My Dad is Going to Kill Me

The Garage Door Accident

I have done so many idiotic things in my life. I have been called Brick on three separate occasions. But I already wrote a blog about my intelligence. And how I don’t give a fuck. The weird thing was I used to be really good at math in elementary school. Now I can barely count my change.

And yet I have also been called a smart guy by people I just met. Such as when I was chatting with some girl on the train or playing poker with some people. I guess they didn’t really get to know me.  If I only don’t say anything, people would assume I’m alright. But I still do. Like when I talk about video games, weed or my favorite parts in movies.

Even my aunt thought some of my blogs were clever. So naturally my mom wants to know what I have been writing all of these years. But I won’t tell her because I write about religion, doing drugs and getting wasted. And I don’t think my mom would appreciate my humor.

And I promised my mom that I stopped smoking the ganja. And when see found my pipe and a bag of weed under my bed I told her not to throw it out. Please. She gives me some excuse why she was under my bed. Like she was going to vacuum under my bed.

I remember my first day at college I brought a small safe with my shrooms and weed. My dad somehow found the key and opened it so he could put more stuff in it. Or that’s what he said. So he finds the illegal drugs and we had a discussion. I told him I would be careful and that would he rather me get drunk instead?

And my mom thinks weed is a drug and is illegal and is therefore wrong. And I could go to jail. “I won’t allow that filth in my house.” Yes the cops are just going to randomly search my room with a hunch and arrest me for possession of half quarter of marijuana.

They would be like “well Johnson, that’s one more criminal off the streets.” “Yes, Tim, no more stoner smoking weed behind the church, eating starburst and then going home to watch South Park.” “Ha! South Park. They’re all the same.” “Yes, and now lets get some donuts.” “I like the brown ones.” (that was a classic line from my brown friend about brown popsicles.)

In fact I don’t tell my mom funny stories anymore because she uses it against me. For example I was walking home from a friend’s place and these two punk kids started to make fun of me. One said “who the fuck are you?” And I responded with “Greg, who the fuck are you?” Then they made fun of my name and called me a drunk. I called them fags. So he pushed me and I split back to my buddies place and they ran away.

So I told my parents because I thought it was funny. My dad said to go for the weaker one and go for his nose. My mom just flipped. And now my mom doesn’t like me walking after ten. I’m an idiot. This happens all of the fucking time.

Since I don’t believe in the good Lord, I blame fate. Oh damn you fate, why me? My life is like the movie a Series of Unfortunate Events. There are so many minor things that have made such a dramatic impact on my life. If only my time machine actually worked.

So I just got my first parking ticket. I didn’t even see it on the dashboard until my mom informed me about it. I look at the street name and realize it was when I parked downtown. There was a lot of snow so I couldn’t see the parking lines and I guess if there was a sign then I didn’t see it.

The worst part was that I was in and out of the store for only five minutes. So it just happened to be that some meter maid just so happened be around and just so happened that meter maid gave me the ticket. I think she was waiting for a bust. I hope they hate their job. I mean would you enjoy being a prick and cost people money for parking ten minutes longer on a two hour parking spot?

It’s not like they’re getting any of the money like they’re on commission. Would their boss be like “well my asshole meter maid, you only issued a dozen tickets today? I want you to screw more people. If they’re an inch over the line, give them a $2,000 ticket.”

Luckily it was my first ticket and was only thirty bucks; so my mom wasn’t that upset. However I could have done a lot with those thirty bucks. Like buy some Corona or bet on some race horses.

Then the next day I broke our garage door. Yes, I forgot to open the garage door and reversed my mom’s car right into it. And I’m like fuck me. Fuck me hard. It was pretty bad.

I freak out and tell my mom. She really freaked out. I said “I can’t take this; I’m going for a walk.” I felt horrible and was thinking how much this is going to cost. I thought maybe ten grand. And my dad is going to kill me. Oh shit.

The worst part is it didn’t have to happen. First off, I was going to go to the mall and Burger King to get a junior whopper, onion rings with zesty sauce and mozza sticks. If only I stayed home ate some delicious Kraft dinner instead.

I was going to walk to the mall but it was a little chilly out so my mom said I could take her car. It just so happened to snow so my mom parked in the garage. And my mom asked if I needed her help backing out of the garage so I don’t scratch my dad’s jaguar. I said no. The whole time I didn’t want to scratch my dad’s jaguar and was looking at it and then bang.

So I’m walking and thinking of excuses and playing the blame game. Like I never asked to be born. Or that I don’t have a good memory. “Ya, dad. I did it on purpose. I thought hey, lets drive right through the garage door.”

So while I was gone, my mom called my dad. And yes, he was pissed off. Very pissed off. He was furious. My dad was going to reduce my allowance to only $20 and not let me drive the car for two whole months. But after a while he cooled down.

They just so happened to find my walking down the street and picked me up. Oh shit, its time for some serious acting. My dad was still mad but shit happens. He of course once had the SUV halfway out the garage and wasn’t thinking when he opened the trunk to put the hockey bag in and hit the garage door.

He estimated the replacement to cost $3,000. And it was. The garage door people showed up right away and they fixed the huge dent and my dad taped the glass windows. Good, so now punk kids won’t steal shit from our garage or the jag won’t get scratched by snow, ice and shit.

But three grand? That’s a Florida trip right there. And that would take all of my mom’s frugal shopping and clipping coupons to make up for it. Oh what I could do with that money? However I still get the car and I’m sure I will get my $50 allowance again. Or there goes my fast food addiction.