I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It...

I am the responsible friend. The smart and reliable one.

Last night, I agreed to go to a fairly tame staggette for someone I didn't know at all.

We went to the spa, then for cheesecake, then to Sex & the City.

My friend E had called me a few days before to ask if I wanted to join her, as someone had cancelled out, but they still had the spa appointment booked. I was reluctant to go to some random staggette, but apparently the bride had very few friends in the city, so I agreed to be an extra body. There were 5 of us there. E brought me as a date, and the maid of honour brought another girlfriend as a date. So 2 out of the 5 had never set eyes on the bride before. Kind of amusing.

Well, amusing if you're me. Maybe not if you're the friendless bride.

However, she was charming and welcomed me with open arms to her last weekend out as a single girl.

Midway through my pedicure the song "I Kissed a Girl" came on. This led me to discuss the post that I read earlier that day on Mindy's blog related to that song. I think you all should head on over there and respond to her poll. Do you think it's cheating? I got a variety of responses from the girls (including the estheticians).

In the midst of the evening, the maid of honour (E's best friend who I see quite regularly when with E) asked why we don't get together more often, as we always have a great time when we do.

Ahhh, warms the cockles of my reliable little heart. Someone considers me to be the fun friend! Even E pointed out the other day that me and my friends are so fun to hang out with. Finally- I'm not just the responsible, considerate person to invite along! I'm fun! Yay!

And E did make a point of thanking me, not only for feeding her sushi while her nails were getting done, but for coming along at all. Hmmm- spa, cheesecake and a girly movie? Wow- that sounds like an awful night. You'd better pay me to come along E!

Now I don't think that I will end up becoming BFF's with the bride or anything, but it was a good time. I'm glad that I went, rather than staying home and seeing what kind of virtual parties were happening on Second Life last night.

However, the one distressing part of last night? The part that makes me question my self-proclaimed girliness?

I discovered that I don't really like Cosmos. I feel like a traitor to my entire gender now.

xo

PS- I will send a prize to the first person who guesses which feet are mine in the photo above!

Daddy's Little Princess...

I haven't seen nearly as many Father's Day posts this year as I saw Mother's Day posts.
And the couple that I've seen have actually been criticisms of their father's behaviour.
Reading those make me realize how truly blessed I am to have the Father that I do.

I am, and always have been a Daddy's girl. In fact the first purse that my Mother ever gave me when I was about 4 or 5 said in big bold letters "Daddy's Little Girl."

My Dad is one of the quiet, old-fashioned types. He speaks common sense, he will come over anytime to fix something for me, and believes very strongly in right and wrong. He is the voice in my head, and is probably the main reason that I always try so hard to be fair and just.

I don't think he quite knew what to do with a little girl once my mother died. I was only 11 years old, and still had quite a bit of growing and learning to do. He tried his best, but I have to admit, I didn't really become a girly girl until the past few years. Before then I was still trying to find my way when it comes to proper clothes and etiquette etc in certain situations.

But he taught me about utensils "start on the outside and work your way in." He bought me my first car, and attempted to teach me to drive ("It's OK dear, I'll just hammer out that little dent - maybe we'll get you a driving instructor"). He tried to show me how to skip rocks in the water, but for that I was simply a lost cause. ("You have to skip it flat across the water. No flat. You know...flat?") He still comes over unexpectedly when my Step-mom is out and takes me for ice cream.

He's the sort of kind, quiet man that everyone is fond of, and no one has a bad thing to say about. Even my step-sisters comment about how their Mother is the boss, and my "poor Father" just takes it. But he's not a pushover. He just knows to pick his battles, and is laid-back enough to not get fussed over the small things.

For him I will go to football games and curling matches and actually enjoy them. And I will even try hard to not be too annoying by constantly asking questions.

For him I will go to a Tommy Hunter concert when my step-mom is unable to go with him. And not complain!

For him I will attend my University convocation because he wants to watch me get my degree. Even though I would rather watch paint dry than sit through one of those boring ceremonies.

