Today is Father's Day. I did not get my own father a single thing, not even a card. I had every intention to get him a card, but then forgot about it when I was doing my shopping. My dad was not offended in the slightest by this because he told me he didn't want anything, and he knows my stance on cards. The fact he didn't expect anything actually speaks as testament to my dad. He knows that currently I'm living paycheck to paycheck. He knows I'm trying to save money so really by him excusing me from spending money on him, when really he does deserve it, exemplifies many traits of my father that I look up to.
In short, my dad is, has been, and always will be a fantastic father. I really couldn't ask for anything more from him, if anything, he's done too much for me. When I had to move and had no money for first and last month's rent plus deposit he provided it. When my car broke down (semi his fault, okay not even close) he helped me out then too. Last year when my bike frame cracked and I called him up in near tears he took me around the next day frame hunting and then graciously paid for the frame. These examples don't just mean to highlight the fact that he's helped me out financially throughout the years, but that whenever asked he's there to help me. He's given me enduring support growing up; he's been the very definition of a good, involved father; like a real life Danny Tanner.
Some scenes that I think about when I think of my dad:
Him and I grocery shopping on Saturday mornings at what I believe was WinCo that had this insane soda dispensing wall. He always let me choose the sodas for the week. He also during one of these trips corrected me and told me that I'm never to say "son of a bitch," but rather, "son of a gun" will do just as well. I still never to this day say "son of a bitch" it is always "son of a gun."
When I would awake in the middle of the night with intense abominable cramping and then hellacious diarrhea he would sit up with me in his underwear on the edge of the tub for hours trying console me. There really isn't much you can do when your kid is shitting for 3 hours, but he was there trying to make things better.
He came to every soccer game he could make it to. He never once yelled at me, the coach, or anyone. He stood there silently and watched the action. The one time he talked to me while a game was in progress was when I had been subbed out and he saw me sitting on the sideline. He took me aside and said that sitting was no way to make it look like I wanted back in the game and that I should stand and follow the coach around. I did so for very single game from there on, I played a lot more because of it.
I puked up Tang in the back of his van. He was mad for like three seconds.
He never once talked down to me or altered his word choice. If I didn't understand I had to ask what a word meant. This probably helped me develop the 6th grade vocabulary I currently enjoy, much better than the 2nd grade one I would have had otherwise.
I could go on, but does anyone else really want to read dumb vignettes from my childhood? Do I want to make this 10,000 words when a new epside of Harpers Island is waiting to be watched? I'll just finish this off by saying that while it hasn't always been fun and games, he is a hardass after all and I was a royal pain in the ass for a long, long time, I couldn't ask for more or better from him. If I can be like 80% of the father he was to me, my kid will be the luckiest kid in the world because I truly feel like the luckiest kid in the world having my father be my father.
Shoot, now I better do one of these more my mom otherwise she's going to be mad at me. Hey, Mother's Day is only like 11 months from now.
6.21.2009
6.12.2009
View From A Bike 5
A lot hills in and around Portland are great fun to descend and feel much like a rollercoaster complete with that stomach dropping out of your body sensation. I have learned however that should I get that stomach dropping from my body feeling it means I’ve misjudged a turn and some emergency braking is needed less I want to wind up off the road and in pain.
When Sneaky Means Not Sneaky At All
Some you may know I have a little napping/reading room that I take my lunch in daily. It has a couch and is really quite comfy. I can spend half my lunch reading and the other half sleeping. The downside is that all that separates my little sanctuary from the corridor where people come and go from the elevator lobby and into their office area is a door, and the door does almost nothing to block out sounds. I can hear everything, doors opening, doors closing, people drinking from the fountain, people talking on cell phones, anything that happens in that hallway as clear as if I were standing in it. This generally relates to a woman who has private conversations on her cell directly across from the door. This makes sense because she’s actually as far away from her office as possible and out of sight from her employers. I loathe this woman. She has a super irritating laugh, and her conversations are generally banal. I however did really understand how stupid she was until yesterday.
I was sleeping, very much passed out and in a happy spot when her voice awakened me. I tried to ignore her and fall back asleep but her conversation was too loud, and in this cases almost interesting enough that I laid on my back and passed judgment on her character. Now to be totally clear I feel for this woman because it became totally apparent she was talking to her friend about the demise of her marriage. Something that made a pervious conversation I had overheard from her make a ton of sense. In short, a few weeks ago I heard her talking to man. The man was talking loud enough I could almost hear his end of the conversation as well. I could however pick up the tone which is to say it was short and angry. Anyway, back to the conversation from yesterday. I’ll just excerpt out the two parts that really made me just shake my head.
“He’s so, sneaky, so, so, so sneaky, like get this, he has all these numbers in his phone that I don’t recognize and have no name attached to them. And the text messages from him say things like ‘meet me for drinks tonight?’ See he’s so sneak, so sneaky.”
