31.
Today is my 31st birthday. I am an oldie, aren't I?
And how will I spend my birthday at work? By trying to ignore as many people as I can. And calling back some recruiters and seeing if they found anything. And find out when I can go on my second interview with the law firm. And buy "Rent" on DVD.
My dad came to visit this weekend. It was good to see him, but man, does he get older every time I see him. I know everyone gets older, but he gets OLDER.
His arm is hurting him more than ever. He can't even put on his jacket without help.
But it's not even the ailments that bug me so much. It's the other stuff... he loves to talk, so he will talk about anything, but usually it's about the same stuff he always talks about. He makes a lot of noises, to make sure everyone knows that he is in pain. He farts wherever. He makes jokes, but they are usually embarrassing.
One thing that really got under my skin this weekend... well, we went to Melissa's parents for dinner. We had a pretty good time there. They gave us some food to take home... lasagna, and meatballs and sausage in sauce. It was all put in one bag, and for some reason, my dad was carrying the bag. When we got home, before I even turned on the light, the bag rips, and out falls the sauce container. Sauce spills everywhere, right by the dining room table and the china cabinet. My dad doesn't apologize... just says that the bag ripped and it was dark. But I saw the bag... yes it did rip, but I don't think it would have ripped if he was holding the bag properly. So then I have to go look for stuff to clean the carpet with... I found a few things, and while I was trying to clean it, dad is standing over me, just watching. I had to tell him, dad, please don't stand over me while I try to clean this. I was really annoyed. But then again we probably shouldn't have given him the bag to hold in the first place.
That is the problem. We always have to baby him and take care of him. He is only 60... I know that sounds old, but I keep thinking of people like Vince McMahon and Ric Flair. They are over 60, and they do all this crazy stuff in the ring. If my dad took one bump, he would be done.
But what happens when we have our baby to take care of? He is planning on coming up to visit, obviously, but can he stay with us? I don't think he can. We are going to be worrying too much about the baby, and I will not have time to take care of all his needs as well. I love the guy, but please.
I know my dad has been through a lot throughout his life. So have I. But you have to have a little respect when staying over someone else's house, and you have to have a little class. I know he shows a little more respect when he goes to visit my aunt, but just because I am his son doesn't mean he can walk around in boxers and fart in my chair. That's just not right.
Sorry for my venting. I love my dad, but there are some things I wish he would change about himself.
And how will I spend my birthday at work? By trying to ignore as many people as I can. And calling back some recruiters and seeing if they found anything. And find out when I can go on my second interview with the law firm. And buy "Rent" on DVD.
My dad came to visit this weekend. It was good to see him, but man, does he get older every time I see him. I know everyone gets older, but he gets OLDER.
His arm is hurting him more than ever. He can't even put on his jacket without help.
But it's not even the ailments that bug me so much. It's the other stuff... he loves to talk, so he will talk about anything, but usually it's about the same stuff he always talks about. He makes a lot of noises, to make sure everyone knows that he is in pain. He farts wherever. He makes jokes, but they are usually embarrassing.
One thing that really got under my skin this weekend... well, we went to Melissa's parents for dinner. We had a pretty good time there. They gave us some food to take home... lasagna, and meatballs and sausage in sauce. It was all put in one bag, and for some reason, my dad was carrying the bag. When we got home, before I even turned on the light, the bag rips, and out falls the sauce container. Sauce spills everywhere, right by the dining room table and the china cabinet. My dad doesn't apologize... just says that the bag ripped and it was dark. But I saw the bag... yes it did rip, but I don't think it would have ripped if he was holding the bag properly. So then I have to go look for stuff to clean the carpet with... I found a few things, and while I was trying to clean it, dad is standing over me, just watching. I had to tell him, dad, please don't stand over me while I try to clean this. I was really annoyed. But then again we probably shouldn't have given him the bag to hold in the first place.
That is the problem. We always have to baby him and take care of him. He is only 60... I know that sounds old, but I keep thinking of people like Vince McMahon and Ric Flair. They are over 60, and they do all this crazy stuff in the ring. If my dad took one bump, he would be done.
But what happens when we have our baby to take care of? He is planning on coming up to visit, obviously, but can he stay with us? I don't think he can. We are going to be worrying too much about the baby, and I will not have time to take care of all his needs as well. I love the guy, but please.
I know my dad has been through a lot throughout his life. So have I. But you have to have a little respect when staying over someone else's house, and you have to have a little class. I know he shows a little more respect when he goes to visit my aunt, but just because I am his son doesn't mean he can walk around in boxers and fart in my chair. That's just not right.
Sorry for my venting. I love my dad, but there are some things I wish he would change about himself.
posted by Joe @ 11:12 AM
1 Comments:
At 11:32 AM,
Bray said…
Happy late B-Day da-dad-daddio. 31 isn't old man, its the new 21. So with that said, you should go collect free shots at the bars and drink till you are compelled to stand on tables and shout that you are the master of your domain. At least thats what I would do.
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