Kirkkitsch’s Blog

My Dinner With Cookié

*deep breath* Okay, so last night I was to meet my dad at Ryan’s (buffet) in west Fort Worth at 6. The conversation that preceded this rendezvous took place on Monday. He asked if I worked on Thursday and I said no (I haven’t told him that I quit my job; I already have a cantankerous cat, I don’t need a drama llama too). So he says that he’ll “be there” (Ryan’s) around 6 and that we should have dinner. In my head I was like ‘Why would he just “be there”? This sounds suspicious, as if he already had plans to “be there” and the invite was an afterthought.’ But I didn’t ask because he’s deaf as a fuckin’ post and I don’t have the patience to go through the whole tennis match of yelling vs. “what?”

The reason the invitation was initiated was because I was trying to explain to him (so he’d know what was going on, not because I planned on him “rescuing” me) about my financial situation (it’s in the toilet and swirling because of the business scam, see blog post dated ). And THAT’S why we were allegedly meeting, so that I could explain to him in person exactly what’s going on and why. I tell him I’ll meet him there. No more information is exchanged.

Thursday comes and I wait until the last possible moment to leave, truly dreading getting together. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad and all that crap, but my parental relationship died with my mom. He and I just never had one and because of this I have no interest in pursuing one now. I’m sure there are those out there whom have “regrets” about not doing this or that while their parent(s) were alive; I don’t. I know him (and his history) well enough to know that I’m not missing out on much. He can be a good person. He can be nice. He can be thoughtful. He can be and do lots of things. Neither of us can turn back time, but I digress.

Wait, I’m gonna digress some more, if for no other reason to get this completely out in the open and get my thoughts on the subject out, once and for all. Not that it matters, but I know plenty of people who would like nothing better than to gloss over all the negative attributes of their father (or mother) and pretend like they hatched into some wonderful Norman Rockwell world. On some level, I guess I’m annoyed that parents/family get some kind of free pass when it comes to fuck ups. I know, I can hear it now “But, Kirk, that’s what families do. They love each other no matter what.” Alright, Dr. Phil, I suppose. I guess it just takes a little more for me to forgive & forget. I choose to hold people accountable for their actions, not let them off the hook because their guilt made them “sorry.” That’s like all the prisoners in jail now who are “sorry” for their crime(s); yeah, sorry they got CAUGHT and are subsequently being punished for their crime! All I’m saying is, no one, I don’t care if they are a parent, are above being held accountable for their actions. PERIOD.

With that said, I actually arrived first (and on time), so I sat in the foyer until his (their) arrival. When I saw his car pull into the parking lot, I also noticed the silhouette of a passenger. I fuckin’ KNEW it! It really pissed me off. So, he comes in while I’m paying for my meal (I didn’t want him paying for me, though in retrospect, I should have) and I turn around and there he is…with his gal pal…”Cookie.” Yeah, you read that right. I hug & greet him. Afterwards, good ol’ “Cookie” looks like she’s coming in for a hug too, and that’s my cue to offer a handshake and tell her it’s nice to meet her (fake smile, don’t fails me now!). Ech

She initiates small talk about how she’s never been here before and whatever else she said. I was pretty much going through the motions until I could get to the table. Naturally, she kept a vigil at each and every serving table, so I got to interject plenty of “Oh, I know!” and “I know, right?” to whatever the fuck she was saying to me. Sneeze guards are soundproof.

So we take our seats and she starts in with the small talk, asking me what I do and what I like to do. I tell her I pretty much just go to work and come home, doing things with friends on the weekends. I didn’t reciprocate with the questions because, well, frankly, I don’t really care. Naturally, good ol’ dad finds plenty of opportunities to be gone, thus leaving us to “chat.” Here’s a soundbite for you:

Her: SO what do you do and what kind of things do you like to do?
Me: I work at a video store, though I don’t know for how much longer, we may be going out of business (not really, but this way she can relay the news to him and when I do decide to tell him I am jobless, it won’t blow his mind). Redboxes are taking their toll.
Her: So, if that happens, what will you do?
Me: Travel.
*confused look on her face*
*long pause*
Me: Look for another job (dumbass), I guess.

Riveting, yes? I caught him on one of his many absences, at the salad bar, and told him that I did NOT want to discuss my financial situation with her present. He says “No, no. Besides, I think I have something worked out. We can get together another time and talk about it.” Joy.

So, he finally lands and says “Here, I brought you that locket and mother’s rings I was telling you about” and proceeds to hand over two small boxes: one containing the locket with the picture of me and my mom in it and her father’s picture ID badge from when he was in the air force. The other one was taped closed and I didn’t feel like opening it in front of her. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of opening the hinged ring box that contained the locket and her father’s ID pin, just to see what was inside. Naturally, he wants to look at it, even though the motherfucker put the shit in the box to begin with, and subsequently Curious Cookie has to take a gander too. Whatever. Eat your fuckin’ macaroni & cheese while it’s still hot, asshole.

At this point I’m annoyed on several levels. Here, let me list them for you:

• He’s known this woman for a lonnnnng time. And with his history of infidelity, I’m sure it’s not the first time they’ve been “friends.”
• She has the same physical traits as my mother and that annoys me. I already know what you’re thinking “Aw, he misses your mother and is trying to find someone that reminds him of her. So sweet.” Riiiiight.
• He KNEW she was accompanying him when he initiated the invite and said NOTHING. This tells me that there’s a reason for that. If he had nothing to hide, then why keep this information to himself? He knows full well that he’s fuckin’ around (whether it be physical or psychological) and CHOSE to say nothing. Not unlike he CHOSE not to tell me where he was going the weekend before last. I didn’t ask because I didn’t really care. I know him well enough to be familiar with his m.o. Meanwhile, my mother couldn’t get him to leave his fuckin’ chair when she was alive. Now he’s a travelin’ man.
• My mother has been dead less than a fuckin’ YEAR.

Package all this up with him (unsuccessfully) covering for the fact that he can’t hear 85% of what you are saying (thanks to him being stubborn and not wearing BOTH hearing aids), by loud, boisterous outbursts of laughter. I notice she does this shit too (laughs outloud at the most remotely amusing observations) and quickly reach my laughter quota for the day. It’s like having dinner with two mental patients.

I make an attempt at a REAL conversation, by asking him his thoughts on the new healthcare bill, if nothing else, to get a senior citizen’s perspective, and to see if he’s as “outraged” as half these hillbillies who don’t know WTF is even going on. Before he can answer, Cookie interjects that he doesn’t know because he doesn’t watch television. She knows, because she’s tried talking to him about (American) ‘Idol‘, Biggest Loser (irony?) and Dancing With the Stars (you know, the hard-hitting topics), but to no avail! He’s just out of the loop. Of course, I already know all this shit she’s telling me (re: he’s out of the loop when it comes to politics, pop culture, etc.), so I just say very dryly “Yeah, he’s dreamy.”

And that’s pretty much it. I stopped and did some retail therapy and picked up Season 1 of Simon & Simon and a six pack of Rolling Rock (and I never drink!) and went home.

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