Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today is my father's birthday. He is turning another year older, but he swore at me when I suggested it was seventy. I gave him a call this morning but I figured he wasn't up yet, so I left a message. My dad used to be a notorious early riser, especially on the weekends. He loved going to flea markets and garage sales. I often went with him. He used to try to make me haggle. Oh, how I hated haggling. At eight years of age, the last thing I wanted to do was try and barter with someone over their crappy second hand stuff. To this day, I still won't try to get an unsuspecting elderly person to lower their price. 

In this way, I am not like my father. He is the Master Haggler. 

How am I like my Daddy-O? 

Well, I certainly am a unique combination of both my parents, but the hot headed tendencies come from my dad - not to mention this off beat sense of humour you might have picked up on. My passion for making myself laugh? Yeah, you can thank my dad for that as well. I am a sarcastic wise-cracking beast with a stubborn streak to rival that of a toddler. And, if you took a long hard look at the two of us, you'd probably notice we have the same nose and scowl. Let us not forget my ability to curse. 'Fuck' is by far one of my most favourite words and I know my father shares a love for it. And this sweet tooth? Thanks, Dad. 

The truth is, I am very much like my father. And I miss him immensely. He lives up in the mountains, a ferry ride and five hour drive away from me, but there are no excuses for not seeing him. It's scary to think it's been two years - possibly more. This is a hard fact to swallow considering we used to have dinner every week when I lived in the city and he commuted down for work, and he always kept me in supply of quarters for the laundry machines in my apartment buildings. Sure, there were tough times growing up. We had our pains and father-daughter battles. But in the end, he's my friend. He makes me laugh, even though I'm unsure if it is intentional, and he's always there to answer my questions, granted it might come a little later than intended. And he would definitely be my lifeline if I was ever on a game show. 

For the most part, he's never really given me a hard time - I mean, not since I moved out of his house. He never had much to say about the nautical obsession, old man pants, uniform shirts, blue hair, tattoos, piercings, or anything else I've dabbled in. Then again, my older siblings pretty much ensured I could never surprise my parents with anything. But my dad, he's always been there. This funny man with a white-hot temper but an undeniably big heart, has always helped when I needed it, and even when I didn't.

To this day, I know he's on my side. He's a member of my team. Back up, if you will. Always there with an ill-timed joke or awkward hug. It's pretty amazing to exist in the world with the knowledge that my father has my back and you know what? It makes going through life a little bit easier. 

So, Happy Birthday to Daddy-O! Love you lots and hope we get to see each other soon. 

It Means Something To me

Not all my tattoos mean something. Sure, in the beginning, I dreamed of having all these meaningful pieces of art on my body. Images with stories behind them. Now, I just want some really badass tattoos. Colourful. Bold. Eye-catching. Beautiful. That's what I am looking for.

Still, it's nice to sneak a bit if meaning into a tattoo. 

For instance, my cabbage. When I first broached the subject to my Sidekick he was a little resistant. He'd never tattooed one before and there weren't a lot of examples out there. In the end, it worked well for the cover-up, turned out beautiful, and makes me smile. Who could ask for anything more? 

But how the hell does it mean something to me? Am I that obsessed with green leafy vegetables? Well, no. Not really. The thing is, it's for my father. Let me explain. My dad has a rose tattooed on his forearm. Over the years, the colour has all but faded, leaving behind black lines and shading. When I was younger than I am now, I used to call it a cabbage. Sure, he probably wasn't all that stoked about me calling it such, but over time, he started referring to it as a cabbage as well. 

So, when I decided to cover up my bunny, I thought to myself ... I need a cabbage. It pays homage to my father and reminds me of those moments. You know the ones. The good times. 

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my dad. He worked afternoon shifts and I remember waking up when he got home and sitting with him as he ate his supper. We used to watch David Letterman. Then I would toddle back to bed. I used to get up on the weekends and go to garage sales with him. Flea Markets too. He used to always try to get me to haggle for things. I hated doing it. To this day, I refuse to haggle. I spent a lot of time with my dad. Fixing things. Working in the yard. Driving around in his Tercel or Mazda, listening to the Good Morning Vietnam soundtrack and eating licorice allsorts (which I don't think I ever really even liked). One birthday, he took me to Value Village and bought me like twenty different coloured polo-shirts, and I loved it.  

I am my father's daughter. Yeah, my teenage years were harder between us, but I think that's expected, right? I love my dad. He makes me laugh. And sometimes I just wish I knew him better as a person, you know? 

Anyhow, I have a cabbage and I will never forget why it's there. 

 Papa Smurf

Daddy-O

Because I am trying to be proactive about this posting every day business, I planned today's out. 

But then I had a terrible dream last night. Really, just horrible. Details aren't necessary, but it was about my dad, so I am changing today's grateful thing. 

I'm choosing today to be grateful for my dad. 

The weird, wonderful, wise-ass that I most certainly take after. 

Apple and tree whatnot. 

Alright, to be fair, Herman was Marilyn's Uncle, but he did play a father role. And also, I'm not as plain looking as Marilyn. If you watch the Munsters, you will get that last little joke.