* He cannot not complain. For almost a week, I had the flu, and I barely mentioned it to him. Now he's got a cold, and he has to talk about every little aspect of it in agonizing detail. He is such a pussy, and such an attention-whore.
* He puts olives in his chili. And he makes enough for 30 people, as though he's running a fucking chuckwagon and all the ranchhands are swarming him before he can even ring the goddamn dinner triangle. "COME 'N GET IT, BOYS -- I EVEN ADDED MUSHROOMS!!!"
And he never, ever eats the leftovers, which just sit there and grow beards.
* When I was 15 I caught him rummaging through my things for booze money. (There's much worse stuff from when I was a kid but I'll leave it at that.)
* To his credit, he's so sick of Arnold, he's donated each and every one of his Schwarzenegger movies to the library. Thanks, Dad!
* He is addicted to the Military Channel and the H(itler)istory Channel. And he has watched almost every war movie ever made about 200 times each, from Green Beret to Platoon, from hoary reruns of Combat! to Black Hawk Down. I caved a bit this Christmas and bought him a copy of Three Kings.
But you know, were I a combat veteran from the most reviled foreign war in American history, I think the last thing I'd want to watch is a fucking war movie -- any war movie. But whatevs.
* He'll scam my mom for money, then turn around and try to scam me for money, not having a clue that she and I regularly trade intelligence on his nefarious antics.
* My brother's so sick of him, he never even calls.
* He's got, like, 12 different prescriptions, and regularly takes several over-the-counter medicines on top of those.
* He saves 42oz. cups that they give you at gas stations and uses them at home almost exclusively.
* Back in the early 80s, he and my mother went to visit her parents in Nebraska. My Grandmother had made some bacon to put in my Grandfather's sandwich for the next day's lunch. My dad, after everyone was asleep, took it upon himself to raid the fridge, and the bacon was the first and last thing his fat ass went after. Yes, he got the third degree.
Bad Daddy, bad!
* Before going to bed, he has to drink (30 oz. of) milk and eat something sweet. Usually cookies, usually Oreos, and usually 8 of them at a whack.
* If I didn't clean their house for them, my parents would live in absolute, fucking nasty squalor.
* If it's the last of something in the fridge, he'll take it and not say a goddamn thing (okay, now I'm getting into my mom's complaints so I'll stop here).
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Comments for DADBLOG
Wow. Courageous post.
- Posted at 5:21 AM | By
madamerouge
Your parents are still together?! Wow.
- Posted at 6:18 AM | By Smartypants
madame: Not really -- I've left out some of the worst stuff from past and present.
Indy: Because somebody has to. And because although I live nearby, I don't actually live with them. Breathing space does wonders.
Smarty: 30 years. Beat that!
No, I have no idea why she's stuck around either.
Indy: Because somebody has to. And because although I live nearby, I don't actually live with them. Breathing space does wonders.
Smarty: 30 years. Beat that!
No, I have no idea why she's stuck around either.
No, it's pretty good. I can tell because he prefers Green Berets with John Wayne.
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