Conversations with My Father - Pt. 9

Me:  So, Dad, a lot of my guy friends have kids and they're often posting on Facebook about how excited they are that they get to go home and hang out with their little kid.  Did you used to get excited to get home from work so you could hang out with me?

Dad:  . . . Are their wives reading it or something?

Me:  NO, gawd.  They just really enjoy spending time with their children!  They think it's fun.

Dad:  Huh.

Me:  So, did you?

Dad:  Did I what?

Me:  *sigh*  Did you get excited to go home and see me when I was little?

Dad:  Hmmm...  I remember that I used to get pretty excited to stop at the bar that was on the way home.

Me:  You're a horrible human being.

Dad:  Lainey!  What?  It was the 70s!  We didn't know we were supposed to like our kids!  Blame society, man!  I like you NOW, though.

Me:  YAY for me!  I'll be sure to tell that to my therapist.

Conversations with My Father - Pt. 8

Dad:  Lainey, do you put the tops back on bottles when you throw them away?

Me:   Huh?

Dad:  When you throw away your plastic bottles of whatever, do you put the lid back on?

Me:   Um, I might.  I think probably I do.

Dad:  Stop doing that!  I saw something where there are MILES and MILES of floating bottles, MILLIONS of them, in the ocean.  It's just awful.  MILES of them, Lainey.  Covering the surface of the ocean!

Me:  So, that doesn't happen if you leave the lids off?

Dad:  No, then they just sink to the bottom and no one can see them.

Me:  Soooo, your concern is not the pollution of the oceans, it's one of aesthetics?
Dad:  Oh, yes, of course.  I'm sure the ocean floor is covered in trash, but I don't give a shit, because I can't see it.  The floating bottles just look tacky, don't you think?

Conversations with My Father - Pt. 7

Now I think he's messing with me.

Dad:  Hey, will you make me a Facebook?

Me:  What?  Why?  You don't have a computer.

Dad:  I know, but you could give me updates from people and then tell them what I'm up to.

Me:  . . .
Dad:  Everyone keeps asking me if I have a Facebook and I tell them I don't, but that you do, so they said you could make me one.
Me:  Well, that's true, I COULD make you one, but you wouldn't be able to use it because you don't have a computer.

Dad:  I KNOW, LAINEY, but YOU have a computer.

Me:  I don't understand.  Do you want me to bring my computer over?

Dad:  *sigh*  No.  I want you to make me a Facebook.

Me: . . .

Dad:  Just make me a Facebook and then tell me what people say.

Me:  WHAT PEOPLE?  I can't just MAKE you a Facebook and people will magically appear!

Dad:  Yes, they will.  They'll see that I have a Facebook and then they'll friend me.

Me:  Do you even know what "friend me" means?

Dad:  Yes, Lainey, I'm not retarded.  They'll be on my friends list and I can see what they're doing.

Me:  But YOU won't be able to see what they're doing, because you don't have a computer!

Dad:  But YOU do!

Me: I swear to god, I'm gonna' punch whoever told you to get on Facebook.  Just CALL people if you want to know what they're up to.
Dad:  That's SO 2005

Oh, Dad...*sigh*

So, look what Denny bought me:

He said it's "festive" (he LOVES that word) and I could put it on my desk at work.  OH, by the way, you can't really see it, but the witch's skirt thinger has sparkly crystals dangling from it, BECAUSE OF COURSE IT DOES.

So, I just chalked it up to another case of "Huh, Denny really doesn't know me, does he?"  But THEN, he gave me another gift and *sigh*, no, he knows me.

So, Happy HallowLaborWeen Day from Denny BoBainey, y'all!

Conversations with My Father - Pt. 6

Dad:  Here I brought you a chicken. 

Me:  Um, great, thanks.  Why?

Dad:  'Cause you like chicken. 

Me:  True... is it a live chicken?
Dad:  That is literally the dumbest question you've ever asked in your life. 
[-- ed:  if ONLY that were true.] Also, I brought you some trail mix.  I don't like it.  It has too many nuts. 
Me: ...?  It's trail mix, dad, it's mostly nuts.

Dad:  That's why I don't want it.  I mostly liked the M&M's. 

Me:  Then just buy a bag of M&M's.

