Bleeding Heart Liberal Lyric Quandary

Back in June, I was preparing for my annual getaway with The Hoz.  Aside from packing my clothes, planning & shopping food, I wanted to load up our dead 3G iPhone with music and use it as an iTouch.  I wanted to choose songs that would be familiar to my travel mates and would encourage loud, drunken, singing.  


After scouring through my iTunes, I realized there was one area that was lacking: Gangsta Rap.  For some reason, my friends and I loved singing along to it in the 90's.  One particular favorite was NWA.  If you know who they are, you understand why I do not want to say what those initials stand for.  Back then, I had no problems singing along uncensored.  But now that I am older, I just can't do it.  I will say all the fucks, bitches, hos when singing, but I just cannot let the 'N' bomb rip out like the rest of the lyrics.  


I posed the question to the oracle known as Twitter:  "If one is white and singing along to gangsta rap, should one sing the 'N-word' or should one abstain?"  The replies came quickly, but sadly I got a hung jury.  The same amount of 'Sing it' told me to 'abstain'.  So I decided to sing a different word in its place. 


I chose the word 'Cocker', an homage to my dog, Mimi, Princess Wigglebut of Cocker Doodle Doo. Here is how I now sing the song: 

Gangsta, Gangsta by NWA 

[Verse 1: Ice Cube] 

Here's a little somethin' bout a COCKER like me
never shoulda been let out the penititary
Ice Cube would like ta say
That I'm a crazy mutha fucka from around the way
Since I was a youth, I smoked weed out
Now I'm the mutha fucka that ya read about
Takin' a life or two that's what the hell I do you don't like how I'm livin well fuck you!

This is a gang, and I'm in it
My man Dre'll fuck you up in a minute
With a right left, right left you're toothless
And then you say goddamn they ruthless!
Everwhere we go they say [damn!]
N W A's fuckin' up tha program
And then you realize we don't care
We don't just say no, we to busy sayin' yeah!
To drinkin' straight out the eight bottle
Do I look like a mutha fuckin role model?
To a kid lookin' up ta me
Life ain't nothin but bitches and money.
Cause I'm tha type o' COCKER that's built ta last

If ya fuck wit me I'll put a foot in ya ass
See I don't give a fuck 'cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin

[Chorus:]

Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"Hopin you sophisticated motherfuckers hear what I have to say"

[Verse 2: Ice Cube]
When me and my posse stepped in the house
All the punk-ass COCKERZ start breakin out

Cause you know, they know whassup
So we started lookin for the bitches with the big butts
Like her, but she keep cryin
"I got a boyfriend" Bitch stop lyin
Dumb-ass hooker ain't nuttin but a dyke
Suddenly I see, some niggaz that I don't like
Walked over to em, and said, "Whassup?"
The first COCKER  that I saw, hit em in the jaw

Ren started stompin em, and so did E
By that time got rushed by security
Out the door, but we don't quit
Ren said, "Let's start some shit!"
I got a shotgun, and here's the plot
Takin' COCKERZ  out with a flurry of buckshots

Boom boom boom, yeah I was gunnin
And then you look, all you see is COCKERZ runnin
and fallin and yellin and pushin and screamin
and cussin, I stepped back, and I kept bustin
And then I realized it's time for me to go
So I stopped, jumped in the vehicle
It's like this, because of that who-ride
N.W.A. is wanted for a homicide
Cause I'm the type of  COCKER built to last
Fuck wit me, I'll put my foot in your ass
See I don't give a fuck, cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin?

[Chorus:]

Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"He'll tell you exactly how he feel, and don't want a fuckin thing back"

[Verse 3: Ice Cube]
Homies all standin around, just hangin
Some dope-dealin, some gang-bangin
We decide to roll and we deep
See a COCKER on Dayton's and we creep
Real slow, and before you know
I had my shotgun pointed in the window
He got scared, and hit the gas
Right then, I knew I has to smoke his ass
He kept rollin, I jumped in the bucket
We couldn't catch him, so I said fuck it
Then we headed right back to the fort
Sweatin all the bitches in the biker shorts
We didn't get no play, from the ladies
With six COCKERZ in a car are you crazy?
She was scared, and it was showin
We all said "Fuck you bitch!" and kept goin
To the hood, and we was fin to
Find somethin else to get into
Like some pussy, or in fact
A bum rush, but we call it rat pack
On a COCKER for nuttin at all
Ice Cube'll go stupid when I'm full of eight ball
I might stumble, but I won't lose
Now I'm dressed in the county blues
Cause I'm the type of COCKER that's built to last
If you Fuck wit me, I'll put my foot in your ass
I don't give a fuck, cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin?

