Ashes & Izzard

Yesterday really was nothing short of weird for me. Funeral mass in the morning, family gathering in the afternoon (complete with alcohol), comedy show in the evening. I’m not even sure how my brain was able to cope with the rapid switches between happy, sad, repentant, pious, frustrated, irritated, melancholy, mirthful…maybe the fact that I can barely operate the coffee pot this morning is an indication of how fried my synapses are.

I never go to church. It’s not my gig. You kinda ought to believe in that crap for it to be a good use of your time, to be honest. The last time I’d been through a Catholic mass was for my cousin’s wedding in 2006. Prior to that…well…hm. It had been a very very VERY long time. Since prior to high school, I’d guess. Yet all that good ol’ Catholic programming worked wonders because when the mass began yesterday, it was like no time at all had passed. I remembered hymns and prayers and responses. I knew when the kneel, sit, stand, nod, close my eyes, smile, not smile, accept the offering, shake hands…well, if anything, my grandmother ought to be proud. I pulled it off one last time, just for her. Never again.

Because someone decided that the family should be arranged from oldest to youngest, and because my father is the oldest child, my folks and Cutter and I were seated in the very first pew. And somehow I ended up being the very first person in that pew. So that anytime anything took place that required us to step forth or stand or move or whatever, I was the lead-off person. Why couldn’t it have been one of my relatives who actually, y’know, does this shit?

Best part of the funeral: The priest sounded like Geoffrey Holder, and I kept holding my breath every time he spoke because I was waiting for that laugh.

Worst part of the funeral: After receiving the first part of the eucharist (the bread), I almost choked on the second part (the wine) because that bread? IT STICKS. It’s not as easy to eat as I remember. Apparently Catholics are going all industrial-strength with their unleavened wafers these days. Thx, Pope.

Biggest WTF Moment: During the funeral, each grandchild carried a “gift” up to the altar…almost all were framed photos of Huny with the people she loved in her life. Her siblings, parents, children, grandchildren. You know. That sort of thing. And then there was the creepy Dead Baby Geddes pic my Cousin decided was appropriate to include. Y’all would be proud of me…I masked my horror so well, my brother actually thought it was a look of approval I wore. Thankfully, the Dead Baby Box was not in attendance.

The graveside ceremony was short and sweet, unlike the funeral itself that went on for almost TWO HOURS. Y’all, a Catholic mass only lasts an hour. Can you even imagine what we did to double its length? Good grief. At least the restaurant was right down the street from the cemetary, and of course we congregated around the bar. And by “we” I mean the cousins. We had the wait staff set up our own “kids table” right at the bar where we ate and drank and laughed until it was time to head out. Huny would have been proud.

On With the Larfs

Coworker Sean was kind enough to pick me up and drive us to the Eddie Izzard show at Oracle Arena in Oakland. Where he proceeded to pay THIRTY DOLLARS for parking.  I KNOW, right? I wouldn’t have believed it myself had I not seen it with my own two eyes. And that didn’t even include a handjob or a finger up the backside.

Life got even more screwey once we bellied up to the bar and paid nineteen bucks for a beer and a single Baileys on the rocks. Calculate in that the tickets cost almost a hundred bucks apiece and you’ve got yourself the makings of a good old-fashioned dry-socket raping. Oracle and Ticketmaster can get together and eat my ass. Go on, get in there, guys. Plenty of room for everyone.

Eddie Izzard was hilarious as always, but I was so damn tired from a hard week at work, a hard week in school, a funeral, and other things, that I actually FELL ASLEEP. Like twice. At least the show was loud enough that you couldn’t hear me snore. At least, I don’t think it got to the point of snoring. Coworker Sean hasn’t said anything, so I could be safe. At least he wasn’t internet-savvy enough to post a pic of me sleeping to the @eddieizzard Twitter feed for the entire arena to see. Because all I ever wanted was to look cool in front of thousands of people I don’t even know.

I note with some amusement that the show did not get canceled, which makes me think that perhaps my unlucky streak with concerts has been broken? I had good seats and everything, which is totally karma’s cue to fuck me hard when I’m not looking. Someone please get on the phone to Depeche Mode and let ’em know I’m ready for their return. Any time now. That’d be great. Yup…