Kindergarten was certainly an interesting time. I suppose I really don't even remember much from my kindergarten years and even my new class of four and five year old kids isn't really jogging much memory. I imagine, if I haven't changed too much, that I was most likely just as much a pain in the ass in my kindy years as I think I might be now. But the more I search for some long purged memories of the beginnings of my lifelong pursuit of knowledge the more I start to feel embarrassed because I see how random and inexplicable kindergartner's actions can be.
Let's start with Katrina. Katrina is a nice girl who is only five years old and already has a prettiness about her that will surely get her attention throughout her life. (I have come to suspect that her mother may even give her slight applications of makeup before she comes to class. This could be the reason for her habitual tardiness.) Katrina doesn't have that "go get 'em" attitude that is shocking to see in some of the other young overachievers in the class. Katrina prefers the pursuit of boys. Where others in the class crave knowledge or desire to have every moment of every class be set to some sort of jumpy Disneyesque song and dance; Katrina simply wants all the attention from the boys who hardly know how to pull their pants up past their bare little asses after peeing without falling over, let alone how to respond to the flippant behavior of a tiny member of the opposite sex, of whom they also don't quite understand. Nothing excites Katrina more than being hugged or receiving interest from her fellow male classmates.
Today Katrina asked me if she could go to the bathroom to which I curtly replied, "no, we are having class!" (I think the strict Asian educational standards are subtly becoming a part of my general teaching philosophy.)Katrina was fine until about a minute later when I saw her head bouncing around past the shelves separating the seating areas of the classroom. I stopped class again to ask "Katrina, what are you doing?" Katrina's answer was nothing verbal but simply the action of slowly and cautiously raising her arm to reveal a pair of recently doo doo stained panties. My reaction would most likely be categorized as profound and utter horror. Katrina thought that as the teacher I might want her newly manufactured A-bomb but she was quite ill-informed as I wanted nothing to do with her little "death present." Of course none of the little children saw anything wrong with Katrina walking around wearing nothing below her waist, and it was only I who was growing pale and terrified as this horrendous nightmare was quickly becoming more of a reality.
As these stories often go, my Chinese teacher, and helper of all things dirty, was absent when I needed her the most. I tried to calm my nerves and think of a rational and sensible solution to this disgustingly strange predicament but I couldn't collect my thoughts and Katrina was creeping ever closer to me with that little stick of dynamite clasped in her cold clammy hands. So, when no other idea sprung to mind, I ran out of the classroom and closed the door behind me leaving 14 kindergartners and a 15th half dressed time bomb alone in a classroom together.
I peeked in through the window as if I was watching a failed bomb tech unit fight to be let out before the misfiring explosive went off with them inside. I checked the outside of the class and couldn't see anyone who might like to tackle this horrific responsibility for me. I started to picture all of the things that would have to happen between myself and Katrina in order to get her "class ready" again and the image made me so weak in the knees I almost fell over. To think of the strange angles and positions and the mortifying questions I would have to ask made me wish that I could jump off the roof and relieve myself of these doody duties.
I was finally able to calm down and I went next door to my co-worker's class. He was sitting in a nice happy little circle with his students reviewing the week's phonics lesson and all his kids appeared to be attentive and intrigued. I quickly interrupted the mood with my stuttering, "Kakakakakatrina just crapped her pants and is wawawawawalking around half naked in the classroom!" Everyone in the class began with a most unhelpful and hysteric laughter brought on by their "supportive" teacher.
To my luck his Chinese teacher was still in the class and informed me that my teacher had gone downstairs to do some paper work. Well I needed a different kind of paper work done and it involved using that paper in dark ways that still make me shutter. I repeated my indelicately formed sentence that should never have been used in front of a group of young minds whose every English action is derived from the inspiration and examples of their teachers. The Chinese teacher immediately snapped into "let's clean up the shit mode" and was ready to help.
