New Job

I was approached by a colleague a couple of months ago. She manages a funeral home in a town not far from where I was working and she asked me if I would come manage a new funeral home for her that she was planing on opening in another little town near the one she currently works in. Now, I'm not sure how many other people she must have asked to take this job (in my mind I was like, the last pick from ten people that turned her down, but I'll never know because who really wants to know that kind of stuff), but I said yes. Actually, I told her I had to think about it and discuss it with Clem and all, and, from her reaction, she was quite surprised that I had to think about it. Anyway, I ended up saying yes, and put in my two weeks at Former Funeral Home, where it wasn't hard to leave due to staffing changes that have taken place over the past couple of years (and yes, I am sorry to have not posted at all during that time).

So, the new place is great. My boss, Barb, is a kick-ass lady. She's adorable. I think she's 50, and she and her husband, Arthur, are very kind. She has been in this business for years and is an asset to the industry. They have four kids that are all grown, and one of them works in the funeral home that Barb runs. The place that I am in is just a store front. There isn't a chapel or an embalming room or anything. Barb is looking for land to buy so that she can build from the ground up here in this town, so for the time being I will embalm at the other location (it's just a ten minute drive away), and we will use their chapel for viewings and services also, if the family we are handling services for doesn't have a church they want to use. There's a guy that I have in the office working with me, Carlos, and for now he is fairly useless, but, in the future, once he learns what he's doing (he's never worked in this industry before, but knows everyone in this town) he should be helpful. I'm sure I'll end up talking about him more, as he's going to be annoying, for sure, and he already treats e as a glorified secretary.

In which I was having a great day until...

Fuk. I'm not going to rant, I'm not going to rant, I'm not going to rant...

I am making arrangements for the interment of a veteran in one of the national cemeteries.  His remains were cremated and the next-of-kin gave me the DD214 (discharge form) so that I could arrange for the free burial that he is entitled to (did you know that all honorably-discharges veterans are entitled to a free grave and marker?), and I faxed it in to the National Cemetery scheduling office this morning.  I waited a while and called them to make sure they would have had time to receive the fax, and talked to a sweet lady that took the deceased's info and scheduled the graveside service with me in about 5 minutes. She took the date that I requested for the service and asked what time:
Service Lady: What time on that date would you like the service?
Me: is 11 available?
SL: Lemme check *clicky sounds on the computer* Um, the closest I have is 12:30.
Me: *notice that Big Bird is standing over my shoulder holding her desk calendar, and turn to look at her*
Big Bird: *whispering* 11 o'clock today? I have an opening for 11:30, not 11!!! *panicking now, but still whispering*
Me: *to the SL on the phone* Please excuse me, I'm being interrupted. *exasperated, to BB* I am on the phone, and this has nothing to do with an appointment here, nor is it for today.
*BB feels like an idiot and walks back into her office to eavesdrop on the rest of the fucking day, and I feel like shit for having been an ass hole*
*to the SL* Sorry about that, did you say 12:30? That's just fine.
etc...

WTF? Why is she so effing anal about the fracking calendar? Why does she think that I am incapable of checking a fucking calendar to see when we have appointments available? Am I really that incompetent? Am I new here? Why am I so angry?

And this is what really sucks: I was in *such* a good mood today! Here are my reasons why (maybe they will help calm me down):
1. I slept well. J and I went to the spa last night before bed, and although it was WAY too hot, I feel quite refreshed.
2. We didn't get too busy at work this weekend, so today has been less hectic than the past few Mondays.
3. I'm not sure why, but my boobs look GREAT today.  Maybe they got perkier overnight, or maybe my vision is failing in my old age, either way, they're adorable.

But, alas, I am sitting here, relaxed and perky, and in a foul effing mood. Somebody, please, cheer me up!

UPDATE:
Part of my good day list is two blogs I've been liking, that I am sharing with you:
Is this thing on?
Late Enough

Mourners, party of 3...

