Listen, Internet, please don’t murder my dad when he’s driving to Florida. Thanks.

Oh, you guys. I am wiped. So, so wiped. I would love to tell you that I had time today to come up with this well-plotted and jolly post for you all, I really would. But work killed me. Utterly killed me. And now I’m sitting here with my cheery laptop cheerily waiting for me to cheerily type you a cheery blog post and I HAVE NOTHING. My brain is FRIED.

I’m not saying I’m not writing anything. I’m just saying it’s going to be a mess. More so than usual. And you can expect more of the same this week. Also, I’m cranky as hell. Just be forewarned about the crank. NO not the drug-type crank. I don’t even know what that is. Is it cocaine or something? I am not up on the terminology of the streets, yo.

Let me break this week down for you, because I know my life is totally the most interesting to all of you.

April 17 is the absolute last day we have to efile taxes. That’s a week from today. We have thousands of clients. There is one person in the office in charge of efiling all of those clients, and her name is The Person Who is Writing this Blog.

I have seven more work days until the 17th. Seven, because I’m working at least 8, if not 10, hours there on Saturday, just so when I come in Monday, I don’t drown.

So, this week coming up:

Tuesday: the suck. And I will go to the library and post office at lunch. So that’s nice. It’s like a little field trip. And likely will be the only lunch break I get until this is all over with.
Wednesday: the suck, a little more.
Thursday: the suck, a little more.
Friday: the suck, even more of a little more.
Saturday: the suck, now with added suck. But there’s a rumor we’re getting a catered lunch.
Sunday: I will sleep until about 7:30am, like a decadent lady, and write all day to have posts ready for the week ahead. Because that’s how I spend my Sundays. I’m supposed to do a theater thing, but I think I might beg off and go to bed early. I know, I’m a total party animal.
Monday: the suck, with added yelling, pressure, and possible bathroom-weeping.
Tuesday: the ultimate suck, with the most yelling, sometimes veiled threats, clients being loud, and not enough antacid to make the day acceptable.

After Tuesday, things are still pretty suck, because the office gets to be a mess, and it’s my job to clean it up, file everything, make it pretty, mail a million papers to the IRS, etc. But once the week is over, things will slow down. And then, at the end of the month, TRIP TO FLORIDA! Which, by the way, I just counted, is about two and a half weeks away.

I’m attempting to be very Little-Engine-that-Could about the whole thing. And not bathroom-weep. I didn’t on Monday. I came CLOSE, but didn’t bathroom-weep. I’m quite proud of myself.

Oh, OH, and, the only thing that’s kept me halfway sane throughout this whole hellish season? The one thing that I don’t know how I lived without before now, and I was JUST SAYING to myself the other day, “man, I’d be in a lot of trouble of this was gone, you know?”


What was gone when I got to work Monday?


It’s not BLOCKED, because why do something SANE, IT department. The screen looks like a computer from the 80s – like it can’t load all the way? And there are no graphics, and it’s that old-school text? And you can’t click on anything. And for some reason you can only see retweets.

I found a weird screen where I think I can still tweet. But I can’t see responses, not until my lunchbreak or after work.

I know. I KNOW. I’m not SUPPOSED to be tweeting at work. I’m supposed to be WORKING. But I like knowing it’s there. And I like that once and a while I can tweet someone. Or read some tweets. It helps keep me level, knowing my people are out there.

So, until this situation is either rectified, or maybe FOREVER, people I love, if you want me, you know how to reach me, during business hours. You have been given my contact info. Please use it. Please use it a lot. Because, for the time being? Gmail is STILL WORKING. Also Facebook. Yeah, I don’t understand the reasoning behind blocking Twitter sort-of and not blocking the biggest social networking site in the world, either. Stupid weird hard-to-figure-out-IT. If you have NOT been given my contact info, I’ll get back to you when I get home. Eventually. The time of that is kind of not set in stone right now.

OK. On to other things that are not pissing me off so much I dropped things from high heights today just to hear the satisfying smacking noise.

Remember last week when we talked about animal Well, apparently this captured the imagination of one of my readers. AW! YOU GUYS! How much fun is that? I like to be an imagination-capturer. I’ll give it back. I won’t keep it. That’d be a dick move.

