The Algonquin Wake

So, I was at my mother's wake. We were all at the wake. There were scores, scads and multitudes at the wake. Most I didn’t know though many of the names were familiar.
All big social events, parties are hard for me and boyhowdy, this was one big ass party for Lucy. All we were missing was the Manischewitz, her fav wine *gack* and the pizellis.

The challenge for me is that my sound system is permanently muted and most folks don’t do the Sign Language Rumba. Lip reading, in a quiet room, one on one, is hard enough. At a party, in a crowd it’s flat out exhausting, frazzling stuff. I never pick up all that’s said. I spend much of the time guessing, trying to fill in the blanks.

Lip reading tidbits (more here):

What sorts of things make it harder or easier to lip read someone?

There are many factors that can affect any lipreading situation, potentially making comprehension more or less successful. These factors fall into four general categories: 

• The Speaker: Does the speaker have an accent? Braces? Dark glasses? A speech impediment? Does the speaker move a lot? Hold his hands in front of his face? Speak very rapidly?
• The Message: Does the message contain highly technical language or specific jargon? Are there foreign language words or phrases? Is it rambling or truncated? Is it grammatically correct? Is there slang or a specific dialect?
• The Environment: How far away is the speaker from the lip reader? Is there enough light? Is there anything obstructing the line of sight? Is there any distracting background movement?
• The Lip Reader: Is the lip reader skilled at lip reading? Is she fatigued? Is she familiar with the subject and vocabulary of the message? Does she have good eyesight?

OK, that’s honestly just part of the issue. Also on Donna’s Social Hurdles list is that it's spectacularly difficult to be to be anything other than my crazy, cranky old self. Even when I had hearing I was uncomfortable in large groups. Dunno what it is exactly but crowds def inspire me to Olympic levels of vinegary cantankerous-tudedness.

Add into this stew -- it’s mia madre’s wake (fer god's sake!). The entire family’s in shock (we all figured, we all KNEW, she’d live forever -- she’d survive us all), with me in my emotional default mode -- angry.

Being an older and, theoretically, mature broad, I did the best thing I could for the event. When I felt the crabby about to go all Vesuvius and shit, I took a seat off to the side.  My GRANDniece (how the fuck did I get a 'grand' anything?), Crysta joined me.

The poor child (she’s 18) was subjected to my running commentary. You know, whose ankles were so fat that they should always wear long pants -- thus doing themselves and the rest of humanity a significant mitzvah. Whose children were sadly, unfortunately, dreadfully homely. Whose dye job was molto fab and whose looked better on the original Gummy Bear.

Christ you’d think I was Dorothy Parker sipping a whiskey sour, straight up at the Algonquin while casually people judging...er, watching.

I caught myself after a bit and allowed ‘I’m a bad example, Crysta, You mustn’t emulate.’

In response, I got the raised eyebrow, the quirked grin that I’m so familiar with from Jen, Oni and The Amazing Bob. With a sigh, I stood up and rejoined the throng.
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