Groovin' on a Sunday afternoon

Wow, my ADHD/bi-poloarness is in full force. I have so many things I want to say but it's like my brain is all scatty. When I want to focus on one thing,my brains jumps to another idea and forgets to tell me. Then I forget what I initially wanted to say in the first place. Enjoy the ride of my brain waves easy readers.

Last night the Saturday Night Live Show just sucked big time. The sketches for Catherine Zeta Jones appeared to be a few years too late. The Weekend Update failed to make humor of certain stories that just missed their radars completely. The band, Franz Ferdinand, choked worse than Ashlee Simpson. I didn't bother to see their second set because as my nephew Zach would say , "They're just going to mess up that next song". Did these guys have connections to the sponsor Budweiser? The booking agents for SNL should get fined because they did not earn their money last night.

I'd love to get back on meds because I'm having a hard time trying to get my act together without them. It's a vicious cycle. You need to the meds in order to function for the interview that will get you the job but you can't them unless you have a job that gives you the insurance to see the doctor who will write you the presciption. And so on and so on and so on. Yeah that commercial annoyed me too. I count my blessings that I live in Illinois. Because Stroger Hospital, aw hell it's will always be Cook County Hospital to me, offers free medical services to those who can't afford it. If you ever want to see the effects of insurance companies making medical decisions when the paper pushers have never gone to medical school, take a trip to the land of the uninsured.

Before anyone jumps on my case, let's keep in mind that I've always had some type of W-2 tax form type of job since I was sixteen. The taxes I paid before my mom was diagnosed with cancer has more than paid for what I've put into the system. It gives me comfort to know that my parents are able to receive social security because me, my brother, as well as my parents, and every other eligible legal working Americans have paid into the system.

Unlike other posts today has been pretty mellow. I was able to express my concern to Fred without raising my voice. He went to see doctor yesterday without telling anyone yesterday of his whereabouts in the car that has more than nine lives. He even offered to help me out making breakfast. My cooking faux pas of yesterday was forgetting to put any kind substance to the skillet so the eggs were stuck to the pan like spandex to a fat lady's ass. I know of what I speak.

When I sat to eat my breakfast, my dad was in a good mood. He shared stories about some of his restaurant days. I knew he had helped many alumni from Whattsamatta U. when they were struggling college students. He provided some students with jobs. He gave loans out of his own pocket when no one else was watching. He comped more meals than he could remember.

One of the students,Kyle, didn't have enough money to pay for his meal, so the manager on duty took his leather coat as payment. Kyle showed up the next day wearing a sweater he had borrowed from his girlfriend and explained the situation to my father. So he went downstairs, got the coat, and told Kyle to not worry about the bill and comped his meal as well that day. Kyle has gone on to become a cardiologist on the East Coast and has done very well.

Unbeknownst to anyone, my dad made arrangements with the minister at the Baptist Church around the corner to give the restaurants leftovers of meals and rolls to a large family in need before it was in fashion. The widowed father was a long distance truck driver. One of the kids went on to be a major league baseball player. The bottomless cups of coffee served at that place came with humor, love, and advice. Regardless of the shade of their skin or status, he always provided every customer with the utmost of what is now called customer service. That's something you can't get out of a book. I still laugh at the notion of a hospitality management degree. Give me a break. Unless you have a hell of a work ethic, are skilled in negotiations, prepared to work twelve hour days among other attributes, there's no way anyone can survive in that industry. It saddens me that the mom and pop restaurants are few and far between these days. It still bothers me that there's a McDonald's in the motherland. It was a shame that he never struck out on his own.

With the holidays approaching, he reminded me that he would need to start looking for a turkey soon for Thanksgiving. I keep trying to pin him down for all of his recipes. I'll be damned if Minnie ever gets to see them. It ticks me off when people don't acknowledge where they got ideas and later claim to be their own.

My dad provided the collateral to Uncle OG and Uncle OG's weasel brother-in-law when no one else to start his business. Also my dad sponsored his brothers to come over from the motherland when the immigration laws were still strict.

Ethel loves Sundays. It means that she can catch the mass for shut-ins on TV. Going to church with Fred is out of the question. He cannot sit still for anything. His undiagnosed ADD is so obvious. Also she feels embarrassed showing up to services in the damaged car.

If I had my way I would attend services in the city or change teams altogether. I dislike the local church. As a kid, I had similar experiences to Margaret Cho. I thought that God had it in for me until I read her book I'm The One That I Want. Even as an adult, the local church doesn't want me. Once when it was my turn to take communion, the current priest bold-faced asked me if I was a Christian. Keep in mind that he never asked anyone else in line this question. I answered with a generic yes, received the sacrament and went on my way. Afterward, I thought, I try to keep the day perfect, peaceful, and sinless but dammit you just fucked it up for me. I have great respect for my religion, God, and the 12 backup singers. But it's kind of hard to be holy when the people at the door treat you like you're not good enough to pray with them. How's that for loving your fellow man? Hyprocrite much?

Unfortunately, the church is not immune from the ills of modern society. When I went to enroll my parents as members at the local church, the experience still left me with a bad taste in my mouth. The secretary bitch pretended she was clueless as to how much was needed for stewardship. She was more interested in getting back to her phone call with her friend about a mutual friends webpage. I'm sure after I made the following remarks,I was church fodder for a bit. I asked her if there was a secret handshake or anything else we needed to know. I know this wasn't my most shining moment as a human being. But my days for putting up with bullshit from strangers are over.

I'm not the only one though. Church brand D, as in drama, where Aunt Imogene and Uncle OG are founding members. She gets snubbed by the snooty church ladies auxiliary all of the time. It doesn't help that Uncle OG's wife, Gladys, is very popular and can't stand Aunt Imogene or the rest us. Let's just say her relatives were well provided for with homes, vacations, cash, bridal showers, jewelry, education, and stints in drug-rehabs. I'm not bitter. Let go and let God. She gave up a chance to go to Whattsammatta on a full-ride scholarship because she chose to help support her widowed mother and weasel brother, Mr. Cheating Hairplug.

For those of you who are near the Border's on Michigan Avenue this Tuesday at 7p.m. , Margaret Cho will be giving a reading an excerpt from her new book, I Have Chosen To Stay And Fight. Due to lack of funds as well as my agoraphobia, I will not be in attendance. If you happen to be at her booksigning, let her know where you got your idea to get social.