three days old

for some reason my dad thinks i was born in 1982. so. for the last few months everything that he's sent to the feds that has to do with me has had 1982 as the birth date.
he did it on the census.
and he's been griping about revenue canada cause my tax thing has been there "for more than two goddamn months, i want to know what the hell is going on."
so, letter in mail today from RC. i walk in front door right after work smelling of paint, sweat, dust and outdoors.
dad: (points to letter on table) open that it's for you.
me: revenue canada?
dad: (suspicious voice) they don't usually send envelopes like that, i don't know what it is. but they've had your tax thing for over two months and i want to know why.
me: ok. (open letter, contains two pages of typed notes and a pink envelope)
dad: ahhhhh shit.
me: (reading) we cannot assess your tax form blah blah blah....dad...
dad: what?
me: why do you keep thinking i was born in 1982?
dad: oh...werent you?

so, im not sure how many more things he's done this with. anyway, i needed a copy of my birth certificate, or you know, as is the government way send the original documents through the mail and hope that canada post knows what the fuck it's doing. so i pull out my birth cert and drivers, and hand them to my dad cause i know he's thinking "library is still open." but then he stops and says, "take it over to the school and have them photocopy it."
the school is my K-9 french immersion.
so before i get to shower or clean myself up...across the park goes i, still stinkin of da days work.
parking lot...mostly empty. good maybe i wont have to do this.
office...mostly empty...good i can go home.
new lady principal ive never met walks in....damn...
brief explanation of "um...i used to go here...."
but then.
oh, then.
then out of the VPs office walks ******'s dad. i referred to ****** a while ago in many profane ways. i didnt' really want to have to have him photocopy the things but i dont know the new principal.
entire convo happens in french. he asks what im doing, still at the county ok.
he asks how school is going. good, after? oh grad school very good.
he doesnt mention, nor do i ask of the job, whereabouts or general overall being and existance of "i fucked over all my friends especially pat."
much inward cringing about that may now occur because inevitably people will find out that i talked to his dad and then the questions will start and i dont have any goddamn answers people.
so yeah.

at work we have an old shitty cushman to use. al the mechanic said if we blew it up he'd get us a new one. leslie and i took it to broadmoor lake park to do a bit of a cleanup. stop for break. end of break, "oh hey, i guess i'll turn this here key to start the cushman so we can be on our merry way and -CRRRRRRRRRGRGRGRKKGKRKRKRKRZZZZRZRZRZZRZ!!!!"
...um...that sounds bad....
k, so i didnt blow it up, but apparently the starter decided that it would kill itself for us.
Pat 1, Machinery 0.
go back to sap to paint lines. painting painting painting - SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
oh for fucks sake....
randy looks, knows what it is, curses the fact that the engine is very hot and replaces seized pully assembly.
Pat 2, Machinery 0.
finish painting, time to clean the kromer and -OW HOT WATER IN THE TANK!
Pat 2, Machinery 1.

i have these Oilers posters that came in the newspaper a few days ago that i think im gonna attach to the machines. or make a flag out of them. and THEN attach them.

i think tonight my friend amanda and i are gonna go look for swings. we were supposed to last week but it was rainy and cold. now its hot and hot.

um...

SAN JOSE SUCKS!!!

three days old