I know I've mentioned before that some people decide to pre-plan their funeral services, and that it insures that their wishes are followed after they die.  Well, we had a death this week for a woman who had done just that, and pre-planned a funeral service in the chapel, followed by burial in a cemetery here.  She picked out everything, and prepaid for it all, so when she died we got started arranging for everything and found out she has no family.  Apparently the state (or county or whatever) appointed a public guardian to her to help take care of her (find a nursing home, figure out medical care, take care of finances, etc.) since her husband died 20 years ago and she had no other family.  Normally in that sort of case the public guardian will just have the remains cremated and then buried somewhere, using any funds that the deceased has left, but in her case it was all taken care of, so the guardian let us take care of it all.

Anyway, we knew no one was going to come to the service. It seems sad to think that, and I suppose it is, but all of us were kind of excited that we would get to be the attendees for the service.  Our very own Buck was the officiate, and Monica, Tank and I sat in the first pew of the chapel.  Boss sat in the back (he was the only one that knew the deceased at all), and Big Bird popped her head in a few times.  The service lasted about 25 minutes, and at the end Buck and Buffy sang Amazing Grace a cappella, and it was beautiful.  We were all given a chance to say a few words about the woman that had died, and although we didn't know her we said what was on out hearts.  It was really a wonderful service, and a great end to my week.

Conversations with my mother

I was talking to my mom the other night, she had shoulder surgery and I went over to check up on her and I was telling her about my manager, Tank (whom she knows), and the experience he had last week. Back years ago, when he had first received his embalmer’s license, he got a case, a young woman who had been murdered, and it was his first homicide. She had been pretty badly beaten, and he embalmed her and also met with her family, and he remembers a lot about the case: her name, how old she was, the family, etc. Apparently there had been other murders in the area all by what looked like the same person, and the man (I’m not just assuming it was a man, the victims all had been sexually assaulted and there was semen found on them) had never been caught. So, the other night he was watching the news and he heard that a man had been convicted of these murders from the time period and in the same area as this gal, but no victim names were mentioned in the clip, so he googled the story, finding the name of the girl he had embalmed decades ago as one of those victims this guy had been convicted of murdering. Pretty effing crazy, no?

So, I tell this all to my mom who is shocked that Tank remembered, and then she looked at me and said how sad it was.

Mom: That’s so sad, Doll.
Me: Yeah, but sometimes people die that way.
Mom: No, I mean that he was so affected. How awful.
Me: It’s not that bad, mom.
Mom: But it stayed with him all that time. It must have really weighed heavy on him to have stayed with him for so long. How awful to have had to work on a homicide. You’ve never had to do that, have you??
Me: Work on a homicide?
Mom: Yeah.
Me: Of course I have, mom.
Mom: How sad!!
Me: It’s part of the job, mom. It’s helpful.

So, I was thinking about it, my poor mother, all doped up on surgery meds, being surprised at the fact that I’ve worked on homicides, when I know she and I have talked about it before. Hell, I was a mess a while back working on the little one (4 years old) that had been murdered and bawled my brains out at her, so I know she knew that I’ve had to do that before, but I think it wasn’t until Tank’s story that she realized that some of this shit doesn’t go away. Some of it just stays with us. He will always see the marks on that woman’s body, remembering how he had to cover up the strangulation marks on her neck so that her parents and sister wouldn’t see the extent of the damage done to their girl, and that will always be part of the game. I will never forget that little one, and cannot seem to escape the knowledge that they suffered. Suffered badly, and for what reason? I remember my tears falling on the child’s arms as I dressed the little body, and watching a father place them in a casket that shouldn’t even be made that small.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that my mom is right. It is sad. And I think I am starting to understand that it might hurt every now and then. But it’s my job. And I love it. And I think I am starting to realize that it’s okay to be affected, at least every once in a while.

Why does it bother me so much?

Manager says to me earlier this week: I wonder how many of the bodies run through here go to Hell. *chuckle*

I can't stop thinking about it.

This week in a nutshell

So, a good friend of mine isn’t speaking to me.

