five days in Aberdeen…the city on the go!
Ahh – it’s nice to be back in Denver. Despite the fact that I had to go to Aberdeen for a funeral, I still had a really nice and relaxing time.
My great aunt passed away on Saturday morning, and I ended up purchasing a ticket to Pierre for a flight that left on Sunday afternoon.
So of course I decided to go out on Saturday night and celebrate being alive before a week of mourning.
I went to Tracks to shake my booty. There were quite a few people I knew there, including my friend Matt who had a friend in town from Houston. And he was CUTE. Beautiful mouth. Smooth, dark skin. Hubba hubba. I immediately turned on my irresistible Matt-charm (ha!) and before I knew it we were dancing a dirty, gay-boy dance. I invited him over to my place for the night and he graciously accepted.
The wake was held on Monday. Having had both my mom’s parents die in the last four years, I’m growing to hate the Aberdeen funeral home. Blech – that antiseptic stink mixed with the overwhelming smell of flowers, the sad organ music, the dim lighting with Kleenex boxes everywhere. And the viewing of the body. It is such a surreal feeling to look at the makeup-covered face of someone who’s been around your entire life and not be able to talk to them. It’s creepy, but I keep expecting them to open their eyes and turn and look at me. I have definitely decided that when I die, there will be no viewing. I don’t want people staring at my corpse. It just reminds me too much of that scene in “Heathers.”
Although I’m sure my dad would be like, “I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!” Yeah, right.
Anyway, as is the custom at a Catholic wake, we had to say a rosary. A WHOLE rosary. Talk about being on autopilot after a while. Let’s see…that’s about 150 Hail Marys. 150!
Then the family got drunk. Quite drunk. Sitting out on my aunt’s patio, chugging beers and bottles of cheap white wine, toasting my great aunt and swatting away mosquitoes.
The funeral was held Tuesday morning. I was asked to be a pallbearer for the first time in my life. Again – another completely surreal feeling. The feeling of carrying a body, albeit in a coffin. This all came way too soon after my breakdown watching the last episode of “Six Feet Under.” Sometimes I feel like I’m watching my own life from the outside. And standing under the sunny South Dakota sky with my dad’s whole side of the family watching the final blessing over the coffin I got that feeling.
The best part of my week by far was spending time with my niece. I am so crazy about her. She turns three this month and she’s now talking non-stop. She’s so hilarious. She’s finally totally potty-trained and she has to show off her big-girl panties to everyone. She’s so proud. If you ask her to say “cookie,” she says “fookie.” If you go “K-k-k-cookie,” she’ll say “K-k-k-fookie.” Then I asked her to say “cook you” and I thought my mom was going to have a stroke.
I just couldn’t give her enough hugs and kisses. I miss her like crazy already. I guess I may have to have a kid of my own someday after all. MAYBE.
Ooh – and I got some good news. My parents have decided to get a new car, and when they talked to the dealer about how much they would get on a trade-in for their Toyota Camry with only 40,000 miles they found out they would only get $10,000. So they’re going to sell it to me! It’s in mint condition, I love the color, it already has a CD player AND an automatic starter! I know my friends back in the Midwest can definitely appreciate how amazing an automatic starter is. I’m not sure if I need it here, but it’s still tits.
Anyway, most importantly, goodbye Aunt Phyllis. You were born in 1915 in a small town in South Dakota. You got married to an asshole who cheated on you less than three years into your marriage and had the guts to divorce his ass and take on a sexist society all on your own. You weren’t able to ever marry again because of a stupid-ass Catholic rule so you got a job at a bank, an apartment of your own, and a life that you could enjoy and be proud of, surrounded by many friends. You were my only older relative who preferred to stay up until all hours of the night and sleep the morning away just like I like to do. None of that getting up at 5 a.m. bullshit for you. You always remembered to bring a jar of black olives for me at family holidays because I hated the green ones. Every single year I got a birthday card and a $5 check from you, even when your resources had been seriously depleted from living in a money-sucking assisted-living facility. After a lifetime of smoking you quit cold turkey at age 70 when the truth about how evil smoking is began to truly come to light. You always asked about my cat Ernie every time we talked, and always referred to him as a “her” because in your mind all cats were females. Your voracious reading habit inspired me to read as much as I could too and to eventually become an English major – even if you had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with bodice-rippers. Even when you were healthy, you were about 90 pounds soaking wet, yet in my eyes you were one of the biggest people I’ve ever known.
I’ll miss you.
My great aunt passed away on Saturday morning, and I ended up purchasing a ticket to Pierre for a flight that left on Sunday afternoon.