Dad:  That's unhealthy. 

Me:  Then buy a bag of peanut M&M's and dump some raisins in the bag.
Dad:  I'm TOTALLY going to do that!  Brilliant.

Conversations with My Father - Pt. 5

Dad:  I bought you some eggs.

Me:  Oh, um, thanks?
Dad:  From the bar.
Me:  You bought me eggs at a bar?  What?  Are they pickled or something?

Dad:  No.  God.  From the Farley's farm.  They have chickens.

Me:  Oh, ok, well now that you've cleared that up...

Dad:  And I got you some of that pepper cheese you like.

Me:  Do they have cows, too?

Dad:  What?  Who said anything about cows?  *Chickens*.

Me:  I know, chickens make eggs, but cows make cheese.  Well, they don't MAKE cheese, but, you know.

Dad:  What the hell are you talking about?  

Me:  Right.  I'm the crazy one.

Dad:  Oh, no, the cheese is from Sam the Amish Cheese guy.

Me:  There's an Amish guy who sells cheese in the bar?  Does he drive his buggy into the city?

Dad:  Dammit, Lainey!  No, Sam's not Amish, he sells Amish cheese.

Me:  Ok, well that was unclear.  You said "Sam, the AMISH cheese guy", not "Sam, the Amish CHEESE guy".

Dad:  What?

Me:  The emphasis would be different.

Dad:  I didn't emphasize anything - YOU did.

Me:  I know, I just... never mind.  Thank you.

Phone rings 20 seconds later...

Dad:  They also have goats.

Me:  WHAT?

Dad:  The Farleys.  Chickens and goats, but they don't have goat cheese.  Do you want me to ask Sam, the Amish CHEESE guy if they have goat cheese?

Me:  No, I don't like goat cheese, but thanks.

Dad:  Then why did you ask about goats?

Me:  WHAT?  I didn't say anything about goats - YOU did.

Dad:  I don't think that's true, but if you say so.  Why would you lie about goats?

Me:  I ... do you TRY to make my head hurt?

PS:  I was trying to find an appropriate photo to accompany this post, but INSTEAD I found Pygmy goats and OHMYGOD, now I want a Pygmy goat more than anything!  Look how cute they are.

Conversations with My Father - Pt. 4

*sigh*

You guys?  I'm almost starting to suspect that some of you are messing with me.  My dad called. *sigh*

Dad:  Hi, I know you're at work and can't really talk, but I bought a UPS and I need you to help me with it.
Me:  What?
Dad:  You know, one of those UPS things.
Me:  *sigh*  ... Umm?
Dad:  For driving.  A CPU.
Me:  Wait, you just bought this?  What does the box say it is?
Dad:  Dammit, Lainey, it's just one of those CPS map things!  Jesus, sorry I don't know the EXACT name of it!
Me:  A GPS?  You bought a GPS?  WHY?  I have one, you can have mine.
Dad:  I don't want yours, I have my own now.  Can you come by after work and teach me how to use it?
Me:  Dad, you drive cars for a living, I'm pretty sure you know every single road in this city, why do you need a GPS?
Dad:  Because I just DO.  Can you stop by or not?
Me:  Sure.  I haven't had a headache in 3 whole days, so yeah, I'm about due...

Phone rings 20 seconds later:
Dad:  Will this plug into my phone or does it get wired in through the odometer?  (True story!)

Here's a bonus conversation for you.  This took place a couple of years ago.

Dad:  What's that one movie?
Me:  Which one movie?
Dad:  The one with that guy I like.
Me:  ....Umm?
Dad:  *sigh*  You KNOW.  The one with the Other Ben.
Me:  You mean Matt Damon?
Dad:  YES, what's that movie?
Me:  I have no idea...he's in a lot of movies.
Dad:  Dammit, Lainey, you know the one!  The one with that girl who was like a crazy, teenager, stripper with the girl from Clueless.
Me:  ... ....
Me:  Armageddon?
Dad:  YEP, that's it!
Me:  That was actually Ben Affleck, not the Other Ben.
Dad:  Oh, ok then, well what's that one movie with the Other Ben?
Me:  I'm done with this conversation... I have a headache.

