My Father The Rockstar

I have his...

chin

temperament

sick and twisted humor

appetite

forehead

fashion sense

love for jazz music

capriciousness 

Dear Papa,

Thank you for not choking me to death when I say vile things to you.

Thank you for not snooping around my facebook account. I know this has taken an enormous amount of restraint, and for that I am grateful.

Thank you for not running over my  ex boyfriend, again I know this is a tremendous feat on your part, and again I am truly grateful.

Thank you for sharing your wicked fashion sense and fascination with macintosh products with me.

Thank you for allowing me to shop online without nagging me about air 21.

Thank you for being my personal tech consultant.

Thank you for helping me make an iChat account.

Thank you for grimacing in silence whenever I put on make-up.

Thank you for bringing me pails of water when I am washing dishes and the water district has fucked up our water supply.

Thank you for checking up on me when I am sick and having the consideration not to have a fit for being on your bed all day.

Thank you for carrying the loads of packages when we shop.

Thank you for being our personal chauffeur.

Thank you for not puking on the way up during one of your drinking sessions with your friends.

Thank you for introducing me to house music.

Thank you for sharing my anxiety during the NLE.

Thank you for telling all your friends about my supposed square off gig and not freaking out when it didn't come through. 

Thank you for sharing my amusement with TMZ.

Thank you for being a kewl dad, despite the arguments we've had in the past, I am still alive, with my airway intact and my brain tissue injury free. I love you.

Love,

Issey

Thou shall not bite the hand that feeds you

...or bakes you cake.

     My mum learned this the hard way this morning as she arranged plans for a father's day banquet for my dad and my grandpa. My dad loves ate Inday's moist chocolate cake and asked my mum to order one for this sunday's banquet. She held the phone in her hand and just as she was about to make the call it dawned on her. The last time she talked to ate Inday, they were hurling expletives at each other via my mum's trusty PDA phone. The argument was about a cake that was not delivered on the agreed time. My mum's most beloved sister-in-law (insert sarcasm here) had come to visit and demanded (very sweetly, of course) that her moist cassava cake be warm and fresh and at the door by nine in the morning. And as most tragedies begin, this arrangement was not honored by the baker. 

   Now my mum has to make that infernal call. She asks me what to do.

Mum: I have to call Inday.

Me: Yep.

Mum: I f I call her, she probably won't accept my order or if she will, she'll add a tablespoon of cyanide into the batter.

Me: Yep.

Mum: I have a brilliant idea, You call her and order the cake. Tell her to have it delivered at your lola's.

Me: or I could just call her and have her deliver the cake here.

Mum: But she would know it's me.

Me: No, she won't. I'll tell her you moved. I'll deny you. I'll pretend you never existed.

Mum: That might just work. Me move? Where?

Me: Iraq.  I'll tell her you've decided to join the peace corps.

Mum: (laughs) she would like that.

    You may say the best solution is to apologize to Inday or look for another baker. But you don't know my mum, she will never apologize even if her life depended on it, and once she sets out to go after something she wants, she usually gets it.

    On a side note, I've decided to go back to school and pursue a masteral degree in nursing. Well, I need to do something with so much time on my hands. Might as well go back to school. I'm excited to begin my classes. It all feels so familiar. And yet, I dread the thought of waking up early in the weekends. There will be hell yet again, and this time I'll have myself to blame.

    Meanwhile, isn't that blueberry cheesecake divine? It's screaming my name. I might have a piece later at True Brew's after I finish the whole enrollment procedure.