The Inmates Run the Asylum

Dad had finally discovered the wonder of the internet and now we can't get him off the computer.

So far he's limited himself to shopping sites, though he did spend a lot of time last night amusing himself looking for matches on a dating site. Don't ask. As far as I know, he hasn't found the porn yet.

Shocking considering he's been using Google.

So it looks like Dad has chosen to join us in the 21st century.

I still don't think he can check his email, though.

Papa is out of the hospital. He's coughed up a lot of the crap that's been hanging out in his lungs due to the pneumonia and they've gotten the fluid off of him, so now he's breathing and feeling much better.

Aunt Jo told Dad that since Papa got home, everything's been pissing him off. Dad takes that as a good sign. Heh.

While Papa was in the hospital, Dad built him a ramp for his scooter. He also fixed the screen door so it wasn't held shut be a screwdriver. And he cleaned the kitchen and the utility room.

I imagine Papa is happy with all of that. After constantly telling my Dad what to do when he was growing up, it's probably nice that he does stuff without being asked now.

Finally! The boy is well trained!

Went to Dad's retirement open house this afternoon. Actually, it was for him and Barney, who also retired. Either way, it was a do that neither of the guys really wanted, but the Chief insisted.

When I got up this morning I asked Dad if he was ready for his big day and he flipped me off. He did not appreciate the manic giddiness in my laugh, as it was a clear sign of me enjoying his suffering.

I rode with him to the police station and he ended up parking on the street right next to a big snowpile, so I had to climb over to the driver's side to get out. Yeah, he definitely didn't appreciate me taking pleasure in his suffering.

Really, it wasn't too bad of an event. Three car loads of family showed up, some of Barney's family, several of the other officers (including Smitty, who retired about five years ago), and some people from the city. I was suprised that no one Dad had ever arrested showed up. Of course, they might be in jail again.

He survived the party (the way he was talking and carrying on, you'd think he liked it *rolls eyes*). There was only a small formal part of the event when Dad and Barney were presented with busts engraved with their names and years of service. They also got ID cards certifying them as retired law enforcement and the other officers and members of the union got them shadow boxes with pictures and their badges. They're really nice.

I think it's finally sinking in that Dad's retired. Today was the final nail in the coffin. No matter how much he goes on about how happy he is to be done, I know there's a little part of him that's missing it. There's no way he doesn't. Not after 25 years. He can't help it.

After the party, Carrie bought Dad dinner (at Mickey D's 'cause we're fancy like that) and then she and I went to see Sherlock Holmes. Well, after the 85 trailers, we saw the movie. Seriously. I'm a woman who likes her previews. They're almost always of movies I'll never see and that pleases me. But, anything over four is excessive.

Also, I feel that showing a preview for Iron Man 2 before Sherlock Holmes is a little much. I'm just saying.

Anyway, Carrie and I both liked the movie. I'm not going to go into any kind of detailed analysis of what I liked and didn't like because I'm probably one of the last people in the States to see this movie. However, I will say the use of "Rocky Road to Dublin" pleased me muchly.

We went to Dairy Queen afterwards and got Blizzards. Unskilled people made them because all of the stuff was junked up on top. After I dropped ice cream on my pants not once, but twice, I determined that it was defective and possibly sabotaged.

Now, I'm exhausted. I'm not used to so much activity in one day.

This is turning into quite an active week.

After over a year without a hospital stay, Papa went back in today. He's got pneumonia. Dad says it can't be too bad because while Dad was on the phone with my great-aunt, Papa was in the background just a bitchin'. Heh. They've got him on antibiotics and he should only be in the hospital for a couple of days.

Tomorrow I've got to take Pete to the vet for her shots. Neither one of us are looking forward to this trip. Pete is good at the vet and good in the car, but she doesn't like it. I spend the whole time peeling a cat off of my shoulders. You don't realize how hard buckling your seatbelt can be until you have to do it around a cat.

(FYI: The reason why we don't use a cat carrier is because Pete can't be in an enclosed space like that. She spazzes out and hurts herself. When I first brought her home from my mother's house, she'd bloodied herself by the end of the trip.)

Thursday the police department is holding an open house to celebrate Dad's retirement after 25 years of service. He really doesn't want to go. He tried to talk them out of it, but no luck. If Papa is out of the hospital by then, he wants to go, too. I'm just going to watch my dad grump and to see how many people that he's arrested over the years show up. Should be a good time.

