Sunday, 6 May 2018

Dad's BD party finally came and went. Aw, man, was that a buildup. I slept for 13 hours after it, could hardly get up to pee last night. The fence had to be ready, my bro even rushed the last few hours to fix a slowly collapsing porch beam, and a ton of food, as always, had to have been prepared. I made the cake and used the edge cut-offs to make rum balls and Sacher cubes and the like. As always, there was no human way to eat all of it, so we're going up there today to help finish it off. (Before all the dogs are killed by cholesterol.)
        Dad is still under the impression, shocked at how many people came, old, young, some newborn actually, people brought gifts, sentimental stuff on top of beautiful stuff, there were chats and speeches ... we managed to avoid most toasts, if not all, so as to avoid people getting drunk, though some alcohol was circulated. Thankfully nowhere nearly as much as there used to be, which almost always ruined the parties of past in the end.
        I was to have the first speech ... to be more exact, my elder brother chickened out of the task at the last minute and I had a rad idea to deliver one myself, so I taped together 60 pages of an old text from my old bureau (if there's a place I lived, there's bound to be several thousand printed pages of my old texts lying around), so when I announced the speech, I threw the kilometre roll of printed text across the crowd and said brother only helped with the first half dozen pages of the introduction, the rest is anecdotes from everyone dad's ever met. People who have met me stopped breathing, because they are aware I am fully capable of reading an entire biography of an unsuspecting victim if need be :D 
        I began: "Little is known of our dad ... And even less is believed." Thank you.

       And that was it. :D :D :D
       My poor family started breathing again, dad stopped looking for his heart medicine and normal people took over the speeches... :D We even found out that for a while dad worked at a glass button factory!! That explains so much!!
       Crazy old fool.
       Dad hadn't gotten unexpected prezzies from non-family members in a long time, so today he's all giddy and idiotic with happiness; even mum said some warm stuff about him while we were preparing. Example, she's mentioned that on top of probably having a broken knuckle which he won't admit to, he also nodded off the other day and fell of a dinning chair, hurting his other knee, and he dozzed off and left a sausage cooking until it was vaporised. He asked me to reserve several loafs of bread at the bakery and then drove off to get it, but didn't ask which bakery was it, so he just went from one to another until he found the right one. Mum said the sorry old fool tries so hard, but he's such a mess. He wrote on wet lacquer mum used to paint the fence with, to write the date: fifth of May, 2018, albeit he had to ask mum whether it's the 2008 or 2018. He passed through a flea market on his way, amazed at all the great stuff he can buy there next time, buying an old book for the General. The second funny bit of that story is that the General, who was supposed to originally collect the bread and was sleeping after a night shift, ignored most of my text when I told him dad's on it, and called me an hour later, angry: Did any of you already get the bread?!
         Read your fucking messages, dipshit. 

         So, in the end, at least so as I am aware, it was great. The weather was a tad gloomy, kids might have been a little bored, dogs were a little nervous, but other than that I think even mum was happy with it, even though we had to drill the concept into them. A lot of family members we only ever see on funerals were more than happy to come. In truth my parents are a lot more popular than they think, or try to be, and the more of the old stories we still get to hear from their childhood friends, the better.