#doreens

Doreen’s Mozzarella Cheese Pizza is a “gourmet” pizza that is anything but. For a premium price ($7.99) you get a pizza with a rigid crust, barely passable sauce and adequate cheese. It is a pauper posing as a prince in a kingdom ruled by legitimate GODS. It is the mediocre trying to pass itself off as majestic. A pretender.

(Ed. Note: You could have used a Foo Fighters picture. You chose this instead. Ugh.)

It’s not a very good pizza. 

My 30th birthday is coming up, and I’m actually in good spirits about it. I’ve never understood people who treat their 30th like they’re attending their own funeral. It’s an attitude I see at a lot of bachelor parties too: basically, your life is over. You are now 30. You are now married. You might as well be dead.

I like the fact I’ll be 30. It was around this age that my step-dad (for all practical purposes referred to by “Dad”) started dating my mom.

Not too long ago, when I was back in my hometown for the weekend, my dad and I decided to kill “a few minutes” by stopping in a bar for “one drink.” As tends to be the case, we spent considerably more than a few minutes and one drink at this bar.

I love my dad to death, but we tend to stick to a few conversation topics: work, my sisters, bourbon, our fantasy football prospects. You know, the important shit. Deep conversations are not our forte.

For some reason, that night was different. For two straight hours, my dad and I talked about life. I got to know him as a real person, not just as the occasionally brusque parent I had known for over 15 years.

I got to hear the kind of person he was when he was my age: a somewhat carefree guy who was pretty comfortable and content with the life he was leading until he met the woman who would change his world.

I got to hear about myself when I was 14:

Brandon: “How was it dealing with me when you starting dating Mom?”

Dad: (deep sigh) “You were like any 14 year old: a nightmare. You hated me!”

Brandon: “Oh yeah, I totally hated you.”

Dad: “Don’t worry, you grew out of it. Thank God.”

He dispensed some sound dating advice:

Dad: “Don’t end up marrying someone terrible, because then you AND the whole family has to deal with her.”

Brandon: (head explodes)

As the night went on, I told him I loved him and respected him for everything he’s done, and he got misty-eyed, which was adorable. It felt like a good time to say it.

He paused for a few moments and stared at his beer. Without any prompting, he told me I was one of the funniest people he’d ever known. That I was too talented to not use whatever gifts I had, and that he was proud of me. I was a good brother, and a good son, and that he just wanted me to be happy.

And that I needed a haircut.

It was my turn to get misty-eyed.

I finished my beer and glanced at my watch, eager to look at anything to distract me from the mutual admiration society we were forming. We were supposed to meet my mom and sisters half an hour ago. 

My dad didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy poring over the jukebox trying to figure out how to find Grateful Dead tunes. To anyone else, he probably seemed like a dude who had a few too many beers in his system, and was ready to make some questionable decisions with his money.

I smiled as I texted my mom that we were going to be late. My dad and I had work to do. 

Even if it killed me, I had to get him away from that jukebox.

I ordered us another round.

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Doreens shower