Conversations with My Father Pt. 3

This is a true story and JUST happened like 5 minutes ago.

Dad: Did you take $200 out of my checking account?

Me: Yeah, like 2 or 3 weeks ago.

Dad: Why would you do that?

Me: Um, remember that $200 check I asked you to deposit for me and you accidentally deposited it in *your* account and I said, "No big deal, I'll just transfer it to my account". Remember that?

Dad: Well I DO NOW, but I didn't remember it earlier when I got my bank statement and it said "$200 withdrawal - internet transfer" and I marched down to the bank demanding to know who the fuck was stealing money from me on the internet! And the girl said, "Oh no! Let me see what's going on...oh, Mr. Bobainey, a Miss Lainey Bobainey transferred $200 from your account, on which she has signature ability (that you made her take time off of work to go fucking get so that she could access your whopping $1100 checking account in case you die in your sleep and she needs money to have someone haul out the 400 fucking jars of pickles that you keep buying because they're only $.88 apiece even though you never eat them, but by all means, keep buying them because hey, why not... she might not have actually said any of this part...), to her account on March 27th."

Me: *facepalm* Great, so now the bank thinks I'm embezzling from my father. Awse. Dad, why didn't you ask me first instead of going to the bank?

Dad: Because, LAINEY, I've seen this on the news. Internet people hijack (I think he meant "hack") into the accounts of rich old people and take a little bit at a time so no one becomes suspicious and since you put my account on the internet (not even going to bother trying to correct him on this one) when you got access to it, I was afraid it notified hijackers or something.

Me: Ok, first of all, you're only 62 and you're also not exactly rich. Secondly, you need to just stop watching the news.

Dad: Maybe the bank should have something in place where they send an email if someone tries to access your account?

Me: But, you don't have an email...

Dad: YES, I do!

Me: *sigh* Nope, you're right - I forgot. I'll call the bank on Monday and tell them to send you an email at dennybobainey at the internet dot com from now on.

Dad: Good. That's just common sense, you know?

Me: Yep...

Phone rings 20 seconds later...
Dad:  Will you check my email - maybe the bank already does this?

Conversations With My Father Pt. 2

This happened today.

Dad:  What do you want for your birthday?

Me:    Nothing really, thanks.

Dad:  You must want something.  I don't know what to get you.

Me:   Well, I don't really need anything, but thanks for thinking of me!

Dad:   Oh come on - what's just one thing that you want?

Me:    Hmmm, ok, well, I could use some shears to trim flower stems.  

Dad:   Why?

Me:    I like arranging flowers and they need to be cut, but I only have scissors and I end up crushing their stems and killing them.

Dad:  I'm pretty sure I have something like that in the garage or the basement closet or something.  Just go look through there.

Me:  Ok then.... Hmm, I would LOVE to have an Amazon giftcard!

Dad:  Where would I get that?

Me:   Probably at the grocery store or wherever they sell giftcards.

Dad:  Why don't I just give you money and then you can buy your own giftcard?

Me:  *sigh*  It's fine.  I really don't need anything.  I was just giving you some suggestions, but I really don't need anything.

Dad:  How about a fur coat?

Me:   WHAT the what?

Dad:  I saw these really pretty fur coats the other day - fox, I think, how about one of those?

Me:    ...

Dad:   Would you rather have something besides fox?  Like chinchilla or something?

Me:  ...  Um, do you remember when you gave me that fur stole and I was too squicked out to touch it?

Dad:  Yeah, but what if the animals died a NATURAL death, then would that be ok?

Me:   You mean like if 20 foxes just all died of old age and then someone gathered them up and SKINNED THEIR CORPSES to make me a coat, would that be ok?

Dad:  Gahd, you're so dramatic.  No, what if they all died in an earthquake or something?

Me:   Ok, I'm gonna' go...

Phone rings 20 seconds later -

Dad:  Do you want one of those camera things you put on the back of your car, so you can see when you're backing up?

Me:   ...

Conversations With My Father...

This happened today.

Dad:  Sorry to bother you at work; I know you're busy.

Me:   Not really.  Just dicking around on Facebook at the moment.

Dad:  What's a facebook?

Me:   You know what?  Doesn't matter.  What's up?

