One of my new favorite television shows is Modern Family. I recently saw a bit of myself in one of the characters as he reminisces about how he and his sister had an ice skating routine and went by the name, Fire and Nice; determined to win trophies, medals, and any other glory they could. Instantly, I remembered that my sister and I had similar aspirations: we were determined to be dance contest champions.
Granted, neither one of us had any formal training, but we figured being Latinos, formal training was something we never paid attention to. It wasn’t because we felt it was beneath us, I’m sure we would have jumped at the opportunity if it was presented to us, but my sister and I had genetics on our side; our mother was in Dirty Dancing and Saturday Night Fever and our father was the Mambo King who spawned his own dance crazes involving handkerchiefs and sand.
To this day, when we have a function whether it’s a birthday or a wedding, we find a way to become the unofficial dance contest champions of the night. Basically, we look like the two cousins in My Big Fat Greek Wedding at the end of the movie, but cooler. What can I say? We both love to dance and love attention. It’s our cross to bear. My sister and I even went so far as to decide that our joint wedding present to our brother will be a wedding dance routine. Not for him and his girlfriend to dance to of course, but for us; we’ll perform at their wedding.
It isn’t just dancing that I loved since childhood, but all forms of attention grabbing behavior. Not panty-less car exiting or drunken tirades, but behavior that requires talent. On holidays as a five year old I used to do selected scenes from Gone with the Wind and that parlayed into my short lived career as the family newscaster specializing in investigative journalism and on the scene commentary. My investigative journalism consisted of hiding my tape recorder in various parts of the house and leaving it there recording to see what my family members said about me when I wasn’t there. And by on the scene commentary, I mean interviewing various family members on New Years Eve asking for their resolutions while my brother videotaped everyone.
Dinner time was a great time to have the spotlight on you in my house. We went around the table and talked about our days and what was going on in our lives. As a child, I was often left at the dinner table alone because I was still talking about my daily activities once everyone finished eating. Since this was a common occurrence, my siblings preferred to go succinctly before me. What can I say? A third grader has a lot to say. My poor mother would often feel bad for me and sit there and listen to me babble on and on well past my food’s temperature reached cold.
Much of this behavior has yet to escape my personality. To this day, I still enjoy talking and can easily carry on a conversation for two people, which I have and do, which really is just a reflection of other people’s poor communication skills and manners, but that’s another story. At a recent cousin’s wedding, my sister and I got our own spotlight dance and made our own dance floor. Perhaps I could tone down a bit, but as my friend Abigail recently told me as she read my horoscope, “You are the star of the universe.” Some stars outshine others, but eventually they all run out of gas.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Come See About Me
It's sometimes called our most importance sense. It allows us to read, to see, to preview. It enables us to be turned on and turned off, to be intrigued, surprised, and disappointed. Our vision is both a blessing and a curse. We use our eyes to help us decide whether we look good in a sweater and therefore whether or not to buy it. We use our eyes to see if what we've said has pissed someone off and thus to see if what we're saying now is making up for it. We also use our eyes to determine if we're going to let that person buy us a drink, regardless of whether or not they're interesting. We use our eyes to make friends, sometimes ignoring that we may not have a whole lot in common.
I often think the world would be a better place if we didn't have vision. I mean, literally, let's think about it. We're all pretty shallow as it is. We judge people on how they look and we in turn get judged. We often hear ourselves say, "I wouldn't be caught dead in that," and "Do you know what I would look like if..." and let's not forget "I can't be seen with (insert name)!" We have written people completely off because on how they look, albeit it a potential mate, friend, or customer/client.
Yes, the world would be a better place if we didn't have vision. We wouldn't rely so much on our looks to get around. We could focus more on merit and hard work since we won't have that Colgate smile to charm people. We would learn to be more eloquent and descriptive with our language since we can't be lazy and just look at something to see what it's like. I wouldn't have to wait until Tony falls asleep to go and sneak that extra cookie in the dark. I could cancel my gym membership because I would never know what Cristiano Ronaldo's stomach looks like and kill myself trying to achieve the same.
