I have been told recently and more than once that I really haven't written enough. So here it goes. Now that I am back in BUFFALO.
Well, to start with, I have to move. The house I was living in was put into foreclosing because I was underpaying it but about twenty bucks. The house is not in my name so the bank was taking my money and writing checks out the woman who actually owns the house. I wouldn't have had any problem with that, you know if she paid the mortgage with the money. But she cashed the checks and went to Africa. So I was left homeless, kind of, actually I guess you could say that I currently squatting the said domicile, waiting for the closing date on a dwelling that I will own outright in less then a year.
In the middle of all this housing mayhem, My only grampa died. My mother never got along with her own alcoholic father and schizophrenic mother, so my father's parents were the only grandparents I had. My cousin got married recently and Grampa walked her down the aisle on Saturday and died on Sunday. Mother's day. My gramma died nine years ago, when I was a freshman in college, and in my first semester. Anyone who knows me knows how I did that semester, as I like to brag about my .9 grampa. My grampa's death was hard enough to deal with. But not really, you know, earth shatteringly shocking. The Death in my family that was earthshatterningly shocking was that of my uncle Joe. He was only 47, he died of a heart attack exactly one week after his father, my Grampa.
My cousin was getting married right in the middle of my housing thing, and when I sent in my RSVP I wasn't planning to be moving. So I didn't end up attending said event. That is right, I missed watching my Grampa walking one of my favorite cousins down the aisle. They told me that he said he couldn't wait for the wedding to be over so he could rest. He is.
Now I was feeling really bad, and my mom and my friend Lisa who is staying with us, went back to Texas about a day after the funeral. So I was going to be home alone. Normally I would have loved the thought, but after missing the wedding, having to attend a funeral, I didn't really feel like being alone. So I headed over to angel's coerced the gang over there to take me to Toronto. The biggest city I could think of that was close enough to visit in one day, and there is a Ruth's Chris Steak house there. I needed cheering up. So Saturday we set out in Paul's car, because my license is suspended (whole other story), and Angela has had some legal trouble at the border (not my story). I had a lot of fun and started feeling kind of good about my grampa's passing, you know, really getting into the whole "he is in a better place, and with my gramma" thing.
The next day, my stepmother (aka Dad's Girlfriend) Mary called me and said my Uncle Joe died. I have 2 uncle Joes, one was my father's brother, and one is my gramma's 90-something old brother. So I had to ask which one. It was my father's Brother. He was only 49. Needless to say I was a little bit busy, and out of sorts. So I had to go to California where his funeral was being held and the Cauhilla traditional funeral are 24 hour affairs. Someone has to be with the person until he is put to rest in the cemetery. My mother went with me to California. Right after we got back she found out that her best friend committed suicide. He was also like an uncle to me. An unusual uncle, but an uncle nonetheless. We are still not back to normal yet but we are on our way. Plus we have a house that we are working on to move into. This is a multidated post so please excuse the craziness of it.
Well, to start with, I have to move. The house I was living in was put into foreclosing because I was underpaying it but about twenty bucks. The house is not in my name so the bank was taking my money and writing checks out the woman who actually owns the house. I wouldn't have had any problem with that, you know if she paid the mortgage with the money. But she cashed the checks and went to Africa. So I was left homeless, kind of, actually I guess you could say that I currently squatting the said domicile, waiting for the closing date on a dwelling that I will own outright in less then a year.
In the middle of all this housing mayhem, My only grampa died. My mother never got along with her own alcoholic father and schizophrenic mother, so my father's parents were the only grandparents I had. My cousin got married recently and Grampa walked her down the aisle on Saturday and died on Sunday. Mother's day. My gramma died nine years ago, when I was a freshman in college, and in my first semester. Anyone who knows me knows how I did that semester, as I like to brag about my .9 grampa. My grampa's death was hard enough to deal with. But not really, you know, earth shatteringly shocking. The Death in my family that was earthshatterningly shocking was that of my uncle Joe. He was only 47, he died of a heart attack exactly one week after his father, my Grampa.
My cousin was getting married right in the middle of my housing thing, and when I sent in my RSVP I wasn't planning to be moving. So I didn't end up attending said event. That is right, I missed watching my Grampa walking one of my favorite cousins down the aisle. They told me that he said he couldn't wait for the wedding to be over so he could rest. He is.
Now I was feeling really bad, and my mom and my friend Lisa who is staying with us, went back to Texas about a day after the funeral. So I was going to be home alone. Normally I would have loved the thought, but after missing the wedding, having to attend a funeral, I didn't really feel like being alone. So I headed over to angel's coerced the gang over there to take me to Toronto. The biggest city I could think of that was close enough to visit in one day, and there is a Ruth's Chris Steak house there. I needed cheering up. So Saturday we set out in Paul's car, because my license is suspended (whole other story), and Angela has had some legal trouble at the border (not my story). I had a lot of fun and started feeling kind of good about my grampa's passing, you know, really getting into the whole "he is in a better place, and with my gramma" thing.
The next day, my stepmother (aka Dad's Girlfriend) Mary called me and said my Uncle Joe died. I have 2 uncle Joes, one was my father's brother, and one is my gramma's 90-something old brother. So I had to ask which one. It was my father's Brother. He was only 49. Needless to say I was a little bit busy, and out of sorts. So I had to go to California where his funeral was being held and the Cauhilla traditional funeral are 24 hour affairs. Someone has to be with the person until he is put to rest in the cemetery. My mother went with me to California. Right after we got back she found out that her best friend committed suicide. He was also like an uncle to me. An unusual uncle, but an uncle nonetheless. We are still not back to normal yet but we are on our way. Plus we have a house that we are working on to move into. This is a multidated post so please excuse the craziness of it.
posted by July @ 10:58 PM
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