Got milk?

Started off my Saturday going back and forth to Iowa in a day for a funeral. Met more cousins, relatives, etc… that I had never met in my life. I did the obligatory, “Give me call when you come to the Chi and we’ll hang out!” I don’t expect any of them to call. I know its terrible, but it is much easier to put the onus on someone else to call that you really don’t want to talk to. This way at the next funeral or family reunion I’ll see them at, I’ll be the one that can say, “You never called me!”

The funeral naturally had it's share of drama. First of all, in the process of trying to track down cousins, uncles and stuff we found out 2 family members were currently in jail. One is in for tax evasion, another on a misdemeanor drug charge. I know my family is inherently country but eating chicken and watermelon in the funeral home parking lot with a napkin bib on to keep your church clothes from having grease stains on them is just taking things a bit too far. I mean can’t you eat a watermelon Jolly Rancher and be straight for an hour?

Apparently, my great Aunt had been going to this all white Lutheran church for the past 18 years and they had their way of doing things and handling these types of services. It became apparent in the planning of the program that there would be some cultural conflicts with the service. My dad got into it with the pastor who was residing over the service before things began. Apparently the pastor didn’t appreciate my dad’s request that he save the sermon for the Sunday crowd. Then my dad had requested that his Aunt’s favorite song be added to the program, and the pastor initially refused because he didn’t think it was ‘religious enough’. So my father, who is no purveyor of theology, made the preacher grab a hymnal so he could break it do! wn for him. Needless to say, ‘Eyes on the Sparrow’ was part of the program.

Then, he didn’t want to allow the ‘black’ funeral program into the church. I’m not sure how many of you have been to a Southern funeral (I’m talking Mississippi southern), but there is a certain culture or graphic consistency to the funeral program. It always has that old school photo on the front cover that is usually oval and fades out around the edges, it has like 19 pages of bible verses inside, a copy of the page from the hymnal of the song that will be sung, and it always lists EVERY relative’s name the person who died ever had and their grandkids, nephews, nieces, etc… Well, he said we couldn’t hand them out and had to use the standard church program that has that same waterfall that appears on every little Jesus handout ever made.

Maybe this speaks to some of study that proves the inattentiveness of black people in general and is somehow related to why little black boys don’t read.??? But the big southern funeral program definitely serves the following three purposes.

1. It creates a good solid base for a fan because those Southern churches don’t ever have enough air conditioning to accommodate a funeral.
2. It gives people something to do while waiting for the funeral to start since it will inevitably start late. (you know black folks)
3. Since everyone will take home 5-6 extra programs to give to relatives that ‘couldn’t make it’ to the funeral because they had to work, you know it has to look nice because black folks will talk about the damn program later on.

After six hours in a car, getting up and down to get more pink lemonade, potato salad and jello for old ladies, and helping folks steal the table centerpieces and putting these lovely flower arrangements in the trunks of cars that were sitting in 95 degree heat, my back was feeling like a boy scout knot-tying convention.

My brother and I decided to end the evening with a little middle-class surf and turf (Filet Mignon & Shrimp). After consuming a couple glasses of wine, and getting ready for bed, I get a call from a lady from my past who had lots of potential, but the timing just wasn’t quite right for either one of us. But she wanted me to meet her out, so I got dressed and headed out.

The last correspondence I had with her was about 7 months ago when I called to see if she was still interested in going with me to the circus. She gave me a resounding “No”. When I asked her why not? She told me “I wasn’t pregnant when you asked me before.”

…….. okay.

Now she has her little 3 month old baby and the baby’s daddy has left, she’s trying to rekindle old flames or something and I had supposedly ‘appeared in a dream’ of her’s recently. Anyway, she was out with her girls for the first time in a while so I met her out. We hit it off real cool and were talking and talking until she started fidgeting and shit, so I ask, “What’s the problem?”

So she tells me, “I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, but I’m currently breastfeeding and I haven’t pumped in about 4-5 hours and I feel like I’m about to explode.”

………….. okay.

I decide to walk her to her car and she offers to drive me to mine. We ended up talking for another 30 minutes or so when she finally says. “I’m sorry, I can’t take this any longer, can you hand me that backpack.”

I pass this Gucci-esque leather backpack to her and she reaches in and pulls out what looks like some sort of bong or something and I say “What are you going to do with that?”

She lifts up her shirt and bra, takes this stun gun looking super soaker thingy, and starts pumping milk out her titty.

…… okAY!

So we sat there for the next 35 minutes and talked about philosophies of breast feeding, how wet and horny she was while she was pregnant, sexual positions for the 8 month pregnant woman, and the sensitivity of her nipples before, during and after pregnancy. All the while, I’m listening to milk squirt into this glass container.

Since she’s obviously pretty open about things I decide to ask her the question I had been thinking throughout the entire pumping process: “So, um, …… uh, can I have some?”

She says, "You are a gotdamn freak!" , pauses, smiles and hands me the bottle. I hold the bottle in my hand and I say, “No, I want it straight from the titty.” She says, “We haven’t even kissed yet, and you want to suck my titties?” I say, “Well, yeah.”

So she tells me, “Maybe another time.”

After that she drove me to my car, I gave her my number, a kiss on the cheek and haven’t heard from her since.

-c

CD of the moment: Jazzanova – “In Between”