Thursday, January 26, 2012

#69 Texting Poorly

*Boop* omg did my crush finally text me back? Play it cool. You open your phone with dreamlike hopes and instead read the worst text message of your life:

“Hey. Your mom says hi. Call u l8r. –Dad”
“Thanks dad—why not just call me instead of texting me about it before?” you reply in disgust.
*8 minutes later*
“Because now you can expect a call from us! LOL :) :P –Dad”

Was that a joke? Does that even make sense? Why so many emoticons?
These are Dad texts. Sure, you text with everyone, but Dad texts are distinct. They are always sent when there’s no need for them. They will have be sent at inopportune times (Dad, why are you texting me Friday at 1am?). Dad will never respond to your texts when you need him too—claiming he can’t figure out “this dang phone!” You heard of butt-dialing? Dad does butt texting: gibberish lettering. They always have emoticons. They are always signed. Always.

Dad learned how to text on his new phone from the awesome sales rep at the cell phone store. That guy may as well have become your arch nemesis. Sure, Dad technically knows how to text, but the cell phone rep forgot to teach Dad texting etiquette. Texting is not your personal twitter feed, Dad. Whatever—it could be worse. Better Dad texting than writing on your Facebook wall.

“Hey. Do you know how to post videos to Facebook? Your mom and I are trying to show you a funny link. –Dad”

Thursday, January 19, 2012

#68: Helping with Homework

***This post was inspired by a conversation overheard at work. The transcript is below:

Dad #1: I had to help my daughter with her algebra homework last night. I never realized how much I have forgotten about that subject.

Dad #2: Yeah, when I helped my son with his calculus I used to do his homework before he did so I could figure it out before he asked. That way I looked like I knew what I was doing.

Dad #1: That is a smart move, I am going to start doing that.***

You have never experienced anything as difficult as this in your entire life. It might as well be in an alien language, you have no understanding of what is it front of you. It is worse than when you have to run the mile in gym class: the algebra worksheet. It is an insurmountable hill of math functions, Stephen Hawking himself could not figure it out. But, you know who can…”DAAAAAAAAD!! CAN YOU HELP ME WITH MY HOMEWORK??”

Dad went to college and is a businessman so he must know math. As you lay out your homework on the kitchen table (this is seriously the only time one does homework at the kitchen table), Dad puts on his readers and scans the page. A series of ummms and hmmms makes you know Dad’s gears are turning. Hopefully he will just do it for you. But it is not that easy. “Well son, how would YOU do this first one?” Crap, you won’t get off that easy.

Dad of course is a genius and knows everything. Little do you know that he has been reading your textbook a bit ahead of you so that he at least kind of knows what you are talking about. If he didn’t, he would be completely lost. Are we related to Bill Nye? Dad is soooo smart. Nope, Dad just knows how to work the system.

Before you know it, Dad is fixing your errors and those variables are cancelling out. Remainders disappear and functions simplify. Dad’s genius has sure rubbed off onto you. Before you know it, the sheet is filled out and the answers make sense. A crisis of biblical proportions has been averted. Until tomorrow of course, when Dad will be called on again. Thank goodness he has been studying up while he is at work. Or is he really a genius?

Thursday, January 12, 2012

#67: Christmas Lights

With the holiday season over, mom looks forward to Valentine’s Day baked goods, cards, and yelling at dad for forgetting a gift. Dad on the other hand still has some holiday chores. And none is more essential than taking down the holiday decorations, particularly the lights.

Before the holidays, Dad was setting up the lights in an elaborate fashion. Even though he groans while climbing up the ladder to hang lights in front of the house, Dad has also made sure that its new state of the art lights that will shine brighter than any neighbors. With the basic display, it shines as a classic setting for the holidays.

And with the holidays over, it’s time for Dad to take down his creation. Well, it’s not that hard, just take it down the way you put it up. That’s what amateurs think. It may look simple, but Dad elaborately put the lights up in such a particular order that it can’t be repeated. Taking the lights down is harder than sorting a jar of M&Ms or wandering through a labyrinth.

The maze of lights must be taken down delicately and methodically, as to allow for easy set up the following year. For anyone else partaking in taking down decorations, it is a frustrating and tedious act. For Dad, it’s just another chore that calls for an ice cold beer...'til next year.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

#66: Really Old Sweatpants

Welcome to a special Sunday edition of That’s So Dad. That is what we call it when we forget to write an article on our normal Thursday, a Special Edition.

It is a lazy Sunday in the winter. It is time to lay on the couch, read the Sunday comics, and partake it one of Dad’s Massive Sunday Breakfasts. Although we have discussed the greatness that is the Massive Sunday Breakfast, we have not discussed Dad’s standard Sunday uniform. Sure there is the ubiquitous bathrobe, but there is something much more. The mother of all comfortable Dad clothes, more comfortable than a broken in pair of White New Balances. The sweatpants.

Dad has owned the same pair of sweatpants for as long as you can remember. Odds are, the sweatpants are older than you and have seen more than you will in your adolescent life. They are always six sizes too big, with the drawstring tightened to its break point. A good rule to have in life is that bigger the sweatpants, the more comfortable you will be. Dad lives by this rule because when the sweatpants come on, Dad is mere minutes away from falling asleep in his chair while watching golf. This is great because now Dad won’t yell at you to mow the lawn or shovel the driveway or take out the trash. It is a blissful time.

The sweatpants of course are not clean. Sure they may be fresh out of the wash but they are not clean. Years of spills, grease stains, sweat, and general wear and tear have worn them down to what resembles patch work pants. They may look disgusting but when they are put on it feels like you slipped into a hot bubble bath, a Lay-Z-Boy on a secluded beach, or your toilet at home after a long trip abroad. It is pure magic. That is why the sweatpants continue to live on well after their normal lifespan. Dad cannot let them go, they are magic.

So as you watch Dad slip in and out of his sleep cycle in the recliner, be sure to recognize what makes it all possible. It may be that it is the last day of rest before the work week, or that he is tired from the round of golf he played that morning, or the food induced coma from shoveling down a six egg omelet with more cheese than the entirety of Wisconsin. But odds are it is that old friend that brings him to his comfort zone, the sweatpants.