Whenever I get on this waste of time and virtual space I call my blog I ask it politely to “Remember Me.” You know, so I don’t have to type in my email address which is forever long because it has my first and last name and my last name is forever long because I wasn’t picky enough in husband’s last names. It takes me a full ten seconds that could be spent throwing popcans at the children. There’s a reason for that, too.
It’s like my kids know when the pop I buy them isn’t as expensive or tasty as the pop I buy for myself that sometimes my husband gets to drink if he gets home early the day I buy it. Yesterday Peyton and the troll exploded another 5 cans of crappy rootbeer. At least it was on the porch. Last week, it was in Casey’s room. Casey has exploded three cans of pop that still lie in their eventual graves in the front yard. I’d pick them up, but that would require bending over, which I don’t do as soon as I find out I’m pregnant.
But I digress. Back to this stupid program remembering me. It doesn’t. No matter how I try. No matter how much I visit. No matter what nice things I say. One of the only things my dad asked me when he was dieing was to remember him. And I do. Way more than this stupid computer remembers me, and I’ve spent MUCH more time with it than I got to with my dad. This is sounding more and more sad all of the time. Dad wouldn’t want me to be sad because of a computer. He’d want me to be sad because of poverty, disease or something like that.
That’s a joke. He would have found a reason to make that funny as well. You see, after someone dies, everyone wants to make them out into the impossible saint that no one ever will really live up to be. Except for Mary Felts, but I’m still hoping to find some evil motives behind the good she does. My dad was awesome. But he still told crappy jokes and was sort of a racist. Okay, not that last thing. It just made things more interesting. He was funny. That’s what I remember. It’s almost been fifteen years but I remember him making me laugh and there aren’t many wholesome things that make me laugh the way he did. So he couldn’t have been perfect. Right? Plus, I’d like to think that even though I look just like my mom and have her same everything (or at least I’d like to think I was just like her, because she’s the sweet sauce) that I have some of his DNA in me. I have his same color of eyes. And I’m part evil, which couldn’t have JUST come from my mom.
Either way, I’m wondering what I can do to get this damn computer to remember me.