I've been getting phone calls every damn day from my dad to make sure I'm heading over to the parents for tree decorating on Sunday.
He also did that thing where he makes me feel guilty for being picky about shit I own. He wants a Christmas list from me. Don't you understand, Dad, that I want everything in my possession to completely represent me? As an individual? To show off my unique and original taste in objects and decor?
And that's why I want this very exclusive Moorish tile rug (in Espresso) from Pottery Barn.
Obviously, this will legitimize my roots as a moor from Morocco and simultaneously lower my heating bill, and I can feel that thing rise every time I turn the heat up a degree. Me and MoLinder went as high as sixty-two degrees the other day. I know because we designed a Galilean thermometer out of a two-liter, cracked ping pong balls, old saint pendants and bent beer bottle tops to track our heater. I told you I was like MacGuyver.
Basically, every single day, me and my dad have a variation of the conversation I had with him ten minutes ago:
"So you're coming home this weekend, right? It's your sister's birthday."
"Dad, you know Katsisch doesn't give a crap if I'm there or not."
He laughs. Dad laughs at everything. "What about your dear old Dad? Don't you think I want to spend time with my worthless daughter?"
"Well, Dad. Shameful tolerance of my abusive father would add to my worth."
"It's a good thing your dad makes the big bucks. Your dowry is a doozy."
"What's it up do these days?"
Sighing deeply, he pauses. "My entire comic book collection. And like, seven goats."
"Even the mint Watchmen? I totally had dibbs."
"Well, honey, I mean...how do expect us to marry you off to some guy if he doesn't get anything good? What about my grandchildren?"
"Dad, it's gonna take more than goats and comic books to get someone to breed quality kids with me." I pause, for a fraction. "Maybe we could throw in, like, the family cookbook."
Big laugh from the big dad who makes the big bucks, and he huffs, "Our food sucks."
Damn. Got me there. "I guess I'm just as worthless as we thought."
"It's because your dad's a dork."
"Yeah, thanks a lot."
"You're not as bad as your sister. I'm gonna have to give someone the Wii to get her out of the house."
"You don't have a Wii."
"Well...Wii'll see after Christmas." He cracks himself up. "Seriously, for real now, you have to come home this weekend to decorate the goddamn tree."