Em at 35 Jupiter Drive posted this awesome post today: AnimalAttraction Dot Com. Please click through. It is FUN and WACKY and I highly approve.

THANK YOU EM! I had a really crappy day and this made me smile. A lot.

Oh, also, I talked to Dad tonight. He’s on his way to Florida tomorrow. Talking to Dad will be seriously diminished over the next couple of weeks. This is sad-face.

BUT, as usual, when talking to Dad, I had some interesting moments.

Me: So, you’re leaving tomorrow?
Dad: Yes. I should be there in a couple of days, unless I die or the car breaks down.
Me: Well. That’s cheery, right? Way to be cheery.
Dad: Yes. I’m very cheery. I haven’t slept in days.
Me: Probably that’ll be a fun trip, then.
Dad: Listen, when you get to Florida, we’re going to go see some manatees.


Dad: Yes. Your uncle went on a boat trip to see manatees. We’re going to do that.
Me: Is this to make up for those Black Panthers?
Dad: I don’t want to talk about those Black Panthers.
Me: Do you think they’re listening to us right now?
Dad: I SAID I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT. Also we’ll see crocodiles.

Dammit, I would totally like to pet a crocodile. Are we sure it would eat my hand?

Me: This is AWESOME. I am VERY EXCITED about this. Think of the pictures I can take! This is almost as exciting as kookaburras!
Dad: I thought you might like it. You love weird things.
Me: Can I pet the manatees?
Dad: You always want to pet everything. No. I don’t think so.
Me: What about the crocodiles?
Dad: Only if you want them to eat your hand. Then you’ll end up like that guy in that stupid golf movie with Bob Barker.
Me: Aw, I like that movie. It makes me laugh.
Dad: You would. That stupid Saturday Night Live guy always makes you laugh.
Me: Not any more. We broke up. He did a movie where he played his own twin sister. It’s sad.
Dad: Oh, I’m going to get some chickens, you could tell the internet that if you want.

If Dad gets chickens, I can totally pet them when I go home. He's right, you know. I do want to pet all the animals.

Me: Whoa, segue. What? Chickens?
Dad: Yep. I got a book. From the LIBRARY.
Me: This is truly a day of firsts. Why are you becoming a gentleman farmer all of a sudden?
Dad: I like chickens.
Me: Who doesn’t? Where will you keep them?
Dad: In the backyard.
Me: Um. OK. This is a very left-field kind of idea. You hate animals!
Dad: Don’t tell the internet I hate animals. The internet doesn’t need to know that. I don’t HATE animals. I just don’t like to be bothered by things or people or things.
Me: Yeah, and just in case anyone ever worries we’re not related, I’m going to point them to that sentence right there. Oh, listen, I told Ken you were very impressed he lived in Munich because of the beer and Oktoberfest.
Dad: Oh, that’s the best. When I was there, we had bock beer. And we drank a lot of it. Then everyone linked arms and went “Oom pa pa! Oom pa pa!” Don’t tell the internet I said “Oom pa pa.”

Holy crap, look at all these people. I would utterly die, were I to go to Oktoberfest. I HATE CROWDS. I will not be taking my fancy European trip while THIS nonsense is occurring, I can tell you right now.

Me: I’m going to.
Dad: I know you are. Does your friend drink all the beer?
Me: I don’t know. If he does, he doesn’t broadcast it.
Dad: That seems suspicious. Not drinking all the beer when you live in Munich is something an assassin would do.
Me: Or maybe just a normal person with a LIFE who doesn’t get DRUNK all the time, sheesh, DAD. There’s beer here, but I don’t drink it constantly. Or ever. And I’m not an assassin.
Dad: But it’s not GERMAN beer. Also, you hate beer. Does this guy hate beer? Damn assassin.
Me: I don’t think he hates beer. I’ll ask him the next time we talk.
Dad: Just don’t tell him where I live. Because I don’t want that assassin knowing where I live.
Me: What if he brought you bock beer and sang “Oom pa pa” with you?
Dad: Hmm. That’s a tough call. I’d have to keep my eye on him the whole time. Because he’d want to kill me. But he did bring beer, so I’m kind of torn.
Me: Oh, listen, while you’re gone, who will give me Helper Mule updates?
Dad: No one. Also, I was thinking today, what if that woman-horse isn’t even pregnant? What if she’s just fat?
Me: That would be the best trick. A total Helper Mule soap opera twist.
Dad: You turned Helper Mule into a soap opera?
Me: Of course I did. Who wouldn’t? It’s all about how Helper Mule is going to be a baby-daddy.
Dad: Helper Mule can’t be a baby-daddy because he’s a mule.
Me: Not GENETICALLY. He’s going to adopt his lady-friend’s baby and raise it like his own. He’s very selfless, and helpful.
Dad: Oh, did I ever tell you that the guy with the Helper Mule also has dogs?
Me: No. What kind of dogs?
Dad: The kind that bite you when you’re walking around. I want to kick them all the time.
Me: I don’t think that’s a real breed.
Dad: Fine. Weiner dogs.


