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Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

“F***ing son of a bitchin’ bastard.
– Charlie, regarding computer

Pots, pans, potatoes, and pie were all strewn about the kitchen counter – intermingled with Dad’s laptops and random computer parts – in preparation for an early thanksgiving feast. I could tell Charlie was eager to dig into turkey with all the fixins, though he masked it well beneath the usual LOUD shouting, cursing (see above quote), and tinkering with his latest eBay acquisition.

There are few things Dad enjoys more than a thanksgiving banquet. Unlike Mexican food (see Charlie’s Top 5 Worse Restaurants list) it complies with his strict definition of a traditional dinner – meat, potatoes, and a veg – with the added bonus of gravy, cranberry sauce, and of course pumpkin pie for dessert. While it would run a very close second to his favorite homemade food of BBQ grilled hamburgers, he does seem to have a keener appreciation for the added effort of the bigger meal.

And considering what I have to put up with to make this, or any meal for that matter, he damn well should.

Motivation Mantra

Before embarking on this culinary adventure, for me the added effort requires a great deal of motivation. Lucky for me that there’s nothing more inspiring than listening to Charlie repeatedly break out the f-bomb from five feet away. In fact, between his ranting, that annoying “dink” sound from his constant keyboard and/or mouse button clicking, and my waning tolerance for all of the above, cooking for Charlie has become a bit like attempting a 12 Step Program:

Me: “Give me the serenity to…”

Dad: “(Dink) How many times do I have to sign in, you a**hole?”

Me: “…accept the things I cannot change about Dad…”

Dad: “(Dink) Well, COME ON!”

Me: “…the courage to put up with the things I can, and the wisdom to…”

Dad: “(DINK! DINK! DINK!)”

Me: “I WILL BEAT YOU IF YOU DON’T STOP CLICKING THAT DAMN BUTTON!”

This Is Not A Recipe

In keeping with the 12-Step theme, the following is Natina’s 12-Step Guide To Turkey Dinner for Dad. *Please note: Unlike salt, trial and error is not optional.

To start, you’ll need some ingredients. As to what kind, I’m sure you’ll figure it out as we go along.

  1. Ignore Dad’s complaints about a malfunctioning hard drive and arrange 1.5 lbs of turkey breast in a pan (’cause a whole turkey takes too long and is too friggin’ big for just two people). Season with olive oil, lemon, rosemary, garlic, and onion. Oh, and don’t forget the Johnny Seasoning Salt. It goes with everything. Add some sliced carrots and celery too for the hell of it and toss it all into a 325°F oven for 45-60 minutes.
  2. Slip wine to help block out the cursing, then peel and cube the potatoes. Add to a pot with water and heat to a boil. Simmer over medium heat until they’re soft, but not mushy. When ready, mash and mix with butter, salt, pepper and milk.
  3. While Dad abuses a Toshiba, save some time by following the microwave directions on the box of Stove Top Stuffing.
  4. Realize that you forgot to pick up cranberry sauce at the store.
  5. Don’t tell Dad that you forgot the cranberry sauce.
  6. Gravy packet says it only takes like a minute to make, the same amount of time Dad claims it’ll take for me to help him locate the missing drivers (whatever that means). Awesome.
  7. Refill your wine glass.
  8. When the turkey juices run clear, reduce heat and toss all completed food items in the oven to keep warm while waiting for everything else to finish. Thank God, we’re nearly there.
  9. Debate about making corn because after 45 minutes the carrots are still hard. Remove carrots from the oven and sauté in a frying pan with butter until absolutely perfect. Then, when Charlie starts in on his most recent grievance with eBay, leave the room just long enough for the carrots to burn.
  10. Make corn.
  11. Now that everything is done, take the food out of the oven, and burn yourself… twice.
  12. After administering first aid to your burns, dish out and serve on the crowded kitchen counter. “DINNER’S READY, DAD!”

Seconds

Mentally and physical exhausted from all the hazards and Dad’s constant pre-dinner background noise, I pushed my empty plate away while Dad rushed back for more side dishes. “Good stuff!” he declared with a satisfied grin on his gravy smudged palate. It’s not often he goes back for seconds so this was a major compliment to the chef, i.e. me. He even took more stuffing, which he usually prefers to scowl at from afar.