I hope there's punch and pie.

Dad gave me my Christmas present today. I don't know why. Some years he gives it to me the day he buys it and some years he wraps them and makes me wait until Christmas to open it. There's no rhyme or reason.

Anyway, Dad got me a really nice laptop table, which is preferable to the redneck set up I've been using. I can use my laptop comfortably in bed now without turning into a hunchback. It's fantastic.

My new laptop table has a place for a mouse and I like the idea of not having to use the touch mouse anymore. I'm hoping this Tiki Idol Laptop will be okay with that. In theory, I think I should be able to use a mouse with this thing, but in practice, well, you can't really trust unlucky technological items. We'll see.

In the meantime, the mousepad will be used as a catpad. At least according to Pete it will be.

Dad's on vacation. I can definitely expect him to be underfoot for the next five weeks.

He's also put in for retirement. He'll be done working in March. Then he'll be underfoot until I move out.

I can't help but think this might be a sneaky way of getting me to move out of the house.

Sure he says that it's because after 25 years he's tired and ready to relax. But I wouldn't put it past him.

I'm just saying.

Dad cooks on the weekends. Since he got this new crockpot recipe book, we've been trying new things just about every weekend.

Now, Dad has a cast iron stomach and for him, the hotter the better. I like spicy food and can tolerate some pretty hot stuff. Carrie can't handle heat at all. Period.

Last week Dad made shrimp creole. Dad and Kenny thought it was flat. I thought it was okay. Carrie thought it was fire in a bowl. While I was up in her room to inventory my action figures, Carrie was eating dinner. Her lips and tongue were burning and her nose was running. It was fantastic.

Today, Dad made chicken creole. Dad, Kenny, and I all thought it was pretty good. Carrie couldn't eat it. She just smelled it, and while she thought it smelled good, it made her eyes water. None of us thought it was very spicy, but Carrie couldn't hack it.

Poor Carrie. She's in the wrong house for bland.

We've been having trouble with one of our landlines the past couple of days. No dial tone, which makes it hard to establish a connection when using the ancient dial-up. So Dad's been dicking with it for two days. Things that have been said during the course of this fix-it ordeal.

*Dad is outside with the phone, checking the outside box since we've had trouble before. His cell phone rings and I answer it.*
Me: What?
Dad: I got a dial tone. I was seeing if I could dial.
Me: Oh.
Dad: What are you doing answering my phone anyway?
Me: Your the sort of person who would need something inside and instead of coming in to get it, since you had the phone and all, would call me and tell me to get it for you.
Dad: If I was going to do that, I'd call your number.
Me: You can't remember my number.
Dad: Kiss my ass. *hangs up*

*Dad is replacing the phone jack in the dining room, cursing all the way.*
Me: What's the matter?
Dad: There's one screw mount and it's right behind the wires. I don't know of any family in the design business. *string of curses* Actually, I know that none of our family designed this. If they did, it'd just come with a roll of duct tape so you could tape it to the wall.

I'm happy to report that Dad managed to mount the new phone jack fixture to the wall without resorting to duct tape. And, so far *knocks on wood* we've had no more trouble with the phone line.

Of course, tomorrow is another day.

Dad bought a book of crock pot recipes and tried one of them tonight. It wasn't too bad.

Basically, it had a lot of the ingredients you'd put in a goulash, only it was more like a chili. Then, we put it over noodles. It looked disgusting, but was pretty tasty.

I'm thinking that since Dad's got this new recipe book and he only cooks on weekends, he should be set for dinner ideas until next spring when it gets too warm.

Then he'll have to buy a new book.

I'm okay with that.

one_more_cherry supplied me with some awesome Ted Raimi icons because she is the best icon dealer ever.

In other news, Dad came home this afternoon with fixings for dinner.

Me: What did you get?
Dad: *putting things away* I figure to make cheese and broccoli soup, maybe throw some taters in there.
Me: Sounds good.
Dad: *starts to open one of two containers of roasted chicken* These c-h-i-c-k-e-n-s can be for dinner, too.
McGee: *jumps off of the back of the chair, races over to Dad, and starts meowing and pawing at him*
Me: Holy shit, she can spell.

For the record, Pete can also spell; she just chooses not to show off her superior intellect in front of such substandard bipeds.

Or at least, that's how I interpreted her disgruntled look at the time.