Thursday, August 30, 2007
And where were the governments? South Korea is an ally of the West. Why weren't we threatening the complete annihilation of the Taliban and everyone else within a 500 mile radius? That these inbred queers got away with it is nothing short of vomitous.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, we are worried about Muslims having foot baths on publicly funded school campuses. I'd say if we're going that far, let's give them showers and free soap. That way they can be holy, and the rest of us don't have to smell them.
I found out some more of the details surrounding Charles' death. That he didn't suffer is the most merciful thing. Other than that, it's pretty gruesome. I don't want to repeat any specifics here, because it's too difficult to write about. When you talk about it, you can fill in the gaps with innuendo and inflection. No such thing with the written word. And I must stop before I break down and render myself useless for the rest of the day.
Monday, August 27, 2007
I was sorry to leave Greater Houston on such a somber note, but it has been in the works for some time.
Let me just say right now that I love where we are living. For safety reasons, I'm not going to reveal exactly where we are, but I am so happy to be here. The girls' school is beautiful and brand new, the neighborhood is very cute and there are lots of little neighbor children for them to play with.
Our friends Jen and her husband came to help us move and they were amazing. They've moved a lot over the years, and they have some mad moving skillz. Despite Jen's little girl damaging a corner of the wall with her forehead, their girls and my girls had the most fun ever, I think. The only thing wrong with them coming up here was realizing how much I am going to miss them.
I'm tired though. Jethro had to back to Houston to work one last week, and I am up here alone with the kids. I hate it and I am lonely without him even though it's just for a few days. I simply do not understand how military wives deal with it. Bless them.
I'm just trying to stay positive and busy. Charles' death really threw me for a loop. I find out now, and it isn't exactly being mentioned within our ever-vigilant-of-whatever-half-naked-celebretard-has-shaved-her-head/cooch-and-acquired-herpes media, but there is quite a bit of fighting going on in Afghanistan right now. You know. The fuckers who are hiding bin Laden. Pray for our troops and that our mission is accomplished.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
However, not thinking terribly far ahead leaves us with somewhat of a dilemma - one Charles himself would no doubt find hilarious.
What do we do with him?
It's a humongous photo - bigger than our family portrait. I love Charles, but I was thinking of a somewhat more discreet personal memorial. I could make-out with this one. Jethro suggested hanging it on the ceiling over the bed that way he could pretend he was high-fiving him from time to time when the occasion called for it.Someone else suggested meeting up in August every year and drawing names for who gets to keep it for the next year. It's a sweet idea, but I think it would be too awkward. We don't exactly want to be raffling him off once a year.
We thought of letting them hang it in the bar, but we don't want anyone being disrespectful towards him even accidentally. And as we all know, you can't always count on respect in a drinking establishment.
We are also considering donating it to the college we all attended, but I don't know where they would put it. No one else has a picture like that anywhere and the only place I think Charles would have appreciated being hanged is in the dorms, watching the drunk hotties float by.
So I think we are going to have it engraved and give it to his parents. I don't want to upset them with it, though. It is ginormous.
Any thoughts would be appreciated.
Pics from Saturday night:
Me and two girls
These gorgeous photos are courtesy of Jen of Therapy Eggs.
Monday, August 20, 2007
I had never been to a military funeral before. You know what they do, as we've seen it parodied a million times, but seeing it for one of your dearest friends brings a whole new dimension of beautiful pain and overwhelms you with the magnitude of his sacrifice.
I choked out, "Goodbye, Charles" at the casket and that was about all I could handle. Jethro, Mason, and I went to our cars to take a few swigs.
Liquor and sympathy have been about all that's gotten me through the past week.
I must say though, that in our grief, all of our friends have come back together. Petty differences and real hurts have been set aside and forgotten. I made amends with my former best friend and Jethro's ex-girlfriend (Micky) after an 8 year grudge. I loved her through all of it, and regretted our lost friendship, but was far too stubborn and prideful to reconcile. I emailed her on Tuesday evening asking her to forgive my part in our fight and asking for us to be good again. She emailed me back a beautiful response and asked to meet the following day at a mutual friend's house.
As I walked in the door and saw her, we ran to each other and hugged tightly and cried. We talked for hours. I found out Charles was the last guy she hooked up with before she settled down with her husband. I told her I once made-out with Charles and Jethro in the same evening. She said that had her beat.
