Anywho, onto other news...

Today was... kinda weird. Thought of my nephew a lot. I really miss that kid. Spoke to him over the phone the other day. He's still struggling with his sylables, but he's getting there. Even gives us some 3-worder sentances every now and again. So he hears my voice over the phone, right? And as soon as he does, he tells me, "Come, come." Can you say "Awwwww"? Squeezed my widdo heart, that one did. My sister told me he's never asked anyone to visit - ever. Sure, he talks to his granparents on his dad's side, but only briefly. And yes, he blows kisses over the phone to my mother, but mostly, the Dud says he misses me and my dad the most. Sorry, little guy. I wish I could bring you and your Guelo together again, but... well, I just can't. And it's things in life like these that suck balls big time. Hell, I miss my father, and it feels like shit, and I can't help it, even though I know what happened to him (sorta), and so I basically understand the concept of life and death and that his soul went somewhere special and all that yadda-yadda bullcrap. See? I'm an adult, and his death still stings. I don't even wanna imagine what it must be like for the little mon�o. One day, Guelo's giving you camachito rides around the backyard, the next, you stop going to his house and you can't find him anywhere in Guela's house, not even in the living room where he used to sleep. And you ask people in your garbled baby talk, but Mami just cries and shushes you and takes you to go look at picture books or something. Or makes you talk to Huela or Tiojo over the phone when it's not them you wanna talk to. Not really, anyway. Poor kid.

But Angel was always close to 'Apa, and now that he's gone, I guess I'm the closest substitute he can find. I know I sound a lot like my father in my manner of speaking. Hell, sometimes I catch myself laughing hard and freak out at how much my laugh sounds like his. Just like his.

Ugh. I'm making myself depressed, and that's one place I don't wanna be right now. Still burping up that broccoli beef.

So yesterday around this time I get a call to my cell phone. At first I think it's the Dud, since she had called me earlier telling me she was at school. She's trying to straighten out all her things so she can go back. I should do the same, but oh well. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Turns out it was the funeral home, calling to say they had a little book in their office that belonged to my father. O_o Yeah, okay. I don't remember him owning one, but no, dumbass, it's a little memorial service thing they provide, so can you come pick it up, please? 'Cause it's taking precious office space n' stuff. Well, I'm kinda in the middle of WORKING right now, and, um, my mom also works the night shift. Hold it for me? We'll be by tomorrow morning at... say, what time do you freaks open up the Spookshow International anyway? 8 o'clock? Sounds swell. I'm still asleep at that hour. How's nine sound to you? Good? Great! See ya' then, bee-atch!

Long story short... I forgot. Typical, right? So they call again at nine-fifteen this morning and wake my ass up. I tell 'Ama and we decide we'll stop by the cemetary next door on the way to check up on P'fas's headstone. (Heh. I said "head".) Those bitches have been slacking off, see. My old man croaked his last way back in February, and it's almost June, and he's still got no frickin' marker! The frig?! It's not like I owe them anything, or am behind on any payments. I paid for everything, cash up front. Sure, it almost left me out begging for food on the streets, but there ya' go. Hard cash, up front, just like my ol' man taught me. Credit my ass! So they were not getting any brownie points with me on customer service, you get me? And I was fed up with it! Because after going by, week after week without fail, always with the slight hope of: "Hey! Let's see if Pifas has his rockin' rock yet!" Yeah, it grates a bit on your neurons after a while, being disappointed time and time again. I was at the point where I was considering filing a police report with the city and filing a formal complaint and demanding for my money back ('cause those shits are expensive, believe you me). Heh, so much for "short".

Alright, this time for real! We pick up the photo-book thing. We go see Pifas. His stone's finally fuckin' up. And of course, instead of being happy, I'm thinkin' fuckin' finally! And also, damn! Just when I was about to go tear those creepy grave-diggin' bastards a new one, too! No fun! But we contemplate it for a while, and then we leave. I promised P'fas we'd be back on the weekend with flowers and stuff. And that's the first time I thought of Mono today, because I thought to myself that at least now if the kid comes to visit, I could bring him to see his grandfather, show him the headstone and tell him Guelo's in there. Sorta. It's decent now, dammit. It's what I mean.

By now, 'Ama's doing this weird squiggly dance of impending shit-doom 'cause her stomach's cramping up. And she beggs me to stop by Walmart (we were planning to go to AutoZone for the rear directional signal for Hugo) because there was just no way her colon would make it all the way home. So we stop by the Walmart, peek around some and mom takes her massive dump. Then of course it's nearly noon and I'm hungry (no breakfast!). I'm in the mood for something cold and slushish. RASPAS! But did I mention the hunger? So mom opts for Linn's Grand Buffet. And of course I foot the bill. On our way to the car, back in the Walmart parking lot (backtrack for a second here), some lady spots me and exclaims: "Oh my God! Is that your hair?!" O_o Er... durr? "Oh my God, it's wonderful!" Hee... thanks... (Now creep away s-l-o-w-l-y....) Seriously. You'd think people'd never seen bronze-green hair before. Hence, second time I thought of Angel. People used to ask my sister that [stupid] question about his curls all the effin' time. "Are those really his curls? I mean, is it really his hair? It's not a wig, is it?" Yes, bitch, it's a wig. 'Cause you know a toddler's just gonna keep that on. Fucktard.

And then lunch at Linn's! I was wearing that black leather arm-thing I bought at the Gallery 'bout a month back. That, that thing, y'know? The leather thing that goes over my entire forearm covered all over in silver spikes. Wicked kewl. I love it, even if it does chaff a little. There's a kid at Linn's who's running all over the fuckin' place. Reminded me of Angel, though he seemed a bit older. Angel's probably taller, though. Anyhow, this kid's running all over the place, between tables and whatnot, and then as he comes running towards me, he stops in his tracks and just stares at the spikes. His little eyes go round in wonder and his mouth hangs open a little. I thought so much of my nephew I almost busted a gut laughing. Angel loves my spikes. Ever since he was a baby, a wee one in diapers (okay, he still wears diapers, but they're Pull-Ups now, a'ight?!), back when he couldn't walk, he loved for me to give him bear hugs or carry him around when I was wearing my spikes (a much smaller version of the thing I wear now), even though sometimes it poked his side or his back. He would reach out and tentatively touch them with a finger, and then pull it away quickly and hiss as though he'd gotten pricked. It was a game we used to have.