Usually every day is a good day, a bad day, and a dog day all rolled into one. Last Sunday was no exception.
Some of my husband's friends from Deerfield were in Nashville to celebrate a birthday through travel and a concert at the Grand Ol' Opry. We all decided to meet up at a restaurant called the "Little Octopus" for lunch. This place came highly recommended by their AirBnB host. (I think maybe as a joke.) When we showed up it was a very chic restaurant, but when we sat down and looked at the menus, I think we all quickly realized how out of place we were. On the menu between the $10 glasses of wine and the $26 unidentifiable fish platters was a $17 grass-fed beef burger... We left before the waitress could even ask what we wanted to drink.
Being new Nashvillians (Nash-villains?) ourselves, Ty and I recommended a different restaurant. We took the Crandalls to our favorite Turkish restaurant to have Doner Kebab AKA gyros AKA the food of angels. It has a chill atmosphere, a TV you can change to any channel you want--but usually on a soap opera--and has delicious food. IT doesn't look like much, but you can't judge a restaurant by its appearance. (Unless there are rats... always judge by the rats.)
I digress. We got free soup as an appetizer. I had lentil soup and Ty had split pea soup. And, of course, the meal exceeded my expectations. Bridget's fries came out about two minutes late, so to compensate, the restaurant offered them for free and gave her a huge basket of fries. How's that for a good day?
Our Nashville tourists didn't have too many plans, so we offered to take them to Centennial Park to see the pseudo Parthenon. We stopped at our apartment on the way to pick up Papi. I'm pretty sure I've talked about our apartment already, but I'll say it again: It's okay on the inside, but on the outside, it looks pretty sketchy to say the least.
We live in a one-bedroom apartment in a complex that houses twenty different three-story buildings. It's mostly a Hispanic or low income location. We have to walk up cracked stairs and through a dim hallway (some of the lights are burnt out), that is permeated with the smell of marijuana about 40% of the time. Some of our neighbors throw their food scraps outside in front of their apartments to compost. All in all, it's a place to live, with a fridge, a stove, and a dishwasher.
When we walked up to our home, Crandalls in tow, police sirens were adding to the ambiance. "It's not usually like this," Ty told them. Not to mention, our laundry was out and sorted in preparation for laundry day. "I'm sorry for the mess," I apologized. Our dog got all excited and barked at them, saying, "This is my house! Totally my house!" in Papi language.
Leaving our apartment (us, a wee bit embarrassed, and the Crandalls, a wee bit scarred) we made our way through heavy interstate traffic to Centennial Park.
Centennial Park is one of my favorite places in Nashville. It's somehow tranquil and so alive at the same time. There are athletes, lovers, wise walkers, tourists, families, and aspiring photographers like myself taking in the sights. I hope the Crandalls enjoyed it just as much as I do.
Cindy, Bridget, and Ty at the Parthenon.
After a stroll through the park, we parted ways, and left them on the strip to take in some more of Nashville's touristy sights. Ty, Papi, and I decided to take on a sight of our own: the dog park.
Right next to Centennial Park are two dog parks; one for large dogs, and one for small, Papi-sized dogs. It just so happens that the dog park is also Papi's favorite place in Nashville. We've been there maybe three or four times already and there are probably three our four funny stories of things Papi has done or "pals" Papi has made each time. My favorite would have to be the time that another (male) dog showed Papi who's on top... literally. And that's all I'm going to say about that so I can keep this blog appropriate.
The dog park has benches for humans, so I typically sit down and write stories on my computer while Papi mingles with his own kind. Well, this time, there must have been something special about the bench I was sitting on (other than me sitting on it) because every dog in that park just had to come over and pee on the corner of the bench.
Sure enough, a young puppy walked by who hadn't learned to aim yet... or maybe learned to aim too well? And peed right on my leg. It dripped down my calf and into my shoe. Now every time I put on my five-dollar fabulous discount Walmart shoes... I'm going to think of that dog, and I'm going to be pissed off. ;) Here's to hoping that his pee isn't a sort of "x marks the spot" thing, and I won't become a target for other dogs... I would feel like a mere peon... both literally and metaphorically.
Post-pee selfie. I'm still fabulous... Also, urine luck because you won't have to put up with any more of my wee puns. ;)... for the time being.
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