We entered the city of New Chernobyl aka my classroom, myself a couple of feet behind my savior of dirty deeds, and the students had now discovered their freedom and were going a little bit past bat shit crazy all over the classroom. Whatever kind of order I may have had earlier with the children was like Katrina's soiled panties: destroyed and completely irreplaceable.
The teacher escorted the young Katrina out of the classroom and I was left to a most disagreeable smell and an even more obnoxious group of rowdy children who I now feared had just as volatile bowls as their classmate and former nice pants owner. For the rest of the day I was sending children out at even the slightest uncomfortable movement that I detected might lead to their pant legs becoming a slide to a river more dangerous than the Amazon and Nile combined. One student even confusedly replied, "but teacher Andrew, I don't need to go potty" as I sent him to the bathroom for a gesture he made of squeezing his little pecker in what I thought was an effort to "plug the pipes."
I was indeed helped by more experienced and thus more irritated personnel and the day started to resume a relatively comfortable tone again. I restored some aspect of calm to the class but was forced to initiate a coloring activity because all hope was lost at learning anything comparatively important.
However suddenly, while pacing around the classroom trying to think of new and unique compliments to put smiles on each individuals face, I tripped over what I thought was a chair leg.
Oh no, it was a real leg.
It was Katrina's leg.
It was Katrina, whose sickness had evolved from crap in the pants to throwing up in the recyclables waist basket as the rest of the students happily colored a Cinderella scene. (We are learning about our favorite fairy tales in this unit. This is not my favorite fairy tale.) Katrina was apparently quite sick and yet displayed some sort of amazing skill that enabled her to separate her physical from her mental. I hadn't noticed that she was puking because she had been kidding around and laughing with one of the boys in the class in between purges. Katrina was managing to be flirtatious while vomiting in her panties free and new shorts attire.
I asked Katrina if she was OK, shocked at the circumstances I couldn't begin to comprehend, and she gave a confused look and cutely responded, "I OK. Why?"
Before I could prepare a comment or bounce off such a hilariously content response Katrina slammed the top of the waist basket down, put a smile on her face, and hopped in line to go to lunch as if nothing had happened.
Now imagine the times when perhaps you were feeling sick from the top end or the bottom end. Visualize the agony and discomfort that you felt as if the sickness would never end and would only become increasingly worse as seconds in your miserable life ticked by. Picture that the only comfort was perhaps the idea of someone hitting you over the head with an object heavy enough to send you away from your utterly wretched condition forever. Try to envision having that sickness through both ends in front of all your friends and your educator and you might be able to understand what it was like in Katrina's shoes this day.
And how did she she act through all this? It was as if she was just going about her boring tasks finding them not agonizing but rather a slight disruption to her coquettish wanderings with the boys of the class. I don't know where Katrina will go in her life or what she will become, but if I am in any way an effective teacher and get her to understand and enjoy English the whole rest of the world will find out.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Taking it Easy
Don't get me wrong, being a world traveler is certainly an exciting gig but it does have its' difficulties. The primary hardship about this leisurely existence is how easy it is to be lazy about everything. Being in a foreign country means that you have to either go out of your way to constantly try and experiment with new things, or simply find your comfort level and then ride out the good life.
I like to think that I have tried some new things and been in some weird and awkward situations while having lived these past six months on a small island, located just 100 miles west of the coast of China, known as Taiwan. I have learned some Chinese in the form of language and I have met some Chinese people and become friends with them as well. I have eaten exotic foods such as BBQ chicken ass and pork intestines stuffed with spleen which I will most likely never even look at again. I can even say that I have made a life for myself as I hold a steady and profitable job and have a good group of friends while living in my own place and frequenting several establishments that house a staff and similar group of "regulars" who remember me and elatedly welcome my daily "drop ins."
But at the core of all that there exists a very relaxed and tranquil aspect of my life that boarders on blatant slothfulness. One example would be how, for the past two weeks, I have been working simply from 9 am to 1130 am everyday. That time is spent with my kindergarten class who love every idea I create for class whether it be dancing and singing the same song five times in a row or talking about how we feel each day and how the weather is outside. Around 45 minutes of the time I spend in class is either watching the students eat and asking "is the food yummy?" or inventing new games to teach them the basic art of socializing and enjoying one another.
