When it's time to party we will party hard

....is completely non existent. This post is going to have 2 short stories in it, all involving my family and death. I really want to write a book about my family, or my dad's family, and all the backwoods craziness that goes on.

(Oh, and notice the increase in entries? I totally got blog watched, and that got me excited)

But anyway, I'll continue.

Story #1: Dead Phil.

My mom is a social worker, and when we lived in Florida, she worked in this complex that was Christian run and had a home for foster children, and also had housing for parents who were struggling. It was actually a really, really nice housing place, and it was part of the private school it was next to, where I went to preschool.

Well, one day, when she was very, very pregnant with me, she arrived at work and received the news that Phil had died. Phil had been staying at the housing projects for quite some time with his son, and had died in his sleep.

Phil lived on the fourth floor. Phil was naked when he died. Phil was over 800 lbs.

By the time my mom got to work, they had been trying to figure out for four hours how to get Phil down the stairs. So, of course, my mom being the "boss lady" went up to investigate what was going on with Phil. She huffed and puffed her 8 month pregnant ass up four flights of stairs, got to the top floor, and was stopped by a police officer at the door of Phil's room. The police officer told my mom that she shouldn't go in there, and it was no place for a "lady".

My mom is 4'11. Back then, she was very skinny (you know, except for being pregnant, but you know what I mean), so she was just this petite little thing. But she is one touch bitch. She just looked at the police officer, and walked right past him.

And immediately wish she hadn't.

Here was Phil. According to my mom, everyone loved Phil, great guy, had been off of drugs for years and was really getting back on his feet. And my mom loved Phil. But she didn't love Phil when he was laying spread eagled on the bed, naked, and for some reason, a strange shade of dark purple.

So my mom walks in, and the guy who had been there overnight (and was actually the head guy of the whole place) took one look at my mom, said, "Oh, thank god you're here!"....and left. So my mom is left with about half a dozen police officers, a couple of paramedics, and herself. And one of the police officers looks at my mom and says, "Well. What do you want to do?"

My mom...never one to watch her mouth... looks at the guy and says, "Well, I'll take his feet, you take his hands, and we'll carry him down together, how does that sound?!"

Apparently, they had brought up a furniture dolly to take him down on, only to realize that the furniture dolly was way, way, way too small. So my mom and the paramedics get this idea to strap together a few of those hard plastic boards that they carry people on to the ambulance. So they did this, and put it at the top of the stairs. Then the police officers and the paramedics LITERALLY ROLLED this poor man to the stairs, strapped him onto the boards, and started slowly sliding him down the stairs on the boards.

My mom would stand at the bottom of each flight and make sure no one got in the way, and it went real smooth...until they got to the very bottom of the stairs, that opened out into the street. One of the guys who was in the front was going too fast, and the whole THING started sliding down the stairs. Of course, the guys in front jumped out of the way, not caring that my pregnant mother was at the bottom of the stairs, in direct line of a Phil-smooshing.

My mom stepped aside just in time, and the Phil-mobile got to the bottom of the stairs, the boards got caught on the ground, and the whole thing flipped over (Phil-side down) on the ground.

And instead of expressing any type of remorse or trying to help everyone put Phil right side up....My mom starts hysterically laughing. She just goes outside and sits on the curb and is just cracking up, and everyone outside thinks she's crying, and is just really distraught that Phil had died, but she was just cracking up at the fact that her life had nearly ended from a flying, huge, purple man on some boards strapped together coming straight at her down a flight of stairs. This apparently tickled her.

When they righted him and got him outside, they put a sheet over him and loaded him up into the back of a hearse (he couldn't fit in the ambulance, so they had to call a hearse), and my mom says the last thing she saw of Phil was his giant, purple foot sticking up against the back window of the hearse as it drove away.

I really think this should have been the way What's Eating Gilbert Grape should have ended. It wouldn't have been as depressing if it had a comical ending of some sort.

STORY #2: Dead Aunt in the Car

My dad's family is...interesting. That's all I'm going to say. Interesting.

So anyways. After my dad had moved out and gone to college and started a family and all of that, one of his aunts died. But the circumstances of her death were...kind of hysterical.

All of the old people in my dad's family decided to go to the beach one Saturday. Where they live in Alabama, they are only about an hour away from the beach, so five or six of them piled into the car and set out.

Now. My Great Aunt Anna (who I never met) was extremely old. Like, pretty much on the brink of going into the light, old. Well, on the way to going to the beach....she died. AND NO ONE NOTICED. It wasn't until they got to the beach, and realized that she was dead, did they come to find that she was, in fact, no longer with us.

And what did my family do. WHAT DID MY FAMILY DO?!?

These people decided that, well, since they were already at the beach, they'd go ahead and stay there, and just leave the windows open of the car AND LEAVE AUNT ANNA IN THERE.

This. Is. Not. Normal.

So this whole brood just has their day at the beach, doing God-knows what because they're all really old. And at the end of the day, they get back into the car. Now, the car stank from all the, uh, grossness that happens when a person dies, so they're driving back to "town" with all the windows down, arguing about where to take her. Some of them want to take her to the hospital, others want to take her to the funeral home since she was already dead. So they didn't go to either. Instead, they went back to the house, and called the police, and told them that Aunt Anna had died.

So the police come a-knocking, and my Grammy answers the door, and when they ask her where the body is, she just points to the car and says, "She's in there, could you clean up after her, I think she's had an accident!"

This is my gene pool. I'm so proud.