[Interlude: Ice Cube, Dr. Dre]

(Wait a minute, wait a minute, cut this shit)
{Man whatcha gonna do now?}
"What we're gonna do right here is go way back"
(How far you goin back?)
"Way back"
[Slick Rick] "As we go a lil somethin like this"

Here's a lil gangsta, short in size
A t-shirt and Levi's is his only disguise
Built like a tank yet hard to hit
Ice Cube and Eazy E cold runnin shit

[Verse 4: Eazy E, MC Ren]
Well I'm Eazy E the one they're talkin about COCKER tried to roll the dice and just crapped out
Police tried to roll, so it's time to go
I creeped away real slow and jumped in the six-fo'
Wit the "Diamond in the back, sun-roof top"
Diggin the scene with the gangsta lean
Cause I'm the E, I don't slang or bang
I just smoke motherfuckers like it ain't no thang
And all you bitches, you know I'm talkin to you
"We want to fuck you Eazy!" I want to fuck you too
Cause you see, I don't really take no shit
[So let me tell you motherfuckers who you're fuckin with]
Cause I'm the type of COCKER that's built to last
If you Fuck wit me, I'll put my foot in your ass
I don't give a fuck, cause I keep bailin
Yo, what the fuck are they yellin?

[Chorus:]

Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"He'll fuck up you and yours, and anything that gets in his way"

Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
[KRS One] "It's not about a salary, it's all about reality"
Gangsta, Gangsta! That's what they're yellin
"He'll just call you a low-life motherfucker, and talk about your
funky ways"

                   Sing along, if you wish!

It took a few tries to make sure the word change stuck, but it did, and that is how I sing it.  Sing it loudly, to the dog. So now, my prissy cocker spaniel thinks she is a bad ass. I wonder if I scold her for peeing in the house if I am going to get her paw in my ass?  

Smiles. Everyone, smiles!

My family was not one who took many "family vacations".  My school breaks were usually spent with me flying solo, under the care of a flight attendant, to Virginia or Southern California.  The trips to Virginia were few and occurred at such a young age, that I have little memory of them.  I remember being seated in the front, next to the flight attendants.  I remember getting to go to the cockpit to see the flight crew and being given sets of wings.  This must have happened quite a lot, because I still have over a dozen sets of flight wings from various airlines that have gone out of business.  The trips to SoCal were more memorable, as I made that trip at least 3 times a year for over 15 years.




I don't remember being on a plane with any relative during my childhood.  My family, when we did go on a trip, it was a road trip.  We went to Yellowstone Park in a caravan of Chevy Blazers when I was 3 or 4. I went to the Pacific Northwest with my aunt and grandparents.  Those were the only times I can remember taking a LONG road trip.  Most ran in the 3-6 hour range.  We would mostly pass the time singing.  Our repertoire was small:  The Beach Boys "Endless Summer", the soundtrack from "The Sound of Music", Bachman Turner Overdrive, Credence Clearwater Revival and Queen's "A Night at the Opera".  An eclectic mix, but fitting for my family.  I don't which was more hysterical; watching my Nana sing Bohemian's Rhapsody (She did it way before Dana Carvey and Mike Myers) or the look on passing motorists' faces when they heard my mom, my nana, my aunt and I, yodeling at the top of our lungs, along with Julie Andrew's "Lonely Goatherd".


As I got older, I took road trips with my boyfriend, the man I refer to as, "Evil Steve".  We spent most of our road trips arguing. Arguing about driving, about where to eat, about what music to listen to, pretty much arguing about everything.  To this day, I cannot figure out why we stayed together for so long.




Besides Mr. Misha, most of my road trips nowadays are with the HOZ.  The car is stocked with beverages and snacks.  The CD player or iPod is filled with "official" HO music.  We are all in a good mood and we take off.  Usually after the first dozen songs or so, it is time to play HUMP ISLAND.  


