Four Hookups and a Funeral

Just joking. Relax, I'm not that bad. Just couldn't resist this title. But what a crazy day it was.

My mom had decided to go to the funeral after all, and so we decided to travel together.

Waking up early, getting into my formal dress, I discovered it was pouring outside. This always seems to happen at funerals: curtains of rain, and shivering under an umbrella as the casket is lowered into its final resting place. I was thinking of Guns 'n Roses' November Rain, without Slash, that is.

And the rain kept on coming: driving towards Amsterdam, it got so bad I had to slow down sometimes as vision declined. Then, finally, we got lost in the posh suburb that surrounds the cemetery as the roads were broken up and cars were directed onto bike paths. We arrived a few minutes late, but it turned out my cousin and his new Russian girlfriend had run out of petrol, much to his father's anger. LOL. He then got lost as well, and in the end couldn't find a place to park.

And it kept on pouring. We were shepherded into the chamber for the ceremony, where eulogies were held that made me reach for the sick bag. I mean, the deceased wasn't a saint, so why do we posthumously have to pretend it was the case? I know a funeral is no place to be truthful or critical, but in these speeches an unrealistic fantasy creature was sketched that in no way resembled reality.

So after the ceremony, the casket was carried outside, into the pouring rain and dropped into the family slot beneath the beautiful pines. It really is an amazing spot.

Afterwards, we all met up for drinks at a quaint old restaurant near a dune, a place I have fond memories of. My sleazy Swiss relatives, friends of my grandma and a nasty old queen who used to go to school with my uncle were all there. The old homo was definitely checking me out. Gross.

We left rather early, pleading distance. My mom dropped me of at my place, and I went back to casual clothing. Then prepared myself for a night on the town. I was in predator mode, which usually means I'll do something stupid.

Getting tanked on wine, cocktails and the occasional brewski, bored by the club, the music and all those guys I have seen too many times before, even though there was some cool eye contact with the boy I have been eyeing for weeks, I moved in on a cute Indian exchange student, and we spent the night together.

No, he wasn't as good as Barbie.

PS. I have decided not to get my tongue pierced. For now. Reason? Too scary.