My dad and step-mom are visiting this weekend. I’m really excited to see both of them, especially my dad, as opposed to MaryAnn who I’m usually more excited to see. No offense MaryAnn, you know I love you.
It is in part because I feel like my dad is all I have left of my family. My M.O.M. informed me that I am no longer her daughter (ask me about how Mother’s Day went) and although she’s pulled this Asian disowning business before, it feels permanent this time. Perhaps because I’m unwilling to engage in this kind of emotional brinksmanship anymore.
My dad is the one person I want to talk to in the middle of the night when my mind goes to dark places. He’s been here for me during this emotional roller coaster and I’m so grateful. Plus, he and I are in a really great place and I think it might have something to do with my blog. He is my Number One Fan.
Some kids had parents that attended every single dance recital and track meet. Now that I’m 41, my father has finally developed an appreciation for my special talents, long overdue I might add. He reads my every post and sends me emails telling me what he liked best about each one. It means the world to me.
Maybe he’s just being nice, giving his middle-aged daughter some rah-rah in hope that she might do something with her life. But you know what? I don’t care. I’m going to believe he thinks I’m awesome.
I called him today to confirm our plans and we went over what we wanted to do this weekend: Lunch where I ran into Sean Penn, check. Visit the Army Surplus Store, check. And he said, “I want to see where you write.”
I was like, “I write at my desk … like I always do.”
And he was all, “Yes, but I want to see you in action.”
I have no idea what he expects, but I suspect he will be disappointed.
I was mulling this over while at the grocery store, feeling just a tiny bit pressured to be brilliant and funny in my next post (are you ready for this?) when inspiration came to me over the store speakers. “King Soopers is hiring overnight stockers. You must be able to work nights and lift at least fifty pounds.”
Of course I heard, “Overnight stalkers” and I thought fifty pounds isn’t nearly enough, you’ve gotta be able to lift at least 125 pounds because dead weight is far heavier than, uh, alive weight. I mean, how do you expect to get the body into the trunk of your car? I know a couple guys for whom that would be a dream job. I’d tell them about it but that would be in violation of their restraining orders.
Isn’t my mind beautiful? The way it works … my unique vision. I got a good snort out of it and I looked around the aisles for someone to share my amusement with but no one else seemed to notice. Perhaps I’ve been dwelling on the crazy people in my life a little too much lately.
Then when I sat down to write this magnificent post, my friend Ryan texted me. He’s looking for a place to live and we used to rent rooms out on a long-term basis.
God, my life is so full of magic and wonder! Aren’t you glad I’m sharing it with you?
Hi Dad! See you soon!
Time to cut the crap.
I went through our entryway. It’s usually the first place to go to seed. I pulled all the hats and gloves and put them away for the winter except for this stuff. I’m DONATING the hats and TRASHING the odd gloves.
I suck at taking “before” photos. It’s probably shame. Trust that this was piled high with winter boots, hats, and you guessed it, bags of bags. It won’t stay this way long, but hopefully long enough for my dad and step-mom to see.
We got these scrapbooks from Suzi after she died, she was the president of the Boulder Bird Club for years. Zeb freaked out when he thought he lost them. Imagine his relief when I found them. Imagine mine when I told him to give them to the new Boulder Bird Club president. Good old Suzi and Myron, Nana and Papa Plooster. I miss them.
A filthy baby gate. We kept it around (under the stairs, natch) so tenants could block off the stairs from the deck, but no one ever used it. I’m TRASHING it. (Update, Zeb dragged it out of the trash and put it in the shed. I guess we’re gonna have to do that dance.)
Clothes left behind by an AirBnB renter. I offered to mail it back to her but she never responded. DONATE.
Featured image courtesy of www.quickmeme.com