“Oh another sneaky thing he did, see he’s sneaky, is he opened another bank account, a separate from the joint one, so I can’t see his spending. He’s so sneaky, so sneaky; do you see what I’m saying?”
At one point during this I said out loud “are you fucking kidding me, you’re a fucking idiot.” Okay harsh words I know, but really does she not know what the word sneaky means? Because based on those two snippets of conversation I’d say she thinks sneaky means something like blatantly obvious. Sneaky would be like having a whole secondary phone that was only kept at work or on the person and never, ever, ever left out for someone to grab and check messages. Sneaky would be opening a bank account and having all the mail directed work or another, non-home location, and in no way having it found out by your spouse who you’re treating so poorly it’s pretty clear you want a divorce. At least she correctly concluded that the asshole is cheating on her.
Another fun thing happened was it was midway through this conversation that I needed to pee. Thing was I didn’t want to pop out of the room and have her know I had been in there the whole time. On the other hand I really didn’t care. Still I held it and happily her friend seemed to have cut her off, probably because she was sick of being made dumber from having to participate in the conversation.
Now do I feel bad I overheard all this? Not really, there really isn’t much I could have done. I didn’t actively seek that out it just happened. I just wish she’d, I dunno go down a floor. I don’t need to hear about her failing marriage while I’m trying to sleep.
I was sleeping, very much passed out and in a happy spot when her voice awakened me. I tried to ignore her and fall back asleep but her conversation was too loud, and in this cases almost interesting enough that I laid on my back and passed judgment on her character. Now to be totally clear I feel for this woman because it became totally apparent she was talking to her friend about the demise of her marriage. Something that made a pervious conversation I had overheard from her make a ton of sense. In short, a few weeks ago I heard her talking to man. The man was talking loud enough I could almost hear his end of the conversation as well. I could however pick up the tone which is to say it was short and angry. Anyway, back to the conversation from yesterday. I’ll just excerpt out the two parts that really made me just shake my head.
“He’s so, sneaky, so, so, so sneaky, like get this, he has all these numbers in his phone that I don’t recognize and have no name attached to them. And the text messages from him say things like ‘meet me for drinks tonight?’ See he’s so sneak, so sneaky.”
“Oh another sneaky thing he did, see he’s sneaky, is he opened another bank account, a separate from the joint one, so I can’t see his spending. He’s so sneaky, so sneaky; do you see what I’m saying?”
At one point during this I said out loud “are you fucking kidding me, you’re a fucking idiot.” Okay harsh words I know, but really does she not know what the word sneaky means? Because based on those two snippets of conversation I’d say she thinks sneaky means something like blatantly obvious. Sneaky would be like having a whole secondary phone that was only kept at work or on the person and never, ever, ever left out for someone to grab and check messages. Sneaky would be opening a bank account and having all the mail directed work or another, non-home location, and in no way having it found out by your spouse who you’re treating so poorly it’s pretty clear you want a divorce. At least she correctly concluded that the asshole is cheating on her.
Another fun thing happened was it was midway through this conversation that I needed to pee. Thing was I didn’t want to pop out of the room and have her know I had been in there the whole time. On the other hand I really didn’t care. Still I held it and happily her friend seemed to have cut her off, probably because she was sick of being made dumber from having to participate in the conversation.
Now do I feel bad I overheard all this? Not really, there really isn’t much I could have done. I didn’t actively seek that out it just happened. I just wish she’d, I dunno go down a floor. I don’t need to hear about her failing marriage while I’m trying to sleep.
6.11.2009
Fru-it
With my third bachelor party well enough behind me that I’m no longer feeling its effects I figured a rough sketch might be fun. This one was probably the most successful in terms of a lack of mental anguish as it did not feature a failed one night stand, or night terrors so complete I was felt compelled to get in my car and drive it into a river. Both totally true happenings from the previous two bachelor parties.
Places I peed, a list:
Off the top of the roof which took some advance climbing.
In a sand bunker of a golf course.
Into a water bottle in the closet where I was sleeping because I was concerned that using the toilet and the subsequent flushing would wake up Paul. Never mind that Paul at this juncture was absolutely passed out to the world and had a B-52 taken off in that room he still probably would not have been prodded awake. I only sort of remember doing this as I was both pretty much asleep and still drunk. Regardless I spilled not a drop.
While I’m discussing bodily functions Theo would like me to point out that “Bend/Sunriver are the Vortices for Bowel Movements.” He says this because while there bad things happened to all our bowels. For instance Theo counted himself at 6 poops in 2.5 days which is a tad excessive. Les arrived and spent the next 3 hours out of 6 in the bathroom. The amount of pooping was so much that bets were made. On the other hand I, who has very regular bowels, didn’t poop once in the three days I was there and had to wait until Monday before even farting. That’s right I didn’t fart from Friday until Monday. Monday was rough. It is also quite evident that 11 dudes in a house drinking will lead to the whole place smelling like farts. In Dougie and Theo’s room which comprised of two beds and maybe five feet of floor space between the two smelled so bad on Saturday morning from farts that I feared for both of their lives as I felt like there was lack of oxygen for breathing. I weighed myself on Monday morning and was up 3.7 pounds. I feel like most of that was poop that was just incubating in my colon. Bad things happen in Sunriver.
