Lately. A funeral. Wendover. And things.

My mother slept over with my little brother so we could attend a funeral the next morning. During the night my drunken mum tried to talk my boyfriend into marrying me, so we could have children soon. He asked, "why, so we can name it survivor"? His dark sense of humour allows us to deal with not so funny things, in a rather amusing way. I told him I was sorry for her harrassment, where he replied, "it's fine, no baby grubbing grandma is going to scare me away". I laughed. My brother decided at that moment that he likes my boyfriend, because he's funny, and lighthearted about things like we are. Later we all arm wrestled, and I came out the weakest one. Not surprised. However, I was surprised that my uber athletic brother couldn't beat the boyfriend. Although, the boyfriend is a freak of nature, un-natural in almost every way. I'm lucky.

My great-grandmother passed away last week. She was 103. I think that's why I don't feel as bad as I "should". The past year has been full of funerals, my great-grandfather on my mothers mothers side, my great-grandmother from my mother's father's side, and of course my little brother. Every funeral, and death reminds me of my little brother. I have empathy now that I didn't really used to have, I didn't have it before, because I didn't know. This funeral was not heartbreakingingly sad like my brothers, it was actually kind of funny. My great-grandmother's name was Alreda. She was a spit-fire, and from my understanding of her, she was pretty hilarious.

I didn't know her. The funeral, seemed to vicariously improve my relationship with her through the mourning of everyone else. I went to the funeral with my mother, and my little brother Dakota who had never even met Alfreda, because our family isn't close and we don't really talk to anyone outside of our immediate relatives. It was at the Mormon church, because Alfreda was Mormon. Another reason we didn't really know her, we come from her son, that is a jackmormon, and jack ass. Our line, went astray, thank god. The church gave the longest service I have ever attended, two minutes for every year Alfreda was alive...or so it seemed. It started with songs, a prayer, more songs, more prayer, viewing her dead body (which of course didn't actually look like her...they never do), then into a different room for more prayer, more singing by one family of amazing voice talent, yet hideous physical genes, and then stories from people who sometimes knew her well, and others times were clearly faking it for reasons I can never figure out as some people at funerals do. Some people like to know someone who has died. Death gives celebrity status, because it makes that person ultimately unattainable. Like Tom Cruise.

During the funeral one particular man stood out who had an exceptional life force. He was elderly, all smiles, and big beaming eyes. He spoke very fondly of Alfreda, telling stories of her. One such story he told went something like this:

When Alreda was in her seventies she went to Mexico with one of her sons. On the way back, while crossing the border a gaurd asked old Alfreda what she had in her basket, where she answered very seriously, "Pot". After an hour of inspecting the car and finding no contraban they let her and her family go. Everyone had a good laugh afterwards.

I should have visited more. She was clearly a good time.

Another story they told went something like this:
Alreda liked games. It was a favorite game of hers to uproot plants her neibhors had planted in her garden, and move them. Then watch them through the window as they would come over in the evening to check on their plants. She never said anything to them, she didn't mind they were using her garden, but she took great fun in teasing them in her own way.

That is something I should start doing. Funerals, are a great way to get to know people, and steal their tricks.

After the funeral my grandpa Gordon make his weird sex jokes like usual, talking about how he can't get it up anymore and how much he loves fudge popscicles. He eats a box per day. He really loves them. Grandpa cried while talking about his sexual deprivaty, and his beloved fudge. He misses his mom, Alfreda. My brother and I stood around in the church lobby uncomfortably while everyone stared at us for chugging our starbucks beverages. Mormons don't drink coffee, and I'm convinced they were jealous of my coffee as I was jealous that they get to wear fire proof underwear. My genitalia will go unprotected if my apartment should burst into flames.

My mother cried. She didn't know my grandma Alfreda really either, the event reminded her of her son. She misses Mitch. We all miss Mitch. Grandma Alfreda has nothing in common with Mitch, the only commonality they share, is death. "Maybe grandma will take care of him now" mom said. I smiled and nodded. I don't know if I believe that, but it can't hurt.

We left after standing around and pretending like we cared about everyones small talk. My family has no social skills, we cannot "small talk". The three of us smiled and shook hands, while making a slow exit. One shake, one step towards the door. As we left a man on the right of us had a seventies pomp, sideburns, and was wearing a black suit with a sharp white popped collar. Elvis, came to my grandmothers funeral. Clearly, she has reached celebrity status.


After the funeral my mother and I dropped off Dakota and headed to Wendover. We drank soda and gambled with my aunt Jackie and uncle Joe. I admire their relationship. They are really in love, and it's the only real "love, love" I've ever witnessed. It's....unreal and adorable. My aunt jackie was wasted drunk, stumbling a bit and slurring, telling me she wanted me to have a baby. Everyone wants me to have a baby now that I've gotten rid of one. Very odd. My mother and I sat side by side giving our money away on the basis of hope, the belief in fate. Everyone in that casino was secretly trying to convince some higher power that they deserved to win money more than everyone else. I watched my mother rub the machine and say things like, "come on baby" as though she was trying to coax a virgin into finding her worthy of being "the first".

