Tag Archives: father

Santa, You’re Gonna Need A Bigger Bag

Earlier today, someone asked me what I want for Christmas. Most people could probably answer this question without too much thought, right? But tonight, for some reason, I’m still struggling with this. I mean, not that I don’t want stuff. I like stuff just as much as the next girl. Especially boots. It may be a borderline boot fetish. But I guess when it comes right down to it, the stuff I REALLY want isn’t as easy to obtain as heading to the nearest Kohl’s. Nope. I’m a little more high maintenance than that, I’m afraid.

First off, I’d like to never have to shave my legs again. Sure, it’s not so bad having a nice set of fur-covered legs to keep me warm in these frigid Chicago temperatures, but unfortunately it makes it difficult to pick up men at the local gym while wearing capris or shorts. I suppose I could possibly attract a Wookiee or a Sasquatch or something, but they don’t seem like they’d be very good dinner companions. I’d like my body hair in general taken care of, really. It’d be a hell of a time saver. I’ll even take care of my own increasingly abundant nose hair. I feel this is a decent compromise.

Secondly, I’d like a person. Not just any person. A go-to person, A best friend. One person I feel like I can completely be myself with. Someone I can tell anything to, with whom I can completely let down my guard, who will tolerate my vodka and snack habit, who will take my insecure and overemotional moments and love me for them just as much as my moments of joy, love, and hilarity. Someone who’ll hug me and tell me everything will be ok, and make me believe it. If he’ll spoon me and kiss me goodnight on the forehead, that’d be pretty cool, too. Also, rub my feet. And take out the garbage. Not at the same time, though. I don’t want any various garbage juices to somehow end up on my feet. That’d be gross.

Third, (and this is a biggie, Santa, so listen up) I’d like my brother to not have to fight cancer any more. Because it’s stupid. In addition, although I’d probably never say this to their faces, because I’m the bratty little sister, and it’s hard to talk to them when they’re giving me wedgies and swirlies and such, I want to bonk ALL of my big brothers on the head and make them realize how badly I wish they’d all take better care of themselves, and recognize that I don’t want to ever have to be here without them. Sure, sometimes they’re a huge pain in the ass, especially when they get into stupid fights over The Walking Dead and Rock Of Ages, but they are mine, and without them, I’m not quite sure what I’d do. Idiots. I’m probably going to get beat up for this at the next family gathering.

I’d like to be able to talk to my dad again. In a few days he’ll have been gone four years. Man, I can’t believe it’s been that long. You know, sometimes I talk to him at night, but he never says anything back, which is ok because I’m used to rambling with no response, kinda like I’m doing right now, but it’d be cool if he’d give me a, “Good Lord, shut it already and go to sleep.” or something. That’d probably totally scare the shit out of me in the middle of the night, though. It’s weird, after all this time, I still remember exactly what his voice sounded like. I miss that. I guess you never really realize how much you miss someone’s voice like that until they’re gone.

I’d like the Monchichi I had as a child, and also my Strawberry Shortcake doll that blew strawberry-scented kisses. because I loved them; And even though I’m supposed to be mature and shit, I like toys.

I want time to slow the hell down. Although 38 is pretty kickass, what with how much more confident and happy I am than I was 10 years ago, I’m totally not digging the random inch-long hairs I find growing out of my forehead, nor how I get up and walk into the other room and completely forget why I’m there.

And last, but definitely not least, I want to be able to eat cupcakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and never gain any weight. In fact, the more cupcakes I eat, the skinnier I get. Whoa. Whoa. Wait… Whoa.

I totally just blew my own mind. I have to stop now.

But seriously, Santa… I hope you wrote this shit down, fat man.

Sorry I called you fat. I didn’t mean it. You’re very svelte for an older man. Yup. I’m just gonna go now.






Posted by on December 11, 2013 in Humor, Life


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My Father’s Daughter

Ever since my dad passed away a few years back, I have kind of a hard time with Father’s Day. It’s weird, because growing up, my father and I never really got along. Looking back now, I think it’s because we’re very much alike. He was always cold and seemingly emotionless with those closest to him, but when we were in the company of strangers, he was the funny and charming and nice dad that I wanted. I see this behavior in myself a lot, although I do my best to try to break that cycle.

Beyond that, I never knew him at all, really. The memories I have of my dad are very few. I remember being small and waking up early with my mom to see him off to his job as a carpenter. I remember watching Friday night TV curled up with him on the floor. I remember being angry with him for going on hunting trips where I knew he was going to kill Bambi. I remember him bringing me a giant stuffed owl from Wyoming that I named Snowy, which made me almost immediately forget that I was angry with him for the whole Bambi thing. I remember Christmas mornings where we had to wait for his coffee to brew before we opened presents, and the pot of coffee that always seemed to brew slower than on any other morning. And I remember being horrible to him as a teenager, which I still don’t understand. I remember hating him for no reason, and now, as an adult, I wish I could take that all back, and get to know who he was. Because I bet he was a pretty interesting dude. But anyway, all of these tiny moments I remember; But never once do I remember telling him I loved him or hugging him, and I will forever regret that. Even at the end, when he was dying in hospice care, I refused to show emotion or go sit with him and hold his hand. I hate that I did that, and I’d like to kick my own ass for it. But hopefully he knew that I loved him. And although I never really knew the person he was before I came along, or really who he was while I was growing up, I miss him every single day, and I hope he’s out there somewhere and he’s aware of that. And someday, I hope I can sit down with my dad, up there in matching recliners on a cloud, both looking fabulous and youthful, sharing some big-ass beers.


Oh yeah, and Happy Dad’s Day a little early to all the awesome dads out there. Including mine.

Miss you, Daddy.


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Posted by on June 13, 2013 in Humor, Uncategorized


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