I filled the gas tank, checked the oil, bought oil, picked up prescriptions, dropped off old laptop batteries at Best Buy, dropped off the latest collection at the thrift store, and picked up my comics hold. Now to take a shower.

I shot photographs and day drank. Which is about as pathetic as it sounds.

Neither sounds pathetic to me on a Saturday.

I did some laundry, went out to lunch, bought some household necessities, and just scrubbed my sink after waking from a nap. My apartment is basically in the least embarrassing shape it's been in in the past several years, but weirdly the one thing I can't seem to muster motivation for is watching the Hugh Dancy movie I need to return to the library this weekend. WTF, brain?

We went to the memorial service for the daughter of Tim's ex, where I got to witness humanity being truly, truly shitty.

Tim's ex (R.) is obviously no longer with her daughter's father. Apparently the daughter's father told R. how many people she was "allowed" to "invite" to the memorial (SPOILER: 15). The front 6 pews all had signs taped on the ends of the pews that read "Reserved for [Daughter's Father's Name]'s Family." A member of that family got up and read the obituary, which was printed in the program, and listed the surviving family members by name; she made a very obvious pause as she got to the name of R.'s other son (which was printed in the obituary), DIDN'T SAY HIS NAME, and then read the rest of the names. The service was supposed to start at 2:00; at 2:20, all of Daughter's Father's family (30-40 people), came walking up the aisle of the church together. (What was THAT about? Not only were they forcing R. and the handful of people she was "allowed" to invite to wait, they were forcing their own friends to wait. It was really awkward.) And the father got up and delivered a eulogy of sorts that ended by emotionally urging "the nonbelievers here today to start a relationship with Jesus Christ."**

For understandable backstory, I should note that Daughter's Father literally kidnapped her and forcibly moved her from Ohio to live with him in Texas when she was a minor.

In conclusion, he and his family may be grieving, and some part of me respects that, but the larger part still wants them to burn in hell for how they treated R. and her son. Fuck them.

We did not, perhaps unsurprisingly, join them for the meal in the undercroft after the service. Because fuck them. We all went to Perkin's.

**(Every Christian but non-Catholic funeral/memorial I've been to in the past 5 years or so has included what basically amounts to an altar call. What is WITH that???)

Holy fucking shit "humans", Tep.

Holy fucking shit "humans", Tep.

It was mind-blowing how shitty they were. All dressed in nice suits and well-coiffed, and every single one of them except a grandmother ignored R. and her son. (The grandmother came over and hugged R. and cried with her and squeezed the son's hand.) Fuck them all so much.

A funeral is totally the best time to be petty.

And the funeral started with the Jeff Buckley iteration of "Hallelujah," so I was not well-inclined toward the family to begin with.

Oh, my god, I shouldn't laugh at that.

Oh man.