Me: I like dachshunds! They’re bitey?
Dad: THEY ARE THE WORST. He’s got a whole zoo over there.
Me: I am SO EXCITED to see that this summer. I’m taking a million pictures.
Dad: OK, I have to go to sleep now, because tomorrow I want to make it to Pennsylvania.
Me: ZOMG. Are you going to visit Jim?
Dad: I don’t know who that is.
Me: JIM IS MY FUN BLOGGING FRIEND. You should visit Jim, you would get along like gangbusters. Also, he is a very big fan of Amy’s Dad.
Dad: Do you think when I’m driving to Florida, I’ll stop and get gas and people will crowd around my car and say, “Amy’s Dad! We are HUGE FANS!” and then murder me?
Me: I’d say that was probably unlikely. You overestimate the reach of my blog. And I only put one photo of you on there. I’m sure they’ve forgotten that by now.
Dad: YOU DID WHAT!?!??!
Me: It was from almost forty years ago. You don’t look like that anymore. For example, in the picture, you had HAIR.
Dad: You know, you’re really just the meanest daughter I have. I’m not visiting your friend Jim and now I’m pretty sure I’m going to be murdered because the internet knows what I look like. They are TRACKING ME NOW.
Me: Yes. Probably they are. You’re right.
Me: Sorry. I hope the internet doesn’t murder you as you drive to Florida.
Dad: Also, I have to make sure whatever hotel I stay in tomorrow has the channel with Justified on it so I can see the finale.
Me: You should ask them that when you check in. “Do you have the channel with Justified? Oh, also, do you have bedbugs?”
Dad: They’d never tell you if they had bedbugs. Even if they did, they’d lie.
Me: Oh, that’s why you need me with you. You need to TRICK them.
Dad: You can’t trick them. They know all the tricks.
Me: No, not this one. Ready? “Hello, I am a scientist. I am studying hotels with bedbugs but I can’t find any. I have much money to stay in a hotel, but only one with bedbugs! Please tell me you’re that hotel?”
Dad: NICE. Then they’d tell you the truth!
Me: Then you can say, “HA! You were TRICKED, you bedbug-ridden fleabag hotel!” Then you go stay at the Motel Six with the magic fingers bed or something.
Dad: When you were little, you always wanted to stay in a hotel with excellent vending machines because you always thought they’d have exotic snack foods and beds with magic fingers because whenever you saw them in a movie they made you laugh.
Me: And my tastes have not changed much. These are both things I still enjoy. I have yet to find a magic-fingers bed in my whole LIFE, though. It’s the saddest failing, I can’t even tell you.
Dad: When we’re in Florida I can wake you up by kicking your bed really really hard. That’s like magic fingers.
Me: If you sneak in my happy seaside bedroom and kick my bed I’m throwing you off the balcony, old man. Go to bed. I’ll let Jim know to expect you for dinner tomorrow.

There. Yes, yes, I know. This post didn’t have a point, really. But it had a Dad-conversation. You like those, right? Sure, sure you do.

Off to sleep. Send vibes to my work computer. If I go in tomorrow and Twitter’s back up, I’m going to do bathroom-weeping. But HAPPY bathroom-weeping. That’s a thing, right? Sure. Sure it is.

About lucysfootball

I'm not the girl with the most cake. Someday. SOMEDAY. View all posts by lucysfootball

49 responses to “Listen, Internet, please don’t murder my dad when he’s driving to Florida. Thanks.

