Meh meh meh. It’s a weird day here. I think I may be destined to weird days for a while. ALL MY OWN DOING, which I will from now on abbreviate as AMOD and pronounce A-mod. I might name one of my kids that; it will line up well with the other horrid names I have planned for them.
I woke up late, which is no surprise because I was up until, oh, maybe 5ish. Then I called my sister and we went to lunch at Applebee’s, where I picked at the Tequila Lime Chicken. Last night at Chili’s I had the Margarita Chicken, which was really good; this wasn’t that great and it was smothered with this too-rich cheese sauce. Ah well. I’ve eaten at Applebee’s three times in the last week, and I probably won’t go there again for at least two months, so that’s all fine.
After lunch we ran by the CD Tradepost, where I picked up a nice, unscratched copy of Moby’s Play. My old copy, the location of which I have only the vaguest idea about, was an “inherited” copy from working at the front desk in college. Someone left it behind, and over break, I adopted it. It was scratched to hell and wouldn’t play in my CD walkman (which, hey, I forgot that it no longer works, so happy happy discovery). So, yay, $5.99 and I have a nice new perfectly workable copy. Then I took her back to her place and picked up some food.
Now we get to the part of the entry that I like to call “My father is CRAZY.” Here is Exhibit A: Dad got food from about 50 different people/patients/employees this Christmas. Dad, who swears he’s on the Atkins diet, opened every single package of everything – cookies, crackers, pretzels, popcorn, etc. – and ate one of each, then wrapped everything up and threw it in a box for my sister and I to take home. Good grief. The problem with this is that, since he’s opened everything, we can’t even take the food to work and set it out, because half of it is stale and the other half just looks rifled through. It’s a little bit like being the child of a very large squirrel. There are other exhibits to add here, I know it. Exhibit B: Last night, he tried to give me his coat. The coat itself is a forest-green Cabela’s model with a fur-trimmed hood and, well, it’s probably like the Swiss Army Knife of coats for all I know. It may inflate to form a rescue craft in case of emergency, and it’s probably got some kind of bear-repellant in its lining. So, that in itself is comedy, but the strangest part is that he’s *always* trying to give me a coat. This is something that he’s constantly worried about – it’s as though he thinks coats have an expiration date, as though the coat that I was wearing when I walked in – a coat he bought me in a coat-buying spree my freshman year in college – is no longer warm because it’s been through more than one winter. ANYway, crazy man insisted on wearing his fur hood up everywhere we went. Here is our exact conversation:
Dad (putting up his hood in the parking lot): “This is how you know that you’re in bad weather!”
Me: “Or bad company.”
But no, I was laughing, because it’s really a very me thing to do. I, of course, was once flipped off by my own mother for wearing just the hood to an old coat around for part of an afternoon (I declared that it was “the hood of joy” and would only allow me to hear things of joy. In reality, the hood was so thick I couldn’t hear anything; when my mom was trying to ask me something in the car, I kept saying, “What? I can’t hear you,” at which point the flipping off ocurred. I had, by that point, forgotten about my declaration and had no idea why she was doing it). So, yes, Dad is crazy, let’s move on.
I went to the LIBRARY today as I said I would, though I forgot that they closed early and barely made it out before the desk closed. I picked up: When Hollywood Had a King, The Operator, Adventures in the Screen Trade, Hello, He Lied and a book of essays by William Goldman from 2000 that seemed quite interesting. Yay! Came home and emptied all the trash in my room in an attempt to figure out where the dry moldly smell is coming from.
Now I’m hungry. Luckily there’s a cabbage with my name on it in the fridge.