February 2, 2008
Catch up on the 2 latest episodes of L-Word. Wonder if lesbians actually watch this show. Wonder if lesbians all looked as good as these women, would there be any heterosexual woman at all. Realize that L-Word has jumped the shark. Sad. It was a good show.
Sleep fitfully. Awakened at three by Keith sending text message asking if I'm still up. Drunk dialing.
Wake up pondering the theory that Britney Spears has actually been possessed by the lost soul of Anna Nicole Smith. Make mental note to contact Pat Robertson and Dr. Phil and suggest exorcism. Imagine the network bidding wars for that one.
Shower, dress and brace for Suzanne's funeral at 10:00. Wonder what goes on in Baptist churches. Take big slug of Bailey's Irish Cream and head out the door.
Arrive at church and pleasantly surprised to find a non-traditional funeral gathering in a hall filled with tables. Mingle. Look at collage boards of pictures. Cry.
Sit at a table with Emily and Keith and listen to family and friends tell Suzanne stories. Ponder whether Suzanne can actually see and hear us as we struggle to make sense of the absurdity and awkwardness of grief. Keith and I have a giggling fit to the horror of the somber ones among us. I am satisfied that Suzanne would have wanted us to laugh. Angie and I pop Suxanne's last CD into the player and leave the funeral in search of the best Bloody Mary available.
Bloody Mary search successful. Brunch wonderful. Mission accomplished.
Watch "Five Easy Pieces and "Edward Scissorhands". Wonder how either was ever considered to be good. Busy myself by preparing the obligatory huge pot of chili for the stupid American faux holiday known as Super Bowl Sunday. Drink beers. Pour beer into pot of chili. Drink more beer. Wyatt comes by to let me know of band playing at Cary Street Cafe tonight. Decide that drinking more beer in a crowded, smoky bar full of hippies seems like an attractive proposition.
Trudge upstairs to post a blog because I made a resolution to do this every day for 365 days. Think of Suzanne. Wonder if there is really life after death and, if so, what is Suzanne doing. Probably still getting registered and moved into her new digs. What's the dress code in the afterlife?
Stare at the monitor and scan brain for excess bullshit to type into PC. Prepare to log out. I'm going to drink beer, listen to music and be thankful that I'm alive, healthy and here on earth with the rest of the fuck-ups.
Bye Suzanne. We won't forget you.