2002-05-06 - 10:38 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: It's alternating between Michael Jackson's "Beat It" and Rick Springfield's "Human Touch". Someone kill me, now.

OK, so, we're back.

As I mentioned in my LiveJournal, Poindexter's grandfather died last Monday. He'd been ailing for a while, so it wasn't a complete shock, but he was such a character that it's hard to believe he's gone.

Poindexter's grandfather was my grandfather's best friend, and his grandmother is my mom's godmother. Our grandfathers met in the Army in WWII, and it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship between the two families that eventually led to Poindexter and me getting married. So my mom went to the funeral, as well as her sister Cassie, and all of Poindexter's aunts and uncles and cousins were there.

As I expected, the funeral was very sad, but everything else about the weekend was great fun. It's always made me insane that EVERYBODY shows up for a funeral, when the circumstances are so awful, but you can't get everybody together when everyone's healthy, because they're too busy. Something's wrong with that.

I never really knew him all that well, so I didn't feel a personal sense of loss, but it was hard to see all the people I love so sad.

He was a character to the end, though -- we buried him in his hometown, near his alma mater. And rather than wear a suit, he was buried in his college sweatshirt and his Birkenstocks.

The rest of the weekend was more or less a big party, with Poindexter's grandfather sort of the "theme". At one point, everyone was singing along with a sort of karaoke machine, and his wife said, "If he were here, you know he'd be singing right along with them."

The morning of the funeral, I had breakfast at the hotel with my mom and Aunt Cassie. This was incredibly nice. I don't really know what to say about it. It just felt good to be having an ordinary meal - as opposed to a party or night out that involved a lot of preparation -- with my mother and aunt. I hope I will be having a lot more impromptu moments like that now that I've moved to Philadelphia.

Mom and Cassie left early Saturday morning, so I didn't see them once we got back to the hotel. Poindexter and I and his mom and sister had adjoining rooms, though, and after we got ready for bed we went over to their room and chatted and giggled for about an hour.

Saturday during the day, we drove around and saw the alma mater, which is also Poindexter's father's alma mater and is where his parents got married. We also saw the town proper, which was very cute with lots of Victorians.

Saturday night, there was a prom at the hotel. We all parked ourselves in the lobby -- where hockey was on the big-screen TV for Poindexter -- and watched as the kids arrived. The Joan Rivers Committee, we were.

There wasn't much to complain about, actually. The dresses were gorgeous and so were the girls in them. The only article of clothing I can remember not being impressed with was the flip-flops. Rubber thong sandals with a gown?

My big beef was the panty lines. All those girls in form-fitting dresses making the mistake of wearing underwear. "Take your underwear off!" I'd whisper, once they were out of earshot. Honestly, that is a crime. She'd have a beautiful figure, beautiful dress, and then her underwear would be making little ruts on her butt. It's just wrong.

Poindexter said, "Their dates are thinking the same thing, but for a different reason."

The oddest thing we noticed is that the boys and girls are afraid to touch each other. They'd walk in about three feet apart. Or even more often, the girl would open both sets of doors to the lobby, and march in with her date trailing behind. These are definitely women of the 21st century. Men? Who needs 'em?

I know that many of them were probably only friends, but it was ridiculous. Some of them seemed just to be too shy. MIL got fed up, finally, and started instructing the kids as they came through the door. "Offer her your arm! Take his arm!" The kids would look startled, then laugh, and then do as they were told. Then we would clap and tell them they were beautiful. Which they were. They really were.

Out of the hundreds of kids we saw, there were exactly two couples who behaved traditionally, with the boy opening the doors and escorting the girl on his arm. We congratulated them on their classy manners, and they laughed.

One boy was having trouble with his boutonniere -- the flower had fallen off. Far from being intimidated by my MIL barking etiquette instructions, he asked her to fix it for him. Since she's got arthritis in her hands, she referred him to her daughter, and I got pictures of her fixing the boutonniere. It was cute.

Me, I'm completely jealous. I want to buy a dress, but I have noplace to wear it. I'm astonished at how gorgeous and elegant the gowns were. It really was like having front-row seats on the red carpet at the Oscars. None of the lace and ruffles and stupid froufrou from my prom. Man.

This was WAY too much fun. I think I'm gonna have to find out whether any local high schools are having a prom at a local hotel, and park myself in the lobby there. Maybe even take a few pictures.

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