Dad:  Do I have an email?

Me:   Um, no.

Dad:  Why not?

Me:   You don't have a computer.

Dad:  You have to have a computer to have the email?

Me:   No, but you can't read the email without a computer or on your phone.

Dad:  If I had an email would it just be "Denny at the internet dot com"?

Me:   No.  No, it would not.

Dad:  Why not?

Me:   Dad, do you think you're the only Denny in the world?

Dad:  Well, no shit, obviously, it would be "Denny Bobainey* at the internet dot com".

Me:  Obviously.

Dad:  So, can you make me an email and if I tell someone to send me something, do I tell them "Denny Bobainey at the internet dot com"?

Me:   No.  Dad.... I can create an email address for you, but why don't you just have them send it to my email address and I'll print it for you?

Dad:  Because.  Just make me that email.

Me:   Ok, whatever.  Are you waiting for something, 'cause that's not a real email address.

Dad:  Well, it will be when you make it.

Me:   No, Dad...it doesn't really work that way. 

Dad:  Why not?  How many Denny Bobaineys can there be?

Me:   It's not a valid address - there is no such thing as "at the internet dot com", but even if there was, let's just say there was, I have no idea how many Denny Bobaineys there are in the world and also, your  name doesn't even have to actually be Denny Bobainey to use it.

Dad:  What?  You mean Dick McDickface, down the street, can use my name for his internet if he wants?

Me:  Well, yes, but if his name's Dick McDickface, I don't know why he'd want your name.  His name is AWESOME.

Dad:  No, seriously, anyone can use my name and pretend to be me?

Me:  Well, kind of. 

Dad: Well, that's some bullshit right there.

Me:  Maybe you should write to the president and tell him that.

Dad:  I CAN'T - I don't have an EMAIL and even if I did, how would the president really know it was me?

Me:   I don't know.  I'll have to think about that and get back to you.


20 seconds later the phone rings:

Dad:  Is Facebook that internet yearbook thing?

Me:   Kinda', yeah, it kind of is.

Dad:  Look on there and see if anyone's pretending to be me!

And scene!


*Not his real name.  Please don't try to impersonate him on the internets or try to steal his Social Security Checks.

God, Grant Me the Serenity...

To not punch my dad in the head!

Yes, yes, I said all kinds of hippy dippy positive shit in my last entry and I totally meant it and plan to do it on Wednesday. This is Monday. I don't have to be positive and happy yet.


Backstory -
My dad believes that everyone you know and have ever met in your life, but especially family, can get you a deal on anything.

So far, the guy he knows who can do my brakes - fucked them up so badly that Honda had to special order a part to fix it.

The furniture that he was going to buy from the store where my cousin works - cousin was authorized to give him a whopping 3% discount. Regular furniture store gave him a 12% discount.

The friend who fixed the AC in his car - the car had to go back 3 times and finally on the third time, the guy admitted that they'd cracked something the 1st time they had it, so it was going to take a few extra days to get that sorted out.

The friend of his who was going to clean my apartment for WAY less than the woman who I usually have do it. She swept the floor, wiped out the sinks and took out the trash. Wow, all that for $45?

The friend he knows who can get me a deal on insurance - charges $22 a month more than my current insurance provider.

The uncle who can get me my glasses for way less money - it took me almost 2 months to get my glasses.

The uncle who could get me a discount on the really good Goodyear tires - I had to take a half of a day off of work to accompany him to the Goodyear store, so I could get my 20% off. I also had a coupon for 20% off. Yeah, I couldn't use the coupon AND the employee discount, so either way, I was getting no more than 20% and I could have saved 4 hours of my vacation time & not had to talk to my annoying uncle.

Is a pattern emerging?

Now, he knows a guy who works for Time Warner who can get me Road Runner, phone, cable, Showtime, HBO, Cinemax & Starz for $80 a month. I pay about $120 now. I told my dad "No, thanks, it's cool." It took me over a year to figure out what the hell was wrong with my cable to begin with (I wasn't able to use the OnDemand channels. I researched it, I fixed it. Yes, I'm a bad-ass.) and now that everything's working hunky dory, I'd rather not fuck with it. Now my dad's all mad at me and acting like a big 'ol jackass because "It must be nice to piss away an extra $40 a month..." and he's going to look bad in front of his friend (Why will he look bad? I don't know.)