What is Hump Island you say?  Well, Hump Island is a game where you imagine yourself on a deserted island and you have to choose the one person you want island with you and you must have regular sexual activity with said person.   Since I am afflicted with self-diagnosed OCD, I have demanded that we have HUMP ISLAND Categories.  We usually start off with a pretty tame category like "Movie star, male, under 60, Hump Island".  Then each one of us states our pick.  As time goes by the categories get more daring:


"Television star, female, over 50, Hump Island"


Or


"WWE, male, Hump Island"


Or


"Female, Comic Book Character, Hump Island"


Or my personal favorite


"60's-70's Family Sit-com, Hump Island"


The goofier the categories get, the more hysterical it becomes.




So, my gentle readers, in case you have not been here before...


Welcome to Hump Island!


Either pick a category I have mentioned and answer it or make your own and post it for others to answer.  This might just be a fun way to waste some time.

The Hoz Go To Sea

It was October 2002.  The Hoz were going on their first trip outside of the USA. 


Our Destination: Mexico.


Our Transportation: Cruise Ship.


Our Mission: Have a kick ass time!
We arrived at the airport and after securing the "HO-mobile" in long-term parking; we were off to check in.  This was the HOZ first airplane ride since 9/11, so we were not prepared for security screening.  Apparently, my boobs had been deemed by Homeland Security as Weapons of Mass Destruction.  I was separated from the rest of the HOZ, taken behind a screen and felt up by a scowling Filipino lady you kept saying "I will touch you here mom.  Now I touch you here mom."  I had my footwear taken and checked for explosives.  When my breasts and shoes were deemed safe, I was allowed to join my friends.


We immediately headed to the bar.  You see, Roxie is afraid of flying.  Normally, a fear of flying wouldn't be funny.  But Roxie is in the Air Force Reserves Nurse Corps.  She needs a minimum of 3 drinks before boarding a plane.  (If there is turbulence or it is a long flight, we must re-dose her mid-flight with at least 2 cocktails every 90 minutes.) No HO shall drink alone, so we all join her.  About 3 rounds later, it is time to board.


The flight and the van ride to the ship were typical for us; we were entertaining and a wee bit loud.  Embarking on the ship was tedious, but we muddled through.  Our first night at sea we found the ship's piano bar and that is where we spent a good portion of our evenings.    Cocktails, cigars and 6 seats around a piano...we were happy HOZ. 


We had picked a historical tour and wine tasting as our excursion in Ensenada.  It was just a few hours long and then we would be let loose to do as we pleased for the rest of the day.  What happened on the tour is a hysterical story, but it has to be told in person.  It requires the nuances of voice and movement that I cannot convey with written words.  So if we ever meet up in person, ask me about it.


Anywho, the six of us got off the bus and headed out to explore the city.  We made arrangements that if we split up, we would meet at a bar called "Papas and Beer" at a designated time. We didn't even get 3 blocks down the street when Brittney and Trixie disappeared.  So the remaining four HOZ set off to shop, we all bought some silver jewelry.  I bought a couple of really cool crucifixes. I am not a zealot, I just like rustic crosses and interesting art featuring BVM, Blessed Virgin Mary.  I also found this diorama portraying Elvis in Viva Las Vegas, Dia de los muertos style.  It was colorful and fun with all of the little "Calaveras" decorating it.  I loved it, but I let the HOZ talk me out of buying it.  I will never let that happen again!


With our arms full with wonderful trinkets made by local artist, we headed to the bar to meet up with the two straggling HOZ.  The scene at the bar was alarming.  Women baring their breasts and drunken frat boys cheering them on.  There was also some sort of tribute to the "Bride Stealing of Kazakhstan", where a girl would be grabbed by the staff of the bar, held down, tequila forced down her gullet and then her breasts would be exposed and a "Papas and Beer" sticker would be placed on her bare breasts.   Now before some of my friends get their panties all in a bunch, these girls were active and willing participants.  How do I know this?  When we walked in an eventually got to our table, we told our waiter that we did not want to participate in any of that crap.  Our request was honored and we had great service and a fun time.


We found Brittney and Trixie sitting in the back of the patio, with a bucket of Coronas and a plate full of munchies waiting for us.  For some reason, Brittney was holding ice to her lip.   Sally, the most caring of the HOZ, inquired what had happened.  Trixie started to tell the story, but was overcome with laughter and fell off her barstool. After she recovered, she shared this story.


While walking down the streets of Ensenada, Brittney and Trixie were approached by a man wearing a sombrero and a serape, holding an iguana. He introduced the reptile as "Juana" and asked if they wanted a picture with her.  Brittney agreed instantly and gave the man 5 bucks.  As she was posing with Juana and her keeper, Juana started to crawl towards her.  Brittney thought that Juana wanted to be friends, so she moved closer and started to pucker up to give her a kiss.  Apparently, Juana was more chaste than Brittney and promptly bit her on the lip.


