Jeeeez. Nobody liked my joke.

And Jez left me a completely cryptic guestbook message. Jez? Wanna explain that one?

So no more jokes from ME, damn you all to hell.

Sorry I'm being sort of ... uninteresting. But my boy just walked out to go to the pizza place. I doubt he'll be gone long enough for me to write much, but I'll try.

It's hard for me to purge much with him sitting next to me. Partly because he tends to wonder what I'm typing so furiously, and I'm running out of excuses. Also because I frequently start crying, which would definitely be inexplicable. I did tell him about the LWD&BC, though. It seemed like a good way to explain partly what the hell I'm doing over here so much of the time.

And much of my energy at the moment is focused on ignoring the pain in my chest.

Not too much to talk about. Dinner was okay yesterday. My father was in a very strange mood, but I think he was just tipsy.

He was very punchy and talkative, which is highly unusual, and slightly embarrassing, because he tends to try to make a lot of jokes which aren't very funny. But it's okay.

I just thought of something I could write about that probably won't make me cry but is an interesting story nonetheless.

I've mentioned staying with my dad in Florida and building the golf store in the airport with him. This was in Orlando, aka Second Circle of Hell, and, of course, the home of DisneyWorld.

Personally, I'm not a big fan of theme parks. I hate rides. I hate heat and lines and Disney and twelve billion sticky children screaming and bumping into me.

Oh, and some background. My father is a very, very quiet guy. I've mentioned before that he basically lets my mom do the talking for both of them. So I was actually sort of looking forward to spending some time with him, thinking that maybe without my mom around he'd open up and talk to me more.

And my fucking christ did he talk. Talkety talk talk talk. All the frigging time. Couldn't shut him up.

The problem? He just babbled. About this, about that. It was like 20 years of stored-up nonsense came out every time he opened his mouth. Nothing of any interest, just this weird ongoing chatter. Nearly drove me bananas. I *never* thought I'd want my dad to shut up, but I sure did then.

Anyway, the story. My sleep schedule was just as screwed up then, and one Sunday morning, after I'd fallen asleep on the couch somewhere around 5 or 6 am, I get shaken awake by my father, at EIGHT FUCKING AM.

Who wants to go to Epcot Center.

I started to protest, then I looked at his sad little face, and I said okay. He obviously would have been crushed if I wouldn't go, and I couldn't do that to him. This role-reversal trend was to continue throughout our little field trip.

There I am, the 18-year-old kid, taking my father to Epcot Center. It was fucking hilarious. We had to get the Map, of course, and we're standing in the entrance to the place, looking at the map, and my 6'1", 250-lb, 48-year-old father is standing there pointing at the map I am holding and saying, I am not kidding, "Oh! We're gonna go THERE, and then we're gonna go THERE, and after that we can go THERE!"

It would have been cute if it wasn't so bizarre, and if he was, say, SIX.

Anyway, we start walking. Totally absurd. I'm the one waiting outside the rides smoking a cigarette while my father goes on them, to come out and tell me ALL about the dinosaurs and the IMAX and the thing that spun and all that. I'm holding the bags of complete crap we've (by which I mean he) purchased.

My favorite moment was when we were by this Bird and Wildlife Mini-Pond or something and he's pointing at a bird going, "What's that? What's that bird right there?" Now how the FUCK am I supposed to know what bird that is? I believe I replied something along the lines of "I don't know, dad. It's the Sea Chicken."

Eventually we finished our trip, after having visited all the places on our gay little map that we just HAD to go to, and I'm wandering back to the car, smoking, weary, and my father is fucking BOUNCING. Jesus.

Man, that was a weird day.

onehanded