RIP. Again. Enough already.

So Dave's grandpa died last week. It's no joke to say that I'm sick to death of death. Really.

I just am shitty at this point and wish my dad would get it over with so it could all be done. I haven't been to see him in a long time because I just can't. I have to go this weekend though.

Today was Grandpa's funeral. I've never been to a funeral. This is on purpose. I don't like the idea of them. And after today I can officially say it's just not the idea of them, I just really don't fucking like them.Dave was rather stoic about the whole thing. I was feeling bad for him, I'd met his grandpa a few times, held his hand for a bit at a family function a couple of years back (he had a stroke some time ago and was in a wheelchair and struggled to talk, but we managed). He was a good looking man, and he gave my handsome husband and his kids their dimples.

The first thing that caught me off guard, and I'm still not sure why it would, was that the funeral was open casket. I had never seen a dead person in person before. I've got a morbid thing for serial killers and whatever so I've seen a billion violent photographs and movies and documentaries etc but never anyone right in front of me.It was fascinating in a way. It didn't look real. It looked like a mannequin or something. And the way they had the corners of his mouth pulled up, when he was a very stoic man, was kinda creepy.

I didn't want to stare, so I only glanced once in a while, but I still can't believe that was a real person.Anyway, to my complete horror, starting with the opening prayer the waterworks started, and once I started crying I had severe problems trying to remain quiet. And I didn't really know his grandpa that much, but I was listening and feeling everything that was being said, and all I could think about was my uncle, who I have thought about every day, and missed every day.

His memorial is next Saturday and I'm not going. My reasons for not going were practical - work, having to take care of my mom's cat so she can go, etc. But after my reaction today I think I would be doing the rest of my family a huge disservice by showing up and blubbering the whole time. And instead of in front of a few dozen people it would be over 1000 people (my Uncle D was a much loved guy). No thanks.I hate crying, and doubly hate crying in public. I wanted to curl up and die. And I felt guilty, because I wasn't crying for the man in the casket, I was crying for my loss, and my Dad (who I am too chickenshit to even go and see right now) and Dave knew it. So instead of worrying about his feelings, he has his arm around me, worrying about me, and every time he asked me if I was okay I just cried harder, how stupid.

I'm pretty sure a few people there wondered WTF my problem was and why I was so upset. Mercifully, Dave suggested we cut out after the service and not attend the lunch - if there's one thing he knows it's when I am nearing complete meltdown, and I was headed there.We went to Washington Square instead and ate lunch, and I bought a pair of shoes at Nordstrom, and just numbed the pain away with food and commerce. Whatever.

I feel completely exhausted, and now I'm crying again. Stupid grief. I wish it would just go away.

RIP Lux Interior

WTF is it with all my favorite people dying?

Yeah, so what, some punk guy. Bullshit! The man was a legend, and the man was kind.

McMenamins Crystal Ballroom - 2004. I was with "Thee Ex" (asshole). We were killing time downtown, waiting for the Cramps show to start later. Hit all my favorite record stores, decided to go eat downstairs the Crystal.Guess who was in the booth? Yup, Lux and Ivy.

Since the Cramps were on my mind I'd just managed to buy a copy of "A Date With Elvis." It was in my bag. They ordered food, and I asked the waiter if they were drinking. I mean, this is Lux and Ivy, of course they were.I told the waiter I wanted to buy their bottle of wine, as the food was free, but the liquor was not. Cheap McMenamin's bastards. The waiter delivered the bottle of red, leaned over and told them who it was from.

Lux, his massively lean frame, leaned outside the booth, gave me a strange look, raised his glass. I smiled and said "Enjoy."A few minutes later we got up to leave, I was satisfied to give a little something back to someone who's music meant so much to me - who's music helped me survive many lonely hours grounded, feeling like a total freak and misfit, reminding me I wasn't alone, really.

Just as I was about to the door he said "And where do you think you're going?" moving his head around like a chicken. I noticed then his front teeth had been capped silver. I walked over to the table and introduced myself. I told Ivy how much she meant to me. How it was she and Joan that inspired me to pick up a guitar. She was tiny, and she was shy. I could tell she was touched. I asked Lux if they were going to play anything off of the new album.

"Why sure," he asked, "What do you want to hear?"

"I need Dr. Fucker." He laughed and then gave me another confused stare.

"Well why that one? All it is is 'Calling Dr. Fucker... Calling Dr. Fucker"... he bounced up and down in the booth, singing the chorus in it's entirety. People stared. I was in awe, grinning like an idiot.

"Nah, we aren't going to play that one. Sorry."

"It's okay. Thanks for all the great music."

"Thank you for the wine."

"My pleasure. See you later". And I did see him later. He signed my record. And just like the other 5 times I saw the Cramps they were brilliant.

Hard to believe I was that cool once, eh?

RIP Lux. Thanks for the great music.