Saturday evening after the funeral, we and all our friends went to Griff's Tavern to celebrate his life. Jethro and I and our friend Benton had gone to Kinkos and had a picture of Charles blown up and framed. We set it up on the back patio and prepared to settle in for a night of toasts.
As we were lighting the candles around it, two young men came out and asked if this was a private party or if they could come hang out also. You know those awkward moments when you don't quite know what to say? It wasn't technically a private party, but we didn't want them to feel embarrassed when they realized why we were all gathered. Somehow I managed to say the right thing. I said, "If you want to come have a drink to our friend who lost his life in Afghanistan, you are more than welcome to stay out here with us."
The young men also did the right thing. They fell silent and walked over to his picture. After a respectful moment, one of them said they'd both be honored to drink to him.
And that was how Charles would have wanted it. Everybody drinking.
Micky and I made sure to tell those guys how Charles was with the ladies. I don't think there was a chick in the bar he hadn't snogged at some point. They were impressed.
Jethro and I spend a quiet day yesterday and I finally stopped breathing out steaming clouds of whisky.
I don't think I will have closure until this war is ended and we have won, but I feel a sense of calm and kindliness towards everyone I know. Everyone from the internet to real life has been tremendously supportive and kind. And I want to thank everyone for their lovely messages and Jack, Dick and Trashman, and Tinyhands for their phone calls. They seriously kept us going over the past week.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
If I had to describe him succinctly, I'd say he was 1/3 class clown, 1/3 party boy, and 1/3 chick magnet. He was the type of guy everyone wants to come to their party because you know it will be a good time even if someone ends up in the hospital, which happened on more than one occasion. There were some great times -mostly involving fire, Everclear, and someone's leftover prescription of codeine. And maybe a ferret or a squirrel.
I found out Monday night. A friend of mine called and asked if I was driving. I said no. She told me what happened and I started screaming. Jethro knew it was something bad. He also knew the girl who called me was very close to him. He mouthed "Charles?" I nodded. Then his phone rang.
When I came back to my senses, I realized I was pounding on the stairs and yelling no no no no no no over and over. My poor friend was near hysterics herself, so I tried to calm down and apologize. We agreed that we needed to contact as many people as we could so they wouldn't have to hear it on the 10:00 news. As bad as it was, that would have been much much worse.
I found that telling someone is just as horrible as hearing it. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.
Jethro and I decided the girl who called me shouldn't be alone, so we left the kids with his parents and went to her place. We were all still in shock. Jeth and I left around 3am, but none of us really slept.
Yesterday was bad. I cried in spurts all day. Jethro came home for lunch and we both started crying. Somehow it is worse knowing that the person you love most in the world is hurting as badly as you are.
People called all day. I cried with every one of them. We met a bunch of friends at a restaurant by our house. Jeth and I had a beer dinner. One girl came that I hadn't spoken to in 8 years because of a falling out. We hugged each other and cried and said we were sorry. Then we laughed because she is practically a midget and her head had nearly disappeared between my boobs. And that was the evening. Tears and laughter.
Jethro and I went home and proceeded to get bombed. Not to brag or anything, but we could be professional mourners.
Jeth eventually passed out and I left a bunch of drunken rambles all over the internet. I think I was even in a chat room.
Charles left us a lot to laugh about. He was one funny motherfucker. His nickname was Asshole - given him by one of the many psycho-chicks he toyed with, and worn by him with something like honor - if that tells you anything. I used to curse him for destroying my left big toe when he forced me to kick him once. Now I'm glad and I hope it never heals.
So now I'm going to get up, wash my face, and and press on. Obviously we are not moving until after the funeral, but we are going to have to move eventually, so I need to get going.
Thank you all so much for your condolences. Your words have been so precious to Jethro and me and we treasure each one of them. Keep Charles's family in your thoughts and prayers this week. He was their only child.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Everything I try to say sounds so maudlin and wouldn't begin to do him justice.
But the truth is there are a countless number of broken hearts tonight, mine and Jethro's among them.
I am ashamed to say that I didn't take the news with anything resembling courage. I want to be strong and brave just like he was, and I will try, but he was simply on another level.
I know in my heart why he went, and I know in my heart why he fought. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life. His fight will be mine.
He left his job, his family, his girlfriend and his friends to make a better world for those who had nothing, and he deserves the sleep of the just.
Rest in peace my brother and my true friend. I loved you and will love you always.
More Carlos stories here, here, here, and here.
Jethro shares his remembrances.