Now my wallet is getting bigger? Okay, I'm liking this blind thing.
If I all of a sudden got a pimple on a night we were going out, I wouldn't freak out about being ostracized and cast to the dark corners of the freak section of my local watering hole.
But then again, I do get pretty happy when I come home and see my dog so excited to see me that he can't stay still. I really enjoy staring at the color usage and brushstrokes of Georgie O'Keefe. Not to mention, some people are just really really nice to look at. And now that I think about it, if I were blind, I wouldn't go to the gym or work out for the sake of my health. So really, shallowness has saved my health. Thank god I can see how I look in certain clothes, otherwise I wouldn't stop at just that one cookie in the dark while Tony's asleep. Shallow or not, vision - a blessing and a curse. A cross to bare. Kind of like my award winning smile, but then again, if you were blind, you couldn't see that.
:)
I often think the world would be a better place if we didn't have vision. I mean, literally, let's think about it. We're all pretty shallow as it is. We judge people on how they look and we in turn get judged. We often hear ourselves say, "I wouldn't be caught dead in that," and "Do you know what I would look like if..." and let's not forget "I can't be seen with (insert name)!" We have written people completely off because on how they look, albeit it a potential mate, friend, or customer/client.
Yes, the world would be a better place if we didn't have vision. We wouldn't rely so much on our looks to get around. We could focus more on merit and hard work since we won't have that Colgate smile to charm people. We would learn to be more eloquent and descriptive with our language since we can't be lazy and just look at something to see what it's like. I wouldn't have to wait until Tony falls asleep to go and sneak that extra cookie in the dark. I could cancel my gym membership because I would never know what Cristiano Ronaldo's stomach looks like and kill myself trying to achieve the same.
Now my wallet is getting bigger? Okay, I'm liking this blind thing.
If I all of a sudden got a pimple on a night we were going out, I wouldn't freak out about being ostracized and cast to the dark corners of the freak section of my local watering hole.
But then again, I do get pretty happy when I come home and see my dog so excited to see me that he can't stay still. I really enjoy staring at the color usage and brushstrokes of Georgie O'Keefe. Not to mention, some people are just really really nice to look at. And now that I think about it, if I were blind, I wouldn't go to the gym or work out for the sake of my health. So really, shallowness has saved my health. Thank god I can see how I look in certain clothes, otherwise I wouldn't stop at just that one cookie in the dark while Tony's asleep. Shallow or not, vision - a blessing and a curse. A cross to bare. Kind of like my award winning smile, but then again, if you were blind, you couldn't see that.
:)
Monday, August 31, 2009
That's the Way It Is
As summer winds down we have fond memories of the summer movie season. That is if the movies were decent enough to not make us want to throw diapers at the screen. These days I have grown really irked with lame movie plots. It's like studio executives think of the most random offbeat ideas and decide to put them on film, that's when they're not making crappy horror movies or remaking crappy horror movies crappier.
One of the more stand out films I speak of (and I say stand out as in one of the most awful) is The Orphan. I'm not sure if it's a remake or not, it might as well be, or I'm sure it will be eventually. I would not pay 10 dollars to see this movie nor did I have any desire to see this piece of horse crap Hollywood has thrust upon us like a drunk 40 year old at a club. I read the plot on Wikipedia. Yes, I wikied it. And the only reason I did this was because I read a review where they mentioned "the twist." I was curious.
Basically, this movie is about this couple who adopts a child and it turns out their child is not the little bundle of joy they expected to swoop up from Romania. She starts acting all evil and threatening their other children (one of whom is deaf.) I mean, first of all, let's pick on the deaf kid, as if they're not already marginalized, then she starts talking about sex to her adoptive parents and tries to seduce her adoptive father (mind you, she's like seven). Then the killing spree starts and she just goes all crazy. Just when things couldn't get zanier, those "gifted" writers pull out all the stops. It turns out, this little girl is really a 30 year old woman who suffers from some disease that keeps her looking like a child.
