A Fall Mourning In RVA

Just as I was beginning to get comfy with the gloomy weather and the couch had molded itself to take the shape of my body, the weather in RVA took a dramatic turn for the better. I really love fall. The crisp air, the clear blue sky, the rapidly increasing number of nausea-inducing, googly-eyed, puppy-love promoting couples everywhere. It seems that all my manic-depressive, slightly unhinged single friends disappear into a black hole as soon as they see a single leaf change color and fall to the ground. Regardless, I consider fall my favorite of all seasons and had to kick if off right. What better way to do that than to attend a funeral!

My lovely mother informed me of the sad death of her friend’s cousin’s uncle’s something something very important person something and told me that she had been cordially invited to the funeral + guest. Well, as you can imagine, I leaped at the offer and begged her to take me along, promising her that I would behave and make very few Billy Mays jokes. Truth be told, funerals make me really nervous but I will take any opportunity to wear a black dress and pop some anti-anxiety pills. Also, my mom is afraid to drive on Sundays, not sure why, never really cared to ask, I assumed there was some secret I wasn’t privy to.

Anyway, we arrived late to the host’s house after the burial had already taken place. I took an extra long shower and blow dried my hair one strand at a time so I would ensure maximum delay. I would have felt really awkward doing a Risky Business slide into the cemetery as they were putting someone to rest, introducing myself and feigning sympathy in the middle of the “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” part. As soon as I entered the house I was hit with the pungent scent of misery, pipe tobacco and Chanel no. 5. My mother introduced me to her friend who looked high as a kite – I’m assuming from crying but we’ll never know. She hugged me and thanked me for taking the time out to come see her. She also told me that once the food was served everyone would be asked to say a few words about her deceased uncle.

You want me to do what?! I just stood there, frozen in place. All of a sudden my palms got sweaty and her little face got blurry. I looked around the room at all the sad looking people and the thought of having to speak in front of all these strangers was enough to ensure that my eventual throwing up from nervousness would be eternal.

Exit stage right.

I maneuvered my way through the crowded room which had now turned into Marlboro country because, evidently, the best way to deal with grief is by setting your lungs on fire. I made it safely to a bathroom, drew the blinds, locked the door and precariously positioned myself atop the marble sink. I sat there for a good 15 minutes, tweeting, texting, smelling shampoos and conditioners. Whoever lived there had very nice smelling hair, that’s for sure. Things were going quite well and I was sitting there wondering if the host had a son I could drug into marrying me. Judging by the bathroom I was in, I would have quite a cushy life and could easily stay at home and carry out my dream of becoming the modern day Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I realized finally, after many twitter exchanges with friends, that I could not stay holed up in that bathroom forever like some sort of fugitive.

So, I did what any normal person would do when in a stranger’s house and confronted with boredom – Idecided to snoop around and check out the rest of the massive house. I planned on going into every room and pilfering something. A keepsake. Something to remember the experience by, to put in my scrapbook, to use at the next hashbrown networking event for show and tell.

I made my way up the winding staircase to the second floor and opened the first door to the right. This is what I saw: A middle-aged man lying next to a young-ish girl doing his best Jaws impression in trying to swallow her face. As soon as she heard the door open she whipped her face around and looked at me like I was room service there to clean up the excess saliva left over from their attempt at baby making. Awkward silence. Followed by….more awkward silence. I blinked a few times in quick succession and all that really came out was, “oh, s-sorry” and all I could think was “thank you for not being related to me.” Blank stares. I shut the door, leaned against it for a minute and thanked all that was holy that I didn’t walk in a few minutes late. I probably would’ve been witness to his Mr. Peanut and her Britney ::shudders::

I had pretty much had enough at this point and abandoned the idea of lurking around the rest of the house and made my way back downstairs. All I really wanted to do was shower, repeatedly and throw acid in my eyes. My mom made the executive decision to skip the whole “please say a few words” portion of the event. I was kind of bummed because I saw it as an opportunity to finally use my knock-knock jokes. As we were about to leave the host grabbed hold of me, violently I might add, and asked me where I had been the whole time. Awkward moment. I tried to distract her by hinting at the Joni and Chachi lovefest going on upstairs but decided against it. I thanked her for inviting me, apologized again for the loss of her uncle? (Still don’t know who died) and told her I hoped to see her again soon, under different circumstances of course.

And man I got into my car fast. I’m talking Mr. Sulu-esque fast and almost left without my mom. No more funerals. I don’t care who dies. I’m sticking to weddings, barmitzvahs and Bananarama concerts. All my condolences are going out in the shape of cards, fruit baskets and mini muffins wrapped in pretty plastic.

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