Why My Autobiography Just Begs to Be Written Someday

Among the other things I've done in my life, I learned more information amidst the death of my father that just screams "writing inspiration."

First off, my former friend who showed her ass at my sister's wedding chose the day after my father collapsed & was in the hospital to try apologizing for it and shoving her way back into my life. Real fucking nice there, huh? My husband went to his Other inbox to find the date on this little message. She told my sister she'd sent it weeks before; ha!

Doesn't that sound ghoulish to you? I really think it does. While I was in town, she kept calling my sister & trying to come over. Christ, what the fuck is that about? She probably figured I was staying there or spending time there. Exactly what would she hope to accomplish by talking to someone whose father has just died? That sounds to me like trying to prey on someone's vulnerability. I made it crystal clear that I didn't want to deal with her so injecting herself where I don't want her is the emotional equivalent of punching me in the face.

What sane person would do that to someone? If you're so hellbent on talking to someone, send a Sympathy card. Talk to the people who want to talk to you! Don't inject yourself into someone else's grieving experience!

I had to play "dodge the ex-friend" at the wake since I figured she'd have zero respect or regard even if my mother & sister told her not to speak to me. Though I think she could firebomb a church & my sister would still be friends with her. Meanwhile, had I pulled the shit this ex-friend did at my sister's wedding my sister would have cut me off completely & I'd have never seen my niece or nephews again.

My husband thinks I did this to get my mind off the whole wake experience. Looking at my father in the casket, he didn't look the same. He was chalk white & looked old. Even in the hospital he had more color though that wasn't him either. I have a nasty Yelp review to write very soon about the doctor who tried to deprive me of saying goodbye.

Before that wake, I did get in a fight with my mother over the same old clothing battle again. Even in death, she felt she had the right to tell me what to wear & had all this objection over my shirt that says "Good Girls Go to Heaven, Bad Girls Go to New York." She thought that the pastor they had doing the service would get a laugh from it but claimed "that's not appropriate to wear." I refused to budge on that issue & opted to stay home. At least one friend agreed with me on this; I couldn't see her ever letting anyone censor her style so I figured I shouldn't do it either. Gee, I don't live there, don't go to that church, am not even in that religion & am a grown woman!

Sooner or later you have to say "Enough is enough." Just because my sister asks my mother's approval on clothing doesn't mean I should have to. Plus, I'm a model & live in NYC; I know more about fashion than they do. Nor should they get any right to try shaming me into being a frump. I knew my father wouldn't care & was never obsessed with trying to infantalize me. Maybe to piss my mom off if she dies before me, I should really wear a stripper like outfit to the funeral (in black, of course)!

On Wednesday, the funeral, I opted not to wear makeup. While I was soaking my eyes, my father's cat Layla jumped onto the bed. My mom was saying she missed her Daddy; it made me cry since I knew this cat wasn't going to get the same affection from anyone that she got from him. I thought about how my cats would feel if my husband or I died, especially my Russian Blue since his breed gets super attached to their humans. Considering I was barely able to get my contacts in from drying out my eyes with tears, I figured eye makeup would be a bad idea. Plus if I'm wearing it I get very conscientious about not messing it up.

I got to wear my black silk dress that I'd gotten ages ago & felt would be the perfect funeral dress. It was sporadically raining outside & I was worried I'd be getting it soaked i.e. ruining it. I was assured I looked gorgeous in it; if you saw it & already think I am even in my worst times, you'd have probably thought so as well.

We got a family car from the funeral home at my sister's request so I rode in that with even the driver holding an umbrella to protect my dress while I traipsed the muddy driveway to the limo. In so many ways it was a tight squeeze and as someone who both isn't a "believer" + is childfree, it was not pleasant for me. I couldn't help but cry at parts of the service & when they played "Taps" as part of the military portion of the funeral. My father really didn't know a stranger; as part of his being gone, I'm trying to be less closed off on the unpleasant stuff.