Seriously, this is the largest pile of dinosaur dung I have ever heard of. As if adoption didn't have a bad enough rap, now people have to worry about adopting sex crazed psychopathic 30 year olds. People were already worried about adopting the devil from The Omen, and now this. And in movies like The Orphan and The Omen, it's always nice good people that adopt the evil children and then die. Why can't the Bernie Madoffs or Sarah Palins of the world adopt the evil demon spawn huh? That way it's a win win situation. The child gets adopted, the devil gets a soul taken, and the dim witted audiences who see these movies get their carnage.
Maybe in a few years when Hollywood remakes this movie into something crappier, they'll take a few chances and try out this new plot line. And then I might just pay ten dollars to see that.
One of the more stand out films I speak of (and I say stand out as in one of the most awful) is The Orphan. I'm not sure if it's a remake or not, it might as well be, or I'm sure it will be eventually. I would not pay 10 dollars to see this movie nor did I have any desire to see this piece of horse crap Hollywood has thrust upon us like a drunk 40 year old at a club. I read the plot on Wikipedia. Yes, I wikied it. And the only reason I did this was because I read a review where they mentioned "the twist." I was curious.
Basically, this movie is about this couple who adopts a child and it turns out their child is not the little bundle of joy they expected to swoop up from Romania. She starts acting all evil and threatening their other children (one of whom is deaf.) I mean, first of all, let's pick on the deaf kid, as if they're not already marginalized, then she starts talking about sex to her adoptive parents and tries to seduce her adoptive father (mind you, she's like seven). Then the killing spree starts and she just goes all crazy. Just when things couldn't get zanier, those "gifted" writers pull out all the stops. It turns out, this little girl is really a 30 year old woman who suffers from some disease that keeps her looking like a child.
Seriously, this is the largest pile of dinosaur dung I have ever heard of. As if adoption didn't have a bad enough rap, now people have to worry about adopting sex crazed psychopathic 30 year olds. People were already worried about adopting the devil from The Omen, and now this. And in movies like The Orphan and The Omen, it's always nice good people that adopt the evil children and then die. Why can't the Bernie Madoffs or Sarah Palins of the world adopt the evil demon spawn huh? That way it's a win win situation. The child gets adopted, the devil gets a soul taken, and the dim witted audiences who see these movies get their carnage.
Maybe in a few years when Hollywood remakes this movie into something crappier, they'll take a few chances and try out this new plot line. And then I might just pay ten dollars to see that.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I Wanna Be Sedated
I am a very healthy person. I haven't broken a bone, sprained anything, or have any major diseases. A flu here and there, a cold a couple times a year, that's about it. I don't even get springtime allergies. I used to get mad at my parents for giving me such good genes since all the other kids at school got to have broken bones and allergies. So I was more than surprised when a few days ago I developed a hideous pain in and around my eye. It also made me teeth a bit sore but couldn't really keep me from food (I don't think much could keep me away from food, but anyway). It felt as if I had been socked in the eye and I couldn't remember getting into any domestic altercations or bar fights recently, so that nixed my first idea.
After researching with my doctor, and by doctor I mean, WebMD and my Mayo Health Clinic Self-Care book, I discovered this torture to be nothing but a sinus problem. I didn't even know everyone has a sinus, I thought simply some people have them and some people don't, like back hair or talent. I like to think of it that way, whatever the truth of it is, in my mind, I didn't have it before and Lord knows I am not going to host something that was uninvited. Nonetheless, it was causing distress in my life, relationship, and enjoyment of my weekend. This sinus had no right disrupting my affairs and was going to receive its eviction and cease and desist notice asap.
In fact, this unwanted house guest was so painful I had to cut my gym routine short.
