People Change

I am furious at Google regarding these blog changes. I am no longer able to change the fonts on the page when I am composing a blog. And then I went and changed the template, thinking that it would fix everything and return to me the choice of various fonts. Wrong. Fucking oogly Googly.

Yesterday I returned from visiting my father on the West Coast. Prior to my stay, I was a fucking wreck for days. Actually, I had been worrying about it for weeks, but something set me off last week and I became an anxious mess, pacing the apartment smoking cigarettes, chest tightened, electric currents of fear coursing through my exceptionally desirable body. What can I say? I love my father, I always wanted a daddy, but he sucked. Alcoholism ravaged through his life and his family's. Add to the equation his cunt of a wife - fundamentalist Christian know-it-all (see Dunning-Kruger effect - dumb people know everything) - and life was a nightmare for me when I spent time with dear old Dad growing up. When I was forced to go there on the weekends, he was usually out drinking, and the edgiest and most fun thing to do was watch "The Donny and Marie Show." When we were together, we generally went to bars while I waited and waited and waited during which he became drunker and drunker and drunker. Usually I was hungry and angry. At least I became good at bar shuffleboard.
So last week I felt like I was being carted off to prison once again and my dear old Dad was the cheery warden calling and saying, "Looking forward to seeing you!" I felt trapped and the shitty thing was that I was choosing to be trapped in making this trip.
Now the question arises: Why the fuck would one subject himself to such a thing? Why not continue living life on the East Coast without a break in routine? Why be around West Coasteners and their stupid laid back grossness? What the fuck are those cunts smiling about?
Several answers arise: Dad almost died of cancer a few years back; how many opportunities will I really have to see him? He has stopped drinking since the felony charges were brought against him for pulling a gun on the repo man (the whole family carries guns; Dad has an NRA cap; "Vote John McCain" stickers are on the back of their vehicles; they believe in Satan). And maybe I can work out some issues I have with men, both gay and straight.
The story of my father and me is long and complicated and more interesting to me than anyone. Not appropriate for a blog. I also know that I'm not alone in having a difficult history with a parent.
It is with great pleasure to announce that the trip was a success. (<--- taking a bow, waving to the audience, blowing kisses to a few people)
My father is ridiculously funny.
He put a dollar on a picnic table in the backyard to encourage my 5-year-old niece and 7-year-old nephew to kiss a fat slug.
I have a 15-year-old sister (the difference in age between her and me is larger than the difference between my father and me) who is a carbon copy of stepmother (too bad!). It is amazing to me that a 15-year-old can look matronly in 2010. She vacillates between bossy and bratty. About to ride in the car one day, she was stewing in the back seat; he inquired, "Aren't you going to hold the door open for your brother?" When I asked her one night if she wanted to use the bathroom before me, my father said, "Oh, you're brother and sister - you can shower together!" I love the fact that he says these things to a girl whose ambition is to be a Christian missionary. One day I used the word "motherfucker" in the kitchen. He cut me off and said, "Watch it! Your sister might hear you using those words!" After a pause, he continued, "I don't want the cunt hearing that kind of language."
We took his dog to a park where the canines could frolic and smell each others' assholes freely. Dad grabbed a turd bag for show with no intention of cleaning the dog's shit. "Man, I hope the dog shits down the hill." He stopped to say to an especially hairy, kinky and frizzy dog, "Oh, d'ya just take the curlers out of your hair?"
Driving in the car, passing by women, he would say, "God, I get so tired of these ladies just looking at me like I'm a piece of meat. Just beef, that's all I am to them. No way am I fucking any of them, especially because I can tell she hasn't douched in six months."
This was constant. He was King of the one-liners.
I like my father much better since he has stopped drinking.

The trip was a success because of several reasons. Most importantly, I had fun. Fun. And something I realized inside of my heart is that my father - as fucked up as he has been all these years, and though he neglected the shit out of me and the other siblings - loves me. I am loved.
So the issues I have with men etc.: they are mine to work through. My father has had a difficult and hard life and is simply a funny and intelligent man trying not to regret his past. My shit is mine.