For some strange reason, my mom loves bulldogs. She manages to get her hands on a new one every time she smothers one to death. I suppose it makes sense because bulldogs have a face only a mother could love. They were beaten with the cat o'nine tail centuries ago and the "flogged in the face" look remained a trait in their genes. Also due to generations of inbreeding, they are inherently the down syndrome breed of dogs. There are several other reasons why these dogs are abominable. They snort instead of snore in their sleep, have sleep apnea, throw up when they get excited, blow bubbles out of all orifices, and the list goes on and on. Secretly, I think my mom chose a bulldog as her buddy because it was the only thing so ugly it couldn't compete with her for men.
But my mom tried to boost the ugly dog's confidence. Much like a girl tries to boost the confidence of her big fat best friend (aka 'BFBF') and tell her, "It's the beauty on the inside that counts." My mom even named her "Beauty."
She dressed her up in all kinds of fashions and costumes. Wigs, formal gowns, Green Bay Packers cheerleading outfits, you name it! My mom would go to the thrift stores and buy toddler and children's clothing and alter it to fit her pooch. She also joined a bulldog club, where her friends and her would have a sanctioned event to bring their costumed dogs to. The parties always had themes. Of course Halloween was always an extravaganza. One year my mom dressed up as Cinderella, and her dog went as her fairy godmother, coned dunce hat with ribbon streamers and all. Another year her dog was too sick to attend, but my mother dressed her up and drug her along anyway. It was like us kids being dressed us up like dolls and drug to church in sickness and in health, rain or shine, even if on our death bed, all over again.
Other common celebrations are gala birthday parties for their dog's sweet sixteen. For this, the dog owners, or parents, as they preferred to be called, even post their dog's professional glamor shots, larger than life sized, all over the walls. There's cake, pin the tail on the donkey, awards, carnivals; it's like the circus has come to town. It's all about keeping up with the Jones's where one parent is constantly trying to outdo the last.
One day I was on the phone with my mom, and I couldn't help but pull my ear away from the speaker as she was scolding her dog. My mom said to me, "She's throwing a fit. She wants to wear the dress I just bought her, but I told her she had to wait because I need to alter it. I told her it's a child's dress, but she wants to wear it now."
At that point, I could no longer bite my tongue at my mother's ludicrousness and flapdoodle and I uttered out, "Mom, you can put lipstick on a pig and call it whatever you want. But it's still a pig....and it has lipstick on it." Then I regretted those very words because she followed it up by exclaiming, "Oh, how clever! I never thought about putting lipstick on Beauty!"
A couple months later, my mom couldn't find a babysitter for Beauty, so she schlepped the dog along for a ride across the state. When my mom arrived to her destination, she informed the dog, and notified it to get out, stretch her stumps and use the potty. The dog wouldn't listen, so my mother began scolding it. My mom became vexed at the dog's disobedience. Then she noticed a bubble coming out of Beauty's nose, and it seemed as if the dog was passing gas.
"This is not the time to be farting around, Beauty." My mom asserted.
Then my mother realized the dog was not responding. She was out cold, not breathing. My mom attempted CPR, but couldn't remember what the ABC's and the CPR's stood for. She also didn't have a one-way valve/non-rebreather. She rushed Beauty to the vet, where she was pronounced dead of a broken heart, or something like that. At least that's what my mother told me.
Beauty had a nice burial and ceremony. Unfortunately, most of her doggy friends could not attend across the state on such short notice. But when my mom got home, they threw a formal event in Beauty's honor. However, my mother insisted that no one wear black, because that's not what Beauty would've wanted.
This tragic event brought transcendence to my mom. She realized she could not bare the pain of losing another dog again. So she put her "doggy dayze" to rest. And may they R.I.P.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
"And it only cost $60!!!!!!"
My mother had inevitably figured out which hairstyle to wear, and began her packing for the big reunion.
She is always one for a party or ball, so she packed 5 of her favorite formal dresses she bought from the second hand store for $1 each. Never mind that her reunion was a BBQ in the park, my mother was going to look like a damn royal princess. I am sure she also envisioned arriving on a flower covered float, standing and waving in the fashion of, "elbow-elbow, wrist-wrist, wipe a tear and blow a kiss." Either that or a convertible, so she could be chauffeured while sitting on the back with her hair blowing in the wind. People would stop whatever they were doing, jaws would drop, and everyone would start chanting her name and saying how beautiful she was. My mother would then get on her megaphone (not that she needed one) and tell them, "You may all go back to eating your cake and appetizers on toothpicks. As you were."