As if being a gay man in our shallow world was not enough. As if my feeling bad for only going to the gym four times a week didn't make me feel like an outcast in our depthless community. But now I was supposed to be sick and not go to the gym? I might as well be outcast to Riverside County or the Northern desert parts of LA County where the freaks and losers go. Gay men pretty much get categorized into two categories, those who care about how they look and those who really don't, and I was not about to be put into box number two. Hell, if I was, cancel my gym membership and bring me a pair of ill fitting pants and square toe shoes.
After my short gym visit, I raced to the market determined to find the strongest most potent sinus medication; perhaps what they use on elephants or horses when they get sick. A shopping tip I extend to my followers, is that I found out that sinus medication is basically pain reliever (acetaminophen) and nasal decongestant (pseudoephedrine) in one pill, but they charge you more money since it's only one pill. I had both at home already, so I saved myself some money, (take that pharmaceutical industry). I drugged myself up and allowed the medication to break down the door of my sinus and escort, no wait, drag their ass out of my body. I imagine the scene looked like when the US government burst into that house in Miami and stole Elian Gonzalez out of the closet at gunpoint, except my sinus infiltration was a bad seed.
I feel better and no longer want to jump into a moving train. I expect a speedy recovery. Although, I wish I could say I look forward to going back to the gym and completing a full workout, I don't. Unfortunately, I'm just not that sick.
:)
-D
After researching with my doctor, and by doctor I mean, WebMD and my Mayo Health Clinic Self-Care book, I discovered this torture to be nothing but a sinus problem. I didn't even know everyone has a sinus, I thought simply some people have them and some people don't, like back hair or talent. I like to think of it that way, whatever the truth of it is, in my mind, I didn't have it before and Lord knows I am not going to host something that was uninvited. Nonetheless, it was causing distress in my life, relationship, and enjoyment of my weekend. This sinus had no right disrupting my affairs and was going to receive its eviction and cease and desist notice asap.
In fact, this unwanted house guest was so painful I had to cut my gym routine short.
As if being a gay man in our shallow world was not enough. As if my feeling bad for only going to the gym four times a week didn't make me feel like an outcast in our depthless community. But now I was supposed to be sick and not go to the gym? I might as well be outcast to Riverside County or the Northern desert parts of LA County where the freaks and losers go. Gay men pretty much get categorized into two categories, those who care about how they look and those who really don't, and I was not about to be put into box number two. Hell, if I was, cancel my gym membership and bring me a pair of ill fitting pants and square toe shoes.
After my short gym visit, I raced to the market determined to find the strongest most potent sinus medication; perhaps what they use on elephants or horses when they get sick. A shopping tip I extend to my followers, is that I found out that sinus medication is basically pain reliever (acetaminophen) and nasal decongestant (pseudoephedrine) in one pill, but they charge you more money since it's only one pill. I had both at home already, so I saved myself some money, (take that pharmaceutical industry). I drugged myself up and allowed the medication to break down the door of my sinus and escort, no wait, drag their ass out of my body. I imagine the scene looked like when the US government burst into that house in Miami and stole Elian Gonzalez out of the closet at gunpoint, except my sinus infiltration was a bad seed.
I feel better and no longer want to jump into a moving train. I expect a speedy recovery. Although, I wish I could say I look forward to going back to the gym and completing a full workout, I don't. Unfortunately, I'm just not that sick.
:)
-D
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Wishin' and Hopin'
***Blogger's Note: I apologize for my less than often updates, school was taking up more of my time than I had anticipated, but it's done now so you all can expect more updates on my eye's view of the world.
I really don't care what anyone says, I love Bravo's The Real Housewives of...series. Granted, New Jersey and New York are the best. Atlanta and Orange County of enjoyable too, don't get me wrong. But after having to trek from school to work and maintain my house, one of my favorite things to do was just to kick up my feet and watch Jill, Bethenny, Nene, Gretchen, Caroline, and Dina.
