So I called my dad last night to say howdy and see what was going on halfway across the country. He was installing his iPod into his Mini-Cooper before heading down to his recording studio where he was finalizing a new song.
Stop right there.
How cool is that? My dad rocks! He is such a cool cat. Honestly, if you met my dad and didn’t like him, I’d probably persuade you to head on down to the nearest mental hospital ’cause you might be a little unhinged. He’s successful! He sings! He plays the guitar! He solves complex mathematical equations with the greatest of ease! He can fix anything, whether it is an antique watch or an entire air conditioning system! For God’s sake, the man even cut my hair when I was younger, and people, I am pretty damn picky when it comes to the locks. How can one person be so talented at so many damn things? I’m intrigued.
If that wasn’t enough, presenting More Cool Things About My Dad!
1) He does all of the grocery shopping. Our family is prepared for a complete nuclear disaster- he has acquired more canned goods than the local food bank. Now, I could argue that sometimes he goes with the generic stuff (blech), but he makes up for this with The Infamous Candy Drawer. A bona fide candy drawer filled with every kind of confection you could dream of. Snickers? Check. Blowpops? Check. Chick-o-Sticks? Check. Also, looking for some gum or Good & Plenty’s? He is always in possession of these two items. Oh, and don’t get him talking about the different kinds of black licorice. Give him the wrong kind of black licorice, and it’s like handing Superman some kryptonite. Complete meltdown.
2) Interested in sound financial advice? Need to create a new budget? He’s your man. Now, sometimes this “financial advice” has been a bit unwarranted, like the time I asked him a general question about interest rates, only to be lectured about the “blood bath” economy for three hours, trying to feign interest while feverishly searching the room for a pencil to shove into my eye socket so I could call 911 and get out of the house pronto.
3) He doesn’t mind driving halfway across the city to get the best pizza in town for Sunday pizza dinners. I tend to think this is due to his sneaking suspicion that the pizza shop owners might be part of the Taliban and is hoping to intercept some crucial contraband. Okie dokie. And if pizza doesn’t sound good, he makes the world’s best chilidogs. They are excellent and also his cure for anything ailing you. Hung over? Eat a chilidog. Feeling blue? Eat a chilidog. Bad haircut? Eat a chilidog. Your pet died? Eat a chilidog. You get the picture.
4) My personal favorite- He didn’t send me to a Swedish boarding school at age sixteen when I managed to wreck all three of the family’s cars in a 48-hour period. Oops.
5)Most importantly, he is one hell of a father to my sister and I and one hell of a husband to my mom (who happens to rock the casbah, as well).
I miss my dad.
This afternoon marks the end of my shitty three-week stint with the corporate koolaid-drinking side of my job that I despise BEYOND belief. Words can’t express how happy I am. No more meetings! No more ass-kissing! No more waking up at 5:00 am filled with anxiety, apprehension and dread! Hallejuah!
Back to my normal routine. First things first. I need a nap…