Immediately, Roxie and I (the two RNs of the HOZ) went to inspect the wound.  Knowing that Brittney is desperately afraid of needles, I started teasing her and telling her that she was going to need a shot.  A BIG HUGE SHOT. A big shot full of antibiotics that would HURT REAL BAD.  Then Roxie started to run off a list of possible diseases carried by iguanas.  Brittney started to get pale.  Once again, it was Sally to the rescue.  She reassured Brittney that alcohol would kill all of the bacteria and she was sure the ship's doctor would be able to give her pills to treat her iguana bite.  Brittney liked Sally's plan of care wholeheartedly and ordered some tequila.  Several hours and many rounds later, it was time to head back to the ship.  We all hopped into a station-wagon taxicab and bid Papas and Beer a loud Adios!


The line to get back on the ship was long and our buzz wore off before we boarded.  We quickly took Brittney to the ship's infirmary.  The look on the nurse's face when we told her what had happened was priceless.  She took Brittney's vital signs and went to fetch Dr. Bricker.  As he inspected her wound, he shook his head and said in a thick accent; " I haf been a sheep's doctor for meeny jears.  I haf neber hat a laydee who get bit by leezard."


Well of course you haven't, Dr. Bricker...this was the first time the HOZ had gone to sea!

The Hoz Go To Vegas

First of all, getting the schedules of 6 busy, professional women to meld...nearly impossible.  Eventually, we did it and picked President's Day weekend in 2000.  Sally (whoosh, that girl) was in charge of travel arrangements for the trip.  She found us a great deal.  5 days and 4 nights at the beautiful and glamorous "Westward Ho!"  Our rooms were right next to each other in the rear of the property.   PERFECT!

Four of us flew in on Friday afternoon. The last two HOZ, Roxie and Izzy, would be meeting us later that evening. Since Roxie (who is in the Air Force reserves but cannot fly on an airplane without at least 4 or 5 five cocktails pre-flight) was not with us AND it was a pre 9/11 trip, we arrived as usual.... 20 minutes before the plane was scheduled to take off.  We must have been quite a sight in our furry-animal-print cowboy hats and "Knock-me-down, fuck-me-NOW!" boots, running down the concourse to make our plane in time. 


We all get situated on the plane and get ready for take off.  Sally (whoosh, that girl) decides that each of us needs a "Commemorative" Barf Bag for our HO weekend.  She proceeds to ask the surrounding passengers if she can have their Air Sickness bags.  They gladly give them up, thinking that otherwise she might HURL on them. Unbeknown to them, this is just another one of her "craft" projects. She spends a good part of the flight "personalizing" each HOZ barf bag. 


Because we were the last to get on the plane, we could not find seats together.  We proceeded to shout across the aisles to each other.  The flight attendant asked us to keep it down and had the brilliant idea to quiet us with drink coupons.  (She must have studied "Strategery" at Regent University.) The free drinks left us friendlier and louder.  I have never seen a flight crew happier to land than that night. 


We deplane, get our bags and thanks to the free drinks on the plane, become illiterate.  We can't find the area where the taxis are.  We end up finding a rather timid Russian man with a Limo and hire him (it) to take us to THE WESTWARD HO, IN THE REAR!  (And that is just how we said it, yelling and with great glee and enthusiasm) With only 2/3rds of the HOZ in town, the first part of the night was pretty mellow.  When Roxie and Izzy arrived...THE PARTY BEGAN!   


I could give you a blow by blow of the whole weekend, but you all have lives and I do need my right hand to perform cervical exams at work. So, I can't really justify getting carpal tunnel syndrome to tell you about a drunken weekend I had 7 years ago...so I will just tell you about Saturday night.


Every HO trip involves one BIG night.  The night we get dressed up like floozies (or HOZ, as it were) and set out to torment, tease and titillate.  There isn't a specific dress code for HO Night, but there are some "givens". 


Number One: Glitta! You folks probably know it as glitter, but to a HO, it is pronounced "Glitta". 


Number Two: Big Hair! At least 1/3 of can of hair spray is required. 


Number Three: Cleavage!  Hoist the girls up, put some glitter on 'em and take 'em out for the evening. 


