Well Good Morning

I hate to say it, but my step father is rapidly becoming one of my favorite blog subjects. I guess, in a way, that’s what I have to do. I have to laugh at the situation. It’s a coping mechanism. And don’t get me wrong, so often I did laugh, but when I look back now… after all the years of craziness that we went through with him, it’s hard to remember the funny times. And when the funny times are when his drunkenness made us laugh, I’m not sure how funny that really is anyway, ya know? But alas, whatever gets you through. Sometimes you just have to have a sense of humor. And that… I have.

This story is about a legendary Fourth of July camping trip. Some of you are already laughing.

This story takes place not this past Fourth of July but the one previous. Around April of that year MacTen and Raps told me that they would be coming to visit for Fourth of July and of course Burny and I could think of only one thing to do: Camp. Mac and Raps are not necessarily campers. Or at least they had not been camping all that many times before this particular trip, so we thought that that would be the perfect thing for us to do.

As it turned out, we had a pretty good group that decided to join us. Nineteen at one point! And Burny and I could think of no better place to go but Icehouse… which is on the way up to Tahoe from the valley. My family had been going camping at Icehouse on Fourth of July since I was around twelve years old, and Burny and I had enjoyed coming together the year before. It was secluded, it was on a lake, but it was still a camp ground so we really had the best of both worlds. There were showers (that you had to insert quarters into) but the toilets were vial. It was a real camping experience without feeling too ‘in the middle of nowhere’. Perfect for Mac and Raps. Perfect for this story…

Well of course, as was the case any other year, my mother and step father went as well. They, along with my aunt and uncle and a few other family friends, were about three camping spots down the hill from us. Close but not too close. We couldn’t see or hear them, which was just perfect because I in no way wanted to share my trip with my step father. About half of the group were familiar with my step dad and his antics and the other half had certainly heard the stories. Of course whenever he is nearby, the stories come up and it never fails that someone says, ‘he can’t be that bad.’ This statement sets off the more unpleasant list of stories and so needless to say, my step dad was a hard topic to avoid. Especially when he was present.

As a matter of fact, at one point early in the weekend, someone made a joke that it wouldn’t be all too shocking if my step dad were to die on the camping trip. The half that knew him laughed, the half that had not yet had the pleasure thought that that might be a little bit over the top. Well, as it turned out, my step dad tried to go kayaking drunk, immediately tipped the thing over and couldn’t free himself. Yes, he nearly drowned. In no way do I think that that was the power of suggestion. That was the power of vodka.

Anyway, the camping spot we picked just so happened to be the furthest from the road. It was great for keeping our party private but it was a nightmare for loading and unloading the car. But either way, you couldn’t see our tent set up (which I must point out was around six tents) from the road. Well, not unless you were looking.

Well, Saturday morning, my lovely step father came looking…

Most of us had just stumbled out of our tents at this point and if I had to guess, I would say that it was around 10am. It was late enough that all 19 of us were awake, sitting around the fire and enjoying our breakfast. Well, enjoying it until he stumbled up.

I saw him down on the road right away. I have a special radar for him. And Burny pointed him out to the rest of the group. My step dad was still in his sweats and was clearly drunk. Even from that far there was no mistaking his stumble. And I knew exactly what he was after. He was looking for our campsite. Why? I had no idea. But I was in no hurry to find out. The group of us enjoyed making fun of him as he walked past, turned and came back, walked past for a thrid time, and then finally just started up the hill hoping to come across us.

Once he saw our group, and could plainly see (or so I can only assume) that we had seen him, he began to collect small twigs on his way up the hill. By the time he reached us, he had collected maybe 4 foot long twigs. And as he approached, a hush fell over the crowd. I am already embarrassed at this point, some of the group is already laughing and the rest are just waiting to see if all that has been said is true. Let me tell you… my step dad always delivers.

He opens up the conversation to the group of us with:

“I brought you some firewood.”

And then he throws his four sticks on our firewood pile. Ah yes… he thought ahead. He knew he would need a reason for coming up the hill… firewood. Brilliant! So at this point, I more or less have my back to him so I get to see the entire group, who is all staring at my step father. Burny is the one to talk. He asks my step father what we can do for him. My step dad, who can hardly stand, looks around and says,

“Do you have my pipe wrench?”

