The Bitterness Blog


Shoelace Sabotage and Texting with Dad
April 12, 2010, 5:33 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

My father doesn’t know  how to properly tie his shoelaces.  He can tie them, but he can’t get them to stay tied.  His laces seriously come undone upwards of 20 times a day, at least when I’m with him.  When we go to Caps’ games, we park about 3 blocks away from the arena because we can park there for 10 bucks or pay twice as much to park a block closer, and we’re cheap people.  Pretty much every game, my father’s laces come untied either on the way to the game, the way back from the game, or, if I’m really lucky, both.  And he won’t continue walking until the situation has been remedied, so we have to stop and do a pull over while he fixes the situation.  It’s a little ridiculous, and it begs the question, how did I learn to successfully tie my shoelaces?

I assumed my mother must have taught me, but my father assures me it was him, and I believe him, because in most of my vague and distant childhood memories, he’s the star player on the life lessons front.  He taught me to ride my bike, he taught me to drive, he helped me with my homework.  I guess it’s just a fucking miracle that his shoelace-tying lessons didn’t end up severely hampering my abilities to walk my own path, as it were.  On more than one occassion, my father has accused me of perhaps setting him up in some way to cause his laces to become untied.  I’m not entirely sure how one would go about this, but my father lives in a general state of paranoia in which he believes that my mother and I conspire to make him think he’s going senile.  Usually the real culprit is the fact that if you wake him up when he’s asleep, he won’t remember it the next day, so there have been many times when I was accused of not telling him I had made it home alive after a night of what he believed to be “drinking and partying and inappropriate behavior.”  But really, I totally came home and woke him up and he just doesn’t remember.  You would think he would remember b/c everytime I come home after dark the first question he asks me is, “Are you sober?”  But no.

One time my mother and I asked him what he would do if we both died in a freak accident, leaving him all alone.  I think  the answer we were expecting was something along the lines of, “Cry myself to sleep every night” or “commit suicide and donate my body to science.”  The answer we got was, “I don’t know, maybe I’d move to a tropical place and shack up with an island girl.” 

Mom took that well.  But when we first made a teasing comment about how we had better be careful or we’d be replaced with an island girl and island spawn, he asked us what we were talking about.  He still claims he never said that and that my mother and I are colluding to make him look bad and drive him insane.

But I digress.  Shoelaces.  Untied.  Frequently.  Don’t know why he has such an issue, but I suspect it may be the shoes and/or laces.  My father has worn the same pair of sneakers for pretty much my whole life.  They are hard to find in stores now but he orders them online.  So I figure maybe it’s just a flaw in the design or something.

I wore sneakers to work today and it’s 1:24pm and my laces have already come undone twice.  This never happens to me.  So I sent my dad the following text message:

My shoelaces have come undone twice today.  Is this sabotage?  Did you oil up my laces or something?

And my dad replied, via text:

ITS IN YOUR GENES

And that is the continuing joy of my father learning how to text.

Meet my future stepmom. At least if my dad ends up on an island, the shoelaces probably won't be an issue any longer.

Advertisements


Words of Wisdom From Dad
April 8, 2010, 7:22 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

While watching the hockey game the other night on tv my dad was doing his usual bit of harassing me via making fun of my favorite Caps player, Alex Semin.  A caller on a post-game radio show once referred to Semin as a “PR Nightmare” and that phrase was seared into my father’s brain and vocabulary instantaneously.  It was one of those moments where, as soon as the words came over the radio airwaves, I knew it would be something I would hear oft-repeated by my father for the rest of my natural life.  And there is some legitimacy to it because Semin pretends not to speak English (he’s Russian), never does any interviews, and is generally surly during forced (and rare) public appearances.  I still love him with the fire of a thousands suns, so fuck the haters.  Anyhoo. 

So during the game my dad was harassing me about Semin as per usual and telling me how if I were smart, I would set my romantic dreams of being a kept hockey woman on Nick Backstrom, another player on the team.  Last year I didn’t think Backstrom was cute, but then I saw him in person at a function and he’s clearly one of those people who looks much better in person than in pictures and on tv, and to top it all off, he was uber polite and gentlemanly.  I reminded my dad that I do enjoy some Nick Backstrom, and that in fact, I think he is growing on me over time even more and quickly moving up the fantasy hockey boyfriend ranks.  My dad was pleased and said that was a good call.  Unfortunately, Backstrom is only 22 years and I am…not, which I pointed out to my father.  His response?

“That’s okay.  Backstrom is Swedish.  They’re experimental.”

They’re experimental. 

I’m not sure which I’m more flummoxed by, the idea that a relationship with a woman who is older by years that can be counted on one hand is experimental, or the impression my dad has that Swedish people are sexually experimental.  Or perhaps simply that he said that out loud.  To his only daughter.  And meant it.

Nick Backstrom. Swedish and experimental. And set to make upwards of 6mil a year starting next season. Yes, cuter every day.



Excess Baggage
April 6, 2010, 6:08 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

My general aversion to child-bearing was reaffirmed yesterday in a big way.

I went to CVS on my lunch break to pick up some general crap.  As I was pulling up near the CVS, a woman was walking across the parking area with a stroller and little person in tow, having just left the CVS.  I parked.  I went inside the CVS and went about my business.  I had never been to this particular CVS before, so I had some light navigating to do.  Then I waited in a line of 3 people before my stuff was paid for and I was out the door, en route to my auto.  And who did I pass?  The woman with the baby.  She appeared to have recently finished strapping the kid in and was loading the stroller into the back.  From the time it took me to enter the parking lot, park, walk into the store, figure out where to find my shit, consider buying 5 magazines, pick up a pedometer from the sales bin, put it back, pick it up again, makes my purchases and walk to my car, she not only had not left the parking lot yet but HADN’T EVEN MADE IT INTO HER CAR HERSELF.  Sweet Christ that is some slow moving.  Unless she was writing a child-rearing book during my CVS adventure, that is altogether too time consuming.  Can’t do it.  Ever.

I will, however, give babies credit where credit is due in the amusement department.  When you are just looking at them from afar and not responsible for their actual care, they are some funny fuckers.  As evidenced here, on my new favorite website.

Hey, now that I’m “working” again, I have to fill up my 8 hours somehow.

Also amusing?  Dressing my dog up in Caps gear.

Dashing and well dressed. He's a catch.