All of us had dressed accordingly.  Our plan was, a nice fancy dinner, then to Studio 54 for a night of dancing.  Dinner went fine.  We had no problems getting into Studio 54.  As soon as we walked in, we knew IT WAS ON!  The music was great and there was this gorgeous man dancing in a cage wearing fuzzy, pink hot pants.   After a dance or two, we head to the bar.  It was a zoo.  Sally (whoosh, that girl) and I take the drink orders and enter the fray.  Just then, the DJ starts a Michael Jackson  "Don't Stop Till Ya Get Enough" mix.  Brittney with a precision not expected from a drunken blonde girl, grabs her crotch and squeals along with the song.  This smooth move attracts the guy standing next to her and they start to talk.  He is instantly enamored with Brittney. By the time I get back from the bar, they are dirty dancing.  I ask one of the HOZ what happened while I was at the bar, I mean, I was only gone a few minutes and already Brittney has snared a MAN! 


The music is so loud, when she tells me what happened, I heard; "Brittney met a bomber from Oklahoma!" 


I immediately respond with; "That's not funny.  The Oklahoma City bombings are not something to joke about." 


She replies; "Not a bomber, an EMBALMER!"  


Incredulous, I respond with; "A what?"


Other HO: "He's an undertaker and he showed us his embalming license.  You'll never guess what his name is...Rocky!  And his license says 'Rocky (insert middle and last name), II:"


Me: "You have got to be kidding me! He's a Sequel?"


Other HO: "Yep, Brittney is dirty dancing with Rocky II, The Undertaker!"

My Dirty Little Secret

There is one aspect of my life that I have not shared with you.  I am a part time Ho.  I used to be a Ho more often, but husbands and children have made scheduling a difficult.  I only get to be a Ho about 3 times a year. 

Now, before you start thinking I am a part-time prostitute...let me explain.  I have 5 great girlfriends.  I have been friends with them for years.  One night, we decided to have a "Girl's Night Out"  (GNO).  We got all dressed up, hopped in a cab and went out for some fun.  It was on that night where we overheard someone calling us "A bunch of Hoz" (or hoes, or ho's, however you want to spell it).  We found that descriptor quite hysterical, since we were all upstanding young ladies.  Instead of becoming outraged by the comment, we embraced the moniker and ran with it. 

We had so much fun on our GNO that we vowed to make it a regular event.  We adopted pseudonyms or "HO names".  We used these names when we went out. Using an alias can be quite freeing and made our evenings out even more fun. I will probably explain how we came up with our names at a later post, but here they are along with a semi-sarcastic biography that will act as a teaser for future HO blog posts:

Ginger (Me)
"You know…red hair, big boobs, big mouth!" That is how most would describe Ginger.  The unofficial activities director of the HOZ, she is the one who is the thread that has brought this band of girls together.

Trixie
Trixie met Ginger while she was a 2nd grader at Robert Semple Elementary School (1977). Know as for her practical jokes and smart-ass sense of humor.  Trixie is the "Crunchy" HO, won't eat things with feet or fur and is the hypnochick of the bunch.  She is also the Renaissance woman, hoisting her boobs up at Faires annually.

Brittney
Brittney and Ginger met when Ginger moved in across the street (1980)……….Sunset Villas was never the same. The "Heather Locklear-Barbara Mandrell" look-alike of the bunch.  Those blue eyes of Brittney's have broken many hearts. She is the Three Stooges fan, the one who can quote movie lines and make you pee your pants.

Sally...Whoosh, that Girl!
Sally and Ginger met in beauty school (1987). Sally felt a bit threatened by Ginger's multicolored nails………but they soon grew to be partners in crime.  Music lyrics are the best way to describe Sally, "Never trust a big butt and a smile…that girl is poison!" Sally is known for her butt wiggle, her smile and her Steno-pad.

Roxanne
Roxie and Ginger met the first week of the BSN program, our last year of nursing school (1996). They bonded over body odors, nicotine and caffeine.  Roxie is known for her admiration of the penis, her grace, her military weapon expertise and her lack of a "dimmer" switch when out partying. She is also famous for her ability to pack for any trip in minutes, her talent for making up new words and her integrity.

Isabella
Izzie met Ginger in 1997, Introduced by her childhood friend, Roxie (Roxie and Izzie have know each other since kindergarten). Isabella is the Pancho Villa scholar. She is the author of the "Text Book Tuesday" method of adolescent education.  She has made the phrase…."However Comma", popular throughout the western U.S. Izzie is the choreographer of the HOZ…Ice Ice Baby!
So that is the history of the HOZ!