May 28th, 2009

Mornings are shit. Every day for the past week I wake up and have to clench my teeth for the following five hours to make sure I don't throw up all over my laptop while I'm working. Sixty percent of pregnant girls get morning sickness, why can't I be in the forty percent cool crowd that doesn't?

Farrah Fawcett has anal cancer. I don't know why but that freaks me out, I hate reading about diseases because one, I think I am going to get it and I start freaking out knowing that my diet and lifestyle have not been so great the past couple of years and that's the best prevention. I've lived off of cereal the past couple of days, after the Fawcett story I cooked oatmeal. I think that's better, right? It doesn't taste as good as fruity pebbles.

Last night I went to Brewvies, a sort of bar/theatre in salt lake, to watch Edward Scissorhands. The movie is sad because it captures peoples inability to sympathize with each other, and shows the unfortunate opportunistic qualities in most of us. It's also sad because they have Johnny Depp's sexy ass covered up in all that makeup. Throughout the movie I kept wanting to ask Tim if he thought the "scissorhand" Johnny Depp was attractive, but we weren't sitting next to each other, we're not "that" kind of couple.

This oatmeal is gross. It's making me want to gag.

My appointment for the big A in one day. I'm nervous. I don't like that place, it feels like a chop shop. sigh.

My visa pack came yesterday. I have to apply for my visa, in person, in San Fran. Woo ha! Love me some San Fran!

May something er other

I'm Sick of Being Tired.
The Trapp Door closed and the bar staff moved to a new club called, "Club Edge" a name that inspires images of long haired rockers, and air guitar, or a group of Straight Edge boys clad in army shorts and t-shirts with giant "X"'s on the front. Basically, it's the worst name for a dance club in the world.

I went to the first meeting I have been up enough to attend two days ago and was so sick and grumpy thought that I was literally going to laser everyone to death with my death stare. For no reason at all I hated just about everyone, and really for no reason. Being pregnant is the worst thing in the world to happen to me socially. I'm exhausted, nauseous, and everything hurts. It's not the best time for me to have forced interactions via a club staff meeting. I have a hard time not killing my boyfriend, or friends (who I absolutely adore) let along a bunch of people I'm really not very close to. We sat down, we listened, I grew more angry as Bobbi grew more angry and by the end I had had it. The place too closely resembled the ridiculous bar hierchy of our previous venue. I don't have it in me to try anymore without some kind of actual results. That's probably the exhausted me, from the little gremlin, but none-the-less I feel like it's fruitless work. In some kind of lunatic rage that stemmed from almost nowhere I texted our manager/promoter and quit.

He was pissed. I was pissed. I'm not sure that we are friends now as a result of my quiting. I don't even know what I think of that, or myself. I feel kind of insane to be honest.

I don't like working in clubs because I feel as though I am around a lot of stuff I don't want to be around, like drugs, tooons of alcohol, and ex boyfriends. All which are bad for me, and all that i'm happy as can be to get away from, however, I do like bartending. I miss the easy money, the socializing, the being part of the "cool club" even though nobody is really cool at all. Most of the kids are just anti social weirdos, drug addicts, and otherwise depressed. It's like hanging out with the breakfast club kids, before they broke into fame.

My friend Sparkles is home. I missed her. She's one of my absolutely favorite people in the world. I tried to pimp her out for a while so she could make some extra money, but it's awkward pimping out your friend. Plus, I think she felt awkward having her friend pimp her out. But it was fun to say, "I gotta hoe named sparkles, what you need?". I don't think old fashion "hookin'" works anymore, it's all about craigslist now, or that's what I heard from a friend of mine who pimps himself out for money. Another friend asked me, "doesn't it weird you out that he does that?" I said, "not at all, it's his body...who am I to judge. Besides, what he does with himself, and how much he's paid for it, in no way influences how good or bad of a friend he is. He's a good friend, and clearly worth more sexually than the rest of you who give it up for free in booz town".

I have morning sickness, all day today. It should be called, "all day sickness" saying it's only in the morning is misinforming for people who may want to have a baby. It doesn't last in the morning ladies, it's all day. Mix that with how tired I am, and I'm practically useless. This is why people lived in gigantic families back in tribal times, because women need back up when they get pregnant cause otherwise shit's not getting done.

My boyfriend brought me: Fruity Pebbles, Tonka Fruit Snacks, Nectarines, Juice, and Ginger snaps today during his lunch break. He brought it saying, "I got you this stuff because I put a baby in you and it makes you sick. I hope this helps". That's love.