But there was still one fundamental particle missing to her scheme. She still did not have a way to get to this reunion several states away.
My mother rummaged the Craigslist ads, leaving no stone unturned for a rideshare across the country. She saw an ad by a mother traveling with her daughter for a toddler pageant, one with someone moving down South in a Uhaul, and one with a couple of Hispanic male criminals. She was naturally attracted to the ad by the Hispanic criminals and wanted to ensure equal opportunity by choosing the minorities, but she figured she'd call all of them first to make sure they were legit.
The mother-daughter pageant goers sounded like a fun trip, so my mom met up with them in person. However, sitting across the table from them at the park, she was dry heaving and choking on the gallons of "Unbreakable" by Khloe and Lamar the woman had bathed herself in like a French whore. There was no way my mother could endure a trip in enclosed chambers across the country when she was this deathly allergic to the woman's cologne. Not to mention the Virginia Slims the woman couldn't put down.
So my mom called the movers who were offering a ride. Turns out she would've had to ride in the back of the truck with the cargo. She told them she would consider it, but she thought she'd call the Hispanics to see what they had to offer.
She called the Hispanics and decided to meet up with them, to do her own sort of interview. As she watched the two Hispanic males climb out of their car and walk over to her, reality dove into slow motion and the theme song to Miami Vice began to play. She saw their ripped jeans, scruffy bodies, piercings and tattoos and immediately knew it was fate for her to ride with these men. Then they gave her a price she could not refuse. She left me a voicemail with a description of the vehicle and the men just in case I didn't hear from her again. She didn't know their names, but she was pretty sure at least one of them was named Jose.
My mother called me when she arrived to her destination, told me the details and with glee announced, "And it only cost $60!!!!" Never mind it could have cost her her life, my mother would never turn down such an opportune deal.
She is always one for a party or ball, so she packed 5 of her favorite formal dresses she bought from the second hand store for $1 each. Never mind that her reunion was a BBQ in the park, my mother was going to look like a damn royal princess. I am sure she also envisioned arriving on a flower covered float, standing and waving in the fashion of, "elbow-elbow, wrist-wrist, wipe a tear and blow a kiss." Either that or a convertible, so she could be chauffeured while sitting on the back with her hair blowing in the wind. People would stop whatever they were doing, jaws would drop, and everyone would start chanting her name and saying how beautiful she was. My mother would then get on her megaphone (not that she needed one) and tell them, "You may all go back to eating your cake and appetizers on toothpicks. As you were."
But there was still one fundamental particle missing to her scheme. She still did not have a way to get to this reunion several states away.
My mother rummaged the Craigslist ads, leaving no stone unturned for a rideshare across the country. She saw an ad by a mother traveling with her daughter for a toddler pageant, one with someone moving down South in a Uhaul, and one with a couple of Hispanic male criminals. She was naturally attracted to the ad by the Hispanic criminals and wanted to ensure equal opportunity by choosing the minorities, but she figured she'd call all of them first to make sure they were legit.
The mother-daughter pageant goers sounded like a fun trip, so my mom met up with them in person. However, sitting across the table from them at the park, she was dry heaving and choking on the gallons of "Unbreakable" by Khloe and Lamar the woman had bathed herself in like a French whore. There was no way my mother could endure a trip in enclosed chambers across the country when she was this deathly allergic to the woman's cologne. Not to mention the Virginia Slims the woman couldn't put down.
So my mom called the movers who were offering a ride. Turns out she would've had to ride in the back of the truck with the cargo. She told them she would consider it, but she thought she'd call the Hispanics to see what they had to offer.
She called the Hispanics and decided to meet up with them, to do her own sort of interview. As she watched the two Hispanic males climb out of their car and walk over to her, reality dove into slow motion and the theme song to Miami Vice began to play. She saw their ripped jeans, scruffy bodies, piercings and tattoos and immediately knew it was fate for her to ride with these men. Then they gave her a price she could not refuse. She left me a voicemail with a description of the vehicle and the men just in case I didn't hear from her again. She didn't know their names, but she was pretty sure at least one of them was named Jose.
My mother called me when she arrived to her destination, told me the details and with glee announced, "And it only cost $60!!!!" Never mind it could have cost her her life, my mother would never turn down such an opportune deal.
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