Oh, Pa!

Dad gave me a scare the other day. He's been retired for almost a year, and I've been concerned the nearly-sedentary life he's now leading has taken its toll. This is a dude that used to work 12-hour days, six days a week for the love of God!

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Dad: You know, this time of year it's hard on me. It's so cold, I don't want to go anywhere and I'm trapped inside. The sun hardly shines. It sucks ass.

Me: Dad-- I'll take you out. Where do you want to go?

Dad: No, I'll be fine by March. Then it'll be April.

Me: A lot of people have S.A.D.

Dad: Oh, no. Forget about that. I'll be happy because the Gay Games will be in town!

Me: Is there something you need to tell me?

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Dad proceeds to tell me that he's not gay (mom will be relieved!) but wants to help out at the Gay Games. He's going to support the athletes shouting out phrases like "You ain't got no junk in the front. It's all in the trunk." And this doozy: "Want a sucker, Tom Tucker?"

And here I thought Dad was depressed or something.

He also has some marketing ideas for the Gay Games. He intends on buying 50 pair of panties and selling them as souveniers, with the added-value selling point of "the stains are free." Niiice.

Wrong. Very. Wrong.

Then I informed Dad that the Gay Games aren't coming until 2014.

Sigh.

xoxo,

RiRi

Oh, Pa!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PAPA RITER!

Pops is another year older. And if it weren't for his nest of white hair, you'd never know how old he really is.

On this day, I reflect on some tender moments between a dad and his little girl:

1. When I was little and we'd get those "Adopt Maria" fliers in the mail, you told me you were gonna "trade me in." I cried for a few hours, then you let me off the hook.

2. Homecoming my Freshman year in high school. I never got the chance to get kissed by Steve because you yelled at mom to throw on the porch light and greet us at the door as his car pulled in. He didn't even walk me to the door because he feared retribution. I heard your laughter in the background, by the by.

3. The totally cool moment when you threatened that carload of toolbags that followed me home from school one day. Thankfully, you were already home from work and standing in the driveway. The boys thought they had game when they got out of the car. (I was scared shitless.) You went into the garage, got your gun and posed the poignant question: "Do you dickheads wanna die today?" Yup, the said dickheads left-- never to be seen again! lol

Love you, Dad. You truly are the last of the real men!

xoxo,

RiRi

Oh, Pa!

YAAAAY! FAKE ORANGE JUICE, KOREAN STYLE!

Now that Dad is retired, he keeps himself busy. Which is a good thing, because he'll go insane otherwise. Busy means, at least, weekly trips to my palatial estate. We usually do a food trade: Dad brings whatever, and I satisfy his sweet tooth.

Dad hands me a can of this orange juice. It's not really a juice. It's orange DRINK (there's 31 grams of sugar in this bad boy.) Big difference. But to my parents "juice" and "drink" are the same. They poured Hi-C down my throat for years. Anywho, dad swears this Bon-Bon crap is the "best orange juice I've ever had. It has pulp in it." I didn't have the heart to tell him you can buy orange juice with pulp in it.

The drink vs. juice argument is not what fascinates me here. What does fascinate me are all the subliminal messages on this can of swill!

1. A drink with "sac"!? I was prepared to see a pair of kiwis on the underside of the can.

2. The orgasmic orange. Look at that pulsating orange shooting pulp all over the place!

3. Bon Bon. Didn't Ricky Martin want me to shake my "Bon Bon"!?

Since this is the "best," I had to give it a try. Would I tingle? Would I explode with pleasure just like the orange?

I chugged. Yes! I feel something. I chugged some more! Again! And Again! And then-- nothing.
I felt empty. Just like the calories in this "juice." Empty, just like a tramp that takes a dude home at the end of the night and realizes he's not Prince Charming.

xoxo,

RiRi

Oh, Pa!

Weddings. A blissful day, celebrating two people who love each each other until "death do us part." It's a day Hallmark and Kleenex love, but others despise.

Like my Dad.

Dad has always been sarcastic, brutally honest and intimidating to most breathing things. Now add "extra deep-fried temper." (and he's medicated!) This is a lethal, yet entertaining combination.

He's been fretting... check that... slow-burning over my cousin's wedding for several reasons.
#1 Why on Labor Day weekend?
#2 Why on a Sunday? And I quote: "Who fucking does that bullshit?"
#3 Why is the "stupid-ass reception an hour away from the wedding, which even isn't in a church, there's no place to park, and it's in that big city on the Northcoast where scumbags live.....?"

It's my little cousin. And honestly, we'll probably never see him again unless someone croaks. He already knows the arrangements are a little... challenging... cuz a few month ago I asked: "Handed your balls over already? Might as well adjust as soon as possible."

So, Dad calls yesterday out of the blue with a proposition.

DAD: What do you think about renting a limo?
Rita: For what?
DAD: This goddamned fucking wedding I don't want to go to. I'm only going because your Mother and you are. (as if he has no free will.)
Rita: Dad-- that would be really expensive.
DAD: That's not what I asked!
Rita: (almost tinkling in her pants) Sure. Whatever you want.
DAD: Well, I'm not driving my car. It's paid off. I don't know where to park. What if someone hits my car? And, we're taking an armed guard with us.
Rita: What?!?! We're not going into Afghanistan or South Central. This isn't Boyz in The Hood. Please.
DAD: There's nothing but scumbags running around that city.
Rita: Seriously? An armed guard.
DAD: I ain't fucking around.

This from the man that was shot twice in Vietnam. This from the man who stabbed one of his co-workers with a fork in the hand because he made a smart-ass comment about me when I was in high school... Dad may be older, but he's still very large and very much in charge. (As Dad would say: "I may be too old to kick your ass, but you better believe I'm still thinking about it.")

Dad changed his mind about the limo. That's a whole different story.... So, Dad will drive us all to the blessed event... of course, now that he drives completely at the speed limit, it may take a while to get there. I am praying that the reception is open bar. Dad bitchin'; Mom trying to find me a man.... yeah... to quote a friend of mine: "that sucks ass balls." I don't really know what those are or what that means, but I'm presuming it will.

Be kind. Say a prayer.

xoxo,
RiRi