My boobs keep getting bigger, and it's terrible. I like my small chest, I never have to wear bras and I'm pretty comfortable all the time. Big boobs seem like so much upkeep.

Worse case I guess I can just start duct taping them down.

Me doing something. Boyfriend, Rachelle.

of course it is

May 22, 2009

A lot has happened. I found out that I'm pregant (woops) which is [cough, cough] still awkward to say. I'm not keeping it. Being pregant sucks by the way. I just feel sick, my boobs won't stop hurting, and on top of that all of my guts feel like they are moving around to make room for the little gremlin who is in my belly. It's not cool, and there is nothing magical about it.

When I called my boyfriend to say, "hey so guess who's pregnant, that isn't supposed to be able to naturally concieve" he said, "oooh well I guess there isn't anything I can't do". He found it hilarious, I can't really be more thankful for everyones sense of humour. It sucks, but there is a lot to laugh about.

I went to "the clinic" with a couple friends for moral support who spent the time yelling random things at my stomach, and saying to anyone who said "abortion" to "shh" and they would cover my stomach, "not in front of the baaaby". My friends, are from a bad comedy, with the worst sense of humour in the world...thank god.

Speaking of god, I'm not religious but am I going to hell for an abortion? I mean, it's only OOONE, it's not like my fifth one or something. Speaking of fifth one, I worked with a girl at starbucks once who had four. FOUR. How the hell do you get pregnant four times?

Yes, I'm the pregnant girl who is judging. I'm judgemental.

I went to the clinic to have the abortion, but the spanish lady said in between talking on her cell phone, while probing my vagina, "i can't see no babies here...is too soon!" So I'm only 3 weeks or so, meaning they won't take the bun out of the oven until it's been baked a little longer. Isn't that weird?

My room-mate asked me, "isn't it amazing feeling something growing inside of you?" NO. The answer is no. I don't feel something growing inside of me, I just feel sick, and like i'm retaining water. Also, it has a knife and it keeps stabbing me. The baby, though only a tadpole, is really rude.

I have eight more days left and counting.

May 30th, little stabby gremlin go bye bye.

May 10, 20009

Working at the Trapp Door is a soul draining experience, and why I keep doing it week after week is ridiculous. But, it has comic value at least. The night starts out with my gorgeous fanged co-work asking me if the last time we got wasted we took our clothes off and danced on stage. No, we didn't. "Well, let's get a lot of blow and this time I won't vice grip your hand and drag you all over all night...deal? Oh, and also, you're playing on the softball team tomorrow, or else. Pick you up at 11. " Two minutes later the club owner comes over to ask me if I think it's possible for him to find a hot young guy to "fuck him" tonight. I nodded. He was happy that I had faith in him. . . really the faith is fear based. He's insane, and I don't doubt that if I told him honestly he might kill me...or throw me into something at least.

Two guys sat at my bar telling me stories that I blocked out and I realized that I honestly can't pay attention to anyone who is less attractive than someone I would want to hypothetically fuck. Not really, but hypothetically.

At the end of the night as we're cleaning up a fat woman in a purple shirt slurred to our bartenders, "you gonna let me pay you er what...I have a tab". Her eye make up was green. Green and purple...literally a giant grape. Then she mumbles, "maybe after I pay you, I can take a sexy young boy home to get nasty with". I threw up in my mouth. Not even a drunk boy could ignore the fact that she looked like she had three asses. Clearly, she ate the last boy who went home with her.

Tim came over, who is lying on my floor reading currently, to tell me that he went to a biker bar to watch his mom sing, and that she was wasted and belly dancing. "You had a weird upbringing" I told him. He nodded, and smiled. His life is interesting, partly because I don't think he realized how bizzare a lot of things really are. Like being a concubine...which he was temporarily, or, the fact that he literally refuses to speak to strangers. Practically mute. However, he's so attractive it makes it almost creepy that he's so reserved and shy. Doesn't usually go hand in hand.

sigh. tired.

Ty is upset over some boy who looks like a Q tip. I said, "don't be sad over him, he bleaches his hair white which is worse than having HIV". Ty replied, "yeah actually he told me he tested positive today". Bad joke. He said he still laughed.

May 8th 2009

Since yesterday I've went from being a somewhat optimistic person to being self loathing. Bi-polar? nuh, bad news. My life is set up in a game of dominos, one piece falls and everything comes crashing down at once in a mess of irrepairable damage.

What now? Porn? Working nights at 7/11?

I keep trying to force myself out of this shitty mentality, prove it's temporary, push myself to fight instead of give up. I've already given up.

What can I do when there is absolutely nothing to do? I've failed at so much, and with so little ability I don't have anything. I'm a wasted life. It's pathetic.