My Father The Poker Player

My Dad called me today. “Kira! What are you doing?”

“Nothing Dad, just trying to get Jack to put on his shoes, get his stuff and get out the door.” I am actually chasing my 6 year old around the house ,as you do, with shoes and a jacket and a brush, threatening to sell him on Ebay if he doesn’t get his shit together, and he is ignoring me and rolling around on the floor.

“Great! Listen to this!”

He then proceeded to read me his latest installment in the “Shit” series. This chapter is the whole lineage of Jack Shit and his family including Shit Head, Shit for Brains and other members of the Shit family. I actually listen with half an ear as my son, appropriately farts as he runs away from me.

My father is a modern renaissance man of sorts. He is a writer, sculptor, artist and master games man. He is going to play in the senior division of the World Series of Poker next month for the 3rd time. When he was in college he was a Black Jack dealer at Harrahs in Lake Tahoe and he can play hearts and bridge with a sharpness that is frightening. He goes to summer camp in Vermont every year and still drives himself. He is fairly nuts but amazing all at the same time. I actually wish he was writing this blog but he has given up the computer except to write his books. If I lived closer I would just go over and cut and paste his stuff into a blog for him. He is seriously funny when he wants to be.

He is also super stubborn. The man has written something like 15 novels but will probably never get them published because he has a fear of editing. He refuses to play by the rules. He wants to do things his way or no way, and that includes believing that typos are just “part of the story”. Its kind of hard to deal with.

My dad is the guy who will call you up at 6 am and tell you that he has a new idea to start a company making personalized coffins, using terra cotta from Sautillo Mexico and you need to call up the people from Shark Tank and tell them its the next big thing so get on that and sell the idea to them!

Aggggg!! Anyone need a slightly used 83 year old inventor/artist/author/gambler?

The New Dog

Once Again I Have a Dog….

I am not a good dog person. I like the idea of a dog. The reality of a dog is something waaaaay bigger than the idea. The fantasy is this lovable big furry body that will lie by your side with fluffy hair that you can snuggle, who will respond when you talk to him with snuffels and snorts and chuffs. The reality is all of that plus smells, and drool, and big enormous poops, and barks, and whines, and terrorizing your cats out of the room. It never goes as planned.

My husband says to me “I am so frustrated, the kids just called and they can’t take Jack ¬†when they move. They dont know what they will do with him.” I’m all “Oh, so sad! Oh well!” Cold as stone. Heartless. I say “I do not want a dog. Not a giant Golden Retriever in my tiny space. No, No, No!”

And I stick to that. For about 1/2 an hour. Then the idea of a dog seeps in. He will be good, he will be fuzzy, my six year old will love him. He has no where to go!

So I say yes.

Crap.

Now I am in, he is here. Jack the dog. I say “The Dog” because my son is also Jack. So now I have 2 Jacks. Both whining, drooling, chewing, scratching to get out…..

Ok to be fair Jack the boy isn’t as bad at all that as the dog, but he isn’t fluffy either.

And now the first giant pile of poop is in my side yard. Has not been cleaned up, in spite of vigorous pointing and exclaiming, and my cats are missing. And the worst part is that this dog seems to absolutely love me!

I think Im screwed.

“Pets Enhance Our Lives…..And Then Leave Poop All Over It.” anonymous