a burial and an epic kiss….yup, it’s been one of THOSE months

Where the fuck have I been?

I know it seems like I just disappear from blogging for a week or two, but I have FOUR very good reasons:

  1. I have writer’s block. It looks like this:
  2. I have an intense case of insomnia. It looks like this:
  3. Death Came Knocking.

I watched my stepfather die, it’s not something you just bounce back from – it’s sort of been like a slow drowning. The timing was ironic in that Alanis Morissette way – meaning it was fucked up in a way that has nothing to do with irony…I had just married my sister to her high school sweetheart and here I was, barely a week a later, performing the service for a burial.

Frank E. Campbell – The Funeral Chapel (since 1898) located on Madison Avenue on the Upper East Side of Manhattan handled the arrangements. If you are a New York legend this is where you go when you die.

…and they have swag. Funeral home swag!

Let me back up…

I went to use the bathroom at the funeral parlor, because I figured that the bathroom of Frank E. Campbell – The Funeral Chapel (since 1898) wouldn’t disappoint and it didn’t. It had thick embossed disposable hand towels, you know the kind, the ones you feel guilty for using because they are some weird hybrid of paper towel and permanent towel – THEY ARE THAT THICK! – you can’t throw them out – cause that’s wasteful – yet, you can’t re-use them – cause that’s gross…it is basically the closest you can get to wiping your hands with a $5 bill…and yes, I had this entire debate with myself in front of their intimidatingly enormous gold gilded mirror.

The swag left out on the bathroom counter consisted of little packets of personalized Kleenex, mints, and individual hand sanitizers all of which made it into my purse – because I thought you too would like to see what goes on inside the majestic Frank E. Campbell – The Funeral Chapel (since 1898).

They also have gold imprinted Frank E. Campbell folders –  super sturdy and flashy:

…and we all know how I feel about office supplies…hmm, could I be the girl that rolls with a “funeral chapel” folder in the mix? …Totally.

They also have a list of “additional services and merchandise” ranging from  $7.50 to $29,500:

*P.S. I’d like a definition of “Death Mask” – isn’t that redundant?

**P.P.S. And what exactly is “Thumbies Fingerprint Jewelry”?

Simply put – it is not cheap to die, especially when Frank E. Campbell is showing you the way.

My stepfather was a New Yorker through and through, a brillant sports writer and novelist.

A Marine and an accomplished athlete, having been the first freshman to play the number 1 spot on the Yale Varsity tennis team:

captain of the Yale Varsity cross country team:

but most importantly he was a gentleman – the kind the world doesn’t see much of anymore.

I miss him.

4. The Kiss.

It was one of those magical New York City kisses – the kind that happens on a street corner at night with sky scraper lights twinkling behind you. It was the kind of kiss that every time you close your eyes, even days later – the feeling of his lips on yours melts you into a puddle  - and you forget things like the days of the week, the 10 trillion digits of Pi and the fact that you live 3,000 miles away.

There was just something about him, the way he waited for all of us to exit the elevator, then gently placed his hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the door…then it hit me – this is what a gentleman does. It is the type of behavior that is like a mirage to a girl like me – especially after spending the past two years dating in the desert cesspool known as Los Angeles…and it was the exact thing I had seen my stepfather do with my mom for over the past 20 years. Here was a man that knew how to treat a woman like she is a treasure.

Mr. Sweep-Me-Off-My-Feet is not my type. By type, I mean he’s deliciously normal, like I’ve got health insurance and a stable job normal…like he hasn’t done any hard time or committed any major felonies…ever! (I’m not just talking in the last four years either…)

I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, but I asked him before we parted on the sidewalk of one of the most magical cities in the world – to bite my arm – hard. He looked at me like I was insane, but I just wanted to walk around for the next couple of days with his teeth marks imprinted in my skin. I needed to be reminded that although one gentleman had left this earthly plane, there was still a man out there breathing the same air as me, one who knows how to treat a woman and make her feel like she has finally come home.

So that’s where I’ve been…