It was a tough job, but a good meal if I do say so myself. I had to wonder, however, was the hour-long, stress-filled effort really worth it?

There’s Always Room for Pie

 

Once Charlie was finished stuffing himself silly, I gathered up all the plates, made a half-assed attempt at washing some of the dishes, then threw everything else in the dishwasher. Turning to Dad to advise him of dessert, I said: “Don’t forget, there’s pumpkin pie for later.” Despite the fact that he was clearly full, Dad quickly replied with gusto, “Oh! How much later?”

I had to laugh. Charlie can be rude, demanding, sexist, and so utterly frustrating you can find yourself at your wit’s end. But dammit, he does manage to redeem himself again and again with his oblivious attitude and inadvertent humor. So I decided to cut him some slack and a big chuck of pie (with a side of ice cream) before calling it a day. I have to accept that Dad will not change. The best I can do is to try to maintain my serenity, ignore what I can, and cherish the wisdom that one day I will be moving out.

Photo credit: juptierimages.com
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winterrose31.deviantart.com

Two young children, a boy and girl. Neither could be older than five or six and both blond like the Swedish Bikini Team. They live next door and were playing ball on the street in front of their house while I sat on our front porch reading a book. I could hear them talking and laughing, as kids will do; kicking, shouting, footsteps…

…and suddenly, silence.

Turning in the direction I expected them to be, I was initially taken aback by the sight of them, lurking at the end of our driveway. There they stood, like two wily horror movie villains, with Charlie’s car standing between us, their faces tinted green from the glare of the vehicle’s back window. No sound, just a static and suspicious gaze.

They looked like something out of Children of the Corn.

“What the hell are they doing?” I thought to myself.

Their vacant stares then seemed to develop into concern followed by an argument of sorts which went something like this:

“We have to get the ball.”

You get the ball.”

“No, you get it!”

Finally, without explanation or agreement, they both turned away from our driveway and ran home.

“Did what I think happen, just happen?” I wondered.

Did these two little blond kids accidentally kick their ball into my dad’s yard and were too afraid to retrieve it? Is this what Charlie has become? The scary old man in the creepy house with the un-mowed lawn? When I’m not here, do the neighborhood children dare each other to ring our doorbell and run away? I had to investigate to be sure. (more…)

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deviantART artist ionselat

Feel free to tug on Superman’s cape and take your chances spittin’ in the wind, but I do not recommend asking my dad if he wants your help with something.

Anything. Not ever.

If you do (and God bless if you do), one of two things will happen:

1) You’re shot down with a resounding, “Hell NO!”

2) You receive the “Why Would You Even Ask Me Such a Stupid Question?” look (Charlie ™).

Such was the case when the handle on our kitchen sink broke and Dad begrudgingly mustered up the energy to actually do something about it.

The week began with me attempting to fill a glass (or some form of container) with water using the tap at the kitchen sink. On employment of said device, the handle immediately popped out of the base causing me to yelp, “What the…?” and resulting in no way to turn the water back off again. The former drew Charlie’s attention straight away as he lunged head first into playing the blame game.

Piscín the Wonder Kitten

Now before I go on, I should mention I am not a physically burly woman. I’m tall, about 130 lbs soaking wet and have the upper body strength of a small kitten. I suppose, if I really wanted to, I could probably rip the whole thing out with my bare hands (after several days and the assistance of a herd of steroid-fueled pro wrestlers), but in this case my only intention was to simply get a glass of water.

“Don’t pull the handle so hard!” Dad shouted across the room.

“I didn’t! It just came out!” I answered, swinging the handle indignantly in his general direction.

This went on for about a week; handle popping out and me or Dad resentfully popping it back into place. Then one morning Dad had apparently had enough of either my complaining or his own procrastination on the topic and finally took on the task of replacing the kitchen faucet. (more…)

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My dad’s name is Charles Schulz; yeah, just like the Peanuts guy. When his name would come up in conversation, I used to tease people that he was the Charles Schulz. It was a joke always revealed within a minute or two, until the day I said it on first meeting my father-in-law. As it turns out, he actually worked with the man for many years and thought it an uncanny coincidence. Needless to say, as often happens with Dad, my joke didn’t get over as well that day and I lost my mischievous enthusiasm to use it again soon thereafter. (more…)

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