Taday wuz actually uh fine ass pimp-tight day. Peeps wuz friendly an' things don' seem too bad. Here's muh ma fuckin' beef fo' da day. Wha be da deal wiff parents tryin' ta act all young? Brace yoself foo'! Anyways, so I love them and all, but sometimes they just get really ridiculous. My mother is partying it up at the same ripe old age as the province of Newfoundland (since it joined Canada anyways...yeehaw Socials 11! You really do have real life application!). She's out till all hours of the night at various seedy (probably) clubs. I still remember the night she came home and excitedly launched into a critique of the Love Inc. performance she caught at the all too cool Cheers, while at the same time demonstrating her age-defying dance moves (she also proclaimed to dance better than all her fellow party-goers). And she's got quite the keen fashion sense as well... To quote my mummy "I wear mini-skirts all the time, and I'm a mama!" She still digs the bell bottoms and criticizes the way I dress b/c apparently I wear old lady clothes (What Grandma doesn't wear jeans and t-shirts?). I should probably keep my mouth shut though b/c the last time she asked for my opinion on her outfit, I hurt her feelings. My mom was wearing this hideous pink and green applique sweater, complete with sequins, pompoms, and tassles. When she asked what I thought, she didn't exactly appreciate my reply of "Where do ya think you're going? A bingo hall?!" My dad's coo' too. I swear to God he's obsessed with those hair replacement infomercials. He pumps up the volume and then sits there, entranced by surgically created full heads of hair. My dad's not completely bald, but his combover just don't cut it anymore. And the amount of hairspray the man uses! He spritzes once, lets it dry, then comes back for the double whammy. My dad is soley responsible for the hole in the ozone layer. When we're in the car, with windows rolled down and bass pumpin', everyone else's hair is whippin in the wind while his head looks like it's sitting in the eye of the storm, perfectly calm and still. Dad's an awesome dancer too. He's one of those life of the party types. Whenever a rockin' (or even mediocre) tune comes on, he's the first one out on the dance floor, doing the cabbage patch in his collarless shirt with the first couple buttons left undone, showing off his gold chain and medallion inscribed with his first initial. My parents...the older they get, the more entertaining they become.