Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature
What is one of those universal joys? Dogs in costume. It’s a fact of life. You can dress a dog up as anything from a hooker to a Jedi and it’s irresistible. Every Halloween you know you are the recipient of one of those mass emails with a hundred pictures of dogs trick-o- treating, and you know you love it. Well, get ready to love this:
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature
It has become apparent to me that yesterday’s post might possibly have given the impression that my father is creepy, so I feel the need to set the record straight. My father is my favorite person in the world, and not in a Kathyrn Harrison kind of way. The roof/furnance comment was funny to me because, well, I just think it’s funny, but also, it was one of those moments where you are confronted with the brutal awareness that your parents are familiar with the concept of intercourse. I mean, you know they are because they had to have sex to make you, but that knowledge is kind of like your awareness of your own mortality: you know you’re going to die one day but you sure as shit avoid thinking about it at all costs. Plus it was the added gross-out combo of not sex and old people, which is always a winner.
Anyways, point is, my father is a man who actually says Goodnight to the dog every night, tucks him into his dog bed and covers him with a doggy blanket (actually a pillowcase), all while telling him he’s the best, most handsome dog in the world. He may be a little weird and overly protective of his loved ones, he may ask me if I’m sober every time I come home later than 6pm, he may require that I avoid listening to my “wigger music” when in the car with him, and he may drop peanut skins on the floor on the regular, but he’s not creepy. He also recently learned to text message, and has jumped from one-word texts to full sentences. Occassionally he’ll even throw two full sentences into one text. Gotta love that.
Guess what? The endless days of sleeping, eating, and watching Wife Swap have come to an end for me, at least temporarily, because I have rejoined the world of 9-5ers. I’m working a temp job, replacing someone out on maternity leave, and as you can imagine, I am super excited about it.
You probably thought that since I’ve been bitching and moaning for months about being unemployed I would be overjoyed to get a job, even a temporary one. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. I am happy to get out of the house and to be bringing in more change than the measly stipend I was getting from the local government. I am, however, unhappy to be getting up when it’s still dark out and unhappy to be sitting in rush hour traffic twice a day. And most of all, I’m reminded of how unhappy I am to have to talk to other people for 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week. But the good news is that I haven’t been here long enough to become bitter and jaded with the place and its inhabitants. I’m estimating that will occur some time next week.
Until then, I thought I’d share a little conversation that took place between my father and I last night. We were watching the Caps game (Caps won 7-3, FYI) and for some reason my dad is a bit fixated on one of the local Caps newscaster, Lisa Hilary. I don’t mean fixated on her as in, finds her attractive. Rather, at a recent game, as she was doing an intermission inteview with a player, my father turned to me and said, “Jesus, Lisa Hilary looks old. How old do you think she is?” Apparently, Dad feels female newscasters should be a tad more youthful, and as he eloquently pointed out, Lisa Hilary is “no spring chicken.” This led to a discussion during last night’s game about whether or not any of the Caps are boinking Lisa Hilary. We figured we could cross the young Caps players off the possibilities list because they can easily snatch themselves some young poontang. My father suggested the oldest guy on the team, who is 37, but who I pointed out is also married, to which my father replied that married doesn’t mean faithful. (And don’ t you wish you were my mom right now?) While married might not mean faithful, I feel that old, married, and gainfully employed translates into lacking sufficient time and energy to have a scandalous player/newscaster affair. My father’s reply:
“Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there isn’t fire in the furnance.”
And that sound you hear is me crying on the inside.