Now that it is finally Wednesday and my laundry is done, apartment clean, and I am officially overdue to be blogging about my weekend events, I think I’ll tell you about my weekend events. Never one to actually retell a story in a timely manner, you know. PSHAW! How pedestrian. Procrastination is way cooler.

This past weekend was my dad’s big 5-0 birthday. That’s right, my dad is a pup. Both my parents are pups, but my dad is younger than my mom (making her a Cougar, duh) so he is especially puppish, juvenile and eat-your-shoes annoying. Especially when he suspects that there will be a surprise party in his honor, which was HELLO, the very reason Stockton and I were flying our butts from Arizona to Indiana for 3 days.  He sniffed and sniffed and damn near drove my mom to the looney bin trying to figure out what was going on prior to the big day.  After some explosive arguments, from what I hear out here in AZ (no, literally, I could hear them screaming all the way from Indiana to Arizona), the secret appeared to be out, Dad knew and Mom was pissed. Woh wohhhh (anybody have any insight as to how to phonetically spell the noise that Charlie Brown’s teacher makes?!? Wah? Woh? Wohn?).

After the football game on Saturday (GO IRISH!) which was merely an all-day decoy for my dad so that Mom could put some finishing touches on the party, Dad arrived home with Stockton, Rob, Maddie + a friend, and I.


SCENE: Mom is standing inside the garage door with her hands on her hips. Looking uber bitchy. Feeling demonic and smug.

Mom: “Well, come on down, I have something to show you.” (Refering to the basement, which, long story short, is the root of all arguing in this scenario because thanks to some not-so-discreet furniture rearranging, Dad found out about the party. Durr.)

Dad: “Hold on, I have to unload my trunk.” (OMG! You are such a pain in the ass! You know there is something in that house for you and you would rather organize your garage!!!!!! AJ:JHL:GHK:DJHG:KHJG).

Finally finding their ways down the stairs to an empty basement, the scene continues.

Mom: “Well, this is what you get when you find out about your surprise party and tell me to bag the whole thing. Nothing but a bartender, because I was able to call all the guests and cancel, but the bartender was on contract, so we MIGHT AS WELL DRINK!” (O. M. W. Like, psycho, crazed, birthday-hater, beeyotch action right there).

Dad reluctantly reaches out to retrieve the scotch being handed to him by the bartender.  Looking around, his smirk of suspicion turns into a look of sadness and disappointment. And then. Then, these words came out of his mouth.

“You’re really weird.”

I ABOUT LOST ALL MY MARBLES RIGHT THEN AND THERE! For those of you who know my dad, you know that he has an arsenal full of one-liners that FAR surpass “You’re really weird” but thanks to the presence of the bartender and Maddie’s friend, he was able to stay g-rated.  But HOOOOOOO boy was it good for a stifled-don’t-give-anything-away-choke-on-your-beer laugh.

Mom: “Well, you might as well head upstairs and shower because we are still going out to dinner with our family.”

Dad, taking stairs 3 at a time, which epitomizes the feeling of PISSED OFF murmurs something equally g-rated and hilarious, and finds his way to the top of the stairs.

Fumble through a few more exchanges (all g-rated, thank god, he had clients there for goodness sakes) and Dad arrives at the mouth of the living room where 50 people are there to wish him a happy birthday.

Dad’s face said it all. He was a mixture of pissed/happy/coulda cried/dopey, as he often is when he reaches a certain point of deliriousness/50.  He looked 50, but only because there were that many people there with greeting cards about sagging butts and missing teeth with his name on them. And Dad, it couldn’t have been a better celebration.

Happy Birthday, Pup.  Our next segment of training with you in your new half century focuses on obedience.