For him I will plan 2 massive surprise parties within 5 years for his birthday. Once with my brother, and once with my Step-mom.

There's probably not much I wouldn't do for him. He's been a good Dad, and he's earned my absolute respect. Even my brother, who has been known to be an inconsiderate jerk, would do almost the same. I can't think of anyone else in my life that I think more highly of, and consider to be a better person.

So Happy Father's Day Daddy. And no, I'm not going to get you nothing because I have no job. That would be silly- why would I give up the opportunity to gift wrap something for you?

xo

The First Appearance of the Monster in the Closet

I never shut my closet door. Occasionally I will notice this, and close it on the way by, but for the most part it's generally open. I also rarely sleep with covers on- and tend to dangle my feet/hands over the side of the bed. For some reason I find this comfortable.

Let me tell you a little story to prove how our little princess has evolved.

Picture it.
Winnipeg.
1981.

Once upon a time there was a little wee princess whose mother enrolled her in Brownies.

The little princess has pretty much no clue what was going on, but every Monday at 6:00 she would walk half a block to the community club with a bunch of other little girls and do crafts and sing songs and generally be....well kinda bored.

Then Halloween happened. The little princess was 6 years old.
She walked into the community club for what was sure to be a lovely party filled with candy and music, and bobbing for apples. She doesn't really know for sure because she never made it to the end of the party.

At the beginning of the night the leaders told all the little girls to sit in a circle. Then they turned off all the lights to it was pitch black. They said that a vampire had died, and they were passing around it's body parts.

They passed around something that felt like spaghetti and called it the vampire's brains. They may have passed around more, but at this point the little princess demonstrated that being a delicate flower started early on for her.

She burst into tears, and was nearly hysterical. Needless to say, the game ended. One of the adults took her home, and the princess's mother was not impressed with the choice of game.

She was put to bed early that night, with soothing coos and kisses from her mother. However, before the Queen mother left, the little princess made a request she had never made before. Please shut the closet door. There are monsters hiding in there.

For years afterwards the princess could not sleep with the closet door open, nor could she dangle her feet over the edge of the bed because of what might be hiding underneath waiting to grab them. She had never thought about monsters before- but after that night, she never forgot about them.

xo

3AM Thoughts

I sit here with my cookie. Not soothed by the soft breeze of the fan or the hum of what is generally a comforting white noise.

Sleep eludes.

I've taken my first sleeping pill. It's small and pink, almost cheerful. Innocent looking.
The pharmacist made me promise to eat a snack with it, hence the cookie lest I become nauseated. She was quick to point out how the pill may take up to an hour to take effect.

Surely I'd already be asleep naturally within an hour.

Perhaps not tonight.

Yet another pill. I wake with headaches - what will it be today? Tylenol or Advil?
Don't forget to take your crazy pill. Feeling fuzzy today? Why not dose up on your allergy meds too?

The apothecary beckons me with his seductive song. Just one tiny little pill and you'll be normal. Ok, maybe 2 or 3 pills. But then you'll be just like everyone else! Balanced, focussed...happy.

The pills dance for me in my head. Sensually and then frantically.

This little pill will cure pain.
This little pill will cure suicidal thoughts.
This little pill will ease you down into beautiful dreams....

Oh, they're not so beautiful? Maybe the apothecary has something for that too!

The pills develop a life of their own. Chaining me down with their promises and punishments.
They dance like the hippos in Fantasia...the elephants in Dumbo...Confusing and mesmerizing, and all for me.

The pills love me, though I hate them. It's like some sort of reverse popularity contest. I want nothing to do with them, though they seem to seek me out.

Grasping at me with their beguiling whispers. Promises of normalcy. Sanity.

I lay in the dark seeking comfort. Seeking oblivion.

I can hear the pills laughing quietly. Not with malice, but sympathy. Always sympathy. They are there to help. All they want to do is take care of me. Why do I resent them when they only want me to be happy...