Alright, I may be in trouble. I have just been informed that dark humor is now off the table, because the world is too dark in general, and nothing's funny anymore, and we can't be kind and compassionate and sensitive beings and still laugh at inappropriate things.

CRAP.

So, since my Mom died, I can think of at least twenty things we've made jokes about that other people wouldn't find funny. We joke about her organized hoarding, and her bodily functions (well, I mean, come on...we make fun of everyone's bodily functions, because those are the cornerstone of true hilariousness), and even the fact that she's gone.

Why do we do these things? BECAUSE IT SUCKS. It really, really sucks. And we can either laugh about it or cry about it, but we can't do anything to change it. So we make jokes.

She made jokes about dying while she was dying, and I hope that made it easier for her. I hated it. But it really wasn't about me at that point. It was about her need to choose happy stuff instead of staying buried in the sadness of knowing we were about to have some time apart.

And it totally is a choice. I don't judge people who want to cry together, or hug, or make Facebook statuses about things. That's their process and their way to get through the constant barrage of crap that life throws us. 

But it's not my process.

This blog is kind of my process, embarrassing as that is. The last three years have been pretty crappy, but I'm slogging through, because I have no choice. And sometimes it makes me feel better to write a little something, just to assure myself that I still know words. And sometimes, things are just funny and I want to remember them later, so I keep them here, just to remind my self that there are still some good things mixed in with all of the rest.

But that's about it. I'm making jokes because I'd rather do that. I'm trying to be a good person and not judge other peoples' processes, and I'd really love to receive the same understanding. This is my way.

I know some people think it's weird that I still use the present tense when talking about her. I think it's weird that people would think she is gone, just because her body gave out. She's still here, to me. It's like she's on a long vacation. And I miss her every day, and I wish it wouldn't have had to happen the way it did, but it did. It's poopy, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to stop telling people the black bean soup + prom story, or the time she wrote something for her boss and instead of writing "public health, "she wrote "pubic health." That's just funny. And how can she not be here, when every time my sister or I hear something that we think is ridiculous, or we think someone has threatened one of our people, we both make the Mom "Oh, no, you didn't" face?

Also, I can't just forget the time Grandpa said that her post-weight-loss-surgery bathroom time couldn't be that bad, and it was, and he admitted it. HE ADMITTED THAT HE WAS WRONG. Come on. So funny.

So, yeah, I'm going to make jokes and laugh. I'm still probably going to cry a little every evening that I drive home from work and I can't call to ask about her day, and to tell her about mine. And also probably a little every time I see her name in my phone contacts, and every time I open my photos, and the picture of her on her birthday, smiling, pops up as my favorite.

And that's okay, too. I cry, just not in front of people, and usually for super lame reasons. But I mostly want to laugh about her, because I think she'd like that. She liked our dark humor, just as we all liked her bright sunshiny humor. The light wouldn't seem very light without the dark.

So back off on the dark humor. Just because it doesn't float your boat doesn't mean it's wrong. Leave me my cynicism, and I'll leave you your Holiday-Themed turtlenecks.

I’ve decided that life is like being in a raku firing. Every little difference in the kiln, from what glaze is on your piece, to what the other pieces are, and the glazes they have on them, changes every piece inside in a different way, and you can’t predict how anything is going to look at the end. Sometimes you end up sparkly, and sometimes you end up dull.

Also, we’re all in a fiery garbage can.

Okay, maybe that was a little exaggerated. But still. Deep, huh?

Hahahahahahaha happy Friday.

Okay, ladies. I’m talking straight to you, now, on a topic we all know is a thing, but no one ever discusses. I’m referring to feeling your chin for chin hair when you’re talking to someone else.

I first noticed that this was a thing at my last job, because my boss would come up and talk to me about something she wanted me to do whilst feeling out her chin. At first I thought, “Hey, maybe she’s an evil scientist, hatching a plot to overthrow the world, and she’s just covering by asking me to order more pens.”

Nope. Feeling for chin hairs.

Lately, I’ve been noticing more and more ladies doing this, and I’ve just got to say that it needs to stop. It’s happening all of the time. Yesterday, I realized that several of my students do this DURING SINGING LESSONS.

Seriously? You don’t weird about scoping for beardy times while you’re talking to me and I’m looking at you? Because that seems weird to me. Just a thought.

All of you who are too young to know, just rest assured, you will find out the glory of the chin hair eventually. It’s like you hit 30, and then, BAM. Hair in weird places. It’s pretty much the law, so just accept it. It will happen. No escaping. One more perk of getting older.

At any rate, maybe feel for chin hairs during more alone times. Or go to the bathroom and check it out in the mirror. I don’t know. I just feel like, when we’re talking and you keep stroking your chin all softly and whatnot, I’m intruding on some private chin ritual and maybe I should run away and leave you be.

Just an idea.