Most of the group bursts out laughing. Myself included. I mean, what on earth? It was as if everyone was anticipating something so ridiculous that it didn’t matter what he actually said, it was going to be funny. Don’t worry. The fact that everyone was laughing did not offend my step father. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he even noticed. But Burny didn’t miss a beat.

“Your pipe wrench? No, we don’t have your pipe wrench.”

“I let you barrow it,” my step dad said.

More laughter. Clearly we have had no immediate need for a pipe wrench. And why on earth would we have assumed that anyone would have brought one camping?

“Nope, we don’t have it. What do you need?” Burny asks.

“Oh no, I just need my pipe wrench.” My step dad has this weird habbit of opening every single sentence with ‘Oh no,” or “No.” For example: “No, no, you’re right.” or “No, I agree with you.” “No, I put the milk in the fridge.” It’s weird!

“Do you need a hammer? We have a hammer if you need that,” Burny offered.

At this point I can’t help but notice that everyone in the group is nearly in tears. Some of the guys have actually stood up to walk away they were laughing so hard. My step dad is funny, don’t get me wrong, and the conversation is retarded, but I couldn’t help but feel that I was missing something. I mean these guys were literally in tears.

“No, no… I know where my hammer is. It’s at home in the garage,” My step dad said. Clearly he misunderstood the question. Or maybe we have misunderstood everything. Anything is possible with him. And certainly, as I have said before, he will deny any of this having ever happened.

“Well, we don’t have your pipe wrench.”

Just as my step dad is starting to catch on to the fact that everyone is literally laughing at him, I overhear someone say something about a boner…

I turn around to examine my step father further. And sure enough… I kid you not… the man is at half mast!

In sweats.

Possibly no underwear.

I mean it was the morning…

I can literally feel my face get red and I too, have no other option but to cry with laughter. And as if this is a scripted event, Burny asks my step father one final question:

“What do you need a pipe wrench for?”

My step dad is right there to answer back with:

“I need to go pound something.”

WHAT!??!

He has a boner…

He needs a pipe wrench…

and he literally says “I need to go pound something.”

And at that moment he turns and heads back down the hill, as if nothing out of the ordinary has occured. The man does not get further than five feet away before the entire group of 19 people explode in laughter. Laughter that goes on and on. Laughter that is intermixed with words like ‘pound something’ and ‘boner’.

This is not a joke. God, do I wish it was. But alas, it is not. This actually happened.

Needless to say, the few people in the group that had not yet met my step father, or had not been introduced to his ways, asked us no further questions about our stories and our offhanded comments. There was just nothing else to say. My step dad and certainly said it all!

And there he goes…

Welcome back to WoopsieDaisey Wednesdays. I wasn’t so sure how this category would pan out, but quite frankly, it amuses me. Turns out I know lots of people who fall and lots of people who have ‘woopsiedaisey’ moments. So it really works out for all of us.

As a matter of fact, I just recently realized that I have a wealth of fall stories in one new friend: PostalService. If she will permit me, I’d love to tell some of those stories in the coming weeks. She too is a squiggly circle and tells stories amazingly, so I might just have to have her be a guest blogger. We will see. I will check with her and then I will be sure to share with you all, one way or another, her amazing stories that kept me laughing as I was trying to fall asleep recently in Vegas.

But for today, I will tell one of my favorite fall stories; one that has become somewhat of a legend. Yes, it involves my step father. And yes, believe it or not, it involves him being drunk. See, I told you that living with an alcoholic has its perks. Despite the heartache, it has provided me with an arsenal of stories. This one included.

So, this story takes place back in the JayHans period. Pre-LemonBass and Pre-our official proclamation of feelings. JayHans and I were in our early teens (or at least I was), maybe around 13. We were flirty, but then again, we were young so what does that really even mean? Basically, it was clear that we had crushes on one another. This might have only been the third time I’d ever met him, I’m not sure. But regardless, we had managed to find ourselves in his family’s hot tub alone. Let me promise you, it was very innocent. Like I said, we were just kids and we hadn’t even admitted to ourselves, let alone each other, that we liked each other. My sister might have even been in there with us. So pretty much we were talking. The rest of the family was not far away, drinking and carrying on in the garage. Like I mentioned, this family knows how to party.

