Obligatory macro shot of a flower
Yeah okay. Sorry about my little nervous breakdown there. As usual, it was all my fault and not Textpattern’s. I’m sorry, Textpattern. I hope we can still be friends.
Mountain laurel (the only flower name I bothered to remember)
All right, I am going to stop talking to my CMS now. Yes.
Ever since freshman Bio, I can’t help but think that the flower’s reproductive parts are rudely staring me in the face
Here are two funny things my dad has said in the past two days, the first being something I’ve never heard him say, and the second being something along the lines of how he always talks: Yesterday, Father Dearest was trying to give me interview tips. He pretty much kept saying, in several different ways, that I shouldn’t be nervous. My dad tends to repeat himself a lot, and I don’t know whether it’s because he thinks I’m not listening (which actually is often the case) or because he doesn’t remember he’s told me. He tells me this story about how once when I was a baby he found me playing with buttons on a shirt and was amazed by the dexterity of my fingers and ever since then he knew I was a genius.
Yeah, I don’t know what happened with that either. I like to think I’m biding my time before I bust out with my combination cancer/AIDS cure.
Anywho. He was telling me not to be nervous in an interview situation. I was sort of tuning him out, until he said something like, ‘Interviewee get nervous because they think they going to say something wrong. Like maybe you afraid you accidentally going to say to interviewer, “You son of bitch. I hate you. Go to hell.” But don’t worry. You won’t say that. It doesn’t happen.’
Okay, I wasn’t worried about randomly cussing out interviewers beyond my control, but I am NOW. Thanks a lot, Dad. (I should also mention that I’ve never actually heard my dad say a swear word, ever. My mom, yes – only because she doesn’t really know that they’re bad words. But my dad, never.)
So, the second funny thing he said was this afternoon as I was leaving the house to go shopping. I’d spiked my hair up just for fun (and also for aerodynamics) and he said, ‘Wow, you really look-a like a punky 20-year-old! I mean 19-year-old!’
I am twenty-one years old and have been for the past two months. To be fair, though, my dad doesn’t even really know when his own birthday is. I don’t mean that he forgets it. He doesn’t know. Apparently when he was born there was some war going on in Korea – what’s it called? Oh right, the Korean war – and I guess his mom had bigger things to worry about than what day she popped out the kid.
Kayleigh
tell you dad not to feel bad, i don’t know his birthday either. ;)
Eunice
oh, right. and, uhm. they usually go by the lunar calendar, and it’s such a pain to figure out when their birthday is. my grandfather’s 73 was last week? didn’t know because IT CHANGES EVERY YEAR.
ps: it’s so awkward when my mom swears because she has a different way of pronouncing and stressing parts of the word. she knows they’re bad, too. shit = sheet.
Richard
My Dad won’t swear in the house of infront of women but but him with a gang of men and it’s a different story.
Stephanie
Yep, cussin’ out those interviewers is a major problem. Especially when they ask, “Why do you think you deserve this job?”
Connie
I think it’s an Asian dad thing. My dad doesn’t know my birthday either, and he cannot, for the life of him, remember how old I am.
That said, I think he does remember when his own birthday is, though I don’t. Stupid Chinese calendar that changes every year…