119.

girl can't help it

that's my pops on top. and his brother on the bottom, he has one eye. my dad is dead.
i spent a lot of time with these two as youngin'. i idolized and adored them both. my dad was definitely the coolest.
short and stocky. he had blonde hair and blues eyes and dark skin. eh hem. dark for a white guy. well, i guess HE wasn't white. but i'm white.
my pops was a quarter injin and a quarter bean. a quarter i-talian and a quarter mick.
he loved to talk. and talk and talk and talk. he woke up at 6am every morning and drank a cup of black coffee.
he always brushed his teeth, and he cut the sleeves off of all his t-shirts. he listened to queen. he called me Baby Girl.
he worked as a mechanic for the sewer treatment company of half moon bay, and then san francisco. he was loud mouthed, like REALLY loud, he was opinionated and loved to discuss, aka argue.
when i was a kid, and we lived in the trailer park in moss beach, he would buy a beater. fix it up. sell it. buy a beater. fix it up. sell it. booger bugs, buses, old dodge trucks, off roaders.
my uncle was a biker. leather jacket, rough neck sun burned biker. skull caps and leather pony tails. the most fashionable man in my blood line. and for a moment, they lived together. and me and sam would come and visit on the weekends. they would talk, LOUD. work on machines LOUD. eat, drink and watch tv LOUD. they had the same laugh. well. jerry still has the same laugh. kevin doesn't laugh anymore.
anyways. the point? i'm a salty old cunt at the ripe age of 23 because idolized farting sexist mechanics as a girl instead of sinead o'connor. i wanted to be an old bike riding dude when i was a girl.
(like i'm not a girl anymore?) i picked up their sense of humor, it's disgusting and brutal. and i love it. the lack of open affection, replaced by sarcasm and insults. i wouldn't have it any other way.
they gave me all that, and a deep rooted love of the working man.
the smell of oil, old spice and marijuana. stale beer and coffee. that scent of clean, deep under the layers of years of working grime. mmm hmmm.
the smell of a mechanic. the scratch of a beard. rough fat hands. hairy armpits, big GUNS. characters. vibrant characters is what i like.
and it's all thanks two these two dudes.
hi dad. i hope you miss me, cuz i sure as fuck miss you.