Things I learned on the way to the airport

thanks to the unending information coming from my dad, I know more things now than I did before.

In a twenty-minute ride, I learned that he did not know that five dollar bills now have purple 5s on them. Because as you know, his fingers are too big such that he could not have noticed that before.

I learned that he is absolutely floored that the GPS he bought us for Christmas gives accurate instructions. This does not however stop him from telling us where to turn to get to the airport even though he had never driven there and that is what the GPS does.

I learned that he knows the guy that sold all the furniture to Raveneux Country Club, which is in Mandy's neighborhood. That actually is interesting to me, so I should not complain about hearing about that. We should get more info like that from him.

I learned that he knows everything about every NFL player's personality that comes on the television, including ones that are long since dead. This is particularly impressive since he cannot remember Barry's cell number or what day it is.

I learned that he wanted to buy me the little recorder I mentioned at Christmas so that I could record the crazy shit he says to blog about it--but mom would not let him. Party Pooper.

I love my dad but he tries my patience. I just edited this section about 5 times, trying to explain why we are so hard on him, and make fun of him all the time, but then I feel bad. Either you get it or you do not get it, and I guess it does not matter if anyone else understands how this family works or does not work. I decided to take most of it out because even here, where I am supposed to get to say what I want to say, I end up censoring myself because I could not sleep knowing it would hurt his feelings when he read it. Not that I know for sure he would, as that would imply that he consistently is interested in me or my life, and that is not true--but he might read it. So to spare his feelings, I just take it out and not vent where I need to. I have to get over that. Too bad I did not inherit the ability to be completely self-absorbed (contrary to popular belief), it would serve me well in cases like this.

ANYWAY-

Today was our last day in Houston--Mandy, Edward and Gabi left for Park City this morning--they went to the airport at 7 am. We had the rest of the day to do stuff on our own, so Barry and I ran some errands, looked at the amazing houses in Mandy's area, had lunch, etc. Before we left the house, we started washing sheets and towels and cleaning so that they did not have to come home from their vacation to a mess. I answered the question about what we were supposed to do about the furnace, the alarm, the keys to the house, the dishwasher, the furnace again, the towels again, the furnace again, what terminal are you leaving from, what time is your flight, what terminal are you going to, I already put it in the Garmin, is there any laundry in the wash, why did you put these dishes in the dishwasher etc......at least 100 times. From both mom and dad, and occasionally Gran Gran, I answered the same question--I particularly liked being asked about whether the towels were in the wash or the last set of sheets had made it to the dryer yet, when I was the only one in the house that had been OUT of the house for the previous 2 hours. How unaware can people be?

I know it is awful, but it gets so frustrating to answer the same friggin question 400 times, and now mom is getting as bad as dad is. Do they really think that someone who cannot remember the answer to the question they just asked until the end of the conversation would be trusted with all the details of locking up, etc, while they are skiing at Edward's family's house? Please. If it is not their responsibility, why do they need to know? They do not. And they make everything so hard---I of course got up last and had my sheets washed, and Barry had collected all the towels and Gabi's laundry from our wing of the house long before they even thought about getting on the stick. But even though we did not need to leave the house before 3 pm, they had the entire car packed at 11 am. What is that about?

I hope I never get like that. It is just not necessary. They wasted all the time they had today flittering about the house, every single person asking where their bag was, where is my medicine, are we supposed to strip our beds, where is the trash can, hey does anyone have a key to the house? What channel is the football game is on, when are we going to eat, are we going to take these cookies with us, where is my bag? Whose shoes are these? There are so many things to do and see here, just in their neighborhood alone, that it is sad to piss off all that time sitting in the living room.

Maybe I am just pissy because talking makes me cough, as does breathing, but it gets old answering all these question over and over and over again. I wish I could demonstrate how funny it it.

Every converstation we have seems like singing "Row row row the boat" like you did in first grade--with every section starting the song at a different time so it runs all over itself. I mean, EVERY conversation.

Today's spectacle is Dad coming down the stairs. In the foyer of Mandy's house is a staircase that twists on its way upstairs. It of course has baby gates at the top and bottom. It has a fair size landing in the middle. The foyer is two stories and all open, so when you get to the top of the stairs, you are in a big family room, with a railing so that you can look down into the foyer. The floor in the foyer is a white marble- it is gorgeous. Dad cannot work the stairs. Whether this is because his depth perception is gone, his legs lock up, or his fingers are too big, I do not know- but every single time he comes down the stairs, he misses the last step and launches himself into the wall opposite the stair case. I have waited for three days for him to crack his fool head open. He looks like a weeble wobble on a bender coming down the stairs--and the one thing I know is that he has not been on a bender, as he does not drink. Today, he added a trick to his descent--he pitched his pill-a-day container on the ground, and they spilled all over the landing.

He just kept on bobbling his way down. Barry went to pick them up and saw there were dozens of pills on the stairs and asked dad how to know which ones go in which part of the box. He said it did not matter, just don't leave them there for Gabi to find. I was glad he thought of that, that is the kind of awareness I do not actually expect from him. Off he went toddling along, and probably asking questions about how are we supposed to set the alarm and better get in the car (and it was 10 am, so 5 hours early for that). I asked him why he keeps missing the last step and he says he forgets it is there. He has been in this house for EIGHT DAYS and he has not yet figured out that there are two steps below the baby gate. I would figure that out the first time I took a header, but that is just me. I keep waiting to see him pitched over in the floor, knowing how mad Mandy will be that he bled up her good marble.

Anyway, we are free of that and waiting for our flight to be called--we are watching some NFL games in the airport bar, which is actually kind of fun with all these people we do not know.

I cannot wait to get home!