Um, was I recently complaining about not having anything to write about? Somebody please, the next time I do that, tell me to shut. The. Fuck. Up. Already. Jeezus.
Wait, first, let me just say: hello my internet peeps. I did not fall off the face of the earth. I've just been a bit, well, busy. I'm not really sure where to start, so I will just make you a list with some details. Shut up, lists soothe me.
1. Almost 2 weeks ago, my parents each left me a voicemail on my cell in the middle of the workday. The first one was from my dad, who basically never calls me. Turns out I should be nervous when he does because more often than not, it means something terrible has happened. This time was no exception. I alluded to this in my last post. My mom's godson died of what appears to be a heroin overdose Thursday before last. The autopsy was inconclusive, and it will be a few weeks before toxicology comes back. He was just shy of his 27th birthday. To make matters much more difficult for all, his father committed suicide 2 years ago. The first thing I said to my mom was, "can't Auntie catch a fucking break?" Oh yeah, and rumor has it that his girlfriend is 2 months pregnant. Yep, that's what I heard. This is a lovely family whose children we consider cousins more than friends. We've known them the vast majority of our lives, my youngest sister for her entire life. We've been in his life from the day he was born, too. Anyway, these aren't people you would see on Springer or even in a One Tree Hill kind of fictional setting. I'm still floored.
2. Last Wednesday, while my mom was in the midst of planning the funeral because my Auntie is understandably exhausted and just plain done, my godmother (totally different family...my godparents were my parents' best friends in Las Vegas when I was born, and the family above came into our lives after we moved back to LA), who just happened to be in town visiting, got the unenviable task of taking my mom to the hospital. I got a call from my sister's best friend (she got involved because her husband is a firefighter and Mom called them for advice) while I was out buying cat food. She told me that Mom was having some digestive type issues and was hinting that there were other concerns. Finally the conversation went like this:
Me - "You mean they are concerned she is having a heart attack."
Her - "Thank God you figured it out...thank you for not making me say it like your sister did."
Me (obviously thinking aloud and rambling somewhat) - "Well, yeah, that's how it sounded. So they're going to Long Beach Memorial, OK, at least she'll be in the right place if something does happen. So Auntie is with her, and they are already on their way. So here's what we are going to do. You keep me posted, call me as soon as you know anything. I am going to go ahead and finish up here because I am out of cat food and if I have to go out of town, I have to make sure Lizzy has plenty of food, especially since it will be at least 5 days instead of 3. Then I'm going home to pack and check out plane fares just in case. Then I'll catch Dad on his break (*note: my dad only has his phone at specified breaktimes because the company he works for sucks major amounts of ass) because I am sure my sister won't want to make that call." Apparently I take a breath here. "Dude, I'm trying not to freak out in Target."
Her - "No, definitely DON'T FREAK OUT IN TARGET."
Long story short, it wasn't a heart attack. She has gall stones, which, while excruciatingly painful, is much better than a coronary. I feel like we really got lucky this time. The downside is that her cholesterol is through the roof and it's likely that I'm right about her being diabetic. They tested her sugar and apparently it was high enough for them to site a "diabetic condition" when they discharged her on Saturday morning (with hours to spare before the funeral, BTW). She hasn't told me what her blood glucose was, but my sister will be attending doctor's appointments in the future because Mom has also developed somewhat of a truth-telling deficiency that Sis caught her in when the doctor was asking questions; so I should find out in the near future.
3. EB and I were supposed to spend most of last weekend together since we didn't see each other Easter weekend as he was with family. With the funeral being Saturday, we arranged it so that I would stop by his place in the Central Coast area on my way to LA. That ultimately meant that I saw him for about 11 hours, several of which were spent trying to not get knocked off the queen sized bed (we both have kings at home, and with good reason). It was exquisitely painful to wrench myself out of that amazingly comfortable, if slightly cozy, bed to leave at 6:30 in the a.m. The sun hitting me directly in the eyes for over an hour before I'd even had coffee added insult to injury, but at least I did make good time. Even if I was temporarily blind. At the moment, I'm clinging to the fact that he will be coming home this weekend, which was an uncertainty until a couple of hours ago.
So I think there is more, but at the moment, I am spent. I imagine you all are, too. I will leave you with this last item:
4. While I was driving toward my truncated visit with EB, I was flying low down I-5 with my sunroof open and the back windows cracked. It was a cool spring day, and even though the wind wreaks havoc on my ridiculously thick hair, I love the breeze whipping through my car. Plus I was south of Stockton, in a part of the Central Valley that is littered with agriculture and rolling green hills (green only for about 2.1 weeks a year) so I was drinking it in. The relative bliss I was in was rudely interrupted by the crunching sound of a bug smacking into my windshield. That isn't an unusual occurrence; my front license plate will soon be unreadable due to the large number of various insects that have met their end there. What stunned me was that this particular bug type creature ricocheted off of the windsheild and flew into my open sunroof. Then it came to rest on my right thigh.
It was a motherfucking bee. Dead to be sure, but a bee, a bee that potentially still had its stinger which will sting, dead or alive. OK, to really appreciate the gravity of the situation, you need to know 2 things. First, I have never ever in my history of being me been stung by a bee. Second, as a direct consequence of that first thing, I am terrified of bees in any state of respiration.
I actually didn't freak out at that moment. Here I was, going about 80, dead bee just chilling on my right thigh, and I think I just squealed a little. I probably wanted to do that thing I do when I'm squigged out, shaking my hands, all limp-wristed and shaky, that thing my sister did do when I told that story, but my hands were somewhat busy what with the steering wheel and all. I kept glancing down at the bee, back at the road, and down at the bee. I think I must have driven 5 or 6 miles, alternately looking for a good place to pull over and considering how to get that bee back out of the sunroof, where it fucking belongs, and off of my leg, where it clearly does not belong, without encountering a stinger that may or may not be there. It finally occurred to me that I could just use the envelope I'd written the directions to EB's new place on to flick that thing away. It landed in the little utility cup next to my stick shift, and I anticlimatically scooped it up in the wrapper from my Kashi bar and threw it away when I stopped for gas.