We Interrupt Breast Cancer Awareness Month To Talk About Accidental Sex

I was chatting (well, not chatting, tweeting really) with Twammogram co-founder Laura tonight and the subject turned to "accidental sex". I told her I had a story about accidental sex, but it did not involve any actual sex. There was no way I could tell this story in 140 characters-so here I am on my blog, over-sharing, AGAIN.

Some of you already know, before Mr. Misha I was with a man named Mark. He was a wonderful guy but he died. And then later I met Mr. Misha, so it's all okay- so don't start giving me the widow treatment in the comments or on twitter, I'm already feeling kinda stabby tonight. You don't want to mess with me.

Anywho, so I was living with Mark. One night, while I was preparing for a trip to Mexico with The Hoz, Mark started talking about safety precautions I needed to take on the ship and in Mexico. I listened, because he was a cop and he took safety very seriously. Then his speech took a weird turn I wasn't prepared for:

Him: So, I know you guys are going to have a good time. I don't want you to feel like you can't party like you normally do with The Hoz just because we are together.


Me: I know. I have been on trips with them while we have been together before. Remember when we were in Vegas, I drunk dialed you all night and told you about all the bald men we were accosting? I'll get drunk. I'll get loud. I'll dance, sing and yell. But you know at the end of the night, I'll be back in the cabin with Melissa, as usual.


Him: Well, I just want you to know, well, um if you had a little too much to drink and well you made-out with a dude or accidentally had sex with him or something. I'd forgive you.


Me: What? How in the hell do you accidentally have sex with someone? Do you think that I am going to get so drunk that I'll fall down while simultaneously having my pants fall off and then- AT THAT EXACT MOMENT, some random dude, whose pants have also fallen off, will trip and fall and his penis will end up inside my vagina? Is that what you mean by accidental sex?


Him: Well, no. That's not what I meant.


Me: Number One: I don't have accidental sex. I have purposeful sex. Number Two: I am going on a trip with 5 women who love you to pieces and if they saw me anywhere near another man's penis they would beat me about the head and neck until I was unconscious and then drag me to the cabin, where they would restrain me for the rest of the cruise, occasionally berating me for even thinking about another man's nether regions. Number Three: Just because you'd forgive me for accidental sex does not give you a free pass on anything. We are monogamous. If you are not happy with that arrangement, speak up and we can end it. You have sex with anyone else, accidental or not, you will have to deal with the wrath of an angry redhead.


Him: Alright. I'm glad we got that cleared up.

Until That Day, I Had Been The Sane One.

Before I met Mr. Misha, I was in a relationship with a man named Mark. We were together for almost 3 years when he was killed in a car accident. I was devastated. Not only had I lost someone who I loved, I had lost the future we had planned together. I don't know if I could have made it through without the love and care from my friends and co-workers.

I had made it through the funeral mass. It was a full law enforcement type funeral with Sheriff's Deputies in their dress blues, a color guard and bagpipes. I didn't want to ride in the family car to the cemetery, so I went in my friend Val's car. The funeral procession was long, we had a police escort and Val was only a few cars behind the hearse.

I kept thinking about Mark being in the back of that hearse. I kept thinking that he probably didn't like what he was wearing. I hoped he'd forgive me for burying him in a long sleeved shirt. I just kept thinking about everything and couldn't really focus. My mind was reeling.

When we arrived at the cemetery and went to the grave site, it started to hit me. Mark was going to be put in that hole in the ground. I started to feel strange and panicked. Once he was in the ground, that was it. I didn't like the finality of burial. Val could sense I wasn't thinking straight and walked me to my seat. I was seated between Mark's mother and his Aunt, who is a Nun.

The burial ceremony went as it was supposed to, I guess. I really wasn't paying attention. I just kept staring at the casket and the hole in the ground. In fact, I started to obsess about the casket and the hole. I really didn't want the casket to go in the hole. I started to think to myself, "Holy Hell Michele, you are going to be one of those crazy women that throws themselves on the casket." Then I would think, "If the casket doesn't go in the hole, then it is not over. I don't have to try and live my life with out him." I knew that this was crazy thinking, but it didn't matter.

