Nothing like Daddy's French Toast

(notice the painting. it's one of his.)

My dad is my biggest hero. (Well truthfully him and my mom often duke it out.) My father has been through so much more than anyone else I know. Yet I know that he would do anything for me.

Really,

ANYTHING.

My daddy has a nasty bugger of a disease, and a myriad of other health problems plopped on top of that. I feel that when most people look at my dad they don't see him. All they see is disease. Not my Papi. My Papi is not a disease. If they would just take a closer look here is what they would see:

A man who loves and is dedicated to his family.

An INCREDIBLE artist who has the talent to see beauty in everything and capture that beauty through paint, pencil, and lens.

A gourmet chef who's French toast and cinnamon tortillas have no rivals. (Both of these delicacies are often only consumed at my house between the hours of 11:00pm and 1:00am. This is usually the time daddy begins craving them.)

A teacher/historian who always pours out his wealth of knowledge through some personal story.

A comedic mumbler. The most hilarious things he says often come out of his mouth barely audible. The diligent listener will always be rewarded with a belly full of mirth and questioning stares from those who worry for their sanity.

A dog lover

A coke addict

A technical nerd

A romantic language enthusiast

A lover of Monty Python and other "dumb humor" as my mom calls it

A husband. A father. An Uncle. A Brother. A Grandpa. My daddy.

Anyone who know's this man is lucky. I'm blessed to always have him in my life.

School Teacher, Policeman, Fireman....all over rated.

Lately I have realized that I have absolutely no idea what I want to be. I also realized I would like to have that figured out before I am three years into college. I remember once upon a time in the lovely grade of ten I was forced to take a test that would tell me what I was most capable of going into as a living. The top two the test gave me? Bus driver and crossing guard. Correct me if I'm wrong, but crossing guards don't get paid do they? (Plus I'm starting to firmly believe that that test wanted me to be a creeper on small children.) So today I decided to search for my dream career. Here is what I found:

Wrinkle Chaser

A Wrinkle Chaser is the person that irons wrinkles from shoes as they are being made to ensure they are perfectly smooth when you buy them.
Perfect! I have a strange loathing for wrinkled shoes....not.

Chicken Sexer

This is a real job title. A chicken sexer sorts through baby chicks to determine if they are male or female, and then segregate them.
Smelly and dealing with birds. Oh my two least favorite things.

Citrus Fruit Colorer

A Citrus Fruit Colorer, with the help of steam and chemicals, gives citrus fruit a more natural coloring, because fruit is usually picked before it is fully ripe.
Now who doesn't love citrus and coloring??

Celluloid Trimmer

A Celluloid Trimmer shaves down a golf club and then adds celluloid bands onto the golf clubs to make the leather grip stay in place.
Um yes....I'll take one of those...?

Odor Judgers

Odor Judgers get to smell armpits all day to help make deodorants that will work well. I'm not sure why somebody other than some strange fetishist would want this job.
Two words; DREAM JOB.

Furniture Tester

Now here's a good one. The La-z-Boy Company (and probably others) employs furniture testers to check out their recliners. Want to relax for a living?
Now this job I would be AMAZING at. No sarcasm included.


As you can tell I have very high hopes for my future. Don't you worry Mr. W., I'm dreaming big and I am sure to see you at the top. Amen.

arguments and gnomes

i want a gnome in my yard when i grow up. and this gnome will be named pierre-pont. (said with frenchish accent.)

and this is HILARIOUS to me. monty python. my hero.

rabies

Dear Patrons of the Wilkinson Center Memorial Room,

I DON'T BITE.

when the only empty seat in the memorial room is next to me, you can have it.

you don't HAVE to walk around the room looking at all the full seats longingly, then move a table so that you can sit in a tiny crevasse.

unless i smell bad. then i understand. that's all.

Love, Lyndsie