Big Bird is making me want to kill a b****. All week she’s been riding my ass about any little nit-picky thing she can come up with. Then, to top it off her dad had a stroke yesterday and she had to leave to go to the hospital with her mom and so I feel bad for hating her. I even called her cell last night to see if I could bring them some dinner (she said no, but thanked me anyway), and I can’t figure out why I did that. I really am not that nice of a person.

Whatever, she’s back at work today, and my friend still isn’t speaking to me, and I’m on call this weekend, so… Here goes it I guess.

I'm having a shitty week

Check back in a coupla days...

A little of everything

Big Bird is on vacation for a couple of days, so the atmosphere in the office is much more relaxed. We have a bit of work to do today, I have already met with one family today, as has Monica, and there are two more families to come in later. We also had a service this morning and another this afternoon, but for as busy as we are no one is too stressed about it, with Big Bird not here cracking the whip every five minutes.

My weekend was nice. I worked a bit on Saturday at a service in the chapel for a family I had met with. It was a memorial service and was well-attended, and the service went smoothly. Monica was the director on call and she was in the office meeting with a family, and she was happy to see me when she came out of the arrangement room into the office. She looked adorable, wearing a see-through, high collared cream blouse with one of those big, flouncy bows at the neckline, something that looked like it came from my wardrobe, and when I commented on how cute the top was she said that my vampire-esque wardrobe had inspired her. Pretty funny I thought, and I asked how she knows that vampires wear those Victorian type shirts and she just laughed, saying that she just imagines that they look that way and that I remind her of one when I wear those shirts. I’m not sure why, but I thought it was very funny. Anyhoo, her new family that she had just finished arrangements with was going to want viewing, and Monica didn’t want to wait until Monday to pick the body up at the hospital, but didn’t want to have to pay a service to get the body so that we could embalm it right away, so I told her to grab her purse and we’d go get the body ourselves from the hospital. The morgue tech was pleased to see us, and asked us to come back soon. I just smiled and told him that with faces this pretty the boss doesn’t like us in the morgues, but that he was welcome to stop by the funeral home anytime and we’d be happy to smile for him.

When I got home I fed the hubby and daughter lunch and put Clementine to bed for a nap. The hubby then said that I should go get a mani-pedi (which is sooooo not like me), and gave me fifty bucks to pay for it. Gotta love a gambler when he wins, right?

Saturday night we had dinner at a good friend’s house and Clem played with the toys for the baby they are adopting soon. She says she’s testing them out to make sure they are okay for the baby. Very odd. But it was fun, and Saturday night my mom had Clem spend the night so that hubby and I could go out drinking and then sleep in on Sunday, which we did.

So, that’s really it, Sunday was boring, just chilled at home and did laundry.

Now I’m just sitting in the office listening to Buck tell Buffy how it’s important to allow for windage. “The bullet and the (derogatory term used in the Vietnam War) have to meet up at the same time. If you aren’t going to reach it at the same time then what’s the use.” To which I responded that it sounded more like sexual advice than military advice. He told me to settle down and then reconsidered, “Well, now, Doll, I think you might be right.”

Three cheers for my boss

Friday morning as the hubby was dropping me off at work I noticed that the engine was overly hot, so instead of him letting me out and taking off he parked the car and opened the hood to check the coolant and stuff. The owner of my funeral home noticed and came up to the car and talked to my hubby (who was now going to be late to work, which is fine, just a pain in the ass) to see what was wrong. Within about five minutes they had decided that the car would need to go in to a shop, and my boss told my husband where to take it, and then told him that one of my coworkers would follow him to the car place, pick him up to come back to my funeral home, then let my hubby take the company Suburban to work for the day. I should mention that this Suburban is the boss’ baby, with nice chrome wheels and pretty interior, and is seldom used for work (21,000 miles on it and it’s a 2005). Anyway, the hubby says thank you and heads off to work. The owner knew I was on call that weekend, and I assured him that between my parents and sisters that I would have reliable transportation the whole weekend (and I could even drive our ’59, just not with my daughter as there are no seat belts) and he insisted on me taking the Suburban home for weekend use. He gave me a little lecture on mot parking close to other cars and not getting the tires close to curbs, and that was that. The hubby brought a nice bottle of vodka for my boss when he came to pick me up Friday after work, and my boss told me that he didn’t think we should have given him anything, saying “That’s just what you do for family. You could use a hand, and it just so happened that I could lend one.”

