OHOHOH Checkin out the Theeeeeemes - 8/18/2000

Man I felt like Pauly Shore there (yes, I've just confirmed my age *LMAO*) Never mastered that weasel sound, though......

Who'd I talk to, huh? *chuckles*

Can't be anyone alive. Unless they're out on safari or something (and I just don't run with that rich a crowd) I could just pick up the phone and call. That would be too easy. And if I had to write a diary entry about just why I want to talk to them but haven't called, well, shows you how much of a lameass I am. And if I didn't know them, well.... that just gets toooooo existential and unless I came up with valid reasons other than being an adoring fan..... well.... just not me

Aha! So, that leaves someone dead.

*chuckles* Gross. I can picture myself standing over a grave, whispering the wiles of the world to someone, who, frankly, may not even care anymore. They're dead.... they don't have much to worry about anymore. I mean, they could be bored..... but, well... noooot too exciting on the conversation side. That would be more speaking at instead of to, wouldn't it? Then you get into ressurrections, maybe a little voodoo, some chanting..... incense catching the curtains on fire *shakes head* Messy....

So, once again, we're back to someone alive (can you tell I have this terrible problem with making up my mind one way or the other? Too many options always come forth, it's a damn committee up here).

I could talk to my best friend. She just lost a family member earlier this week. She lives *mumble* hours away and I'm simply a po'boy (financing and education does that to a soul), there's no way I can _be_ there for her physically as a shoulder for her to lean on. I do what I can, and I think it helps. Course, therein lays the picking up and calling dillemna again (I'm a lameass).

Back to someone dead. (Anyone else feel like ping pong?)

You know, pseudo rambling on like this, my answers been there all along and I know it. I'd talk to my dad. In fact, I still do. Whenever he happens to dabble in my life, I'll look up, glare, stick out my tongue, and carry on on my merry way. I know he's chuckling to himself. Mooooooore than likely saying "I told you so" once I'm out of earshot. True, our fights were of EPIC proportions...... had an inceberg not done it we would have been capable of sinking the Titanic (man I hated that movie). But I love the guy.

Hated him as I grew up (ok, teenage horomones dictated I do so, and that was all the convincing I needed back then... wwwwaaaaaayyyy back then). He was always on my case about something or other, the way I dress, what I read, what music I listened to, homework, extracarricular activities (if he only knew what I classified as "extracarricular" *smirk* no no, the term nowadays is "mind expanding" and "physical education" or some bs like that), smoking..... everything you will find in a classic Beastie Boys song. He'd tell me what he thought, and I'd tell him right back what I thought and BOOM! Nitro city here we come.

There is a point to this, right? Always..... that man taught me how to argue and lecture, there IS.... somewhere, no matter how much it infuriates you to muddle through all the digression bullshit, it's there. Through all of the rocky (heh) teenage years, and fight as we did, little divets of knowledge stuck, somehow. Eventually he figured out just how much gum to stick on the divet, where on the back of my head to aim it at with the slingshot to stick, and PING the lightbulb came on.

Gee, wouldn't you know..... if I listened to the words he was saying and thought about the exact words, instead of going off my rocker about how pissed off I was..... it made sense. Happens when your dad is the best attourney on the block *chuckles* I'd argue with him for the same damn reason, pointing out that he was RIGHT of all things, and it took me 20 minutes to figure out why he was smiling. Loved that.....

But this is supposed to be reasons and whyfores and hithertos..... as always, I digress...

I'd say to him "Hey, Dad, checkitout...... finally got my head out of my ass and decided on a proper major" or "Hey, Dad..... graduation's at three, they've got me in the front row, you're gonna be there at what time again? What side are you sitting on?" or maybe "DAAAAD! The interview finished at 2... it's 5 now, they just called me back and offered me the job! Yea! That dream job I've wanted since we moved to this state some double digit number years ago and I was a scrap kid and couldn't get it!!!" and proceed to run around the room hooping and hollering like the nutball those that truly know me know I am because I'm pleased into fits of madness over little precious things (aren't they all?).....

Yes, I've grown up into the adult he had hoped/expected me to be (much as I've always hated admitting he was right, and look at me now *chuckles*).

I've scores of other things I could tell him. Hell, I have told him all of this, and if I haven't, I'm sure he knows...... not much else to do when you're basking on a cloud with Saint of choice, sipping a smooooooooth martini and puffing on a fine cigar - and have been for nearly two years. And I wouldn't be surprised someday to hear "You know, we lost your (insert important thing here) and FOR SURE thought that it owuldn't pull through, but it must have been divine intervention - your (important thing sparkles here once more) is right here!"

I know he's around, still...... watching, dabbling, smirking, kicking his feet in the air laughtering. Star Trek can kiss my ass that space is the final frontier...... we know much less about death. And I'm firmly convinced it aint the end. Just a chapter. *flip* There goes a page *smile*

So in the end, I'd be guessing our conversation wouldn't be that long. I'd quirk a smile, nod a bit, and say "Thanks." He'd smile a smile befitting of all the wisdom he held in that brain of his, give me a knowing look, proud, dignified - just like I've always known him, and we'd both go on our ways.