I ate the best pancakes of my life.
I ate some of the worst pancakes of my life.
I will pretty much refuse to eat with a group of people of more than 5 at sushi place ever again. I feel like paying 41 dollars and getting one roll and two pieces of tuna isn’t worth my money. Most of what I ordered errantly eaten. This is partly my fault, but still, never again.
The two coolest things I saw where Chris Horner on a training ride. Who’s he? Oh just a pro cyclist for Astana, the same team as Tour de France favorite Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong. The other was Point Break which I had somehow never seen before.
I pulled the trigger twice. Once on Saturday morning as the car ride into Bend, mixed with the sludgiest coffee I’ve ever made, and the previous night’s debauchery made me so nauseous I had but one option. The other time being Saturday evening when I ate too much and again felt nauseous. I believe Theo was the only other one to pull the trigger. In any event I win this category.
I played maybe the best three basketball games of my life. I expect to never do that again.
I did ride a bike, twice. The second time involved me riding on the fairway of the golf course that was next to our house. It was either that our try and figure out how to get unlost from where we were. I think we made the right choice.
To briefly describe the house. Think of the place that Patrick Bateman would have constructed as a vacation home to murder hookers. The place was totally built when coke was all the craze. The place was white with accents of white and there were giant mirrors where a plain wall would have worked just fine.
Les once again made some of the best desserts I’ve had. His frosting was consumed by me via spoon on a number of occasions.
I think that sums up my experience, it was fun, if not a little boring for stretches. And hey, at least I didn’t pee myself like a certain member of the party.
Places I peed, a list:
Off the top of the roof which took some advance climbing.
In a sand bunker of a golf course.
Into a water bottle in the closet where I was sleeping because I was concerned that using the toilet and the subsequent flushing would wake up Paul. Never mind that Paul at this juncture was absolutely passed out to the world and had a B-52 taken off in that room he still probably would not have been prodded awake. I only sort of remember doing this as I was both pretty much asleep and still drunk. Regardless I spilled not a drop.
While I’m discussing bodily functions Theo would like me to point out that “Bend/Sunriver are the Vortices for Bowel Movements.” He says this because while there bad things happened to all our bowels. For instance Theo counted himself at 6 poops in 2.5 days which is a tad excessive. Les arrived and spent the next 3 hours out of 6 in the bathroom. The amount of pooping was so much that bets were made. On the other hand I, who has very regular bowels, didn’t poop once in the three days I was there and had to wait until Monday before even farting. That’s right I didn’t fart from Friday until Monday. Monday was rough. It is also quite evident that 11 dudes in a house drinking will lead to the whole place smelling like farts. In Dougie and Theo’s room which comprised of two beds and maybe five feet of floor space between the two smelled so bad on Saturday morning from farts that I feared for both of their lives as I felt like there was lack of oxygen for breathing. I weighed myself on Monday morning and was up 3.7 pounds. I feel like most of that was poop that was just incubating in my colon. Bad things happen in Sunriver.
I ate the best pancakes of my life.
I ate some of the worst pancakes of my life.
I will pretty much refuse to eat with a group of people of more than 5 at sushi place ever again. I feel like paying 41 dollars and getting one roll and two pieces of tuna isn’t worth my money. Most of what I ordered errantly eaten. This is partly my fault, but still, never again.
The two coolest things I saw where Chris Horner on a training ride. Who’s he? Oh just a pro cyclist for Astana, the same team as Tour de France favorite Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong. The other was Point Break which I had somehow never seen before.
I pulled the trigger twice. Once on Saturday morning as the car ride into Bend, mixed with the sludgiest coffee I’ve ever made, and the previous night’s debauchery made me so nauseous I had but one option. The other time being Saturday evening when I ate too much and again felt nauseous. I believe Theo was the only other one to pull the trigger. In any event I win this category.
I played maybe the best three basketball games of my life. I expect to never do that again.
I did ride a bike, twice. The second time involved me riding on the fairway of the golf course that was next to our house. It was either that our try and figure out how to get unlost from where we were. I think we made the right choice.
To briefly describe the house. Think of the place that Patrick Bateman would have constructed as a vacation home to murder hookers. The place was totally built when coke was all the craze. The place was white with accents of white and there were giant mirrors where a plain wall would have worked just fine.
Les once again made some of the best desserts I’ve had. His frosting was consumed by me via spoon on a number of occasions.
I think that sums up my experience, it was fun, if not a little boring for stretches. And hey, at least I didn’t pee myself like a certain member of the party.
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