As you can imagine a day like this does not exactly leave one fatigued, and with the early hours of class I am able to utilize the whole day in any way I please. This, I find, is better for me than just having the day off of work because in that arises the basic battle of motivating myself to even go outside when I have six movies channels just feet from my bedroom. By already having showered, dressed, left my home, and energized to the excitement of playing with little four year old children I am quite ready to embark on an adventurous day.
Now as I say this I want you to think of what you might do on a day like such as this one. Be sure to remember that this is not one day either but rather two whole weeks. That creates the first struggle I encounter each day. I begin to plan my many activities and am soon overwhelmed by all the potential things I could do and how it would be easier to just do them tomorrow or the next day. Thinking too hard like this can get tiring so I usually pick a place to go and calm my excitable blood for a moment.
I do a lot of theorizing in the park. Sometimes, on a really productive day, I might even go sit on a bench and write down the things I might like to do and see and finish for the day or the week. Often times, however, I pick the "Huckleberry" option of finding a shaded tree to relax and dream under. I like to role up my pants and pop off my shoes and lay down in the grass to take a break from my "on the go" lifestyle. I got so comfortable the other day that after sleeping under a particularly nice tree for about two hours I realized that I had found my bed under a great load of sap and needles which made the sticky transfer from the earth to my brand new pants. If I hadn't looked like an misplaced hobo for my irregular napping habits I was most certainly exposed when the locals were able to view my "rustic" backside. I thought, I could find this situation stressful and embarrassing, or I could find a new tree and take more care to create a nice bed for myself.
Today I wanted to finish reading a book, call the bank in the US, call the bank in France, go to the bank in Taiwan, call about student loans, finish my lesson plans for class, buy groceries, do my laundry, clean my room, and I think even a few more things. While I didn't get to all these things I was impressed with my idea to convert from my hot and humid jeans to a nice free pair of shorts. It did require me to go all the way home but I thought since the weather was so pleasant, a breezy 73, I would make that much needed transformation.
I turned on my computer with the intention of calling one of these many banks today but thought I might check the essentials like facebook and gmail first. The mission that had initially drawn my attention to using the World Wide Web was lost and I found myself browsing through long lost friend's profiles while mentally guffawing at their limited musical favorites. To justify my Internet ventures I read a quick useless tidbit on Wikipedia and then realized that my lap could no longer take the heat of my computer and so, once again, I was in need of a siesta.
This time I left my shoes at home and strolled across the street, book in hand, to the local park. I borrowed one of the chairs from another "regular" like myself and took to reading in the sun. I made it through perhaps ten pages before I caught my neck snapping as I had fallen asleep, mouth wide open, in front of plain view of the other visitors and neighbors in the park. I chose a perfect time in which to arise as a violinist had found a delightful spot in which to practice the soothing songs of Beethoven (I have no idea really.) So I resumed my reading and listened as the musician and the sun reminded me of how much nicer doing nothing is than doing something.
Now maybe it would be splendid to go home to the jobless USA where I could ponder and stress at discovering my vocation in life only to accept work as a gas station attendant to at least help pay the rent my roommates (or parents) would most likely assign me, but I think this life here also has its' benefits. I may not get many things done or work very hard outside of my job, and I may not own anything except a few clothes and books, and I may not be a lot of things, but in my little world here I enjoy every moment in the way that I want and it suits me to be a relaxed, and perhaps a little bit lazy, world traveler.
I like to think that I have tried some new things and been in some weird and awkward situations while having lived these past six months on a small island, located just 100 miles west of the coast of China, known as Taiwan. I have learned some Chinese in the form of language and I have met some Chinese people and become friends with them as well. I have eaten exotic foods such as BBQ chicken ass and pork intestines stuffed with spleen which I will most likely never even look at again. I can even say that I have made a life for myself as I hold a steady and profitable job and have a good group of friends while living in my own place and frequenting several establishments that house a staff and similar group of "regulars" who remember me and elatedly welcome my daily "drop ins."
