for those who are in or around sane

Thursday, February 22

five months later

A few months ago my father passed passed away died. I’m not all better yet, or have even shed enough tears. But he definitely died. He’s not around, and frankly, I’m still at odds about it.

6 Feet Under is being syndicated on Bravo, and privately I have been against this from the start. In fact, I was against the show before the first season was finished on HBO. I did not want to get sucked into another TV show. A TV show that was on premium (re: ridiculously priced) cable. It’s a show about death, life, a dysfunctional family. Stolen body parts, drugs, abuse and their repercussion: Death. Hard-hitting entanglement. Right? Who needs that. Life is already hard.

Yeah, eventually… I watched it. All of it. I binged with On Demand and purged the tears and hoots in a blank room. And it only took three months.

A few weeks after my dad died, the show re-premiered on Bravo at 9pm CST. A bunch of us were sagged out in front of the TV, a bit booze-ridden and tired. I don’t know where the channel changer was, but my butt was sort of rooted to the chair.

It’s a green lawn chair with a polar fleece blanket on it (covered in cat hair of course – all the better to show off with my black pants). Still college furniture. I’m married. I’m grown up. But I live like a kid. I’m happy with this on most days. The illusion of immaturity helps balance the bigger things. Actually, I know that’s why we’re all here… the relief of gratuitous wine and gluttonous TV. Community sleepovers to stave off the aloneness.

I remember this episode. It’s the first one… I was watching this in the old apartment. Wine… bald couch… alone… wow that hooked me.

So I kept watching… later… further. It’s a 2 hour premier, without the vulgarity, with commercials. But I’m remembering everything they’re missing. Each tiny edit leaves a gaping hole. I need to walk away. Go to bed. But it’s useless. I’m hooked. Drunk, rooted. Dead to the rest of the world.

So it’s in my face. Nathaniel Fischer dies, a beat after I’ve sucked my breath into my heart with realization. Brenda gives Nate the superficial world, and walks away, indifferent, while I mirror her smirk. First impressions are worth gold. Claire strikes an empty fist of words into the air – blindly flinging her invisibility as I disappear from the room: me and the TV.

I hate to admit when TV is good. but watching that first episode again was like opening an old, weathered book. Peeling back old layers of memory to the vibrant living skin underneath. Shed the callous and see what’s underneath. Are you ready for it? Don’t go too far or you’ll have a raw spot. Only one episode at a time. Face death boldly, but with respect. It becomes a part of life.

Wednesday, February 14

happy valentine's day!!

some people view v-day as a marketing ploy, a greeting card exploitation of our pocket money & self-esteem. me? i enjoy the gratuitous amounts of free chocolate and the opportunity to wear my fun holiday-themed knee socks.

in celebration of this glorious chocolate-filled holiday, i shall now deliver to you, dear reader, the best valentine's day story i've heard in years: (the author has requested to remain anonymous).

A huge ghastly bouquet was just delivered to me, well delivered to the front desk, which meant I had to carry it up the stairs and past several offices. I couldn’t see where I was going so had to count paces back to my cube. The bouquet must have stood 4 feet tall with pink and white roses, ribbons, huge sprigs of baby’s breath and some other fanlike greenery. I struggled with the plastic tent shrouding this monstrous arrangement for a couple minutes and finally got it free. This whole time, my face is bright red and I’m thinking, “okay, well, this was really nice of him, even if it is a little over the top … Omigod omigod, how am I going to get this out of here???..”

I open up the card and it reads…

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom! Love, Erin, Paul and Jim”

This thing was not for ME!!! They delivered someone else’s flowers. I had to carry the bush back down to the reception desk. The receptionist is calling the flower company, meanwhile I am going to die. Luckily only a half dozen or so people saw me dragging this horrifying Martha Stewart jungle around with me.

I have never been so mortified in my life. I hate Valentines Day. I want to go home immediately and hide but unfortunately [my boyfriend] is making me wait here while he calls the flower company to yell at them and bring over the correct bouquet. I really really hope that it is small and tasteful cause I don’t think I can go through this again.

I know deep down it’s funny, but I’m seriously close to tears right now.

Friday, February 2

bears bears bears bears....

alright, so i'm a bad blogger... nothing terribly interesting from this direction... ever since the BMC crapped out, i've been a bit lax in the writing department. i am composing a multi-media frenzy of a posting, but until that is finalized, i can provide a few tidbits.

officially, we will be spending another year in chicagoland. we will be moving to the "up-and-coming" neighborhood of ukraine village, into a swank, spacious, brand new apartment. its exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. our one lament is the distance we are putting between ourselves and wrigley field. last summer i definitley enjoyed popping over for a random game.

of course, i must say, GO BEARS!! throughout the playoffs o-ho had our good luck charm: a pizza cutter that readily played the bears' fight song. everywhere we went, we ordered an uncut pizza and cheered the bears with every slice we ate! at the last game, well... we think the busboys got jealous. after the table was cleared, we noticed the missing pizza cutter. after 5 or 6 unsuccessful inquiries, we put our loss in the hands of the football gods and continued on our drunken merry way. i have made it a personal challenge to visit gas stations across the city in search of a duplicate for our sunday festivities.

"I will smack you like a bad bad donkey okay?"

the featured muppet of the "month" (my months lasting oh... 120 days or so...) is pepe, the king prawn. bask in his glory, okayyy?

"The prawn cracker wiiiiins"