So, this is what I learned: My boss is awesome. Volkswagens are expensive to fix. Suburbans are crazy-big.

I didn't even remember it myself...

I got to work today a bit earlier than my boss, Tank. I sat down and checked my work email and looked in my box to see if there was anything to work on (the office opens at 6:30am so a lot of times when I get in at 8 there are already things in my in box to do). Anyway, we are pretty slow so there wasn’t anything to do, so I just worked on my photo project for a bit. Tank finally came in and sat a donut and an envelope in front of me, and I looked up at him very confused.

Me: What’s this?
Tank: It’s a donut. And a card. Open it.
Me: *open the card, have even more confused look on my face*
Tank: You’ve been here a year, it’s your anniversary card. *gets nervous* Do you like it? I got the one that plays music. I didn’t know what kind of donut you like, is that one okay?
Me: *stunned* I LOVE IT, TANK!!! You remembered? Thanks *hugs Tank*
Tank: I guess your probation is over *laughs*

So, that was my morning. I have an anniversary card that plays the theme song from Friends when it opens (Clementine loves those). Pretty nice, huh?

What women can't do

So, today I was told three different times by three different men that moving bodies wasn't 'woman's work'. um, wha?? so, I'm a little perturbed, and, at the times they were explaining to me that I was not to be moving bodies, was as well. Now, not one of the three men that told me about whose job it was to move the dead knew about the other men that had been telling me (or were going to tell me later in the day), which makes it even worse. This means that they all three think that body moving is solely a mans job (well, sort of. Two of the three think its okay for me to move a body, with the help of another (man) if all other possible men are not available and the body MUST be moved then). And these aren't big, surly, strong guys, just regular (old) guys. And don't get me wrong, I appreciate that they are worried about my frail, feminine body, but come on. I picked mortician as my profession with the knowledge that it would include body moving, even when the body is heavy, or gross, or whatever. It's what I do. And also, the main embalmer is a woman. I don't see them coming in the prep room at all hours helping her move her bodies. Is it that she's like 48? Or larger than I am? Or doesn't wear dresses, and therefore isn't as feminine? I don't get it.

I am so tired

The hubby had a gig last night. Two other djs came to town and they played from 9pm to 1am at a local bar. It was fun, I was in charge of taking the money at the door for the first hour or so, then some friends took over so I could shake it on the dance floor. This hot chick came up to me and danced a bit, and after a few minutes she started getting a bit handsy, I was wearing a killer blue dress (imagine Marylin's white dress in navy) and all of a sudden there are hands creeping their way up it. WTF, right? So I turned arround (the chick was dancing on my backside) and asked her what she was doing. Here's the convo:

Hot chick: Oh don't worry, I'm not a lesbian.
Me: What?
HC: I mean, you look hot, but I don't want to date you.
Me: Um, I wans't worried that you were a lesbian, I just dont want my ass hanging out all over the bar, so don't pull up my dress. And I'm married anyway.
HC: Oh, you are? Where is he? He just lets you go to clubs in sexy dresses?
Me (a bit stunned that this hot chick thinks my dress is sexy): Um, he's right over there watching you feel up his wife.
HC: Oh. *waves at my hubby* Will he let you give me your phone number.
Me: Why don't you go ask him?

What just happened there? I'm still confused. Was she hitting on me? I cannot figure it out.

Different topic:
Pete, an olf funeral director here called me up to his office this morning. He told me that his home page was changed and wanted to know why and if I could "fix it back to CNN." So I did that for him and also made a MapQuest bookmark at his request, and I swear to Buddha he thinks I am a computer guru. It's funny, the things that we can do that other generations can't.

