Okay, I’ve never had funeral potatoes, but I might want to look up the recipe.

I swore I wouldn’t attend any more funerals after my Mom died because, frankly, it was ugly. But then, it was not Dad’s children that were being mean-spirited. It was Mom’s. I just now figured that out.

My mother and father had a marriage made in hell, and I believe his second marriage made him into the kind of man that gave his second set of children the father I never had.

I have to say that this particular funeral service was very healing for all concerned, and certainly provided healing for me.

I want to say a word about his second wife, mildly amusing OCD stepmother. She loved him without reservation, and wanted to be certain that his send-off was her last gift to him. She pulled it off like a champion. There was no drama, no sniping at others, and everyone just loved on everyone else.

She did her best to make everyone feel welcomed, and wanted to send him off with a nice family gathering. She put aside any differences she might have with others, and she did it because she loved him so much.

The funeral directors made a point of remarking what a nice family they dealt with. I’m pretty sure they have seen some train wrecks, but there were none in evidence that day.

Grammie showed up and provided some welcome comic relief. I can honestly say it was an awesome service. Look here for a creepily appropriate picture of Grammie.

I resolved I would say goodbye to my father in the same spirit which I met him. With the unrestrained love of an infant.

That is precisely what I did. I am so thankful.

I’m totally okay with this. And? That is my miracle.

And guess who was one of the first non-family members that showed up for the viewing? Horny McSlutty! Bonus. We thought he might be dead too.

Thank you all for your good energy and wishes. Know that I felt it, and greatly appreciated it.

You are in my heart.

I’ll be leaving early Thursday morning en route to Skinny Bitch’s city. I’m travelling much lighter than I usually do because of the nerve irritation in my neck. I’m not supposed to lift much.

So I got me a toy computer to record my sound files on, and since it has a wireless card that is speedy, I can upload them to the server. Built in mic and webcam, so less to lug around. It fits in a normal sized purse. It’s kind of the Bic of computers. It was so cheap I wasn’t about to shell out an extra $80 for two more years factory warranty. Bic.

Of course, it takes forever to bookmark sites and type in old passwords to web admin sites. Luckily for me, I had the good sense to write them down in my little six ring binder that also serves as a mobile datebook. The only way the data will be lost on the datebook is if I can no longer decipher my scribbles. Or if there is a flood or fire. Still, flood or fire will so scroo an electronic keeper of information.

Ass Burger Boy is ecstatic and has already transferred all of my data off the clunky big laptop, which he has dubbed ‘his precious’ and promptly taken to work with him. I don’t think he’ll miss me.

Of course, I will be staying with Skinny Bitch. Any time I go to her city, it’s a given I will stay with her. I desperately need to laugh my self silly, tears streaming down my face, maybe even peeing a little. Now that we don’t have torture to plot for the now ex Mr. SB, we will have to find other ways to amuse our bad selves.

I may or may not get kidnapped after the show.

There will only be internet access at the venue, where I’ll probably be busy with work. With any luck at all. I may be tweeting like a dirty little bird, but probably won\t be posting here while I’m gone. I linked this post heavily to give you something to catch up on while I’m away.

One of the many things that Ass Burger Boy is sensitive to is touch. He cannot handle people touching him unexpectedly. To this day, he will ask for a hug, and I won’t give him one unless he knows it is coming. It’s just the way he is. We hug lots, it just needs a verbal introduction.

When he was a wee infant, I had the most crazy-making task of bathing him. With! Water! Oh, the pain! Big bath, little bath, sponge bath, it all set him off terribly. It wasn’t until he was able to sit up without assistance before I could really introduce him to a proper bath.

I started by sitting him in a plastic wee tub, filled with toys. He was happy about this. Next, I put the plastic toy-filled tub inside the regular sized tub. While he was happily playing with the toys, I put a small amount of warm water from a pitcher in the wee tub. Gradually, I increased the amount, and finally, when I felt he was comfortable, he graduated to the big tub.

This story was to illustrate just how gradually he needs to be introduced to external stimuli.

Last night, he comes home with a girl he had been talking to online for quite a while. No warning, brings her in through the kitchen with all the food prep mess(soaking pots, etc) and drags her over to be introduced.

I ask if he’s hungry and begin to prepare supper. I come out to ask if she is one of those people who won’t eat in front of others to determine just how much I should make. (Note: I wouldn’t eat from a kitchen that looked like that if it weren’t my own.)

They are on the living room sofa, and she is draped all over him, all snuggly and romantic. Shortly, thereafter, she announces that she has to study, and, oh, my! she will get lost going back to the dorm without him to accompany her. I’m thinking “Study, my foot”, but say nothing. It’s obvious to me the girl is horny and wants some alone time with ABB.

He goes out with her, WITHOUT EATING HIS SUPPER. This boy treasures his grub. And I’m not overly thrilled to make a meal that will go uneaten.

He had no.clue. that she wanted some “alone time” with him. I had to tell him. He wonders why she didn’t just say so. Hah. She’s a 19 year old girl, that’s why.