And out of nowhere, here comes my step dad, stumbling up. Now I have probably described this before, but it warrants repeating. My step dad is a DEAD GIVEAWAY. There is never a question of ‘was he drunk last night?’ He is worse than a frat boy. And I don’t understand it because you would think that after a life time of drinking, one might develop somewhat of a resistance to alcohol. I mean, I guess what I can conclude from that is he drinks way more than we can even imagine. And he is not a little guy. He should be able to handle himself better, but he simply can not. He can’t walk. He can hardly stand without swaying. His eyes close. He licks his lips over and over again in the most offensive way and he makes absolutely NO SENSE. So like I said, there is never a question as to whether or not he was drunk. Now, picture if you will, someone whom I have just described, standing in front of you and telling you that they are in fact, NOT drunk. Can you even imagine how frustrating that is?

Again, I digress…

SO here comes drunk step dad with my mom not too far behind. JayHans and I see him coming from a mile away, so we are waiting for the brilliant statement that we are sure is coming. Even still, Step dad still thinks he has surprised us when he finally arrives. JayHans and I are just waiting for it to be over with, whatever it is. Step dad leans over and says:

“What are you two kids doing in…”

And then he passes out. Yes, he passes out mid sentence. I’ve never quite seen anything like it. And because he is not a small man, all that weight has nowhere to go but down. And unfortunately for all parties involved, down is into the hot tub. And there he goes…

This huge man sinks straight to the bottom. There is just no if, and’s or butt’s about it. He is at the bottom. We aren’t sure if he’s hit his head or if he’s had a stroke or what. And JayHans and I are obviously panicked and we are pulling at his clothes and trying to get our hands under him, but not only is he dead weight, he is wedged at the bottom of the spa. If you can picture a spa, imagine the part in the middle where all the feet are meant to go. It’s the smallest part in the spa. Now imagine a huge man, rolled into a ball, literally wedged down in that small space. And it’s dark outside and he is blocking the spa lights. This man doesn’t stand a chance.

But even still, Jay and I are pulling and trying to get our arms down into that space to pop him out, but to no avail. And then, as suddenly as he went out, he wakes up. Try waking up in a tub of hot water, I can only imagine how alarming that must have been. So of course when he wakes up, he nearly takes Jay and I out as he launches up out of the water. We are talking arms flaying, gasping for air, drunkenly trying to climb out. And if I wasn’t so relieved that I wasn’t going to have to live with the fact that I was in a spa with a dead man, I would have been pissed!

But don’t worry, my step dad ALWAYS gives me a reason to be pissed no matter what the circumstances.

He gets out of the spa and turns to Jay and I and says: “They were holding me down!”

What?! Are you kidding me? I laughed. I thought he was joking. He HAD to be joking…

Nope. He was quite serious.

He continued his tirade of how JayHans and I were holding him down and trying to kill him. And then he turns on my mom and accuses her of pushing him in. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t have the motive, but come on! We had just saved this guys life. He is impossible. And if his splash and our sceaming didn’t draw the attention of everyone in the neighborhood, his accusations sure did. He was practically ready to call the cops on us. I mean, this went on and on. All night long he stuck to his story and refused to admit that he even just fell, let alone passed out.

To this day, if you ask him about that story, he holds to the fact that my mom pushed him in and that Jay and I held him down. Now, of course, he will say that he knew it was just a joke, and we wern’t trying to kill him, but he won’t admit the truth. He will NEVER admit that ANYTHING is or was his fault and he certainly would never admit to being drunk that night. It still astounds me, even now.

The only consolation I got was in the morning, when I went out into the back yard, my step dad’s leather wallet was floating in the pool, completely ruined. And just the other night, my sister told me that she ran into a farmer in town that has worked with my step dad. Surprise, surprise, this man has a similar story about how my step dad tried to pin something on him that was actually in fact, my step dad’s fault. Somehow, in some small way, this makes me feel better. Small pleasures I guess, but that’s all I have when it comes to him.