A force to be reckoned with

It has been one of those days in which all my office work gets done by noon (which probably has a bit to do with the fact that Big Bird is back so there’s little goofing off) and I don’t have anything to do but get bodies ready and in their caskets. Jane came by and took Monica and me out to lunch (best Mexican food ever) and we came back to work full and lazy. The three of us ladies headed to the back to curl hair, put make-up on, and generally beautify the deceased cases in the dressing room. We soon finished and Monica and I decided to organize the cart that we keep all of our everyday tools/instruments/make-up on and integrate the things we bought at Target the other day. Jane made a comment that we needed to get one of those huge Craftsman tool things on wheels, which I would LOVE, but I told her I didn’t want to ask for Boss to buy it for me. The cart I use now is old, and a bit small, but it works well enough. Anyhoo, Jane left the two of us girls and we started organizing. I cleaned all the brushes (both make-up and hair), instruments, and the cart, and she went through the make-up and tossed out the old stuff and labeled all the plastic drawers we keep the cosmetics in with what is in each drawer (this helps the boys either put things back where they belong or at least leave the stuff out that they used so that we can put them away later). We were unstoppable. If it was in the dressing room it got cleaned, organized, and put away. And to make it even better, Big Bird didn’t come back to bug us once with questions about paperwork we have done the past two days while she’s been out sick. Today = Awesome

And I quote, "Yeah, I puked on my junk"

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ ABOUT GROSS STUFF

Okay, so at the end of the workday today, Buffy and I were discussing Big Bird being sick and how it's so nice that we got to have a relaxed, yet productive day. So, Tank chimed in and said that she's home with "the shits" and we all started laughing hysterically about it (just imagine a 62 year old, stick-up-my-ass, I-was-raised-by-Amish-folks-but-I'm-totally-not-judging-you-heathens type sitting on a toilet, let alone with "the shits"), as he finishes by telling us that she is also puking all day long, to which I say, "Oh is she? That sounds a lot like what Jane had on Friday (obviously insinuating that Jane (a lesbian and my best girl at work) was making out with Big Bird (a lesbian hater and a pain in my ass)), and we all start laughing even harder (I had tears). So Buffy starts in about the worst sicknesses we have all had, and we're sharing stories about vomit and diarrhea and all that stuff, and Buff shares this story:

"This one day, it was the wifey and my first, maybe second, Christmas as a married couple, and I had the stomach flu something fierce. I am sitting on the toilet with the worst butt-sickness ever, and I'm telling myself to not get that I-have-to-puke feeling, to no avail. So then I am thinking that I know I am gonna puke, and I had moved the trash can earlier to puke in, and I knew I couldn't try to get my ass off the toilet to puke in it, I would just end up making a shit mess on the floor, and so I decide to lean back, aim for the space between my legs, and puke into the toilet."

At this point I have peed on myself I am laughing so hard, and my manager, Tank, is looking at us with a 'what-is-up-with-this-generation-that-they-can-talk-so-candidly-with-the-opposite-sex-about-shit-and-vomit' look on his face, an that's when it just gets heavenly. Buffy says this:

"Yeah, I puked on my junk. All over my junk"

I DIED LAUGHING.

So, this is my question: Is potty humor always going to be that funny to me? My roomate in college was so anti-potty humor that I wondered if I was normal. I mean, two years we lived together and I just can't remember her even saying "poop," and I just wonder: Is something wrong with me??

I can't complain

We’re still slow. The boss was chatting with the office manager, Big Bird, and somehow BB convinced him that we (the three of us women) should go shopping instead of stay in the office, and then go to lunch together, and also got him to give us cash to pay for lunch. It sounds like fun, and I’m totally into it, but it makes me wonder what the boss has in mind for the guys of the office to do. Stripper, maybe? Have a keg delivered? Watch something good on the flat screen in the (unused so far this week) chapel? Hmmm…

Dying of boredom

Jane, the main embalmer here, is out of town starting today until next Tuesday. She is going fishing, which is funny. I’ve never gone fishing for reasons other than being hungry while backpacking, and so never used a fishing pole. I don’t even really like fish, so the whole fishing thing seems lame, or boring or something. So, she’s all excited about a week of fishing and can’t wait to be wherever it is that she’s going. So, that means I’ll be embalming more than usual this week, and meeting with (hopefully) less families. I never like being the director that meets with a family and the embalmer for their deceased relative, mostly because I tend to feel like that is creepy for the family. I mean, my name is listed on the death certificate of anyone I embalm, and for some reason I think that families don’t really want to know the person that did the embalming. I suppose that its weird for me to think that, I mean, the general public doesn’t actually know what embalming really is, so they probably don’t pay much attention to the name listed on the death certificate.