I've still felt compelled to cry at times. Sometimes little things triggered it like seeing Layla and petting her. For some reason, she wasn't nearly as skittish as she was in the past. I sure don't want to hear about Father's Day shit; in fact, I'd rather not celebrate it at all. Can't even imagine how Thanksgiving or Christmas will be; they feel a million miles away right now.

I did write a letter to say the things I never got to say. Writing that also made me teary eyed. I'm sure it had to be fun for my seatmate on Amtrak but at least he was respectful & didn't pry into my private affairs.

Death makes you see who your real friends are & who they aren't. Some haven't even mustered a "That sucks" & I do know one thing for certain: my future isn't going to be with City Bar's Entertainment Committee. I've seen all kinds of things about their loved one's funerals but no one's bothered posting about my father's. Out of state or not, that's still an immediate family member of mine & I know if it was certain people's parents, they'd get an announcement & information on it. I did my part by alerting the Committee President on it. If I can't even get that, I shouldn't have to announce it myself. This isn't an IndieGoGo campaign or my modeling debut. I feel quite betrayed & insulted here.

Nor should a woman ever have to tell her husband she needs comforting. My husband ticked me off a few times by not getting that & just hanging out with my nephew or brother in law instead of doing the very thing he was supposed to be in NC doing in the first place: comforting me. Is this a guy thing? Do we women actually have to tell our romantic partners "Hey, I'm upset here! I'd like a hug (or grief nookie or whatever.)"

I got back home Friday night amidst pouring rain. It rained in NC much more than I expected during the week so it was a good thing I took my hoodie & waterproof jacket. Made sure to wear them on Friday since they called for rain from NC to where I had to go. My train was delayed by 2 hours but I still beat my husband back to NY state. He flew since he opted to fly later & couldn't cancel the return trip without paying a ton of money for the cancellation fee. I refuse to fly for various reasons, particularly the whole being treated like a criminal thing & the sexism against women with baggage policies (yes, it's totally sexist to women considering we usually have to pack more & are expected by conventional society to care more about our appearance). I figured I didn't need more bullshit when it's already a pain in the ass to get to NC from where I live & vice versa. Unless you drive yourself (which has its own hassles & challenge), it's literally a pain to deal with transit to get to the area. I also expected delays & wasn't sure my husband would be able to fly out, especially since he was flying US Airways (one of the worst airlines in existence).

Only since I've gotten home do I feel that I've gotten any respite from this. We had no rental car or privacy from all of it. No grief nookie or even grief making out, no feeling I was at home or real way to feel comfortable. I feel like a prisoner when I'm in NC, at least when I'm not hanging out with people like those I associate with on my own in NYC. After that sweaty, rain soaked walk home, I hugged my babies (the cats), made the calls I needed to including some to friends & contemplated what I was going to do at 10:40 at night when I woke up at 5:15 that morning. I don't sleep outside of a bed or couch at where I'm supposed to be staying for the night unless I'm really out of it. That takes a lot from me since I'm paranoid about theft while I sleep.

I also learned a few other revealing facts on this trip: my parents did have sex after having my sister & Psycho Boy, the guy I lost my virginity to, now has a boyfriend.

The Psycho Boy thing is interesting for a few reasons. First off, if I were a size queen I'd have just let him move to Marietta & planned a future with him. Let me tell you right now that size is nothing when it's attached to a guy who is mentally unstable & has an unhealthy obsession with you. Not to mention someone who loudly announces the nudity in artwork & raves about how hot your boss is at your work study job (while she's in earshot, by the way).

Second, I'm not sure I had major clues on this one since he just seemed to me to be the type who really wasn't ready for sex at the time while I was. Everyone around me had done it & I didn't want my first time to be with a rapist. I wanted to choose my experience & start living as an adult having those college experiences. Perhaps I was trying to break from the puritanical chains I got stuck in from childhood & embrace my new life. He made some peculiar requests later on but to me, it seemed to come from the lens of "This is new for me & I'm going to jump right in."

