at the dining table. The thin, withered shell of what was once my mother was still in her room, waiting for the funeral home to pick her up. Should we have cried? We had cried off and on for months already. Should we have been somber? We’d been watching death take her in installments every moment of every day for months, how much “somber” can one take? What possible level of “somber” could really match that moment, anyway?
As my uncle approached the house, we were loudly laughing at our mom impersonations. Dad again told the story of mom at the Doctor’s. Her ears weren’t clearing right so he told her to “hold your nose and blow”. She pinched her nose and blew out her lips, right in his face. He was terribly offended. She heard everything so literally, she had no idea what she had done wrong. To this day, when any of us take something too literally, we say “hold your nose and blow” and laugh.
After mom had died, my sister moved out with the child I loved as my own, my only friend moved away to be in the care of her mother, as my friend was bed-fast with what they thought was MS, and my boyfriend vanished refusing to so much as return a call, I lost it at one point. I had no one left to take care of and was hit suddenly with all those griefs at once. After a bit of a breakdown I don’t like to admit to, I was taken to the hospital and they called my dad. He showed up and waited with his youngest baby daughter for the ambulance that was to take me from the hospital to the loony hospital. That is not likely a moment every dad dreams of.
We stood in somber, awkward silence for a few minutes until I started to sing the Doctor Dimento song “They’re coming to take me away, ha ha!” and he joined in for a verse or two. When the ambulance arrived, we were laughing and singing. They probably wondered if they should have brought father-daughter matching strait jackets, but I am eternally grateful to my dad for his good humor at a stressful time.
___________________
There are fair-weather friends who are there only when you are fun. Don’t invest too much in people like that. They like you if you are bubbly, and they share only their bubbles, not their substance. Maybe that’s part of why I prefer a dry wit and dark humor to a bubbly smile – it just feels more real and solid. Dark soil is the richest, and the most fertile, just like the fertile minds of most of the dark-humored people who’s company I enjoy, although I know they are just like that because they’re full of $#!t. :P
When life knocks you down, takes your lunch money, and kicks you in the ribs, you’ll know the nice people by who is there to give you a hand and let you cry on their shoulder. But, don’t mistake these for true friends. Some folks just like a few tears on their shoulders – it makes them feel big. A real friend points, laughs, helps you up, and then laughs with you every day after that about who knows what else. A real friend rolls with the dunces and is there with you through shtick and thin - giving you a hard time about it all the while and laughing with you, at you, and all around you.
I hope that, when my life is over, the people at my funeral will be people who stuck with me for years, if I ever find people like that. I hope they will put those springy giant-eye glasses on my posed and painted shell and spend hours around the beer and root-beer taps sharing stories of all the silly things I’ve done, and all the times I took things too literally, like the time someone asked me “what sort of shape is your house?” (meaning what shape is it IN, as in what CONDITION) and I said “Square-ish”. I wasn’t trying to be witty, just honestly trying to answer the question. I can be such a dunce. If my sister had been there, she would have laughed at me, pointed, and said “Hold your nose and blow”.
posted by TwistedNoggin at 5:13 PM
9 Comments:
After all the mindless crap you left on my site, I was really hoping that I'd come here and find some gripping stuff. I can't explain how disappointed I am. Why do you have that childish little anime pic on your profile? I bet it's because you are one of those fat nasty hairy girls that dresses funny everytime the RenFest comes to town. I'll go ahead and give credit where credit is due though,,, at least you left a link to your site, for that alone, I will admit that you're sorta kinda cool.
Our family always had a pretty good sense of humor about that, too, but when it came time to grieve, we certainly did.
I can remember after-funeral parties always feeling like after-wedding parties. We didn't dance or anything, but everyone just relaxed and had fun.
In fact, when my grandmother died, I can remember joking around with my family members about having to practice a funeral session. They had us come in a certain way, and seat a certain way, and they even made up a program (like it was some kind of formal event). We were joking about the possibility of the funeral home guys scolding us for crying, saying, "We're not on crying yet! We're only on sitting!"
blah blah blah....
Dear readers;
This is your classic example of the cranially challenged talentless adolescent. Notice how, accepting his own complete lack of talent and creativity, he hops from blog to blog insulting people with better things to do.
Why, you ask?
Well, I've seen his blog and it obviously isn't that he has anything better to say. This is not surprising, though. The inept and inarticulate commonly attempt to compensate for their mental deficit by attacking others for attention. Frustrated with his own inadequacies, he is compelled to displace his anger on others. Much like the awkward boy who, in highschool, has still not outgrown the pig-tails in the ink-well stage, the modern moron skips from site to site randomly insulting all he comes in contact with in hopes that they will bring entertainment to his otherwise hollow existance by then going to his blog. Please, don't be angry... it's just the best he is capable of.
That's all for our lesson in abnormal psychology and the learning disabled today. Class dismissed.
Pikkel, darling, if you can't at least formulate your clastic remarks into something containing some sort of wit, please take your crayons and playdough back to your room and don't bother the grown-ups. We have better things to do.
And to Grey, I like that Idea. We'll put a cheesy line-dance in the processional march. :P
"I bet it's because you are one of those fat nasty hairy girls"
ha ha ha
I could post a link to the magazine cover I was on... but, nah. Let him have his delusions. :)
Most of you have probably seen it anyway, haven't you?
weezel is you average internet troll. Best ignored. I don't think i've seen the magazine cover...but you know my email addy :P
As for the content of this post, I'll come to your funeral and make fun of you, no problem.
I'm not bothered by Weezel, but it is fun to get to rail somebody just a little bitty bit, especially such an easy target as that. But, I played nice. I even left a retort on his site (to his strike on AP, not me... he only gets one comment). That is, after all, what he's after, obviously. The poor thing has no other way to draw hits to his site, being completely without creativity or intelligence of his own.
I emailed you the mag cover. They made me look so innocent and sweet, didn't they? That took some doin', no doubt. :P
Please do... and if anyone complains about you laughing, making fun, and putting party favors in the casket, please kindly let them know they're at the wrong funeral. :)
I think maybe I should make a will and require they dress me in my dad's 70's butterfly-collar polyester shirt withe the loud derby-horse print all over it. Nah... it should be my Nerds Es Fervens shirt. A Guinness tap coming out of the casket would be pretty cool too.
NERDS ES FERVENS, ya'll!
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Hey! I wanted to respond to Daedalux's awesome comment and now it's gone. but...but... it said so much. :(
I will commence pouting... now.
Pouting in progress.......
Here's my response anyway:
I agree with you 100%. You know, the whole time I was there, they pulled me into this little room periodically to ask me a set list of questions. I was scared at first, and still traumatized from the strip-search, so I answered seriously. But they just KEPT ASKING those same questions two or three times a day. It was enough to drive anybody nuts. So, the second or third time they asked:
“Do you hear any strange voices?”
I answered “What? No, of course not. Why do you ask” (then aside) “Sh! She’ll hear you!” (paranoid expression)
I played with all their questions like that from then on. I also led the doormat-type chicks who keep going back to their abusive men in a roaring round of Aretha Franklin songs. (no one can be a doormat singing that stuff)
I stirred things up a bit, for certain, but a nurse admitted to me that at least one patient had made more progress in a couple days with me than in the weeks she had been there before. A couple of the shrinks hated me because the patients wanted to talk to me, not them. Pride is such a foolish thing. I often wonder what happened to them all.
... The pouting cycle has been activated. To abort pouting cycle, insert chocolate in chocolate port located at the protruding lower lip. Thank you
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