Monica, the new girl, says she’ll help me out in the prep room, and I told her to bring some tennis shoes to keep here at work (it sucks to have to embalm in four inch heels, even if it is sexier), and that I would make her a cute apron. Back when I started at this mortuary I made myself a kick-ass apron out of oil cloth (that stuff that plastic tablecloths are made out of, with the fuzzy backing) that I wear in the prep room. The fabric store had a lot of different patterns of oil cloth and I chose a black and white toile pattern, and plain red accents (pockets, straps and edging). It probably isn’t quite OSHA compliant, but it works for me, and is definitely cuter than the space suit crap the funeral home buys. And the pockets are wonderful.

We are really slow right now, almost painfully so. It’s a funny thing to wish that we were busier, especially since that would mean death for people, but I can’t help it. I spent the morning organizing the prep room and the makeup cart, and am thinking about going to Target (love that place) to stock up on a few “normal” makeup products, as well as a few other supplies that I use during restoration. Hopefully I can leave soon…

Live blogging: at a funeral

I'm at a funeral right now. Its funny, the priest was just eating breakfast when we got here, and it was like 10 in the morning. Just seems like when you're a priest you should be halfway through your day by then. Also, the mass started when the church bells chimed for 11, but in looking at my clock, the church bells are 10 minutes slow. Strange.

Since we got here about an hour before Mass started I sat down on a bench in the church garden, and was soon joined by a boy (well, he looked about 18, but I didn't ask) who said hello and took the seat next to me (uh, I guess he didn't notice the other two empty benches right there) and started chatting me up. Normally I bring a book with me to a funeral, and just read it during the 'down time' but I finished my book last night and didn't stick another one in my bag. So, he is asking me all about working at the funeral home and what I do there ("are you the one that takes out the guts?" to which I say that he is confusing an embalmer (me) with a coroner (definitely not me), and that I do not remove any guts, just blood and other body fluids), and he's really into it, but not in the morbid-facination way, but in the I-bet-I-could-do-that kind of way. So, he tells me he works at the local high school and runs a soccer training school as well, and lucky for me we started talking about him instead. After a bit more soccer chatting my co-worker walks over and the boy asks if that's my boss, and I tell him that in fact I am his boss, and he doesn't believe me since I'm not only female, but also about 35 years younger than my co-worker. So the kid asks my co-worker, who confirms that I am indeed his boss, so the boy asks me for a job. Lol, right?

Chicken-fried steak and a vocab lesson

Since my daughter is out of town and our Friday-night hang out friends' kids are out of town with my daughter, the hubby and I went to our friends' house for dinner last night. The wife half of the couple and I were thinking that we’d make dinner for our boys while they sit out by the pool and talk about boobs, and decided that we were going to make chicken-fried steak. Now, I grew up never having had it, but the hubby’s mom made it all the time when he was younger, so she taught me how to do it, and even though I hardly ever make it (I think it’s gross), it’s an easy recipe, and gravy is even easier, and both my husband and hers absolutely love it, so that’s what we made. She baked potatoes and made us gals a bomb salad, and her husband made me a killer vodka martini, and I’ll tell you what: it was a great evening. After dinner she and I chatted on the couch about everything, I even told her I had been blogging (not even my husband knows about that, he tends to be VERY protective of the funeral related info I have shared, and would be hard to convince that I NEED an outlet to talk about my job), and we had an awesome time.