Third, he was the kind of guy to sway more into homophobia than tolerance. He didn't seem to be particularly sympathetic to gay issues; in fact, he wasn't the type to even know enough about politics or social issues to have an opinion much less debate me on them. In short, there was not that intellectual satisfaction that I thought I didn't need but in fact a person does need. My mother intimated this with her remark about our relationship not being sustainable since he didn't even have a GED & I was going into my second year of college.

After hearing this, I'm wondering what his father said or did. Psycho Boy told me about his father finding a sex toy of ours & assuming his son was gay instead of going to where most of us might logically go first: he's using it on this girlfriend he's been spending all this time with recently. Needless to say, his father was angry & perhaps a tad paranoid about the possibility of his son deviating from the Christian holy roller tradition of marrying a girl, having babies with her & all that noise. Psycho Boy told me about how pissed his parents were at his older brother for getting a girl pregnant outside of marriage.

I think I get a pass on not marrying this guy or staying in a long term relationship like my family would have wanted, don't you? My mother & sister were always sympathetic to him; even my sister made cracks about how I messed him up by being the first girl he slept with & broke his heart. I think I'd have been really pissed about being in a sham marriage & would demand a divorce.

These days, you can go to my home state or a few others in this country & marry your homosexual lover if you want to. You can get insurance & all sorts of stuff you couldn't in the past; all you have to do is go to one of those states and not live in the crappy redneck parts of this country where people love to impose their way of life onto everyone else instead of actually LIVING a life of their own. From what I hear, this would have been a relationship entered into under false pretenses. You have to at least inform someone if you want them to be in a sham marriage & give them permission to have an open relationship so they can get their sexual needs met elsewhere. I wouldn't do a sexless marriage, as should be obvious.

It was something of a shock but also a relief for me. Psycho Boy finding happiness with the other team means he's no longer obsessed with me or someone I have to worry about becoming obsessed with me again (at least if he's full on gay & not just bi). This was a guy who'd hated natural redheads before dating me & hasn't been the first to react in some strong way towards me that made me feel claustrophobic or trapped. It means I could see him at some event & not have to worry that he's going to do something to make me uncomfortable or prompt my husband's attention.

Maybe I also helped him get to that point or made him presentable to gay men; I would consider it a point of pride to have inspired someone to have the courage to be themselves without worrying about what anyone else thought. Apparently I was the one who motivated him to get his driver's license and work on getting that GED. The girl after me was apparently abusive but you never know: the being yourself without worrying about what other people think sounds a lot like me. I can say for sure there aren't many people like that in my hometown; more of them worry about what other people think instead of doing what they want to do. That's probably one reason I had to get the hell out of there.

It's interesting to note that according to studies, gay men are bigger. I thought maybe this was anecdotal but my husband looked it up & it wasn't. This whole thing with Psycho Boy would definitely support this since he was the biggest I had.

The smallest guy, however, wasn't a super massive horndog who jumped on anything with a pulse. I call him Corona Boy & he was definitely not the sort of guy with women falling all over him. That is something I couldn't speculate on since I was never the type to be interested in those guys (sharing wasn't my thing & probably isn't for most natural redheads) or really get anyplace with them (referring to the high school crush there). Maybe other women can tell us if the guys who jump on anything are the smallest & worst in bed.

It would be true justice if that were the case, don't you think? No woman would have to worry about not sleeping with that guy in high school or college since she'd have been disappointed there too. I couldn't say about women since I've not met any truly non-selective women that men would want to compete with each other to sleep with.

This has to explain things about me but I'm not sure exactly what. In the meantime, I'm seeing friends who care, taking it easy & waiting for the day I'll not worry about crying at random. I'm not sure you ever get over it & I'm still pissed by the unfairness of it all. Religion doesn't provide me comfort on it. The only comfort I have is that I'm going to make money from what I do or die trying. I won't have anyone belittle or undermine my career or use lack of money to claim it's not valid. I owe it to my deceased family to keep living to the fullest and taking every viable opportunity I can. Those not with that program will just have to get out of my way.

I've also got a treasure trove of inspiration for writing.