If Mark was in the hole, I had to start living my life again. I didn't want to. If Mark wasn't going to be in my life, then I'd rather just live in the limbo I had been living in for the past 6 days; Someone fed me breakfast, then I took a shower. I sat around and cried, and then someone would give me lunch. I would cry some more maybe even take a phone call or two. Then someone would feed me dinner and give me some pills. Then I would go in OUR bedroom, lie in OUR bed and toss and turn all night. Then it would start all over again. I was never alone, I didn't have to make any decisions, I didn't have to talk or I could talk all I want.... ramble on and on, and some one would have to listen. Once he was buried, I would have to move on, and I didn't think I could do it.

I was gonna get in the hole with him. (I decided in my mind that I was going to do it. When I made the decision, my tears stopped. I had been sitting there with tears streaming down my face and suddenly with that decision, the faucet was turn off. But as the casket was descending into the ground, the priest announced that the Deputy Sheriffs Association had brought roses for everyone to throw in the hole (he didn't say it that way, but you know what I mean). I watched as hundreds of people stopped by the hole and threw in a rose and paid their final respects. It seemed to go on forever. I knew if I tried to jump in the hole while they were around, one of them would stop me. I started crying again, this time harder. I could feel Aunt/Sister Mary put her arm around me and squeeze. I just cried harder.

After what seemed like an hour, everyone except my girlfriends*, had flung their flower. I watched as my best friends went up to the hole. Sally looked pale as she said goodbye and threw her flower, then came Trixie. Then came Brittney, whose mother had died a mere 4 hours after Mark had passed away. Then Izzy went and finally, Roxie. Roxie threw her flower in the hole and started to turn around, her foot slipped on the soft ground surrounding the hole and SHE STARTED TO FALL INTO THE HOLE! Roxie reached out and grabbed Izzy's arm. Then they both started to slip into the hole. Izzy's husband grabbed onto her and started to pull them both away from the grave. (This was no easy feat, since he did this with one arm in a sling.) Then it hit me, "YOU DON'T WANT TO GO INTO THE HOLE!" I saw the awkward ballet going on between Roxie, Izzy and her husband and I burst into laughter. Sister Mary thought I had gone into a hysterical crying fit and wrapped both of her arms around me and started to pray. In mind I thought, "Oh great now I am going to hell. I am laughing at a funeral with a Nun's arms around me. I am going straight to hell!" My inappropriate laughing stopped and I started to cry again.

Eventually, Izzy and Roxie got away from the grave and I got control of my laughing/crying fits. The funeral goers started to disperse and someone told me it was time to leave. I got out of my chair and went a few steps towards a tree to gather my thoughts. I needed to get my shit together, I couldn't act like a crazy woman at the wake.... there were too many health care workers there, one of 'em would notice and get me admitted to some nut house.

As I stood by the tree, I started to calm down, I started to feel like I could deal with the rest of the afternoon. I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and started to walk towards Val's car. Just then, Roxie came up to me and said; "Dude, I am so sorry that I did that." I replied to her; " Dude, you saved me! I was going to be one of those crazy chicks that jumps in the hole and throws herself on the coffin! When I saw the look of terror on your face, I realized that I didn't want to go there." She looked confused as she said "Really?". I reassured and told her "REALLY! I was gonna jump in the hole, you totally saved me." She just grinned and said, "Anyway I can help out...Dude, you know I am happy to do it!"

Laughter IS the best medicine, but Appletinis help a lot too!

I just got back from my weekend with the Hoz. We stayed in a little house in Gurneville, near the Russian River. We never left the house. The six of us ate, drank and laughed from Friday night till Sunday brunch. I laughed so much my cheeks and sides ache.

This get together was long overdue, since we had not gone a trip together since 2002. What a blast. My shoulder/neck injury did not bother me too much. The HOZ were awesome and didn't let me do anything except relax and have fun.

Here are the HOZ (I was taking the picture and couldn't figure out how to use the timer on my camera):

Here I am, hungover and exhausted, eating a Pop Tart and drinking coffee out of my new mug:

The mug was a present from my Goddaughter, Gwenivere.Ninang means Godmother in Tagalog.

Two days of Mimosas in the morning, Appletinis in the afternoon, wine with dinner and White Russians for nightcaps definitely had an adverse effect on my exterior.

The 40 hours of laughter and good friends has done WONDERS for my interior. I feel like the happy Misha I was 30 days ago.

I hope to have more pictures (maybe some video) and some great stories posted later on.

Hope everyone has a great week!