Monthly Archives: September 2012

Dear Mom and Dad (a puppy proposal)

Mom and dad, Jackie and Tim. Seeing as I live in your home, I have a favor to ask of you.

Please let me get a dog.

I know what you’re thinking. “Allie, you are not responsible enough. You don’t cook your own dinner, iron your own shirts, or charge your own electric toothbrush.”

You’re right – I don’t. I’m bad at cooking and cleaning and charging teethbrushes. I don’t do any domestic ish. You know who else doesn’t do domestic ish? A dog.

My future best friend/dog, who I’ve tentatively named Jacktimlyn, will not like cooking or cleaning or brushing teeth, either. Fortunately I do not have to cook dog food (though I do intend to huff it, socially). Dogs don’t wear clothing so I’ll never have to worry about laundry. And I’ll get Jacktimlyn a non-electric toothbrush.

You might say, “Allie, we already have Chico. Isn’t he enough?”

Again, you are right. I love Chico very much – he’s more than enough puppy for one family. But, mom, Chico is yours. He’ll never love me as much as he loves you. You take him to Connecticut with you all the time — I barely see him these days! (And when Chico is at home, he’ll have a buddy to play with!)

You might say, “When Chico isn’t in Connecticut you complain about taking him for walks.”

This time you’re only partially right. I complain about taking Chico for walks at night. I am afraid of the dark. Are You Afraid of the Dark? You should be, because as soon as the sun goes down the men start a-lurking. We live across from a bar! And a tattoo parlor! You know the type of people around our home. And you know how tiny Chico is. He’s smaller than a baby! What would we do if someone tried to abduct the pair of us? We would be defenseless. Jacktimlyn will be a golden retriever. Goldens are a large breed; troublesome men will be sure to leave us alone.

“Your baby daughter will be safe with me.” Via Flickr http://bit.ly/208D283

You might say, “You work and do activities and things. We will be stuck caring for your dog.”

Don’t think of it as being stuck, think of it as an employment opportunity!  Dad, you work at home. If you agree, I will happily pay you to walk Jacktimlyn when I’m at work. We can discuss an hourly rate, and I can pay a full year in advance. Wow! How lucrative this could be for you!

Dolla dolla bills, dad.

If you cannot agree, father, that is okay. You think there are no other working, activity-ing people who own dogs? There are, I assure you! Billions, maybe trillions of them! Jacktimlyn can get a nice long walk before I go to work and then another couple walks when I get home, in addition to fun play sessions. Plus, many of my activities are dog-friendly, especially for a well-behaved dog like Jacktimlyn is sure to be.

Finally, you might say, “Dogs tie you down. Don’t you talk about how you want to travel?”

I talk about wanting to travel, but only to make myself sound cool and important. Traveling makes me nervous and hungry, and I don’t have a desire to do much of it. If I ever decide to move to a different state, I’ll have a lovely companion to come with. And anyway, dad, didn’t you get a dog (a golden, I believe?) when you were 23? Didn’t you move to Hawaii after you bought him? Wasn’t he the best trained dog you ever owned?

Obviously, dog ownership is a big responsibility. Here is a list of things I promise to do, and how I’ll do them. They are open for negotiation.

  • Pay for everything: Jacktimlyn, the vet, food, training, grooming, and toys. I will not buy Jacktimlyn until I have many thousands of doll hairs saved. Pending your approval, I will get Jacktimlyn next spring. This means I can ask for puppy paraphernalia for Christmas and my birthday. How easy gift shopping for me will be!
  • Keep the house clean. I will vacuum and sweep the main living areas twice a week. That means every year, I will vacuum and sweep 104 times. That is approximately 103 more times than I currently vacuum and sweep.
  • Keep Jacktimlyn clean. I will bathe him when he needs it, brush him weekly, and pet the crap out of him daily.
  • Care for him. Cause if you let me, here’s what I’ll do: I’ll take care of you Jacktimlyn.

Mom, if you help me convince dad I’ll give you free reign of my Facebook account for as long as it exists.

Dad, you know what kind of vehicle can’t accommodate a dog? A scooter. Also, I promise I’ll never ask you to cut your hair again.

Pleasey?

P.S. If you don’t let me I’m going to get a sleeve of tattoos.
P.P.S. Just kidding, I’m not that spiteful.
P.P.P.S. But know that I could.
Another P.S. If anyone other than my mom and dad are reading this, please show your support of my dog ownership. For Jacktimlyn’s sake.

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How Janet Jackson made me cry

My mom and I look alike. Though I have a moonier face, we’re basically twins born 35 years apart. We have nibbly knobs for chins, flapping lobes for ears, and huge gums for teeth.

Save for a dog-food-induced popped lung or two, we have identical health records, too. We both suffer from cold sores, occasional bouts of granuloma annulare, and an inability to be ashamed of our poop. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, it’s helpful to have my mom as a personal blueprint for my own health. Always looking for what disease I’ll inherit next, I have made a practice of surveying my trick mother. In 2009, whilst surveying my trick mother, I found a suspicious red welt on her forehead.

My dad had had a similar growth on his shoulder a few years prior, and it had turned out to be basal cell carcinoma — a benign type of skin cancer. Benign or benot, cancers is scary. As soon as I noticed the welt on my mom, I asked her to go to the skin doctor to get it checked out. After three years of my nagging, she finally did this past May.

It was basal cell carcinoma. Lady had to go and get her head all chopped up.

Battered mother

Battered chicken

As upsetting as it was to learn my mom had skin cancer, it wasn’t the most upset I’ve ever been by her health. When I was 12 and my sister Beanie was 14, my mom’s health upsat us so badly it changed our lives.

Me: Mom, you’re my favorite mommy. Want to do fun mother-daughter bull, like read gossip magazines?

Beanie: Me too! Me too!

Mom: Of course, sweet children. I love reading celebrity tabloids. Pass me one!

Me: Here! I know how much you love the VH1 movie about her family. You even named our cats after her brothers. Take this one!

Mom: Huh? Wha? Hibbidy jibbidy, who dat be?

(My sister and I break out into immediate, violent sobs. Our mom doesn’t recognize Janet Jackson.)

Me: Ooohhhh laaaaaaaaawwwwddd.

Beanie: What… does… this… mean?

Me: QUICK! GRAB THE OTHER MAGAZINE. MOM, WHO IS THIS?

Mom: C’mon! Everyone knows who that is. It’s that… guy. Who’s dating the… umm… the girl. Ya’ll know.

(Beanie and I cry even harder. She doesn’t know who Justin Timberlake is and can’t remember Britney Spears.)

About 30 minutes later, while my sister and I were still mourning the abrupt loss of our mother’s sanity, my mammy got knocked out by a massive migraine. Apparently her vision/mind had been funked up from the impending headache. That’s why, in addition to begging my mom to visit the dermatologist, Beanie and I quiz her on Janet’s face at least once a month.

…The health I have to look forward to!

Name that Jackson