Last weekend was the dog parade, so I thought it would be fun to take Jackson and our dog, Katie. We weren’t going with a pack of other bulldogs, nor had we chosen a theme and fanciful outfits with which to humiliate ourselves. No, I just thought it might be fun to walk around in the hot sun with a bored child and a dog that could overheat and die at any moment. So relax and enjoy this half-assed chronicle of last Saturday morning up until I became alarmed, tried to pour a bottle of water down Katie’s throat, and threw everyone back into the car and cranked on the air conditioning.
Here we see Katie (lower left) at the pre-parade lineup being ogled by a small white dog wearing a purple harem outfit.
Here’s a bad photo of two dogs dressed up like Dracula’s fringed shower curtains being led by the silver lamé court jester as a merry jape.
Dogs in wigs are kind of disturbingly attractive, admit it.
Jackson greets a basset hound wearing a lei. Because basset hounds are so tropical; they’re just overrunning the South Pacific. Good thing they’re so delicious.
I’ve had a hard time posting anything lately. All I really want to do is sit on a pillow in a grass skirt and be pulled around on a skateboard. While watching TV.
I feel like a shift is occurring. I’m really bored with talking about myself.
I thought about shutting down this site for awhile. I mean, I like that it exists, but my reasons for starting Fussy are no longer my reasons for maintaining it. So why am I doing this?
Do I need the Internet’s attention?
I suppose I’d feel a little left out if my act wasn’t in the circus anymore.
Do I like to sit around waiting for strangers to say only nice things to me?
That seems pretty weak.
Ostensibly the whole thing began as a writing exercise and a way to explore my new identity as a mother when I started in 2001. Back then I needed my stories to be read, I wanted people to see — and wanted to show myself — that being a parent didn’t mean you instantly became a humorless, minivan-loving automaton who lived for soccer practice and the PTA. And now I look around the Internet and i see hundreds of people parentblogging so well, so funny and smart and alive and way better writers than me. So who needs me yapping on about my kid?
By the way, women in French maid’s outfits with little mop-dogs on the end of sticks? Awesome.
Also awesome: the Cerberus shrug.
We walked Katie on the edge of the parade and people on the sidewalk would just stretch out their hands to pet her.
This woman was incredibly nice. “I love my dog.” On the back of her shirt it said, “Your dog is cute, too.”
I have no idea what’s going on here. Grapes, and a clown?
So I don’t know, I guess I’m looking for new things to express and new ways to express things via the blog format. The straight mommyblog gig starts to lack imagination, even though there’s this really passive-aggressive karate mom I may need to tell you about.
Man, I am so hopped up on Sudafed right now.
2004 dog parade post is here.