all your friends suck; and I hate a lot

I was stopped at a red light yesterday. Staring off into space just wanting to get out of my car, when I couldn’t help but stare at a group of three girls walking down the street. They were just what you’d picture if I described three girls in their mid-20’s, wearing Summer dresses, shorts and tank tops. Taking it easy, strolling down the street.

I watched them for an entire block until the light turned green.

I drove off with only one thought in my head. That one thought? People sure are jerks.

For that entire block, I watched the three girls walk side by side, then one after another while passing other pedestrians. One of the girls, the one that happened to walk first in line, had her skirt stuck on her bag and pulled up exposing her underwear. And in turn the bottom of her butt cheek. The tag of her shirt was hanging out, which wouldn’t have been a big thing; except for the fact it was one of those 4” long tags just flapping in the breeze.

 I know I have some shitty friends, but if one of them let my butt hang out for over a block, I’d probably slap them.

Maybe it’s the heat, no; it’s definitely the heat. Making my patience and tolerance barely there, and my irritability extra high.

[source]

Especially..

:: Working outside on these excruciatingly hot and muggy days with no AC in my car.

:: Coming home to my house being destroyed by a dog that’s staying overnight. She shredded two of my candles. Shred-ed.
:: Slow drivers, not using a turn signal, bicyclists, tailgaters, general shitty drivers.
:: People who can’t manage to pay their invoices even remotely on time. And those that "forget" to leave payment before long trips.
:: Busybodies.
:: When others make assumptions that you’ll do something for them.
:: Flip flops being worn in public. Socks and sandals..
:: Repeating myself.
:: Close walkers and people who sit to close to you in a movie theater. People who crowd you when you’re shopping.

:: When check out clerks carry on a personal conversation the entire time you’re getting rung out.

:: Shopping at Whole Foods. Rude ass people, it’s like post-apocalyptic hell in there.

:: Never getting a day off.
:: The awkward length my hair is and how it turns into a fluffy cotton ball the second I step outside in this soupy weather.
:: Having to wear shorts to stay cool. I hate shorts.
:: When my coffee gets cold.

And bam. I’m still shitty at updating this thing. Does anyone have big 4^th of July plans? I’ll be sitting poolside drinking most of the day. Oh yes.

xo

I saw my first dead person last week, or what I learned at a wake for someone I didn’t know

I’ve somehow managed to make it to 27 without actually seeing a dead person. This isn’t to say people around me haven’t died, and I haven’t seen my fair share of horror movies. (I know, that doesn’t count.)

Grandparents, great aunts and uncles, even people I went to school with have all met their ends, but none of which I actually saw in person after the last ounce of life had left their bodies.

Death has been around me, but I haven’t seen it to truly know what it looks like. How heavy the air feels around it. Or how serious others make it. And oh boy, people make death a very serious happening.

Except this instance. This story has nothing to do with seriousness.

One of my close friends grandfather died after being sick for some time. I’ll call her NK for the sake of narration. I knew he meant a great deal to NK, and a couple of days before the wake she is sitting on my back porch having a good vent about the whole experience when I offer to go with her. For moral support, and to show I care.

I could hear my insides crying – Stephanie, Why did you go and do a damn thing like that?!

The next day, I don’t hear from her. I think I’m in the clear.

Thursday morning I get a text with directions and a thank you for coming. Damnit. Ok ok.. 

I talk to my mom to see if she has pointers on what really happens at a wake. She tells me you have to kiss the recently deceased's mouth. I tell her she's creepy and she laughs uncontrollably until reality settles in and she decides to google it. I spend the next 10 minutes listening to her read aloud from this article - Attend the wake of someone you didn't know well

You can find answers for anything on this crazy thing called the  world wide web, and that just blows my mom away to this day. At number 10 she starts to choke on her own words, she's laughing to hard. After she composes herself, but just barely, she tells me she misread it as "introduce yourself to the deceased." 

Oh, my mom.

I work a hellacious day. Run home and strip out of my work clothes while running into the bedroom to put on my wake clothes. I have a hard time deciding between what black top, out of my closet overflowing with black tops, is the right black top.

I throw on a new layer of mascara and I’m out the door.

45 minutes later I’m sitting on the world’s most uncomfortable wooden chair, memorizing the shape of every floral arrangement in front of me. A steady stream of people make their way to say their goodbyes and give the family their condolences. He looks peaceful, and I can't help but smile at the family photo collages strewn across the side of the room.

3 hours later and I’m not sure I have a butt any longer and I’ve only managed to sneak out for one smoke break. Where what used to be nothing shy of a plush hiney, I just feel a negative tingling sensation that creeps down the backs of my legs.

In the (somewhat) hushed silence and whispers that were all around me in my 3 hours of narrowly avoiding looking at his corpse, I made a few realizations.

a.      I’m really great at shutting off my mind and staring off into space while pretending to be incredibly interested in floral arrangements. Particularly the sunflowers.

b.     People are rude, disrespectful, and this is why I don’t have friends.
NK had one of her childhood friends with her, as well as myself for support. It seemed fitting, as this girl actually knew her grandfather, and the rest of her family for that matter. I got stuck sitting next to her for a good portion of my space odyssey, and got very close to wanting to stick a q-tip (it’s all I had in my purse) in my ear until I couldn’t hear any longer.
Her constant repetition of “Where’s Stacey and Clinton?” when referring to what people were were wearing wasn’t funny the first time, or the 20^th. Especially after she tried to throw an old lady in a walker into her daytime television bus. I don’t think Stacey, nor Clinton would have appreciated her carpetbag skirt and silk poof sleeve shirt. We weren’t at an 80’s prom.

c.     Funeral homes have some fantastic furniture.
I didn't sit in any of it, aside from my wooden chair that still haunts my backside, for fear of breaking it all. I was fairly impressed with the supply of tissues that seemed to be next to every seat you could think of to sit in.

d.     When I die, it better be a crazy celebration of life, not a somber reflection of my death. Keg stands and joints abound. (Not that I've ever done a keg stand, but I think someone should do one at my funeral, as a nice send off)  I'd also like to breech the topic of photos at a funeral/just make sure you get my good side, and not allowing people to have their cell phones on. There's no need to beat your game of candy crush, put it down for a minute.

That night I had dreams NK’s grandfathers face sunk in while laying in the casket and the world was infested with zombies. All during which I was trying to master the art of floral arrangements. Go figure.

xo