So, here's my question - do I just shut the fuck up & let his friend do whatever Time Warner magic he claims he can do (ooh, which by the way, the ex used to work for TW. He was never able to lower my cable bill and I was blowing him. Why *this* guy can, I don't know.) and just cross my fingers that this doesn't end poorly. OR do I stand my ground and just say, "yeah, no, I'm filthy rich & I don't mind spending the extra $40 a month".

What say you?

OMG Update to the Update!

I just got back from visiting my dad and my cousin Bethann was there. Beth seems to have skipped the section on “appropriate conversation”. Lainey Fun Fact #3 – I am not in the least bit prudish. In fact, it’s entirely possible that I fall more on the whorish side of the line than the other. I say this not because I’m proud of being a big ol’ slut (I AM, but that’s not what this is about), but to make sure you understand that I’m neither priggish nor easily shocked.

My dad, Beth and I were in the family room watching the game. It’s nearing halftime and Beth says to me, “so, are you dating anyone?” I said “no, not really. I’ve gone out on a couple of dates since Michael and I split up, but nothing big.” Then she said, “Yeah, after my divorce, it was really weird going out with new men. Every time you’d start screwing around, it would get weird. We weren’t raised to be so free with the blowjobs, you know?”

True, we grew up when oral sex was something you did WAAAY after you’d been with someone for a while. It wasn’t an appetizer like it is now, but still, is it necessary to have this discussion right this very minute?

Then, she yells (because as previously mentioned, no one in her family talks at a normal volume) to my father, her 63-year-old uncle and says,

“Uncle Denny? What is up with guys and skull fucking? Does it really feel better or is it a power thing? What’s your opinion?”

OHMYHOLYFUCKINGGOD!!

She did NOT just ask my father, in front of me, what his opinion on *skull fucking* is?!?

She is either an evil genius and messing with me for sport or she is truly one of the most inappropriate people I’ve ever known. I’m leaning more toward the second one only because no one would ever call Beth a genius. Evil, maybe. Genius, umm, no.

When people ask me why I don’t really enjoy spending time with my family, I think I may just drop this little gem on them.

Overdue Update

A HUGE thank you to everyone who sent good wishes, thoughts and prayers for my dad! I swear, anyone who says you can't have real connections with people on the internet is fucking stupid and OBVIOUSLY doesn't know you guys! Seriously, from the tips of my tiny toes to the depth of my heart, thank you so much for caring!

My dad is doing very well. He's been convalescing at my aunt and uncle's house and how he hasn't killed them and they haven't killed him is a mystery to me. They are nice people and apparently very patient, but I don't enjoy being in their presence. They are extremely loud. Like LOUD. Loud talkers, loud eaters, loud walkers, they're probably loud sleepers. Anyway, they're just loud all the time. They don't so much talk with you, they talk AT you. Incessantly. It doesn't stop. They are not fans of sitting in silence watching TV or reading. Nope. Always has to be some sort of running commentary. My dad lives alone. He's not used to lots of chatter. How he's coping with this, I don't know. I guess he has to.

He's recovering nicely from the heart attack and the surgery, but he's crankier than hell every time I talk to him. I don't generally have extended conversations with my dad anyway, because he tends to get irritated after a short time, so talking to him about his days filled with nothingness is very...umm...challenging. He doesn't give a crap about my day, so I don't talk about it and his days are all filled with the same thing day in and day out, so he doesn't want to talk about it. You can see the conundrum. So, what are we supposed to talk about? You can only discuss the weather and news headlines so much. I don't follow sports, so that rules out another topic. He doesn't watch any of the shows I watch, so scratch that. He's never been on the internet and doesn't understand blogging or Facebook or any of the other time wasters in my life. I don't have kids, so I can't tell him stories about what Little Lainey did today. And my love life is purty much non-existent, so I can't ask him for advice about why men are morons - (we used to discuss that a LOT when I was with Michael. If he gave me nothing else, he gave me shit to talk to my dad about for 4 years. So, hey thanks for that, Michael.)

