As you can tell, I haven’t quite felt like writing lately. I’ve been reading a lot of news and posting to www.thisnext.com as a self-challenge. Haven’t taken that much time to think. Oh, and I joined the local gym so I could lose that fat. Summer has been all but eventful.
Recently, my girlfriend came to visit from Los Angeles. She’s part of the family, and so it was just like a family member. One evening we decided to go to my parents house for pizza . My girlfriend, a die hard Democrat, my parents die hard Repubs. My father is on heart medication for congestive heart failure. You’d never know – his temper flares from this medication – for which I often wonder if they are just prescribing, not really knowing what he needs. Anyway, my girlfriend brought up politics…duh, duh, duh, duh. Dad went over the roof, preaching and lecturing and yelling. My girlfriend, mom and I all stared at each other, like what the hell? If you’ve ever been around someone on heart medication, you may know I’m speaking of.
Later that evening, at the dinner table, dad was talking a lot of “smack”. Mom, myself and girlfriend T listened to him talk about people being pre-diabetic and how they needed to take Flax Oil to cure themselves like the younger “Bush”. OMG. We laughed…and said, “if George Bush takes it, I don’t want anything to do with it – it clearly isn’t helping him!”
Dad proceeded to tell us how they serve a certain kind of pie at church lunches to ward off diabetes. Roaring, we said “no wonder there are so many crazy people in the church!” He told us how he occasionally has been short on sugar in his system. We started to talk about people we had gone to high school with. Dad explained that he knew someone we had graduated with and also knew her younger brother. This kid had been in a bad car accident at age 18 and had to live the rest of his life in a wheel chair.
If you knew my mom and dad, you’d understand the humor in that my mom said in her Canadian accent, “Oooh, so he’s a vegetable?”. Which, at that point my dad exclaimed, “no, he’s not a vegie”. We burst out in tears crying with laughter because my husband, being from Southeast Asia, mixes his “V’s” and “W’s”. So when we heard “vegie”, all we could hear was “wegie”.
LatteAddiction's Weblog 