Day 9

Day 9: When was the first time that you realized that your home was not like other people’s homes?

I'm not sure I have ever had that revelation, per say. I remember going to friends houses and thinking it odd that they didn't help with clearing the table after dinner, or if their parents' let them get away with talking back. Oh! I also thought it was really strange that my friend's parents didn't allow anyone to sit on any of the furniture in their family room, but instead sat on the floor to watch TV or read a book. I don't think anyone even set foot in their formal living room. But for the most part, my house was like most of my friends' houses, except for the fact that I didn't live in a neighborhood, and my house was custom built by my dad with a septic tank and a well, instead of city water. But I think all of those things are more recollections that I have now, rather than then.

At nine years old, I couldn't care less that I wasn't allowed to sit on my friend's couch. We were too busy playing in the basement, and making Barbie and Ken have sex. (Two days in row where I post about Barbies. The dust of my subconscious must have been kicked up!)

I'm much more aware now that my apartment is different that my friends' homes. They have china cabinets filled with... well, china, and rooms carefully decorated, without clutter. I have a rubber Tyrannosaurus Rex, that was given to me 3 Christmases ago, on my mantle and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figurine shrine on the top of my bookshelf. I have an antique globe that stands next to my TV and a pirate wine rack on top of another bookshelf that acts as a liquor cabinet. My home is slightly strange, and I love it. It's also a baby proofing nightmare. No wonder my friends don't bring their kids over. (Although, there are plenty of toys to keep them occupied.)

I can't wait to hang my new painting of a man with a seahorse head and octopus arms standing in a valley.


Now Playing: "Gimme Shelter" by the Rolling Stones