But at the core of all that there exists a very relaxed and tranquil aspect of my life that boarders on blatant slothfulness. One example would be how, for the past two weeks, I have been working simply from 9 am to 1130 am everyday. That time is spent with my kindergarten class who love every idea I create for class whether it be dancing and singing the same song five times in a row or talking about how we feel each day and how the weather is outside. Around 45 minutes of the time I spend in class is either watching the students eat and asking "is the food yummy?" or inventing new games to teach them the basic art of socializing and enjoying one another.
As you can imagine a day like this does not exactly leave one fatigued, and with the early hours of class I am able to utilize the whole day in any way I please. This, I find, is better for me than just having the day off of work because in that arises the basic battle of motivating myself to even go outside when I have six movies channels just feet from my bedroom. By already having showered, dressed, left my home, and energized to the excitement of playing with little four year old children I am quite ready to embark on an adventurous day.
Now as I say this I want you to think of what you might do on a day like such as this one. Be sure to remember that this is not one day either but rather two whole weeks. That creates the first struggle I encounter each day. I begin to plan my many activities and am soon overwhelmed by all the potential things I could do and how it would be easier to just do them tomorrow or the next day. Thinking too hard like this can get tiring so I usually pick a place to go and calm my excitable blood for a moment.
I do a lot of theorizing in the park. Sometimes, on a really productive day, I might even go sit on a bench and write down the things I might like to do and see and finish for the day or the week. Often times, however, I pick the "Huckleberry" option of finding a shaded tree to relax and dream under. I like to role up my pants and pop off my shoes and lay down in the grass to take a break from my "on the go" lifestyle. I got so comfortable the other day that after sleeping under a particularly nice tree for about two hours I realized that I had found my bed under a great load of sap and needles which made the sticky transfer from the earth to my brand new pants. If I hadn't looked like an misplaced hobo for my irregular napping habits I was most certainly exposed when the locals were able to view my "rustic" backside. I thought, I could find this situation stressful and embarrassing, or I could find a new tree and take more care to create a nice bed for myself.
Today I wanted to finish reading a book, call the bank in the US, call the bank in France, go to the bank in Taiwan, call about student loans, finish my lesson plans for class, buy groceries, do my laundry, clean my room, and I think even a few more things. While I didn't get to all these things I was impressed with my idea to convert from my hot and humid jeans to a nice free pair of shorts. It did require me to go all the way home but I thought since the weather was so pleasant, a breezy 73, I would make that much needed transformation.
I turned on my computer with the intention of calling one of these many banks today but thought I might check the essentials like facebook and gmail first. The mission that had initially drawn my attention to using the World Wide Web was lost and I found myself browsing through long lost friend's profiles while mentally guffawing at their limited musical favorites. To justify my Internet ventures I read a quick useless tidbit on Wikipedia and then realized that my lap could no longer take the heat of my computer and so, once again, I was in need of a siesta.
This time I left my shoes at home and strolled across the street, book in hand, to the local park. I borrowed one of the chairs from another "regular" like myself and took to reading in the sun. I made it through perhaps ten pages before I caught my neck snapping as I had fallen asleep, mouth wide open, in front of plain view of the other visitors and neighbors in the park. I chose a perfect time in which to arise as a violinist had found a delightful spot in which to practice the soothing songs of Beethoven (I have no idea really.) So I resumed my reading and listened as the musician and the sun reminded me of how much nicer doing nothing is than doing something.
Now maybe it would be splendid to go home to the jobless USA where I could ponder and stress at discovering my vocation in life only to accept work as a gas station attendant to at least help pay the rent my roommates (or parents) would most likely assign me, but I think this life here also has its' benefits. I may not get many things done or work very hard outside of my job, and I may not own anything except a few clothes and books, and I may not be a lot of things, but in my little world here I enjoy every moment in the way that I want and it suits me to be a relaxed, and perhaps a little bit lazy, world traveler.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Day To Remember
Well how does it feel to be back in Taiwan? Oh sorry for those of you who didn't know I live in Taiwan. And for those others who knew that I live in Taiwan but are wondering "where did he go?" The answer would be the land of the free, where burgers save lives and the beer comes in suitcase form.......ah yes the old U. S. of A.
