Drowning in Suburbia

That which keeps me busy

Ok so starting off with a simple "I'm going to blog more!" and then... well... not really writing was a pretty lame cop-out from me, now wasn't it?

Also the fact I hadn't blogged for nearly a year was shocking in its own right since a damn lot has happened in my life. Though, I guess I do have one thing in particular I can blame.

One... simple little thing.

You see, back in March of '11 I went to a large pet adoption event and walked home with something amazing.

Words really can't describe how much joy it is that little Gozer had brought into my life... but maybe this mass of photos can do a better job

They grow so fast, don't they?

I suppose this will be the first of many "photo dump" posts from me. I find they often sum up a year in a far more entertaining way than I can with just words.

Learning the hard way

I wish I could say that it's "funny" how life sometimes comes up and kicks you in the ass, but really the last few days have been anything but funny, even if we have made some jokes along the way.

Really long story made super short: Sunday afternoon, as my mother was in transit for a week's vacation in Florida, and me and the boy were about to leave the house after cursing Sidney Crosby's name for a good half hour... I found out that my father had taken a nasty spill while doing brush clearance on one of the steep hills on our property. Next thing I know I'm asking my boyfriend to call 9-1-1 as I'm trying to keep my father calm. The rest of my evening was spent in the ER with my father in some of the most heartbreaking moments of my life so far.

But the ending result was well, not great, but far from the worst case scenario. Lots of nasty bruising and a dislocated shoulder that is now back in place.

So taking my injured father back home with his arm in a sling has started probably a huge lesson in patience... for the both of us.

Patience on my part in trying to not get myself worked up over seeing my father in a weakened state and also trying to not fret about him continually. Ha... and I never thought I had a nurturing side. I think I've asked him in the last two days "Is there anything I can get you?" more than I have in my entire life time.

I'm also having to deal with trying to schedule an "urgent" follow up appointment with an orthopedist. I've gotten to the point now where apparently the doctor just has to give an ok on overbooking his schedule so he can see my father in the next day or so. I've been at this point since last night and trust me I have never wanted to go "It's a simple YES or NO question, you jerk! Just ANSWER it!" so badly. But again... patience.

As for my father's side of the thing... well, there will be a lot of testing of his own patience in the next few weeks but for the moment it's simply trying to tell him that the lack of full movement he has in his wrist was something they told us would happen and he needs to know it won't right itself right away. He also needs to help me help him, as cliche as that is. He'll need to just accept the fact that there's somethings that will just be easier, less aggravating, etc... if he just lets me do them for him. I also need to realize that I'll need to let him just try and do these things at times as well.

So yes... life lessons with high costs. But considering how stubborn my father and I are, I almost wonder if they have to be learned this way.

This one's for the old man.

So living in Southern California, Los Angeles specifically, has basically made avoiding the Michael Jackson hoopla impossible. Not that I don't respect the guy for the work he has done, not that I wasn't an 80s kid growing up to his music (Some...school production thing actually had us doing Thriller back in early grade school... and that remains to be one of my fave long-ass music videos, but I digress...)... but let's be honest here, the last few years in particular of his life really have made it so a vast population, myself included, went "Oh, that sucks." and that's about it. I had this discussion with my boyfriend the other day and we both came to the conclusion that, sadly, the MJ we remember has been "gone" for a long time now.

The memorial service yesterday happened over at the Staples Center and really my mind was more on "dear god...this is costing our already uber in debt city HOW MUCH?" and well...traffic issues. We had it on here at the office I work at but I didn't really care too much. I had well, work to do.

By now if you didn't catch the main thing, however, no doubt you've been hearing (and seeing/re-seeing) the clip of his daughter, Paris, speaking. Now one again I find myself loathing how much the mass media is just infatuated with this clip.

just in case you haven't seen it...

But there's something here. Something...well, that actually caused this cynical bitch to pause. Here I am watching some 11 year old girl burst into tears and somehow it actually got to me. I don't think I care so much that it shows some insight onto Michael Jackson's role as a parent... I think I just well... could empathize.

I didn't see "Michael Jackson's daughter, Paris." up there on that podium. What I did see was a young girl, who just lost her father, speaking at his memorial service, in front of 18,000+ people she doesn't know. She chokes up and instantly seeks comfort in her aunt's arms after she basically says something where you can literally hear her little heart breaking. Does that sound sappy? Probably. But as a girl, with a father I care deeply for, I couldn't help but step back and realize that one day...while I certainly won't be an 11 year old girl...that will basically be me. 

Similar circumstances? Not really. And god willing I'll get many more years out of my dad. But one day it will happen. And while I won't be standing up in front of thousands of people when I say my goodbyes at a memorial service, I don't doubt that I too will be telling of how my father was the best there was and say something similar to..."I just want to say I love him so much."

Maybe one of these days I'll even get the gumption to tell him that before it's too late. Even if he'll probably reply with some snarky comment. But that's my dad for you and while I'll probably call him an ass quickly following the sappy comment, I think he'll get it.