Often, my mind would wander at what city they would tackle next and illustrate to the world what a housewife does in comparison to New York, Atlanta, New Jersey. And even more often than not, my mind would wander to the possible future days of The Real Gay Husbands of Los Angeles, in which I would star.
I could see it now, the opening credits would have the background of the LA skyline showing a variety of landmarks: the US Bank building, the Hollywood sign, Melrose Avenue with me and circle of friends superimposed graphically over them. I could say such cute catchphrases as "I am part of LA's list power-gays," or "Me and my friends run this city," to showcase power and prestige. Or, I could say things like "Everybody knows I call the shots," or "Whoever said you can't have it all, never met me," (my personal favorite). Instead of an apple, we may have to hold things like avocados. Maybe a banana for a little double entendre.
The Real Gay Husbands of LA would probably mimic New York mostly, only because I'd be a career husband as would my friends. But not only would it show me working but it would also show Tony telling me that I don't need to work and he can take care of me and the kids. I'd ponder this thought for a few episodes but ultimately decide to keep working but still allow him to sign the checks.
I'd probably have the motherly instincts of Caroline, the attitude of Dina, and the sociability of Jill. The show can also film how I get crazy on my children's teachers for stifling their creativity and Tony calling the school immediately after my scene to apologize for my antics.
I have quite a few years until I'm a Real Gay Husband of Los Angeles. I heard Bravo is doing Washington D.C. next, at least I will have something to hold me over until they call me and have me get ready for my close up.
:)
-D
I really don't care what anyone says, I love Bravo's The Real Housewives of...series. Granted, New Jersey and New York are the best. Atlanta and Orange County of enjoyable too, don't get me wrong. But after having to trek from school to work and maintain my house, one of my favorite things to do was just to kick up my feet and watch Jill, Bethenny, Nene, Gretchen, Caroline, and Dina.
Often, my mind would wander at what city they would tackle next and illustrate to the world what a housewife does in comparison to New York, Atlanta, New Jersey. And even more often than not, my mind would wander to the possible future days of The Real Gay Husbands of Los Angeles, in which I would star.
I could see it now, the opening credits would have the background of the LA skyline showing a variety of landmarks: the US Bank building, the Hollywood sign, Melrose Avenue with me and circle of friends superimposed graphically over them. I could say such cute catchphrases as "I am part of LA's list power-gays," or "Me and my friends run this city," to showcase power and prestige. Or, I could say things like "Everybody knows I call the shots," or "Whoever said you can't have it all, never met me," (my personal favorite). Instead of an apple, we may have to hold things like avocados. Maybe a banana for a little double entendre.
The Real Gay Husbands of LA would probably mimic New York mostly, only because I'd be a career husband as would my friends. But not only would it show me working but it would also show Tony telling me that I don't need to work and he can take care of me and the kids. I'd ponder this thought for a few episodes but ultimately decide to keep working but still allow him to sign the checks.
I'd probably have the motherly instincts of Caroline, the attitude of Dina, and the sociability of Jill. The show can also film how I get crazy on my children's teachers for stifling their creativity and Tony calling the school immediately after my scene to apologize for my antics.
I have quite a few years until I'm a Real Gay Husband of Los Angeles. I heard Bravo is doing Washington D.C. next, at least I will have something to hold me over until they call me and have me get ready for my close up.
:)
-D
Saturday, February 7, 2009
This Used to Be My Playground
About a week and a half ago I paid a visit to my youth. My friends wanted to go to Tigerheat, the lipgloss, bubblegum pop gay club famous for the 18-21 crowd. I hadn't been there in three years (minus the two visits I had to make for the Mr. Gay LA contest, I was being sponsored by them so I had to go those two times) and lest to say not much has changed. There were still the twink fairies who are overdosing on fierceness and the swarms of straight girls who go with their gay boys. The overpriced drinks were still there and I could have sworn I would have been able to score some E from one of the cracked out looking gogo dancers. I felt a bit bad for some of the girls who came with their gay friends because the gay boys wanted to be backing it up the whole night and the girls had to be the tops (or men) that night to their gay bottom friends. I felt bad, but laughed aloud because it was funny.