I hadn't been back to my old country in nearly a year and even that visit was a quick two week jaunt filled with more "weird happenings" than "life altering experiences." This trip felt a lot different. I had a lot of fun being back in my homeland where talking to people required simply speaking in my own tongue and the only awkward conversations were due to the content of my words rather than the difficulty in forming half-assed, simple minded sentences.
It was great to once again breath in that fresh mountain air and see the brown snow blanketed trees in there transition from one pretty season to yet another one. All in all I couldn't have asked for a better visit back.
The trip started as usual with a little jet lag here and a little more jet lag there and than a nice wholesome serving of what I imagine was my stomach's way of communicating, "you think you can just cram all these crazy foods into me at hours most irregular?" By that I mean I thought I might die from ring sting. I misconceived that returning to "civilization" meant a return to a normal diet and regular "bathroom break" rituals, but this was hardly the case.
One of the first nights I was back we decided to make a very nice French meal for dinner which, obviously, required horrendous amounts of delicious, stinky cheese. We all enjoyed ourselves wonderfully while dining and drinking fine French wines while keeping a light atmosphere with our whimsical stories of great times past. 'Twas truly a divine night that I believed would be the start of an ultimately divine two week vacation from my "hectic, non-stop, on the go" life in Asia. (haha)
This was certainly true until the next morning. I say morning but I hardly mean it because anyone who calls 4 am in the morning can kiss my Asian ass because it's clearly the worst time to ever be awake. Nonetheless it was 4 am when my stomach declared, "shit's going down!" It was miserable sitting upon a cold, hard "throne" in a half daze while struggling to keep at least one eye open. My mind had not yet made the 15 hour time change so my gut renching squirts were muttled by most unsettling halluncinagenic dreams. At times it was nice be able to mentally escape from such physical anguish but in reality, sitting on a frigged toilet in a jet-lagged stupor was not exactly an ideal way to spend an early morning.
I was able to calm myself down enough to drift off into whatever whacked out imaginings my reversed brain could create for what I thought was a couple more hours of much needed sleep. What actually happened was that a newly discovered lack toast and tolerance was about to go full speed into the "just kill me" realm. The amount of cheese I ate the night previous was as close as one could get to actually overdosing on a food and I suppose my strictly Asian (all soups, noodles, and rice) diet had turned my stomach into a gigantic whimp (or pussy if you really want to know) when fighting against all things dairy.
Of course, It was a delightful Sunday when my family arose to find me watching Hostel, curled in a blanketed cocoon on my sofa. Why I picked that movie to watch during the two miserable hours before everyone woke up at a descent hour was beyond me and the little "doo doo" breaks "sprinkled" throughout made it all the more tortuous. My family was extactic to see how I was already to go for the day. So with clammy hands and a pale face I embarked on a nice day throughout my quaint little town for a little Sunday family outing.
I complain sometimes. Sometimes I do it as a joke and sometimes I am even too mean spirited about it. Sometimes I complain to aid in others complaints and thus encourage them to complain more as well. This day I complained because every ten minutes I felt the urge to rip out the red hot demon boiling in my stomach with my bare hands. When you are sick everything seems terribly unimportant. Most day to day things feel like a chore as is but when you struggling to stay conscious in the bathroom in the ladies section of Macy's, the nullity of day to day life really begins to sting.