Conversation I just heard coming from the two desks behind me:
Buffy: I’m so tired of your anti-Semitism, Buck. I mean, this is just not allowed.
Buck: Buf, I swear, if you don’t let me work…I don’t even know what you're talking about, anti-Semitism. Aren’t you supposed to go to lunch?
Buffy: Hey, Doll, what do you call that spot between the balls and ass?...Buck, that’s what you call it.
Me: (answering at the same time Buffy did) It’s a perineum, Buf, or were you looking for taint?
Buck: What?? What did you say, Doll? That’s disgusting. How do you know that?
Me: It’s not disgusting, it’s a word. You need to lighten up.
Buffy: What about a Cloaca, Doll? Do you know what that is?
Me: Nope.
Buffy: Buck, you're a cloaca.

Rosaries in Spanish

I had a funeral Mass to work this morning at the Catholic Church just down the street. It’s the oldest one in the area (I work downtown) and is absolutely breathtaking. I’ve been inside more times than I can count, and every time I go in I am amazed at how lovely it is. I also love that there is always some small group of Mexican women kneeling in the front pews saying the Rosary in Spanish. I don’t exactly know why, but hearing the Rosary chanted in Spanish is one of the most soothing things I can think of. It’s way better than in English, and although no one in my family speaks Spanish I think I’d like my funeral Rosary said in Spanish instead of English. I’d be surprised if God even paid attention to such a small detail. And maybe making my family say it in Spanish would force them to pay better attention to the words they are saying. I mean, I am far from being spiritual, but am fairly religious (funny, most people claim to be the opposite), but the Rosary is a very interesting prayer. Actually, I like it better than Mass.

The service I had this morning was all in Spanish, and I mentioned the family in a previous post. Yep, this is the service with the good-looking grandson that translated for his mom (although I must say, my Spanish is getting quite good), and I’ll tell you, that boy was cute today in his black suit and hair all pulled back into a low ponytail and Spanish accent and buff, casket-carrying physique. And he chatted with me at the graveside after the service was done, and I kept thinking, “Man, I wish this kid had more funerals to go to,” then feeling bad because it sucks to have to go to funerals for the general public. I’m not convinced that makes me a bad person yet though, I mean, it’s not like I asked the guy out.

Today is Buck’s 62nd birthday (yep, he now qualifies for Social Security) so I made him chocolate cupcakes with butter cream frosting and sprinkles (I let them pick what kind of cupcakes they want for their birthday) and sang a Marilyn-esque “happy birthday”, although without the super-tight dress. He was glad (more for the cupcakes than the song) and has eaten three so far.

A little about the new gal

Thursdays are funny. The office has staff meetings on Thursday morning. Like every week. I suppose that is a normal thing, but I’ve never been part of a company that did it. And the employees here are hilarious about it. We all sit in a circle and Tank goes through the list of things he wants to cover and we chime in when he is talking about a topic that we were/are/will be involved in. Everybody is very supportive of each others' ideas, and at times I feel like I’m in an afternoon special about mutual respect and teamwork. Today we talked quite a bit about Monica, the new girl that starts on the 22nd of this month.

So, this Monica is someone I’ve never met formally, although I have talked on the phone with her a good number of times, and seen her a few. She currently works for a corporate-owned funeral home just down the street from us, and when Sally quit a few months ago she approached our firm to apply for her position if we decided to fill it. Monica has always been a sweetheart, and she really is gorgeous, and it will be interesting to see how she fits in here. There is only one other woman that works with me full-time (and only one other gal that’s part-time), so it will be kinda fun I think, having someone close to me in age, and with whom I can bitch about not being allowed to wear pants at work (which is a pain in the ass when it comes to moving bodies around all day, not to mention the b.s. that is pantyhose). So, yeah, I think I’m excited.

Another topic: Tonight my daughter has tae kwon do which she loveslovesloves. It is a real gas to watch her class (2 year olds to 5 year olds) and listen to them count in Korean, and respond to the teachers with a “yes sir” or “yes m’am.” She has only been in it for about 3 weeks now, and I’ll tell you what, it sure beats the hell out of ballet class.