On the way to the bathroom I was almost bowled over by two drugged out sunglasses wearing 18 year olds not to mention on the dancefloor it was a gay version of a mosh pit when anything pop-rock came on. I mean, how gay can a mosh pit get other than seeing who can jump the highest with the biggest smile and posing your arms just the right way so the photographer can post that picture up on the website.
It's odd that I noticed these things because at one point I fit right in. I started going to Tigherheat when I was 17 and went for a pretty consistent couple of years. I was a regular on their website and their dance boxes, as well as a familiar face to the crowd that frequented there. Not unlike the kids that were there that night I went, I used to drink in the car beforehand since I wasn't old enough to buy from the bar, and dance all night non stop sweating like Whitney Houston in a sauna. Ironically, my friends and I drank in the car prior to walking in to Tigerheat; we did it for economic purposes and if it helped us fit in, so be it.
As I was staring at these kids and trying to avoid getting knocked over, I remembered that I was once like them. When a kick ass song would come on, I would pretend I was on tour with Britney Spears or act like I was Justin Timberlake's choreographer. I would be rolling on the floor or dancing like a stripper. In my head I was the hottest thing since popcorn but according to Tony I was a mess. But I didn't care, I thought I looked good and was awesome.
I see where these kids are though. I can't judge because I was once one of them. So to those kids who are 18, 19 and 20, rock on. However, I am extremely free to judge the 21 plus crowd that still goes there. It's like having that one guy who graduated high school already still hanging out with the high school kids. Those guys are the ones to mentally slap around for having no aspiration. I am not hating, I just feel that as we grow up we leave certain things behind. I no longer tie bandanas around my leg like I did when I was 18, I grew out of that.
Tigerheat is part of my past. I accept it. I was there for all three location changes. I was there for the overpriced drinks, the aura of fierceness, and then crotch grabbing on the dancefloor. When you're 18, that's a good time (only one of those constitutes a good time at my age), and now I'm off to have a good time as a 23 year old. I'm sure that soon I'll grow out of my jug of wine and move on to something else. But in the meantime, cheers.
On the way to the bathroom I was almost bowled over by two drugged out sunglasses wearing 18 year olds not to mention on the dancefloor it was a gay version of a mosh pit when anything pop-rock came on. I mean, how gay can a mosh pit get other than seeing who can jump the highest with the biggest smile and posing your arms just the right way so the photographer can post that picture up on the website.
It's odd that I noticed these things because at one point I fit right in. I started going to Tigherheat when I was 17 and went for a pretty consistent couple of years. I was a regular on their website and their dance boxes, as well as a familiar face to the crowd that frequented there. Not unlike the kids that were there that night I went, I used to drink in the car beforehand since I wasn't old enough to buy from the bar, and dance all night non stop sweating like Whitney Houston in a sauna. Ironically, my friends and I drank in the car prior to walking in to Tigerheat; we did it for economic purposes and if it helped us fit in, so be it.
As I was staring at these kids and trying to avoid getting knocked over, I remembered that I was once like them. When a kick ass song would come on, I would pretend I was on tour with Britney Spears or act like I was Justin Timberlake's choreographer. I would be rolling on the floor or dancing like a stripper. In my head I was the hottest thing since popcorn but according to Tony I was a mess. But I didn't care, I thought I looked good and was awesome.
I see where these kids are though. I can't judge because I was once one of them. So to those kids who are 18, 19 and 20, rock on. However, I am extremely free to judge the 21 plus crowd that still goes there. It's like having that one guy who graduated high school already still hanging out with the high school kids. Those guys are the ones to mentally slap around for having no aspiration. I am not hating, I just feel that as we grow up we leave certain things behind. I no longer tie bandanas around my leg like I did when I was 18, I grew out of that.
