Telling my dad I feel fine when kinda crappy things happen actually helps me feel fine when kinda crappy things happen. Somehow my “I’m gonna wing this not-even-mandatory speech” plan turned into what felt like an eternity of strange jokes and nervous laughter that elicited a good audience chuckle at the time but feels mortifying in retrospect. By the way, if I asked you how long you think it would take 47 people to elect a 17-member managing board and you said seven fucking hours, you’d be astonishingly correct. What a way to spend a Saturday.
View Separately

Telling my dad I feel fine when kinda crappy things happen actually helps me feel fine when kinda crappy things happen.

Somehow my “I’m gonna wing this not-even-mandatory speech” plan turned into what felt like an eternity of strange jokes and nervous laughter that elicited a good audience chuckle at the time but feels mortifying in retrospect.

By the way, if I asked you how long you think it would take 47 people to elect a 17-member managing board and you said seven fucking hours, you’d be astonishingly correct. What a way to spend a Saturday.

Father’s Day Gift Bestowal:

  1. 1 doberman t-shirt
  2. 1 rock album that he likes and inquires about every time he hears it in my car but never gets around to actually buying for himself on iTunes.

It’s actually quite a mystery what that man does on iTunes, since I know he peruses it in search of new music on a semi-regular basis, but never buys anything regardless of any recommendations or secret put-these-CDs-in-the-car-when-I-visit-home-and-leave-them-playing-in-case-he-washes-it-or-I-drive-us-somewhere scheming on my part.

I DO know that he thought Katy Perry and The Pussycat Dolls weren’t half bad so… it may just be a lost cause at this point.

Dinners with Dad

  • Dad: Ugh. This moron--from Sacramento; it's a Sac area code--keeps texting me. I told 'em they have the wrong number and to fuck off, but they keep doing it! I mean, look at this! It's not even English!
  • Text: "You got thizzs? I need 10"
  • Dad: Thizz-ehz. Thizz-eeez. ??
  • Me, laughing: Dad, they think you're their drug dealer. Thizz is ecstasy.
  • Dad: Well I'm telling them to fuck off.
  • Me: You have to at least tell them it's the wrong number or they'll think their dealer is pissed at them for no reason!
  • Dad: ...
  • Dad: Fine.