July 15, 2004

  • TAKING A breather at work over a philly steak sand I bought at this dubious shoddy Ma and Pop down the street.   Hopefully the microwave killed all the germs; the bastard was so steaming hot I couldn't even pick it up for five.  


    Couldn't wait to get away this morning.    Last night, Dad and I had a bad blow out over my "atrocious language."   


    "Hey!   I didn't send my best daughter away to school to talk like that!"


    Referring to my tres student habit of using "fucking" as an adjective for anything the slightest tad offensive, like:    "What did you fuckin' do to my dog?!!"   "I can't stand that fuckin' car!"   "What's with all this fuckin' fog we're having?!?"   And last but never least, "If Brett doesn't fuckin' call me I'm gonna have a fucking shit attack!" 


    "FUCK THIS!"


    "'Fuck this, fuck that!'   Whatever happened to 'freaking?'"   said Daddy.   "You were much better in high school when you tried to show some manners."


    Truthfully; back then the very words under discussion hurt my virgin ears.    "Fuck" was like RAPE, man; not a good word to women at all.   But,  "Duh-uh,"   I retorted Valley Girl style, being the man was no purist himself.   This sent my stressed-out parent into a tirade.  Now, it was my shocking "yen for gossip," my "whorish manner of dressing" ("Call that a skirt?!?"), my constant annoying phone messaging ("Will you stop that for one minute, please!   How rude!"), and so on and so forth.   I was becoming a terrible person whom he was embarrassed to have brought into the world.  Well, dandy candy; that takes care of helping out at the restaurant for a while!    (Sure, I love cooking, but not for the masses; it's total DRUDGERY.   Time one Romano set out for new territory.)