We went many places that day including a bakery, the movie store, and even the hillbilly reject, half-smoked cigarette totting, slack jaw yokel filled mall. I thought I could make it until we went to one of the last stops, which was the dog park. Now I actually wanted to go to the dog park to see our new little puppy in action and to maybe see what was cooking in the American girls sector. Perhaps I watched one to many episodes of Entourage, but the whole time home I was consumed by the idea that having a puppy around would quadruple my chances of meeting some beautiful girl who I could then explain, "I'm only taking care of her today while I'm home from Taiwan where I am trying to learn my fourth language while also teaching some of the most splendid and beautiful children to ever pass before my eyes." Usually we only met other goobers with similar intentions as myself who would strangely ask questions like, "What kind of personality does she have?" This then lead me to realize that the only way you could ask a question like that would be by checking between my dog's legs as SHE ran past. Gross.
So we went to the dog park in the hopes that we might be able to see our dog run and then maybe watch some other dogs run and maybe even see a small dog bark at a big dog, and then see one bad little dog that would remind us of how good our dog was and then see some dogs that were friendly and others that we thought were "yucky mean dogs." I guess that's why people go to dog parks. Either way all I could think about was that it was cold as hell and my ass was about to fall off of my body and leave me to die being humped and slobbered to death by copious amounts of crazy little mutts who, more often than not, could socialize better than their masters.
I finally convinced my family to end the charade of errand running and let me get home to the place where no candle could survive and just chill. We made it home where no one saw me until 20 quick minutes later when it was time to go see Grand Torino because I guess it was the last day and time that the movie would ever play.
We saw the movie and gosh darn it I really liked it. I don't know why but apparently the ultra racist, hater of humanity character played by mister Eastwood really soothed my throbbing bowels and put me at peace. Just as the man calmed himself and became a better person in the end, so too did my stomach and my attitude. We left the movie and I was in a much better condition all around and therefore able to start truely enjoyed all the quirkiness of my sister, mom and dad.
I wasn't sick for the rest of the trip and even though I thought I might actually die that day, I was comforted to be around those who cared most about if I was actually feeling sick or not. If it wasn't for my family's insistence on going out and taking the day by storm I would have stayed at home and missed out on all the little things that make my little family of four so charming. We talked and we laughed and they made fun of my terrible condition the whole day just like our strangly functional family always treats those who "can't take the heat." It was a terrible day when it was happening but it will be a great memory for a long time. It just shows that even when you're in the worst pain imaginable a good family can provide all the relief necessary.
I hadn't been back to my old country in nearly a year and even that visit was a quick two week jaunt filled with more "weird happenings" than "life altering experiences." This trip felt a lot different. I had a lot of fun being back in my homeland where talking to people required simply speaking in my own tongue and the only awkward conversations were due to the content of my words rather than the difficulty in forming half-assed, simple minded sentences.
It was great to once again breath in that fresh mountain air and see the brown snow blanketed trees in there transition from one pretty season to yet another one. All in all I couldn't have asked for a better visit back.
The trip started as usual with a little jet lag here and a little more jet lag there and than a nice wholesome serving of what I imagine was my stomach's way of communicating, "you think you can just cram all these crazy foods into me at hours most irregular?" By that I mean I thought I might die from ring sting. I misconceived that returning to "civilization" meant a return to a normal diet and regular "bathroom break" rituals, but this was hardly the case.
One of the first nights I was back we decided to make a very nice French meal for dinner which, obviously, required horrendous amounts of delicious, stinky cheese. We all enjoyed ourselves wonderfully while dining and drinking fine French wines while keeping a light atmosphere with our whimsical stories of great times past. 'Twas truly a divine night that I believed would be the start of an ultimately divine two week vacation from my "hectic, non-stop, on the go" life in Asia. (haha)
This was certainly true until the next morning. I say morning but I hardly mean it because anyone who calls 4 am in the morning can kiss my Asian ass because it's clearly the worst time to ever be awake. Nonetheless it was 4 am when my stomach declared, "shit's going down!" It was miserable sitting upon a cold, hard "throne" in a half daze while struggling to keep at least one eye open. My mind had not yet made the 15 hour time change so my gut renching squirts were muttled by most unsettling halluncinagenic dreams. At times it was nice be able to mentally escape from such physical anguish but in reality, sitting on a frigged toilet in a jet-lagged stupor was not exactly an ideal way to spend an early morning.