  • Andreas Heinakroon

    You CAN pet crocodiles, but not in Florida since they don’t have crocodiles there. They do have alligators, though.

    (Also, in order to pet any fully grown crocodilian, you need to have its snout tied shut. Also, be wary of its powerful tail. It could break your bones by hitting you with its tail.)


  • becomingcliche

    I am so sad for Helper Mule. What if he really wanted to pass on his genetic material and is so hurt that he cannot. Curse you, basic biology! CURSE YOU!


  • sj

    Oh, how AWESOME would it be if there was an AMY’S DAD BLOG TOUR?! He could come visit all of your favourite netizens and GUEST BLOG ABOUT IT! That would be the awesomest. For realsies.

    Still confused about the chickens.

    Also, this whole pregnant mare sounds more and more like an episode of Maury all the time!


  • anirrationalratio

    I recently saw a video of someone touring around Florida and they went on one of those swamp boat things, the ones with the giant fans on them. They stopped and all got to hold a small (2 foot at most) gator! You should ask if they let you do that.

    YAY chickens! I’m all for people keeping animals that are useful! Not that I dislike purely companion animals or anything.

    Have fun with the tax filing BS! (you’d think it could all be done more easily, wouldn’t you? Maybe you should fix it after your holiday?)


    • lucysfootball

      I think that’s what the trip is on! An airboat! Ooh, I’m going to make the captain HATE me with all the questions I ask. My poor dad’s going to be SO EMBARRASSED.

      I don’t think there’s any fixing the taxes – they’re run by the government, and nothing run by the government is ever going to be easy or run smoothly, I don’t think.


  • Jessica @ Shhh Mommy's Blogging

    I did a post on the Florida manatees and I think you CAN pet them. Also if you do see them I will be unreasonably jealous and probably boycott your blog for at least a week.


  • Kris Rudin (@krisrudin)

    Dad converstation – FTW!! :-)

    Hope you survive the day. Think of penguins. Or kookaburras! :-)


  • lahikmajoe

    You know we love conversations with Amy’s dad. It’s a highlight.

    Goodness me, you need to take care of yourself this week. I’m exhausted just reading about your schedule.


    I’d be happy to bring your dad some German beer. They have purity laws here that keep the beer very reliable. As beer should be.


    • lucysfootball

      It’s going to be a tough week. Send happy rainbow unicorn thoughts. Or whatever the Ken version of that is, I guess. Intelligently humorous turtle-thoughts?

      OK, first, my dad is more than down with this beer plan. I mentioned it, and he just got very quiet. Then he started reminiscing about some drinking game they played in Munich, which he lost on purpose, so he could drink more of the beer. The whole thing has him very nostalgic.

      SECOND. Are you BRINGING the beer? TO my dad? Oh, please don’t assassinate my dad. I like him a lot. Also, if you’re coming to New York, you’re stopping to see me, right? I’ll take you on a tour of the Capitol. It’s where the government lives! Don’t bring me any beer, though. I don’t like it. Even if it is German beer.


  • jbrown3079

    I need to know more about the chickens. Are they going to be raised to become Sunday dinner? For the eggs? I can imagine the scene if you really had a favorite one then your Dad wanted to cook it.


    • lucysfootball

      I know, isn’t it bizarre? I have no idea. I don’t know if it’s for eggs, for chicken, WHAT it’s for. It’s SO WEIRD. He did NOT elaborate on this chicken-plan. I hope he’s not raising them for food. That would make me so sad.


  • 35jupiterdrive

    Aw, first of all, thank you for the mention. :)
    Secondly, do you think your dad would ask the manatees and various reptiles if they’re interested in and do you think he’d decide I was missing at least three or four screws if you asked him to ask that for me? (I mean, I guess he thinks that since I’m online in the first place, right?)
    Third, I’ve been sort of the step-parent of yard-raised chickens, I love chickens, I want to raise them again. But here’s the thing, it’s very important, it’s the 6 words for the most important information for doing this: You need a very tight coop.
    Fourth, I am thinking good thoughts for you. Thoughts that will give you the stamina and staying power and non-bathroom-weepy abilities of a Brunhilde. I wish I could send you one of those hats with the horns to wear around your office. So everyone behaves themselves. Because I think those hats force people to behave. Just saying.

