As I began writing this post, I realized that I had written a pretty similar one almost exactly a year ago. I guess every year I get the April Small Town Blues (it's in the DSMIV. Look it up.)
My dad -- like all dads-- has a special talent for embarrassing me. And it doesn't stop at his tendency to wear t-shirts with my face on them.
"As little as possible," he will always reply. To this day, I don't have the slightest clue what my dad did at work all those years.
"Mention my name, you'll get a good seat!" he responds without even thinking.
People laugh, but having heard these little jokes my entire life, I usually give them a good old fashioned angsty teenaged eye roll.
As expected, Ike was a hit (people cannot get enough of this dog, it's bizarre). Person after person complimented him, and I was never sure what to say. Thank you? It's not like I created him.
My audience laughed. My hypothetical future teenage daughter rolled her eyes.
After five or so times I added a telling nudge. After 10 times I added an apologetic pat on Ike's head. I was on a roll. I started to understand why my dad keeps his arsenal of jokes. The only problem is once you've been reciting them for 30 or so years, you lose track of who's heard them.
I'm kind of in shock that whoever started this 30 day blog challenge apparently only had one quirky thing about them, hence the topic "something quirky about me". I don't understand what that's like. A few friends told me this recently, and at first it kind of hurt my feelings but I guess I just have to embrace it: I am and always will be quirky.
I mean, the mere fact that I spend some of my free time writing in a blog rather than watching reality TV like everyone else I know is quirky in and of itself.
I can't believe I forgot to tell you guys this. The other day I was just hanging out on the curb, eating a popsicle, minding my own business, when someone recognized Y and me as those people with the white dog who wears glasses on a blog.
Anyway, I may have googled the gourmet popsicle place, Geauxsicles, as soon as I got home. And I may have added them on both facebook and twitter. And then I may have tweeted about them several times. And they may have tweeted me back. We basically knew each other.
Have I ever mentioned that I live in Smalltown, USA?
Yesterday we were playing tennis, and as per usual Yoni hit the ball over the fence (we're really, really good). Luckily, at that exact moment, in an occurrence that I've come to realize is NOT all that odd, Yoni's high school gym teacher happened to be taking a walk along the street that runs behind the tennis court. "Hey coach!" Yoni yelled, as if this happens all the time (IT DOES), "You mind throwing me that ball?"
Yoni might be used to this, but I. can't. handle. it. I want my privacy back! I don't need Yoni's high school gym teacher (or his genetics professor, or one of his classmates, who we also happened to see at the tennis court) to know my every move. I also would like to go to Target in my pajamas every once in awhile, without fear of running into the dean of students of the med school. Oh, and I'd like to enjoy brunch at my friend's house without looking out the window and seeing my boss pass by on her morning walk.
While sometimes it's good to go where everybody knows your name and your tennis score and what you're eating for brunch and all that jazz, I think it's time for an escape.
We're going to New York and DC this summer and while you'd think it would be a chance to remain completely anonymous, last time we visited New York we parked at a New Jersey train station and struck up a conversation with the couple parked next to us... who had dinner with Yoni's little brother's fencing coach a few weeks earlier. WILL IT EVER END?!