Granny's Eulogy

If you haven't heard, Granny passed away this past week.  I can't say I was surprised, after seeing her about 3 weeks ago (for her 70th birthday) and understanding the frequency of hospital visits over the past 3 years.  Everyone said she was in such a great mood when she went to bed.  She didn't make it to morning.

I was asked to give the eulogy.  Y'all should know that I'm very un-emotional, or at least, I hide them.  This was the big chance to see what I was made of.  Could I keep myself together and deliver a good speech?  Apparently not.  This is what I wrote.  What actually came out was a shaky, emotional mess.

Granny is the short one in the middle.

"I’m pretty sure that I’ve yet to spend more time with any other person on this Earth compared to the amount of time that I spent with my Grandmother, or as everyone knows her, “Granny”. She certainly had her faults and her addictions, but she almost single-handedly molded me into the person I am today.

She washed every dish I ate off until I was 18. No automatic dishwasher, just her hands.

She washed every piece of clothing I wore. That made my first week of college awkward, when a girl from down the hall found me searching for the lint trap on the washing machine. For those who are currently spoiled like I was, the lint trap is actually on the dryer.

She picked out this very jacket, which is so comically over-sized and out of style that I had to wear it one last time for her.

She was the lady that sliced every single grape in half when I complained about there being seeds in them. She cooked me a grilled cheese for almost every meal I can remember growing up, regardless of what she actually made for dinner.

She left seeds of herself in every aspect of my life. I ended up choosing to play the trumpet after her stories of playing one in the Salvation Army Band with her siblings.

She couldn’t help with my homework, but she made me sit down and finish every homework assignment before I could go outside. She forced me to do as well as I could in school, knowing how bright a future I had in front of me.

She taught me how to read people. She could look out her window and tell you exactly what everyone in town was doing.

She taught me not to count anybody out, regardless of their size or how smart I think they are or how much money they have. One scratch-off could change everything.

Granny,
You always talked about how you wanted to see and know everything that I was doing, from the slopes at Lake Tahoe to the lights of Times Square. Well, now you’ll have the best seat in the house, for you will be with me everywhere I go, for the rest of my life. And in 70 years or so, we’ll meet up & talk about it.

I’m sure I speak for the whole family in thanking you all for coming to celebrate Granny’s life and wish her well on her new journey. Every person gathered here today has many stories to share about her, from driving around on her riding mower to partying 'til the wee hours. Hold those happy moments close when the times get difficult.

She always loved surrounding herself with Angels. Now she can become one. Up there raising hell with Uncle Rusty."

No amount of college education can prepare you for a speech like that.  You also can never really feel like you have enough time to write one.

Thank you all for your support over this past week.  She raised me almost all by herself, so her death will definitely have a lasting impact.  If you want to help, the best thing you can do for me is leave your favorite story about her below or on my Facebook wall.  It could be one that happened to you, or just one that you remember from me.

Sandra "Granny" Holdiman
1942-2012

~RoB

Equivalent of Crying

I'm not an emotional person.  I laugh everything off.  Not so much that I hide behind laughter, but I think that's how it started.  Now, I've trained my emotions to just be odd.  So, when I say that I at least admitted that I was affected by hearing that Whitney Houston died, that's pretty much the equivalent of crying in my book.

I never really understood any of the hullabaloo when Michael Jackson died.  Hell, I was there... kinda.  Now I do.  It just has to be an artist that means a lot to you and had a large impact at some point in the past.  Not only did I admit that I was down about it, but I had a mini-meltdown that was unfortunately documented on Facebook:

I ditched my plans for the night to go out dancing.  I seriously considered walking to a nearby pub and drinking until I thought I could out-sing Whitney.  Instead, I took off to Coldstone to drown my sorrows in ice cream:

Took me about 15 minutes.

I swung by some friends' house across the street from Coldstone, drank a bottle of wine, and they played cards with me until I was sober enough to drive home.  I didn't drive home.  I drove to Steak n Shake and ate a grilled cheese combo (with bacon and a side of ranch).  By the time I got home and I stopped whining on Facebook, I was able to snuggle up with Angel and pass out at like 3:30am.