I was able to calm myself down enough to drift off into whatever whacked out imaginings my reversed brain could create for what I thought was a couple more hours of much needed sleep. What actually happened was that a newly discovered lack toast and tolerance was about to go full speed into the "just kill me" realm. The amount of cheese I ate the night previous was as close as one could get to actually overdosing on a food and I suppose my strictly Asian (all soups, noodles, and rice) diet had turned my stomach into a gigantic whimp (or pussy if you really want to know) when fighting against all things dairy.
Of course, It was a delightful Sunday when my family arose to find me watching Hostel, curled in a blanketed cocoon on my sofa. Why I picked that movie to watch during the two miserable hours before everyone woke up at a descent hour was beyond me and the little "doo doo" breaks "sprinkled" throughout made it all the more tortuous. My family was extactic to see how I was already to go for the day. So with clammy hands and a pale face I embarked on a nice day throughout my quaint little town for a little Sunday family outing.
I complain sometimes. Sometimes I do it as a joke and sometimes I am even too mean spirited about it. Sometimes I complain to aid in others complaints and thus encourage them to complain more as well. This day I complained because every ten minutes I felt the urge to rip out the red hot demon boiling in my stomach with my bare hands. When you are sick everything seems terribly unimportant. Most day to day things feel like a chore as is but when you struggling to stay conscious in the bathroom in the ladies section of Macy's, the nullity of day to day life really begins to sting.
We went many places that day including a bakery, the movie store, and even the hillbilly reject, half-smoked cigarette totting, slack jaw yokel filled mall. I thought I could make it until we went to one of the last stops, which was the dog park. Now I actually wanted to go to the dog park to see our new little puppy in action and to maybe see what was cooking in the American girls sector. Perhaps I watched one to many episodes of Entourage, but the whole time home I was consumed by the idea that having a puppy around would quadruple my chances of meeting some beautiful girl who I could then explain, "I'm only taking care of her today while I'm home from Taiwan where I am trying to learn my fourth language while also teaching some of the most splendid and beautiful children to ever pass before my eyes." Usually we only met other goobers with similar intentions as myself who would strangely ask questions like, "What kind of personality does she have?" This then lead me to realize that the only way you could ask a question like that would be by checking between my dog's legs as SHE ran past. Gross.
So we went to the dog park in the hopes that we might be able to see our dog run and then maybe watch some other dogs run and maybe even see a small dog bark at a big dog, and then see one bad little dog that would remind us of how good our dog was and then see some dogs that were friendly and others that we thought were "yucky mean dogs." I guess that's why people go to dog parks. Either way all I could think about was that it was cold as hell and my ass was about to fall off of my body and leave me to die being humped and slobbered to death by copious amounts of crazy little mutts who, more often than not, could socialize better than their masters.
I finally convinced my family to end the charade of errand running and let me get home to the place where no candle could survive and just chill. We made it home where no one saw me until 20 quick minutes later when it was time to go see Grand Torino because I guess it was the last day and time that the movie would ever play.
We saw the movie and gosh darn it I really liked it. I don't know why but apparently the ultra racist, hater of humanity character played by mister Eastwood really soothed my throbbing bowels and put me at peace. Just as the man calmed himself and became a better person in the end, so too did my stomach and my attitude. We left the movie and I was in a much better condition all around and therefore able to start truely enjoyed all the quirkiness of my sister, mom and dad.
I wasn't sick for the rest of the trip and even though I thought I might actually die that day, I was comforted to be around those who cared most about if I was actually feeling sick or not. If it wasn't for my family's insistence on going out and taking the day by storm I would have stayed at home and missed out on all the little things that make my little family of four so charming. We talked and we laughed and they made fun of my terrible condition the whole day just like our strangly functional family always treats those who "can't take the heat." It was a terrible day when it was happening but it will be a great memory for a long time. It just shows that even when you're in the worst pain imaginable a good family can provide all the relief necessary.
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