He'll be home in a week or two and it will become my job to check on him every day. Bring him stuff from the store and take him places. I'm fine with that. That's easy. But, what the hell are we going to talk about?? I'm sure these (non)conversations will lead to more frequent blog posts. Aren't you lucky!?

It's very...sparkly!

So, I didn't get any Christmas presents from my dad this year, 'cause he was kind of busy. But, perhaps it's better this way. My dad may be really sick and was in danger of dying, but he’s still really crappy at picking out presents for me. Don’t believe me? Here. I’ll *show* you gifts from years past.



The object on the left? That’s a cat purse. Why? Because I have a cat. Duh. It’s beaded and spangly and ummm, unnecessary. The thing with the Jack-O’-Lantern on it is a shirt. He bought it because it was “festive” and I didn’t have to just wear it at Halloween, I could wear it anytime during the fall season. That’s what he said. He also spent $28 plus tax on it. Yep.

The lovely item below is a poinsettia pin. Again, it’s “festive”. It’s also the size of my hand. He said I could pin to my hat. ‘Cause evidently, it’s 1933 in his world. Also, in case you can’t tell, it’s made entirely of sequins. So, it’ll totally match the cat purse and the pumpkin shirt.



Next up? I asked for wine glasses or a toaster oven one year. Here’s what I got!



You probably can’t see it very well, but it’s a lovely gold turtle with a bejeweled enamel shell. It opens, too! You can put 3 paperclips, a thumbtack or a piece of chewed gum in there. Maybe a teeny earring. The shell is the size of a walnut. So, you know, picture that along with his words of, “I thought you could put it on your desk and it would be a colorful paperweight AND neat to hold things in.” I’m not even lying. I wish that I was. I don’t work in an office where wind comes whipping down the hallways, so the need for a paperweight isn’t overly urgent and as for storing things in it, how about my wishes and dreams for a toaster oven or wine glasses? Will it hold them or are they too big to fit in the tiny, sparkly shell?

One year he bought me a fur stole. Real fur. Real bitty feet hanging down. You’re supposed to wear it around your neck before you kill people and eat their faces, I think. WTF? This man has known me my whole life. He was there when he had to remove me from the movie theater, WAILING, while watching “Bambi”. He was there when I had to remove myself from the movie theater, SOBBING, while watching “Benji”. I wasn’t allowed to watch westerns with him when I was a kid because I would cry every time one of the horses got shot. Fake animal distress upset me that much. So, OBVIOUSLY a real dead animal draped around my neck is the perfect choice for a gift.

I honestly can’t figure out if he thinks I’m still a 9-year old girl or if he thinks I’m my 86-year old great aunt. Or a Gypsy...

So, it's entirely possible that I'm a genius...

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit that I am not a member of MENSA, nor am I a Rhodes Scholar and frankly, I don't even know my IQ score, but I'm pretty sure it's around 700...I'm just sayin'...anyway, turns out, I'm a freakin' genius!

My biggest fear always used to be that I was retarded but no one ever told me. Now, I believe that it's the opposite - I'm a genius and no one ever bothered to inform me of this fact. You may be asking why it is that I'm so sure of my phenomenal intelligence (and by the way, don't feel bad - I like you all despite the fact that some of you probably shouldn't leave your homes without wearing a helmet; you know who you are.) and the reason is: I set up my own wireless internet connection BY MYSELF!!! That's right - no help from a guy, no Roadrunner or Linksys helpdesks, I did it myself (even with my father asking a non-stop stream of questions, that I swear I'm not making up, like why my "www can't just plug into the phone, is it because the phone is cordless? If it's wireless, why are all of those wires plugged in to the blue and black boxes with the lights on them? If I change the channel on the tv, will that affect my web? If I had a cigarette adapter, could I plug it into my car and drive around while internetting"? Seriously...maybe that's why I fear that I'm actually challenged??)

Ok, ok, so I may be broadcasting all of my personal information to anyone in a 4 block radius, I don't really know. And the internet connection may go away the moment I shut down my computer. That's not the point! I'll figure out the security aspects later. For now, it's all about THIS success. The success of using my GINORmous brain to do something I didn't think I could do. In the words of another genius, I "misunderestimated" myself and I'm not gonna' lie, it feels pretty good to be wrong this time!