Annie's not here.  She's at home visiting her family.  It's probably good timing.  She shouldn't have to deal with me when I'm being so ridiculous.  This is way worse than when the Spice Girls broke up, and that kept me home from school for a day.  (Puberty was rough.)

I could only be as devastated if all the members of Boyz II Men died simultaneously,
~RoB

Return to Tailspin

It turns out that I may not be going to NY any more.  It also turns out that I have way more emotional problems than was once thought.  Why?  Given the opportunity, I've reverted immediately back to 'What the fuck am I doing with my life?'-mode.

For those of you that have been reading since the beginning, you have some idea of the chaos that was my life at the beginning of this year.  (Quitting school, peeing in bottles while driving, pooping myself, constant angst [go back to January and enjoy those posts]).  On Wednesday, Annie got a call that was supposed to solidify our plans in moving back east.  The call didn't go so well, and now it doesn't make sense for Annie to leave her current job.  So, she's likely staying in the Bay Area.

I am trying to settle on the fact that I no longer want to not be with Annie and Angel, so I'm planning on giving up the job I was offered in Schenectady.  It is not going to be easy, since it may complicate (or outright impede) any future attempts of getting a security clearance.  Also, I signed something, though I can't find it, so I can't wait to hear what the stipulations are for backing out.  Career search starts over, and now I return to the constant feeling of impending doom (at least I have a small income right now).

Why is being a real person so difficult and depressing?  (Real person means not-a-student, though grad school in L.A. was certainly difficult and depressing.)  I should just go back to UCLA and stick it out.

I can't go back to UCLA...

O.M.G.
~RoB

Is This Ironic, Alanis?

On Saturday, Annie, myself, my college roommate, and his girlfriend all went to a wine tasting event in Alameda (a little island next to Oakland).  If Annie doesn't write about this event in her blog, I'll try and talk about it later this week (Holla to my new friends from the back room... you know who you are!).  Annie 'went to bed a little early' after the event, which meant she got up an hour or two before me on Sunday morning.

She had plans to travel with one of her friends to the Alameda Flea Market.  I had no interest, since flea markets are dirty.  I know, I've heard several times that this one is fancy.  All I can think of is Gibraltar Trade Center, though (only Michigan natives might know what I'm talking about).  Maybe one day I'll scrounge up a picture of young ~RoB in a t-shirt with his name airbrushed across the front.  Nothing like some good ol' redneck flea market merch!

Anyway, I woke up and made plans to play tennis.  When I got down to my car, I realized Annie was parked behind me.  Problem: Annie took her keys to get back in the apartment later.  So I called her, and her phone was off.  I had to cancel tennis (Annie's spare car key is currently at her grandfather's).  Finally, I got a hold of her and she said that she had thoughtfully removed her car keys from her oversized keychain and left them on the table.  They should have been on the key hooks, avoiding the whole situation, but I'm not going to complain when she obviously thought this through before leaving.

So, I called and rescheduled tennis.  I drove Annie's car to take Angel to a dog park near the courts, met my friend, and played tennis.  We played for 2 hours or so.  When we were finally worn out, and I was pulling all of my stuff out of my tennis bag, I saw that my phone had 24 missed calls, 5 voicemails, and a plethora of text messages.  Here's how those texts went:

It is amazing how much of her increasing frustration you can feel as the anger crescendos and eventually peaks, jumps off a cliff, and leaves a defeated, raving psychopath with nothing left but soft-spoken hatred.

It turns out that when I drove away in her car, I did to her what I had accused her of doing to me merely minutes before.  I had her car, and my apartment keys have my car key on them.  (Our apartment has collectively lost my spare car key.)  Her soccer match started at 1pm.  She was supposed to be the 3rd girl, otherwise her team would have to forfeit.  She wasn't very happy to see me, even though I raced home to pick her up and drive her to her match.

When I told this story to our roommate, I said that it was 'ironic that I did to Annie what I accused her of doing to me'.  Is that ironic, though?  At least cosmic irony?  Alanis Morissette seriously screwed up my definition of the word ironic, after it was once explained to me that not a single incident in her song (titled the same) is technically ironic.

Isn't the fact that a whole songs was written about a word, yet the word was inappropriately used... well isn't that ironic?
~RoB