Today, he tells me that he explained to her how he doesn’t like to be touched unexpectedly, and that they didn’t “do” anything.

I respond by commenting about protection, because it only takes once.

He says he will use a gun for protection. Funny.

I say even if it’s shooting blanks, you’re only half protected. I can be funny too.

Now, he’s wondering just how hard it will be to have a girlfriend if she expects all this touching stuff. He wants me to do the psychic thing and tell him if it will work out. I tell him that dating is practice for learning about one another, and it isn’t always easy, but it will give him skills to interact with someone he will love, much needed skills.

Now he has a lot to work out. This girl moves too fast for him, yet he longs for a girlfriend.

If only a girlfriend didn’t involve the touching thing…

Oh. Hi! Remember me? I’ve been one big sweaty ball of pain for the last six months or so. Which might account for my minimal posting. Or not. But I have finally got me a diagnosis, and with that, a plan. Plans are good. They give me confidence. Confidence that I can manage this pain without killing my liver any deader by using anti-inflammatories and wine in combination. Well, dead is dead, of course. What was I saying?

Oh yeah. I have a diagnosis for the pain in my neck and shoulders and arms and OH GOD I THOUGHT I WOULD DIE. Did I shout that? I’m sorry. Put your eyeplugs away now. It basically is a degenerative condition involving my C4 vertebra, which is odd, because you all know my aversion to bras, and I wish I had been kinder to this one. The good news is that I can take steps to really slow down or even stop the degeneration, and that is why I am excited about the plan.

Today, I saw my physiotherapist, Selda, who is totally not a sadist, so score! Over ten years of pretty steady computer usage (remember I went to geek school? I totally did.) and being unaware of my posture actually causes damage. Who knew? They should entirely cover how to sit so you don’t kill your liver in geek school. The geeks would be so grateful. Well, maybe just the older-than-the-instructors geeks.

Anyway, Selda was totally patient as she explained what was going on, and how I could benefit from the exercises. She told me what the goal of each exercise was, and how to modify the way I had been doing them the past week. And why. Why is important. I committed to 100% compliance to the schedule of exercises between last week and this week, and hot diggity, I saw some results! Small results, but it gives me hope. And my liver is gasping in exhaustion, but proud of me. Besides, I’ve been taking a product that is similar to glucosamine without the pesky side effects, and I’m convinced that I can keep this thing from getting worse.

So now that I have hope and all, I also have a plan to dig myself out of the financial hole the pain put me in. Well, that and that pesky trip to visit Skinny Bitch and get together with my father’s side of the family, including Grammie! We all love us some Grammie. It won’t take me long. I can do this. Shut up, I can. Ass Burger Boy is helping tremendously. On all fronts. I’m so proud of him.

And the pain in the butt? Has a name. Herman. (Thanks, Krissa.) We’ll address Herman when he is screaming for attention again. You’re welcome.

I just got home from a gathering of the clan. The first leg of the trip was planned so I would meet up with my brother, Dizzee, at Skinny Bitch’s house. I didn’t quite know how it would go with the family (these things can vary, since I’m a Tool of Satan and all), so I felt it would be good to start things off well.

Skinny Bitch wanted to be sure I felt welcome, since I arrived while she was still at work. My brother arrived later.

(She calls me Gracie) It made my heart glad.

Somehow, with all the cameras present (but not mine) I only got a few images captured in time to share with you. The first thing I saw when I came in the door was a sign she displayed in the entryway: “Crazy doesn’t live here.” That sign summed it up. SB had created her own haven of peace that totally reflected who she was. Bliss.

She was so relaxed living by herself in her own home that her OCD was not in full force. The place mats on her dining room table did not line up precisely, and this did not bother her enough to correct it.

Who knew?

The house was beautiful. It could totally have been a bed and breakfast inn if it weren’t for the pesky cooking thing. Oh, yeah, and guests who would mess her house up. She doesn’t much care for that.

She had bought a bed so I would have a place to sleep, but it was so pretty, and the bedding and pillows so crisp, I was afraid to sleep in it and drool on the pillows. Instead, I slept on the far side of her king-sized bed, just far enough away that she couldn’t reach to kick me if I snored. It was the most comfortable bed I have ever slept on. Bar none. From her bed, we could watch the firemen across the street in their workout room. I know! The way she makes me suffer!

The only thing that struck me as out of place was this:

I had to ask. The explanation did not disappoint. These are new shoes, not to mix with the others in the shoe museum. (How I wish I had that image to share with you!) She wants them to feel special, at least until she has worn them outside. She puts them on top of the tv so she can admire them while she is relaxing. Then, and only then, will they take their place alongside the pedestrian (HAH!) shoes in the shoe museum.

There has been so much drama in my life lately that I needed at least one evening of gut-splitting laughter. Skinny Bitch is a healing balm in my life. We left after she had gone to work the next day.

I left her a message that I knew she wouldn’t completely understand, because she is so not computery. But I wanted to share it with you, too.

And you? Are all computery.

We’ll see if I blog about the family reunion. It went well.