The funeral for Gramma was yesserday and it went well. Quick recap of inneresting events.
Chinky Cousin wore a "little black dress" with a plunging neckline and a rhinstoe decoration between her breasts. Completing the look were a pair of stilleto heels with coordinating rhinestone decoration. Cute for the club, not for your Gramma's funeral. Tacky bitch.
The preacher folk kept sayin Gramma's name wrong. Her name was Eloise (E- loyse) not Eloise (el-o-weez) like the white folk say. They fucked up her middle name too. Marie doesn't equal Maria. This is what happens when you let The Blacks do your funeral.
The cutch baffroom had a scale in it. I'm tombout a full sized scale you'd find at a doctor's office. I didn't even ask why.
The rich cousin in the family was supposed to pay for the funeral, but didn't. We didn't find that out till the day before the funeral. Aint that some shit?
Erebody loved the poem and was unaware I am able to put words together to form complete sentances. They were also surprised I used a computer to do it. Lak, duh. Is there really any other way? "We didn't know you could write!" *rolling eyes*
I was real ghetto and took a pic of the casket. (Thanks for the camera, Lise!) Gramma lookt good!
We shole is gon' miss gramma.
Now on to other things.
It's been a rough summer with Baby Daddy 1 quitting his job, therefore leaving me without monthly child support checks for his daughter. Baby Daddy 2 got too many babies and can't take care of his first born son, which I happen to be the mother of. Baby Daddy 2's peoples (his mom and sisser) have been (and usually are) really helpful. The Sisser will babysit and Gramma does what she can to pitch in to buy some things my son might need. I'm grateful for her help and support since I don't have much support coming from other sources. These men should be ashamed to call themselves men, leaving other people to clean up the aftermath of their selfishness.
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