Tigerheat is part of my past. I accept it. I was there for all three location changes. I was there for the overpriced drinks, the aura of fierceness, and then crotch grabbing on the dancefloor. When you're 18, that's a good time (only one of those constitutes a good time at my age), and now I'm off to have a good time as a 23 year old. I'm sure that soon I'll grow out of my jug of wine and move on to something else. But in the meantime, cheers.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Sweet Child O Mine
Last night I woke up three times to bring Clinton into bed. I buy clothes for him that look cute and keep him warm. A few weeks before that I grew frustrated as he wouldn't sit still for his Christmas picture. Mind you, I am not talking about a child, but rather my dog, Bill Clinton.
Tony and I got a dog a few months back. My mother calls him her grandson and I often refer to us as parents now. And in many ways he is like a child. We have to feed him and take him to get his shots and buy him toys. When he misbehaves we have to discipline him and reward him for good behavior. We compare him to other people's pets and praise how much better masters we are than everyone else, just like parents do. It recently him me last week though, that even though we have the same responsibilities as parents, we can't treat him just like a child.
Tony and I were trying to finish our Christmas shopping and I didn't want to leave Clinton at home by himself. And I was telling Tony that in many ways, Clinton is like a baby only better. He is actually quieter than most kids we know. He doesn't smell, he doesn't scream. If he did come with us to the store, he's just sit in the cart and stare at us or probably just sleep in his bag while we decided between broccoli florets and broccoli stems.
I began to get very irked by this and wanted to start up some firestorm of a protest to which Tony reminded me that some people are allergic to dogs which is why we can't take him to the store. "Some people are allergic to kids," I responded. He just stared at me.
The more I think about this, the more sense it makes for us to be allowed to take our canine companions places. Dogs are cheaper than kids too. They don't require the latest Ipod or Barbie toy. Clinton doesn't make a scene at the store when I don't buy him the newest squeakie ball. He doesn't talk back to me and scream he hates me because I make him go to bed. And besides, everyone we know likes Clinton, literally, not one person doesn't like him. I know plenty of people who don't like kids that I know. Plenty.
Oh well. For now, I will accept the fact that I can't take Clinton to the store. He'll just sit at home with the Disney channel on, like most kids I know.
:)
-D
Tony and I got a dog a few months back. My mother calls him her grandson and I often refer to us as parents now. And in many ways he is like a child. We have to feed him and take him to get his shots and buy him toys. When he misbehaves we have to discipline him and reward him for good behavior. We compare him to other people's pets and praise how much better masters we are than everyone else, just like parents do. It recently him me last week though, that even though we have the same responsibilities as parents, we can't treat him just like a child.
Tony and I were trying to finish our Christmas shopping and I didn't want to leave Clinton at home by himself. And I was telling Tony that in many ways, Clinton is like a baby only better. He is actually quieter than most kids we know. He doesn't smell, he doesn't scream. If he did come with us to the store, he's just sit in the cart and stare at us or probably just sleep in his bag while we decided between broccoli florets and broccoli stems.
I began to get very irked by this and wanted to start up some firestorm of a protest to which Tony reminded me that some people are allergic to dogs which is why we can't take him to the store. "Some people are allergic to kids," I responded. He just stared at me.
The more I think about this, the more sense it makes for us to be allowed to take our canine companions places. Dogs are cheaper than kids too. They don't require the latest Ipod or Barbie toy. Clinton doesn't make a scene at the store when I don't buy him the newest squeakie ball. He doesn't talk back to me and scream he hates me because I make him go to bed. And besides, everyone we know likes Clinton, literally, not one person doesn't like him. I know plenty of people who don't like kids that I know. Plenty.
Oh well. For now, I will accept the fact that I can't take Clinton to the store. He'll just sit at home with the Disney channel on, like most kids I know.
:)
-D
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