So of course I decided to go out on Saturday night and celebrate being alive before a week of mourning.
I went to Tracks to shake my booty. There were quite a few people I knew there, including my friend Matt who had a friend in town from Houston. And he was CUTE. Beautiful mouth. Smooth, dark skin. Hubba hubba. I immediately turned on my irresistible Matt-charm (ha!) and before I knew it we were dancing a dirty, gay-boy dance. I invited him over to my place for the night and he graciously accepted.
The wake was held on Monday. Having had both my mom’s parents die in the last four years, I’m growing to hate the Aberdeen funeral home. Blech – that antiseptic stink mixed with the overwhelming smell of flowers, the sad organ music, the dim lighting with Kleenex boxes everywhere. And the viewing of the body. It is such a surreal feeling to look at the makeup-covered face of someone who’s been around your entire life and not be able to talk to them. It’s creepy, but I keep expecting them to open their eyes and turn and look at me. I have definitely decided that when I die, there will be no viewing. I don’t want people staring at my corpse. It just reminds me too much of that scene in “Heathers.”
Although I’m sure my dad would be like, “I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!” Yeah, right.
Anyway, as is the custom at a Catholic wake, we had to say a rosary. A WHOLE rosary. Talk about being on autopilot after a while. Let’s see…that’s about 150 Hail Marys. 150!
Then the family got drunk. Quite drunk. Sitting out on my aunt’s patio, chugging beers and bottles of cheap white wine, toasting my great aunt and swatting away mosquitoes.
The funeral was held Tuesday morning. I was asked to be a pallbearer for the first time in my life. Again – another completely surreal feeling. The feeling of carrying a body, albeit in a coffin. This all came way too soon after my breakdown watching the last episode of “Six Feet Under.” Sometimes I feel like I’m watching my own life from the outside. And standing under the sunny South Dakota sky with my dad’s whole side of the family watching the final blessing over the coffin I got that feeling.
The best part of my week by far was spending time with my niece. I am so crazy about her. She turns three this month and she’s now talking non-stop. She’s so hilarious. She’s finally totally potty-trained and she has to show off her big-girl panties to everyone. She’s so proud. If you ask her to say “cookie,” she says “fookie.” If you go “K-k-k-cookie,” she’ll say “K-k-k-fookie.” Then I asked her to say “cook you” and I thought my mom was going to have a stroke.
I just couldn’t give her enough hugs and kisses. I miss her like crazy already. I guess I may have to have a kid of my own someday after all. MAYBE.
Ooh – and I got some good news. My parents have decided to get a new car, and when they talked to the dealer about how much they would get on a trade-in for their Toyota Camry with only 40,000 miles they found out they would only get $10,000. So they’re going to sell it to me! It’s in mint condition, I love the color, it already has a CD player AND an automatic starter! I know my friends back in the Midwest can definitely appreciate how amazing an automatic starter is. I’m not sure if I need it here, but it’s still tits.
Anyway, most importantly, goodbye Aunt Phyllis. You were born in 1915 in a small town in South Dakota. You got married to an asshole who cheated on you less than three years into your marriage and had the guts to divorce his ass and take on a sexist society all on your own. You weren’t able to ever marry again because of a stupid-ass Catholic rule so you got a job at a bank, an apartment of your own, and a life that you could enjoy and be proud of, surrounded by many friends. You were my only older relative who preferred to stay up until all hours of the night and sleep the morning away just like I like to do. None of that getting up at 5 a.m. bullshit for you. You always remembered to bring a jar of black olives for me at family holidays because I hated the green ones. Every single year I got a birthday card and a $5 check from you, even when your resources had been seriously depleted from living in a money-sucking assisted-living facility. After a lifetime of smoking you quit cold turkey at age 70 when the truth about how evil smoking is began to truly come to light. You always asked about my cat Ernie every time we talked, and always referred to him as a “her” because in your mind all cats were females. Your voracious reading habit inspired me to read as much as I could too and to eventually become an English major – even if you had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with bodice-rippers. Even when you were healthy, you were about 90 pounds soaking wet, yet in my eyes you were one of the biggest people I’ve ever known.
I’ll miss you.
posted by denverco at 1:35 PM
2 Comments:
OK, that was a sweet tribute. It almost made me forget that you used the word tits in reference to how great an automatic starter is on a car. Do gay men really use that term even though you have no interest in them? I don't get it.
I think your tribute was "the tits" so sweet.
...o.k. was that inappropriate of me?
Post a Comment
<< Home