I didn’t holla at you over the weekend cause I was busy doing stuff with the fam. Now, I’m writing but I haven’t turned off my music (Murphy is bitching on the other side of the door and I’m drowning him out), so you’ll have to forgive the possible typos. Shall we?
Jen and I took a non-fabulous road trip up to Lexington for my dad’s celebration of life thing. I shall henceforth be referring to this as his “party,” because Celebration of Life is too damn long. Anywho, Friday night had Jen, mom, sis and I packing up 7 or 8 of dad’s paintings to display at the “party.” This was a sketchy process, involving much packing tape, foam core, and use of the phrase “we’ll just have to be careful.”
The next day, we took all that packing over to the sales pavillion at Fasig-Tipton, where we met up with a posse of sis’s friends, who helped set up. The only missing piece of the “party” was a sign downstairs, telling people that the “party” was upstairs. Thus, Jen and I were stationed downstairs to direct traffic.
There was a steady stream of people whom I questionably stealth-greeted. What’s stealth-greeting? Saying this:
“Hi! We’re here to direct traffic…everybody’s upstairs.”
Instead of this:
“Hi, I’m Bruce’s daughter, Amy.”
Half of the people sniffed me out anyway, since they knew they should be looking for one goth chick and one lawyer for the “daughters” category. I just didn’t want to give the “well, you know….he fought hard for a long time…he was just done…” speech 300 times. We’re OK, guys. We’re tough broads. Now go upstairs and have some wine, kay? Also, while hanging out downstairs, Jen and I invented a goth gang sign because I’ve felt for some time that we need one. “How do we make our fingers look like a bat?” “How about this?”
I saw the side of the family from Eastern Kentucky for the first time in 24 years. They’re nice people, but I never hear about the reunions and, when I do, I’ve already got something scheduled. I’m thinking they need Twitter. The other side of the fam, who I see at Thanksgiving and Christmas, were also there. Also people dad worked with. And people mom works/bowls with. I found myself feeling very glad to not be unemployed, as that makes the usual “so, what do you do?” conversation rather awkward. It’s awkward enough to tell them that I do graphic design. The people who get it respond with, “so, you got your dad’s artistic abilities?” (Half of them. He was way better.) The people who don’t get it think I do I.T. stuff. Other question: “you live in Nashville? Are you in the music biz at all?” (No, thank god, as I’d probably be unemployed right now.) I guess they all figured that they shouldn’t ask if I’m married, as a husband would have been standing next to me, rather than Jen. OK, Jen still would have been there…just on the other side.
Anywho, we got all the paintings (and a buttload of food) home without damages. Whit’s posse, my aunt, and aunt’s friend stayed the night. Translation:
I drank more than I ever have in one night, and got the second-drunkest I’ve ever been. Everybody else (except Jen) got way drunk, and Jen and I went to bed hearing everybody downstairs singing such awesome tunes as “Broken Wings,” “Rocket Man,” and “Wanted (Dead or Alive).” On the last one, Jen and I joined in, singing backup from upstairs. Sadly, though we had a screening for sis’s posse, she says I can’t show you a video I have named “Drunk People Say The Darnedest Things.” Something about how she doesn’t want her clients to see it. You people and your grown-up jobs. Kill joy! 😉
Everybody (except sis) headed out on Sunday, and Jen and I made it home in two pieces. Things got a little sketchy around Bowling Green, when my brain took the opportunity to have two panic attacks. Notes to self:
1. Do not skip brain drugs to drink vodka.
2. Do not drink that much vodka ever. Stomach will smite you.
3. Do not think pulling over will help. Blast some music. That always works.
Sorry today wasn’t Movie Monday like it normally is, but my video got vetoed by the subject. Besides, the schedule’s been a little fuxed recently. Will get back on schedule, back on track, and caught up. Promise-omise