I spent the week house- and pet-sitting for my parents, and except for pet-wrangling and some IT stuff, I spent every motile moment cleaning.

They are really bad about cleaning, okay! They have one of those huge wheeled garbage bins, and I filled it all the way up.

I did about ten loads of laundry, mostly bedding, because Dad leaves blankets lying around everywhere in the winter and the dogs lie on them. They came back late last night. I hadn't yet gotten the last load out of the dryer and into the closet before I went to bed - this load contained a blanket Mom likes and their good flannel bedsheets.

Obviously, when I got up this morning he'd 1) put a pair of his muddy shoes on the table and 2) put the contents of the dryer on top of the shoes.

Jun. 30th, 2015 07:25 pm
Dad had a bad day at work or something, so he came over just now and started painting the deck without 1) removing all the deck furniture, 2) clearing off all the acorns and twigs and stuff, 3) bringing enough paint, 4) bringing enough brushes, 5) using up all the paint which he did bring (he got mad at himself and and left), 6) putting away the leftover paint before stomping off, or 7) checking the weather report. There's supposed to be a thunderstorm shortly.

He also left the shed open and knocked over a lamp.
because I was too tired to have it. It was the meltdown about Dad’s sanitary problems.

Mom: Oh my god. I’m going to - I was cleaning his juicer - I’m going to just leave it like this and show him.

me: That’s not going to work.

Mom: This is disgusting, I’m going to show him what he did.

me: It doesn’t work, Mom, he can’t learn, stuff doesn’t like. Stick to his brain, anymore.

Mom: Dear, look at this. Look at what was in your juicer, I’m cleaning your juicer and -

Dad: No! I cleaned it out!

Mom: Then what is this?!

Dad: I don’t know, I cleaned it out! It’s fine. Is it clean, can I make more juice, I have oranges -

Mom: *small noise* No, you can’t use it! I have to sanitize it first, it needs to be bleached all over - you’re going to kill yourself! You are going to literally poison yourself doing things like this!

Dad: No, it’s fine!

me: He has literally poisoned himself and you and me and everyone else several times that I know of. It has yet to affect his behavior.

Dad: Oh I’m just getting pummeled here. Is that one or two “l”s, “pummeled.”
Buying a toy and thinking “I’m going to have to keep this hidden from Dad, he’ll want one but he’s not old enough.”

Jan. 30th, 2015 10:11 am
The animal shelter has unwisely allowed my father to learn that they have a litter of Saint Bernard puppies. This isn’t going to end well.
This was basically just spell-checking pleadings and asking me if his “wording made sense.” He didn’t actually usually change his wording if I said it didn’t, he just enjoyed it when I tried to tell him he was lawyering wrong.

When I was thirteen, though, he had a case in which someone had been found to have some illegal material on his work computer. This guy assured Dad that he’d just gotten said illegal material as attachments to spam, and that he hadn’t wanted any of it.

The prosecution gave us copies of the emails in question with full headers, and the headers obviously rendered these documents far too intimidating for Dad. He got home, handed them to me, and asked me to look over them and explain them to me.

I hope that the information which I have presented here has instilled in you an appropriate sense of dread.

The actual illegal stuff had been redacted out, but the “benign” files had not. These included a photo of a woman posing suggestively next to her horse. This image formed an important part of a long-running conversation that Dad’s client had been having with her!

I have never stopped telling my dad that he is lawyering wrong.
my former student: Is Mr. Pin there?

me: Nope, sorry. He's out of town until Monday.

my former student: But we've got a basketball game tomorrow morning! He's been telling us we've got this game for ages!

me: Um. Well, I'm sorry, but he didn't leave me any kind of message about that, and he's definitely not going to be back until Monday. Unless the principal or any of the teachers -

my former student: Well.

*he hangs up, then calls back a minute later*

my former student: How about you take us to the game! You can be coach!

me: Yeah, no. I cannot do that. I can't even really drive safely right now.

my former student: Well. Guess we'll just - go to Sunday school, then!

me: Good idea!

my former student: Guys, no game, we're all going to Sunday school tomorrow!

other kids: *chorus of complaints and sarcastic cheers*

me: Okay, enjoy yourselves.

my former student: We will!

Dec. 26th, 2014 02:38 pm
Trying to talk my Dad out of watching The Interview is like trying to talk the ocean out of watching The Interview.

the ocean: No, I’m not just watching it out of a form of childish pseudo-rebellion against a genuinely dangerous political actor whom I view as a sort of cartoon villain for a lot of fucked-up reasons I need to examine - I mean, Seth Rogen’s a really good actor -

me: Which is why you never mentioned the movie before the hacking - it was all just, like, washing against the sand, evaporating to form clouds, concealing giant squids. Not one mention of this movie about which you’re suddenly so enthusiastic -

the ocean: I did mention it! I did, maybe not to you, but I - and anyway Seth Rogen’s a really good actor.

me: He’s not! He’s not.

(I know, I know - I shouldn’t even bother talking to the ocean.)
Mom has forbidden him from bringing home any more animals, so he's trying to get me to adopt some for him to play with. Earlier today, I for probably the dozenth time explained to him that I think Dubiety the Cat needs to be a lone cat, given that he is terrified of Tragedy the Cat - who is seventeen years old, half his weight, badly arthritic, deaf, and going blind.

So he comes over to the house this evening, sits there playing with Dubiety for a while, and then asks me hopefully, "do you think he'd like a friend?"

I gave him the cookies I fucked up. I don't think he noticed they tasted funny.
Dark-colored coffee cup covered in pale, highly-visible streaks of dried-out improperly-incorporated instant cappuccino, sitting innocuously alongside several other ostensibly "clean" dishes.

I have informed Dad that he is not even allowed near the sink anymore. Put your dishes in the dishwasher and back away slowly.

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