And I would like to thank Dick for being around tonight.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
We are somewhat beyond busy, but I did want to take a moment to let you know that "if you just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, they'll be nice to you."
Peace. Or War. Whichever you prefer.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
I must admit I kind of freaked out. It was not pretty. It looked like he was having a seizure of some kind, and when he had fallen, his back was a little arched and he fell directly onto the back of his head.
The first thing I did was call 911 along with another lady who was standing there. Then I went over to the man. He was clenched up all over - eyes, teeth, hands, and his arm was spasming. Blood was pouring out of the back of his head and pooling all over the floor. I took one look, jumped up and grabbed Gwennie and Emma and told them to turn around and stay out of the way, and that an ambulence was coming. I went back to the man. He was jerking a little, but then he started breathing again very laboredly - gurgling almost. I thought he was going to die right there in front of me.
I had absolutely no idea what to do. I took his pulse, which didn't tell me anything other than that he had one, and basically just tried to keep him still. I wanted to try to stop the bleeding in his head, but the other side of my brain was telling me not to move anyone with a head injury. I simply didn't know what to do. I was praying like an broke televangelist. It just didn't seem like the moment to question the nature of God.
My grandmother was actually very calm. She kept talking to the man and telling him stay still and that help was coming even though he couldn't hear. She also directed the idiot managers to call for anyone in the store with medical experience. A few people came over with a first aid kit, which seemed ludicrously inadequate given the amount of blood on the floor.
The man seemed like he was starting to come to. He opened his eyes and started moving, not in a spasmodic fashion like before, but as if he were trying to get something out of his pocket. We thought maybe he had some medication or someting in there, so I checked it for him. All I got were his keys and some change. We checked to see if he was wearing a medical bracelet or necklace, but he wasn't.
He was becoming more agitated and he kept trying to lift his head. Obviously, he couldn't do what he wanted and it kept hitting the floor again. That was terrifying. I told the first aid ladies who were wearing gloves to put some of the paper towels they'd opened under his head. They told me that they weren't supposed to elevate his head, and I said, "yeah, but he keeps smashing it into the floor. He's going to hurt himself worse." The next time he lifted his head they put a roll of paper towels underneath. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, but I just couldn't see the sense in letting him hit his head over and over.
About that time, the EMTs showed up, and I went back over to Gwennie and Emma. They were hugging each tightly and shivering. We were in the refrigerated section after all. I felt badly that I'd made them stand in the cold. I would have understood if they'd moved toward the aisles, but there was probably that note in my voice that compelled the strictest obedience.
I gave them hugs and told them that it was going to be okay, that the ambulence was there now, and that I was proud of them for doing exactly as I said.
I felt stupid and useless. I suppose I should have just called 911 and gotten the kids out of there. It wasn't as if I had any idea what to do, and I probably needlessly exposed them to trauma. Neither of them wanted to talk about it.
I hope the man is okay, but I think there is a good possibility he didn't make it, or at least won't make it too much longer. But I don't really know anything.
So I'm exhausted today, since I didn't sleep well last night. I'm hoping I can catch a nap after lunch.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
I don't know what went wrong, but we were in the middle of some good stuff, and I was like, "Yeah. Yeah. Unhh. Unhh. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh FUCK! STOP. What's that smell?
Jethro: "You don't smell that bad. Quit worrying about it. Just keep going."
Zelda: "No, fool. Something is on fire."
Jethro: "Yeah, baby. You're smokin'"
Zelda: "Wow. Thanks. You're fuckin' huge.
Jethro: "No, I think it's the battery compartment."
Zelda: "The battery compartment isn't that big. And it's kind of squared off and sharp. Oh, you mean it's on fire."
It was, in fact, the battery compartment. I think the batteries melted to the inside. It will never be the same.
And yesterday afternoon, I was suffering (and I mean suffering) from a caffeine high. I am quite susceptible to caffeine. One cup of coffee makes me slightly insane. A large Starbucks Iced Mocha Latte makes me seizurey. During a brief moment of lucidity, I thought I'd ask Jethro to gimme a little in hopes that it would dissipate.
Let's just say that yelling "faster" when you're on a caffeine high doesn't mean the same thing as yelling faster when you are not. I only felt my demands had been met once poor Jethro had reached the previous speed of my now-melted vibrator. It didn't do much to bring me down, but it was fun. I just hope Jethro didn't give himself Shaken Baby Syndrome.