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vanillafluffyHad a guest speaker at church today who was very good. The topic was "June Bugs", and it was a light-hearted talk about how things that "bug" us can keep us from attaining inner peace.
Considering the generally evil mood I've been in of late, it struck home. I have enough heavy-duty shit going on that I shouldn't let myself get so wound up about rotten drivers and sundry superfluous bullshit. *breathe in, breathe out, breathe...*
Why is it that when I'm flipping channels and run across a movie I've seen umpteen times, even if I actually own it on DVD, I'll stop and watch it, commercials and all? It happened twice today. How many times have I seen Flight of the Phoenix (the remake). A bunch. Enough that I've written four fanfics for it. And I *still* get all choked up and dewy-eyed at the ending.
Also came across Jumpin' Jack Flash, 1986, Whoopie Goldberg's first film...and had a shitstorm of nostalgia about the first time I saw it. 1986 was the year after my dad died...I was between jobs, with money to fall back on, and one fine day, I showed up at Susie's around noon, and somehow, she talked me into doing Southern Comfort shots with her. Between that and a few puffs, pretty soon we were feeling no pain.
We both liked Whoopie from her HBO specials, and we wanted to see her movie, but we were sane enough to realize we shouldn't be driving. So we called Susie's mom and promised to pay her way and buy her lunch afterward if she'd drive us to the theater.
I was entertained. When we got out, we went to Susie's mom's favorite restaurant, a Chinese joint called the Rickshaw, which has since closed, alas. They did an excellent egg foo yung, and ours had just gotten to the table when Susie turned green and bolted from the restaurant. Her mother and I enjoyed our meals while Susie took refuge in the car, occasionally yarking out onto the asphalt. I was fine, but then, I had eight inches and about fifty pounts on her.
She had a job a year or so later, showing model homes in a ritzy new development. She got bounced because she kept a bottle of Bailey's in her desk, she *said* to offer guests. (Which even then I thought was a crummy excuse: All the customer would need to renege on a deal would be to say the saleswoman got them drunk....) Bailey's in her coffee was a favorite, but her alcohol dependence didn't surface for another couple of decades, and by then, it was mixed up with hormones (from going through the change), digestive problems from TWO gastric bypass surgeries (she ate her way back up after the first one), and a massive Ambien habit (which is why everyone was sure she'd OD'ed). And because she was such a special snowflake, Susie never thought she had a problem; there was always someone or something else to blame for her difficulties.
Oh, the pet peeves I could list about Susie! But what good would it do? How does that old proverb go? "Of the dead, speak only what was good."? Something along those lines. Much easier to do with an angel like Kat, whose death wasn't unexpected; the issues were all resolved, and besides, she was an angel.
Susie's death was sudden; nothing was resolved, and she was surely no angel. Still, she was smart and funny and could be generous. If everyone creates their own heaven, I imagine her zooming down the road to the Florida Keys in a convertable with the top down. She's wearing a flirty little tropical print sundress. Jimmy Buffet is blasting on the stereo, and the car is populated with all the dogs she loved: Macs and Stormy and Mariah and Grover that I know of. The dogs all lean out the windows, eagerly sniffing the sea breeze, Whereever Susie is, I really hope she's at peace.
Considering the generally evil mood I've been in of late, it struck home. I have enough heavy-duty shit going on that I shouldn't let myself get so wound up about rotten drivers and sundry superfluous bullshit. *breathe in, breathe out, breathe...*
Why is it that when I'm flipping channels and run across a movie I've seen umpteen times, even if I actually own it on DVD, I'll stop and watch it, commercials and all? It happened twice today. How many times have I seen Flight of the Phoenix (the remake). A bunch. Enough that I've written four fanfics for it. And I *still* get all choked up and dewy-eyed at the ending.
Also came across Jumpin' Jack Flash, 1986, Whoopie Goldberg's first film...and had a shitstorm of nostalgia about the first time I saw it. 1986 was the year after my dad died...I was between jobs, with money to fall back on, and one fine day, I showed up at Susie's around noon, and somehow, she talked me into doing Southern Comfort shots with her. Between that and a few puffs, pretty soon we were feeling no pain.
We both liked Whoopie from her HBO specials, and we wanted to see her movie, but we were sane enough to realize we shouldn't be driving. So we called Susie's mom and promised to pay her way and buy her lunch afterward if she'd drive us to the theater.
I was entertained. When we got out, we went to Susie's mom's favorite restaurant, a Chinese joint called the Rickshaw, which has since closed, alas. They did an excellent egg foo yung, and ours had just gotten to the table when Susie turned green and bolted from the restaurant. Her mother and I enjoyed our meals while Susie took refuge in the car, occasionally yarking out onto the asphalt. I was fine, but then, I had eight inches and about fifty pounts on her.
She had a job a year or so later, showing model homes in a ritzy new development. She got bounced because she kept a bottle of Bailey's in her desk, she *said* to offer guests. (Which even then I thought was a crummy excuse: All the customer would need to renege on a deal would be to say the saleswoman got them drunk....) Bailey's in her coffee was a favorite, but her alcohol dependence didn't surface for another couple of decades, and by then, it was mixed up with hormones (from going through the change), digestive problems from TWO gastric bypass surgeries (she ate her way back up after the first one), and a massive Ambien habit (which is why everyone was sure she'd OD'ed). And because she was such a special snowflake, Susie never thought she had a problem; there was always someone or something else to blame for her difficulties.
Oh, the pet peeves I could list about Susie! But what good would it do? How does that old proverb go? "Of the dead, speak only what was good."? Something along those lines. Much easier to do with an angel like Kat, whose death wasn't unexpected; the issues were all resolved, and besides, she was an angel.
Susie's death was sudden; nothing was resolved, and she was surely no angel. Still, she was smart and funny and could be generous. If everyone creates their own heaven, I imagine her zooming down the road to the Florida Keys in a convertable with the top down. She's wearing a flirty little tropical print sundress. Jimmy Buffet is blasting on the stereo, and the car is populated with all the dogs she loved: Macs and Stormy and Mariah and Grover that I know of. The dogs all lean out the windows, eagerly sniffing the sea breeze, Whereever Susie is, I really hope she's at peace.