    So all the good Brunhilde thoughts for you. And if anyone gives you a hard time, tell them you’ve been appointed a Valkyrie through the next couple of weeks.


    • lucysfootball

      *I* will ask those manatees that. And also the zoo animals. I’ll report back, let you know the outcome. I think it will be overwhelmingly positive.

      Oh, I like that. I’d like to be Brunhilde. Thank you for the good thoughts. They are much appreciated! I feel more Valkyrian already!


  • Domestic Goddess in Training

    Your dad sounds awesome! I hope he gets those chickens.


  • MsDarkstar the Creatrix

    Petting a manatee is a totally acceptable thing to strive for. I would pet a manatee.

    Chickens are good but they can be pecky. And then there’s the whole rooster thing. Cuz they can be loud. But… fresh eggs.

    I’m sortve starting to like your Dad, even though he probably thinks, since I am an internet person, that I am some sort of psycho killer. I am not the DEXTER of the Internet, Amy’s Dad. Interestingly, Mr. POSSLQ, my housemate and I met on the internet. We used to live 1500 or so miles apart. And neither of us is dead. yet. So, I guess maybe we could be the exception that proves the rule?

    As for work and your sanity, just keep in mind this handy little phrase “Sanity is a cozy lie”. I saw that whilst perusing the Internet today. It is now my mantra.

    Ok.. I am trying to be more succinct in my commenting so I will cut myself off here. Sending good Twitter JuJu!


    • MsDarkstar the Creatrix

      To clarify, the eggs would NOT come from the rooster. I may be a city girl, but I DO know that roosters do not lay eggs.

      That is all.


    • lucysfootball

      Thank you – I am attempting to hold it together. Less than a week left. I think I can, I think I can.

      I am going to do my best to touch a manatee. But probably I shouldn’t do anything that would cause me to fall out of the boat into alligator-infested waters.


  • cas2986

    Be super careful of those alligators in Florida. They’re sneaky! (I should know… I almost got eaten by one on MY trip to Florida last month). For reals. They’re crazy. The other animal petting sounds like the best though. Have fun. :)


  • Suniverse

    I’m no fan of animals [unless they are stuffed animals but NOT taxidermied] but I would enjoy watching you try and pet stuff. But not a crocodile. Gross.


    • lucysfootball

      My fancy digital camera apparently takes videos. I’m going to have to figure that out. If I can, I’ll have Dad record me petting things while we’re on vacation. He’ll LOVE that. If by love, I mean “tolerates it because he loves me.”


  • Andreas Heinakroon

    By the way, I meant to ask: do you usually sleep better when on holiday? (Hang on. You got a different word for that in the Colonies, don’t you? Erm.. Vacation? Yes, vacation sounds right.)

    I’m just thinking if your sleeplessness is stress related at all, it should get better when away from work.


    • lucysfootball

      It depends – sometimes, sometimes not. If I’m excited about something – like, if we’re going somewhere cool the next day on vacation or something – I can’t sleep well at all. Or if I have any worries. Or a million other random things. It’s very up-and-down.

      It should get better after tax season, some, I think. I know I’m stressing out right now and that’s keeping me up more than normal.

      I like holiday better than vacation. Holiday sounds like an EVENT. :)


  • lynnettedobberpuhl

    Manatees–Yay!! Magic Fingers make me motion-sick and nervous. Linking arms with sweaty drunk strangers and singing Oom-pah-pah sounds like something Satan might make you do in hell. The tax season will soon be over and if bathroom weeping releases a little steam so you get through it, then it isn’t all bad. Also, in my experience, the giveaway red eyes makes people back away a little so even though it is mortifying, there is a bit of a silver lining there.


  • greengeekgirl

    You should tell your dad that I met my husband on the internet. I would like to know his opinion on that SO MUCH.


    • lucysfootball

      He and I have actually discussed that situation – not you, specifically, but my college BFF met her husband online. I believe his response was, “Yeah, I hear people do such things.” When I met A. and he was just the nicest and not at all stabby, Dad was a little befuddled. I’m pretty sure he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop, though, and for me to call and tell him A. locked himself in a bell tower with a semiautomatic or something so Dad can say, “Yep, nothing good comes of meeting your husband online, see, what’d I tell you?”


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