Another Day, Another Dog Post
Harry's in love with doggie daycare. I am in love with doggie daycare. Harry comes home so mellow! (I wonder if this is the guilt that parents feel after putting their hyper kids on Ritalin?) This morning I opened the door to the garage and he ran into my car, sat there waiting for me, and then started barking when I went inside to grab my keys. When we walked in to daycare, he lept out of my arms and starting sniffing his friends--a daschund named Bismarck and a Westie named Winston.
I have totally, full-force, balls-out, no-questions-asked gone into the Crazy Dog-owners Zone. About five (six?) years ago, there was an article in In Style about celebs and their pets, and one of the snippets I remember to this day was Candice Bergen, talking about her dog's costume birthday parties, and she mentions various attendees, among them "a chihuahua, wearing a yarmukle, carrying a Neiman Marcus box with a stick inside." That's like the best possible combination of words ever. I like to bring that up as often as possible. Part of the hilarious absurdity of it at the time was, of course, a dog costume party, but now I am planning one of my own (well, hold up--first I need to meet Harry's friends' owners).
But this brings me to another thought: that we all can change, and blah blah blah, but isn't it weird how some things are just totally part of who we are? Like the Neiman Marcus box with a stick inside--or my sister's patented Evil Elf Dance--are just never going to fail to crack me up. And I will never get tired of talking about what I ate for every meal every day, or eating things cold that really should be hot (chili--trust me on this), or for that matter, anything hot pink and/or plastic.
But I digress. A few years ago, there was a Scrubs episode where Elliot talked about hiding her "crazy inside" from her new boyfriend (methinks this was when Rick Schroeder was on) and it became shorthand for me, for describing anything you'd want to hide from a potential mate because you're in that phase when you don't want to freak them out. But there comes a point when your crazy inside is not the thing that's going to push someone away, and that someone may even find your crazy inside (read: totally neurotic approach to existence tempered with a complete and utter inability to get out of bed in the morning) somewhat charming. And then they will make you dinner every night this week because, after four years of "freelancing" you have to adjust to a real-person schedule, and wake you up and tell you to come to bed after you fall asleep on the couch pouting because you're a big baby, and wait, this was just supposed to be a Harry post. Well, Harry's dad is pretty rad.
I have totally, full-force, balls-out, no-questions-asked gone into the Crazy Dog-owners Zone. About five (six?) years ago, there was an article in In Style about celebs and their pets, and one of the snippets I remember to this day was Candice Bergen, talking about her dog's costume birthday parties, and she mentions various attendees, among them "a chihuahua, wearing a yarmukle, carrying a Neiman Marcus box with a stick inside." That's like the best possible combination of words ever. I like to bring that up as often as possible. Part of the hilarious absurdity of it at the time was, of course, a dog costume party, but now I am planning one of my own (well, hold up--first I need to meet Harry's friends' owners).
But this brings me to another thought: that we all can change, and blah blah blah, but isn't it weird how some things are just totally part of who we are? Like the Neiman Marcus box with a stick inside--or my sister's patented Evil Elf Dance--are just never going to fail to crack me up. And I will never get tired of talking about what I ate for every meal every day, or eating things cold that really should be hot (chili--trust me on this), or for that matter, anything hot pink and/or plastic.
But I digress. A few years ago, there was a Scrubs episode where Elliot talked about hiding her "crazy inside" from her new boyfriend (methinks this was when Rick Schroeder was on) and it became shorthand for me, for describing anything you'd want to hide from a potential mate because you're in that phase when you don't want to freak them out. But there comes a point when your crazy inside is not the thing that's going to push someone away, and that someone may even find your crazy inside (read: totally neurotic approach to existence tempered with a complete and utter inability to get out of bed in the morning) somewhat charming. And then they will make you dinner every night this week because, after four years of "freelancing" you have to adjust to a real-person schedule, and wake you up and tell you to come to bed after you fall asleep on the couch pouting because you're a big baby, and wait, this was just supposed to be a Harry post. Well, Harry's dad is pretty rad.
posted by Rebecca at 3:44 PM