Another Norbert update…

Short and sweet…

Norbert has been released back into the wild. He is a free, angry duck. The Wildlife rescue people actually called Miss KateeKat to let her know, which was very nice of them. He has a fellow Ruddy duck friend with him, so on all accounts he will live a happy- albeit- angry life.

Good for Norbert. I feel like I did give him a better life. I wish he wasn’t so pissed off at me.

Norbert the angry duck

We now have a duck. This is why I have become a blogger… random things happen in my everyday life. Things that probably don’t happen to other twenty-something girls…

For instance… Norbert.

My husband, Burn TACtics, has just recently started his job at South Lake Tahoe fire department… pretty much a dream job for him (and for me for that matter). We love the outdoors and all that comes with that, as well as the snow!! And my family has a cabin in South Lake so I have been going up there for years. Needless to say, we are very excited.

However,

Imagine moving in the snow… right? It truly makes the pain of moving that much more of a pain. Especially when you consider the fact that Burny is coming off of unemployment and we have pretty much burned through our nest egg. And now, very quickly, we have to come up with a deposit, pet deposit, first months rent, uhaul etc etc etc. The list goes on.

So in the meantime, Burny and I- well mostly me- have been staying with my mom at her house. Burny drives up the hill to work and when I can or have to, I go with him.

This was one such weekend. I had to work up there Friday morning, so we headed up Thursday night… in the middle of this HUGE storm system that has been pounding all of California.

It has to be said that this was the worst storm either of us had ever driven in. Sorry to scare ya mom, but really, it was gnarly. We were slipping in our four wheel drive and I was on the verge of an anxiety attack. So we pulled off just below Strawberry, if you know where that is, to catch our breath and get some water.

We never ever stop on the drive to Tahoe… it’s just not long enough.

But that night, we did.

And who was waiting for us? Norbert.

Just as Burny steps out of the car, here comes a little baby duck fluttering up to his feet. He was clearly lost. I mean come on, birds fly south. So Thomas went to pick him up and he flew away and we thought that was that.

But oh no.

Mr. ‘owner of the 76 station who doesn’t speak English’ was very insistent that the story would not end there. He yelled and pointed and all around freaked out at the thought of the duck being in his parking lot.

“No live here. Duck no snow,” was about all we could get out of the guy. So we nodded and agreed and smiled, like you do when someone is talking to you in a language I guess they assume you know. But no, he wanted more than just understanding. The man puts a net in Burny’s hands and pushes him out the door back into the storm. He is pointing like a crazy man at the duck’s tracks (keep in mind the duck is now no where to be seen) and despite the language barrier, there was no mistaking what he was getting at.

So Burny and I have no choice but to hunt the little guy down.

And sure enough, Burny’s tracking skills lead us straight to the lost duck.

Mr. store owner is very excited. Clearly we have figured out his riddle! And now he rushes us back into the store and we are thinking, oh god, they are gonna eat this little duck. But NO!

“To the lake!” The man says in his broken, enthusiastic English, and puts the baby duck in a box and points to us. He wants us to take the duck to the lake, an hour away. But I mean, what else can we do? The man is not asking us a question… he is stating a fact.

So we take the baby duck, whom I so lovingly deem Norbert  (or Lily… but Norbert until proven otherwise), and bring him along on the slippery ride up the hill to the lake.

Of course it’s late when we finally get up there, and we don’t want to go to the lake, and we are tired and basically now we have a pet duck. A pet duck, whom I loved until he showed his true colors.

Duck is pissed.

Duck does not see that we have saved his life.

Duck does not understand the situation.

Duck does not realize the alternative!!

So now we have an angry duck who may or may not be able to stand, who is now dyed green from his own fecal matter and who literally strikes at you like a snake when you try to love him.

I mean really??

So tell me… what do ducks eat? We’ve tried dog food, rice, and sour cream and onion chips… We tried to give him a bath but he was too pissed that we were alive to even enjoy it… and where do I take him if he is in fact hurt?

And most importantly… do you want a duck???