Well, that was a bummer of a post to check out on. I'll note that anger is one of the commonly-accepted stages of grief and leave it at that.
I'm back, apparently. SG made me a reup offer I couldn't refuse--put it this way, if I have a complaint about the site at any point over the next year, I won't be able to assert that "I paid my four dollars".
Okay, a few more words on the topic of Sandy, because I've started to realize that if I don't get this stuff out in some form or another, it comes out on its own, generally as something less manageable. I can't help it; bottling is a genetic predisposition, like heart disease or male pattern baldness (both of which, hilariously enough, I seem to have thus far avoided--knock on wood).
So, Sandy. This is just... incredibly painful. I've been through this before, but it's a lot worse this time around. It comes, as these things do for me, in sudden, infrequent waves. And I don't have any desire to stop having this pain. She was a pain to know, so it's good that it still hurts.
Her funeral was--and I didn't think this was possible--handled with even less grace and more bullshit than her death. It was, for one, a very religious service--Anglican, or something, I guess, one of those call-and-response churches. The preacher (pastor, minister, whatever) did a sermon, of course. I guess it's just that I haven't gone to church in years, but I was actually a little shocked that she used this funeral as an opportunity to make the usual pitch about sins and forgiveness. The worst part was that the sermon was bad. I mean, really bad. It centered around a movie called Flight of the Phoenix, which I vaguely remember seeing previews for a few years back. I mean, what the fuck. This is how you commemorate someone--with parable about some ridiculous movie? What is wrong with you?
At one point, during the eulogy, the phrase "when live gives you lemons" was used. I had to physically put a hand over my mouth to restrain myself from standing up and shouting "MAKE LIFE TAKE THE LEMONS BACK!"
After the painfully stupid sermon, we--Sandy's friends--stole all of the call-and-response guidebook pamphlets, drove out to a park Sandy used to visit, and burned them all in a barbecue pit. Then we went out to Haufbrahaus and stuffed ourselves on bier cheese.
When it gets to be too much, I stop and wonder what Sandy's repressed, uptight, deeply religious mother made of the truly mountainous collection of dildos in Sandy's shower.
I'm back, apparently. SG made me a reup offer I couldn't refuse--put it this way, if I have a complaint about the site at any point over the next year, I won't be able to assert that "I paid my four dollars".
Okay, a few more words on the topic of Sandy, because I've started to realize that if I don't get this stuff out in some form or another, it comes out on its own, generally as something less manageable. I can't help it; bottling is a genetic predisposition, like heart disease or male pattern baldness (both of which, hilariously enough, I seem to have thus far avoided--knock on wood).
So, Sandy. This is just... incredibly painful. I've been through this before, but it's a lot worse this time around. It comes, as these things do for me, in sudden, infrequent waves. And I don't have any desire to stop having this pain. She was a pain to know, so it's good that it still hurts.
Her funeral was--and I didn't think this was possible--handled with even less grace and more bullshit than her death. It was, for one, a very religious service--Anglican, or something, I guess, one of those call-and-response churches. The preacher (pastor, minister, whatever) did a sermon, of course. I guess it's just that I haven't gone to church in years, but I was actually a little shocked that she used this funeral as an opportunity to make the usual pitch about sins and forgiveness. The worst part was that the sermon was bad. I mean, really bad. It centered around a movie called Flight of the Phoenix, which I vaguely remember seeing previews for a few years back. I mean, what the fuck. This is how you commemorate someone--with parable about some ridiculous movie? What is wrong with you?
At one point, during the eulogy, the phrase "when live gives you lemons" was used. I had to physically put a hand over my mouth to restrain myself from standing up and shouting "MAKE LIFE TAKE THE LEMONS BACK!"
After the painfully stupid sermon, we--Sandy's friends--stole all of the call-and-response guidebook pamphlets, drove out to a park Sandy used to visit, and burned them all in a barbecue pit. Then we went out to Haufbrahaus and stuffed ourselves on bier cheese.
When it gets to be too much, I stop and wonder what Sandy's repressed, uptight, deeply religious mother made of the truly mountainous collection of dildos in Sandy's shower.
accuser:
Oh good, I can go back to not posting in CE. I kept reading threads and saying, "The rationalist point of view is... not missing, exactly, but lacking. I guess I should post something." That explains it.