Wednesday, March 28, 2012

My Blog Isn't Dead Anymore!

I’ve been MIA for a while, but more on that later. I need to make a real post and this is it!

Not having a father figure has been a recurring theme in my life. But rather than be sad about it any longer, I’ve decided to share some funny stories about my biological father for the amusement of anyone that reads my blog.


When I was little, my dad called me every night at 7:00 because the court told him to. As a child, I often looked forward to these scheduled calls.

I usually answered the phone upstairs. I was about five years old, and the phone I used had a cord.

One time, in my excitement to talk to my dad, I was moving around a lot in the room and I accidentally pulled the cord out of the wall in the middle of the conversation and the call disconnected.


And then the cop took a big orange mushroom from our yard and left.

My dad’s aunt was kidnapped by Indians and ended up marrying one of them. I don’t know if it was by force or not, but it isn’t relevant to the story, so I don’t care.

My dad was somehow convinced that this made him Indian and he constantly tried to persuade his mother that he was right.

You may be thinking “Was he five? If he was five, that’s soooo cute!”

No. He was probably about thirty at the time. He’s just stupid.

When my mom and dad went to court for custody of me, they had to give the judge their contact information.

When my dad gave the judge his phone number, the judge paused.

He said “Isn’t the name of a bar?”

My dad’s response?

“Well…Yeah. But I’m there all the time. That’s where I get my messages.”

My dad didn’t win custody of me.


I’m not the only one that doesn’t like my dad.

Apparently his dad didn’t like him much either. And I can’t really blame him.

My grandpa on my dad’s side was a cop. And my dad was a drunken moron.

One day, my grandpa saw my dad being drunk and stupid in public and decided to use his authority for good and arrest him.


I wish I could have met him. I feel like we would have gotten along.


When I was starting to learn multiplication, my dad tried to teach me that if you multiply anything times zero is the other number. It took my mom two hours and several m&ms to undo that damage. To this day I am still terrible at math.


UPDATE: Somewhere in my house, there is a picture of baby-me on a ladder. My dad apparently thought a baby on a ladder would make for a cute picture. He also took me to bars and let me crawl around on the pool table unsupervised. It’s really a miracle I’m alive. No child should EVER be left alone with my dad. If I find the picture, I'll post it, but I have no idea where it is at the moment. He also forgot my birthday one year.


I’m sure there are more, but those are all of the funny stories about my dad I can think of off the top of my head. If I try to write anything else about him it will just come out really sad and that’s not the point of my blog.

So instead, here’s an unrelated conversation I had with one of my friends back in November after I had sex with some guy.

Virgin Friend: “So, do you even know anything about him?”

Me: “Yeah. I talked to him a little.”

Virgin Friend: “Oh? What’s his middle name?”

Me: “Uhh…Why do you need to know?”

Virgin Friend: “You don’t know it, do you?”

Me: “That isn’t even a fair question! I don’t even know your middle name and I’ve known you since we were eleven!”

Virgin Friend: “Okay. So what do you know about him?”

Me: “He’s a computer science major. So I’ll probably break all of his shit. Accidentally, of course. You know how I am.”

Virgin Friend: “You had sex with him and all you know is his major?”

Me: “I also know that he likes Planet Terror. Because I had sex with him after watching it.”

Virgin Friend: “I didn’t need to know that.”

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