August 13th, 2008
I’ve got nothing, absolutely nothing today. No ideas, no pending posts, no creativity, no-thing. I pure and simple cannot come up with a topic, or a rant, or a commiseration, a story, a lament, a dirge, a whine (my specialty), a joke, a ramble, NOTHING. NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING!
Like, did you ever see that Friends where Rachel, Phoebe and Monica started wearing wedding dresses “just to try them out,” and they spent days in the dresses, wearing them while they did chores and watched TV? And Rachel, who was dating Tate Donovan (forget his fake name) in real life and on the show, thought he was freaking out because she was getting too serious, too fast? Then, he knocked on her door, and she opened it wearing the wedding dress, and neither one of them said a word, and she shut the door, and goes,”Well, that ought to do it,” knowing he’d never be back again?
That’s sort of how I’m feeling here. I soooooo want to wear bullet points again, but know if you’re knocking on my door, you’ll be all, “wha? again? She just did bullet points. I’m outta here.”
Then, I’d go sit on my couch with some popcorn and my bullet points and be like, “what just happened?” But also I’d think: “Oh just me and my bullet points. How welcome. Cuz I don’t got the brain power to craft a decent post and also my closet is a mess and I think I’ve even got perishables in there and ACK! I’m just going to do the bullet points, just take a deep breath and enumerate my bullet points. Ommmmm.”
In truth, I was thinking of doing A Bullet Point Blog! With nothing but bullet points! And it would make sense because I live my life as one big bulleted to-do list. And I could just transcribe it here, easy peasy, and San Diego Momma would sink into blogblivion.
But instead, I dug into my “other blog” archives and came up with the below. Seems I’ve been writing about my dad a bit and perhaps you’d like to get to know him better. Probably not. But at least it’s not a dirty wedding dress, am I right? Come to think of it, “dirty wedding dress” may be exactly the right term for recycled blog posts. Better contact the Urban Dictionary or Blogtations before someone claims that brilliance as their own. Meanwhile…
(originally posted August 2002)
My dad turns 65 later this month. I remember his 40th, 50th, and 60th birthdays in crystal detail, and still, I can’t imagine him getting old.
When I say this, people ask me what kind of person he is, and I always get tongue-tied.
He defies characterization, yet he can be a breathing stereotype. He’s the most contradictory man I’ve ever known.
Us kids swoon over him . We’re always waiting to hear what he’ll say next, because his sense of humor is legend.
He tells jokes with glee. Dirty jokes, offensive jokes, delightful jokes. His mind is a reservoir of wit. You can say a word — any word — and this prompts a related quip. We try it with everything. Horses. Water pipes. Cupcakes.
He’s impatient. And impulsive. His vices, like his wit, are legend.
He crackles with energy. He can’t sit still, unless he’s watching sports, and even then, he punches the air and yells himself hoarse.
My dad is the life of the party, but when the party’s over, he gets morose. As a kid, I often felt I couldn’t keep his attention — I wasn’t entertaining enough. I still feel that way sometimes.
My dad’s industry reputation precedes him. I imagine he thinks it’s a lot to live up to.
His business kept him away from home a lot. But he was always there for us. If we had a problem, he’d hammer away at it until it was gone, or beat into the ground. I still know I can call him anytime, and if I need him, he’ll drop everything to be by my side.
My dad is a buffoon. He blusters and bellows. He drives a Cadillac, wears a Stetson, smokes a cigar, and sings along to country music. He gets mad easily.
He goes to church every Sunday.
He exaggerates details. Sometimes he leaves things out.
Once, we dined at a restaurant with an adjacent piano bar. My dad seemed to know the place, so my mom asked if he’d been there before. He nodded no. After dinner, we wandered into the bar amidst calls of “Hey Kenny!” and “How ya doing, Ken?” and “Will you have the usual?” He didn’t bat an eye.
My dad’s lived large. He makes no apologies. In quiet times, he knows he should be sorry sometimes. He keeps it to himself. But you can see it in his face.
He’s a breathing testament to the power of positive thinking. My dad has high cholesterol, soaring blood pressure, diabetes, and I’m quite sure — an ulcer, but he won’t let himself get sick. He’s too stubborn.
My dad has every reason to be cynical. He’s seen a lot in his life that might turn one to bitterness.
But he is the most trusting man you’ll meet.
And he’s taught us an important lesson, even if we don’t live it as he does: see the good in everyone and always, always keep your heart open.
Most of the time though, he’s a real pain in my ass.