So today I was knocking at my dad's door because he was supposed to buy me some meat from the market. When I got there, there was no answer. I called his cell phone. No answer. This is not normal, I thought, as my dad always answered his phone, even when his senior-citizen ass had to duck under the steering wheel and take his eyes off the freeway to pick up his phone. But I kept knocking and calling, and no answer. So then I thought-Oh shit. What if he's dead? Weirdly, the first thought after that was, Oh shit, my fingerprints will be the last ones they find on the doorbell of his house. It seemed like the start of a bad sitcom/melodrama. But then I thought-Oh shit. This is for reals. No dad and no meat. Second worst day of my life after Christmas when all the markets are closed and I'm the only Jew who doesn't like Chinese food. Anyway, finally I hear this shuffling noise and my dad answers the door in these little running shorts of his. So he wasn't dead. No, instead I forgot that he was doped up on Serraquil. So then he starts grumbling. That's what he does lately, grumble. And about 10 minutes later I look up and he's still in his running shorts, after telling me he was going to hurry up and get dressed. Finally he's dressed and he chooses his huge knit 'Y" sweater. It's this bulky navy blue sweater with a very big white "Y" knitted on the front. I mean it's a giant "Y" plastered right on the front there. Don't ask. Then I remember that he was supposed to take us on a trip to New York when we were younger but instead he bought this very expensive sweater and could no longer afford it. So I don't feel as bad about caring more about meat than his impending death a little while earlier because two wrongs make a right.

Anyway. When we finally start walking to the market, he starts yelling at me to watch out for traffic as we cross the street at a pedestrian crosswalk.

"Stick with me! Watch out! Stick with me, I wave my hands so the cars will see me!" My dad starts waving his hands maniacally in the air.

"Yeah, dad, I see the cars," I reply. I think my vision is a little better than a 64 year old man doped up on Serraquil and Lithium even if I do have remnants of an infection in my left eye.

"You're wearing dark colors! Watch out!" he whines.

"You're wearing dark colors too!"

He acts like he doesn't hear me. Instead he just keeps waving his hands around in the air as we walk. This reminds me of the time when he was trying to teach me how to drive and kept yelling at me to not hit pedestrians. Case in point, I didn't get my license until I was 22.

"The cars are peeping! They're peeeeeping! Hurry up!" my dad screams. Yeah, he doesn't say the cars are beeping, he says peeping. Part of his self-proclaimed "Connecticut dialect".

"But I thought I was supposed to be careful!" I yell back. Again, he doesn't seem to hear me as he shuffles into the market.

I am happy to say that today I got meat and a not-dead dad, so this was not the second worst day of my life after Christmas. Easter still holds firmly at second place.

In other news, I realized that I use the word "maniacally" a lot. Could this be a summary of my life-maniacal? More to come on that note later.