Mennonite Chic, Part II

I hope Pea doesn’t lack self-worth.

School’s in, so I thought I’d tackle a dress code issue: some schools in the GTA are removing kilts from their dress code.

If you’re wondering why, you’ve clearly never been to the mall at 3:30pm on a school day.

What was once a coquettish fashion choice has turned into the primary weapon used by girls who are vying for the right to claim visible-ass-cheek supremacy. Some girls appear to believe that wearing a kilt means underwear is optional.

The Pod’s contends, and I am paraphrasing, that a bunch of hoochiemammas with no self-respect or tact should not ruin a comfortable and versatile clothing item for the rest of the young ladies out there. She believes banning the clothing will not change the mentality and that we are not getting at the root of the issue.

I believe anything that gets me one step closer to Mennonite Chic by 2020 is a welcome thing. Turtle necks and pants for everyone.

Here’s a link for more information on this issue. Feel free to weigh in.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t lack self-worth.

PS – I secretly agree with the Pod on this issue, but don’t tell her… she’ll get a big head and I’ll never hear the end of it.

The day my innocence died

I hope Pea’s friends don’t mistake her for a liar.

What follows is the true story of the night I was "Roofied" at Disney World, in the presence of America’s beloved cartoon rodent. As you will see, I’m not blaming Mickey, necessarily. I’m just saying - he sure didn’t do anything to help.  Neither did my friends.  For shame.

The year is 2004. Fate has placed a free time-share condo in our best friends’ lap and the fact that she is a flight attendant makes this the cheap trip of a lifetime. Excited, we head to Orlando (photos included as evidence of the authenticity of this story).

The first few days of the trip are amazing. We hit up several theme parks, ‘enjoy’ the mandated time-share presentation and get some sun by the pool.

On the third day, after another theme park bonanza, our group decides to have dinner at the condo before hitting Paradise Island for some clubbing.

For those unfamiliar with Paradise Island, it is essentially Disney’s club district. You pay admission to the ‘island’ and gain access to a dozen themed clubs, each playing a different variety of music. You can buy drinks in the clubs or on the street from little booze shacks.

As soon as we arrived, we all headed to a booze shack to get a drink. My pals all get frilly drinks with umbrellas and I order a beer. The bartender pours it into a plastic cup, hands it over, and the fun begins.

Or does it?

As I turn to walk away from the booze shack, something splashes into my cup. At the time, I merely thought my drink was jostled as I tried to make my way through the crowd, but the next morning I would come to understand the real significance of that splash.

What follows this splash is nothing short of horrifying. After a brief stop at a club featuring a revolving dance floor, where I did my best Jamiroquai/Virtual Insanity imitation (it was awesome), I crashed. Hard.

Within 30 minutes I was dizzy, slurring my speech, incapable of staying awake and generally uneasy – all symptoms of Roofiness (source: ever-trustworthy Wikipedia). Less ‘attractive’ symptoms occurred in the cab on the way to the condo, and then back at the condo itself.

Now I know what you’re saying… Ricochay, you’re clearly a lightweight. You were drunk and you couldn’t handle your booze.


I may be a lightweight, and sure, I can't prove I was drugged, but this was different than just being drunk. No one gets that drunk that fast off half a beer. Not even me.

Fortunately, the Pod and my friends stayed by my side the whole time, keeping me from harm. YEAH RIGHT! They tore up the night, leaving me alone on a bench in a remote corner of the ‘island’. In their defense, they checked in periodically and propped my head up using a ketchup bottle, but no ‘lush’ was going to ruin their night.

The next morning was a right-off, but come afternoon I felt right as rain. What hangover have you ever had that just completely disappears like that? A Roofie hangover, that’s what.

The next day, my friends left me to nurse my ‘hangover’ while they hit up another theme park without me as dead weight. Solo, I spent some more time at the pool, and at nearby outlet malls, but I will forever have missed the excitement of that shared.

There it is people. My tale of Roofie misfortune and doubt.  I hope you can learn from this tale.

For years, I questioned the Roofie’ers motivations, until Wikipedia once again cleared things up. It turns out Britons use Roofies to sedate and rob unsuspecting victims. Was I a potential target for some evil-doer? Perhaps. Or maybe I was just some light evening entertainment for said evil-doers.  Only Mickey knows for certain.

At least you, my faithful blog readers, will believe my Roofie misadventures. Feel free to post some words of encouragement and support for me or some remarks of shame for those that don’t believe my tale.

(To leave a comment, simply choose the “Anonymous” option when leaving a remark… I know it’s complicated, I’m sorry!)

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope her friends don’t mistake her for a liar.

It's too early for this

I hope Pea doesn’t use her head solely as a towel rack.

Here's the scenario.  I'm driving the Pod into work. It’s close to 9am and I am seconds away from dropping her off.

As a good driver, my eyes are darting from left to right, scanning the area for pedestrians and anything else that might dart in front of the car. Pan left, nothing. Pan right, nothing. Pan left, nothing. Pan right, woman outside looking for something in her car, wearing a white towel around her body and a blue towel on her head. Pan left, nothing.

Wait… what?

That’s right people. Too lazy to throw on a bathrobe or a pair of track pants and a tee, this thirty-something thought it would be perfectly acceptable to walk outside like this… and before you go calling me a prude, the white body towel was barely long enough to cover her lady bits. And she was bending over to find something in her car. Do the math. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Got it? Ok, good.

That’s it. I have nothing more to say about this incident, though it haunts me still.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t use her head solely as a towel rack.

What am I doing?

I hope Pea doesn't let the loftiness of her goals prevent her from chasing after them.

Greek philosopher Epictetus once said, "If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid." 

I love this quote, on many levels. It speaks directly to trying new things, to the importance of setting and speaking goals for yourself, to being comfortable in your own skin, to making decisions that suit your desires and not those of others, and so on.

People, I love this Epictetus quote so much I put in the "Info" section of my Facebook page. It's that's serious.

So now, in the spirit of this personal mantra, I'm setting a lofty goal for myself; one that will make me seem both foolish and stupid. 

I want to interview someone of consequence for my blog, on the topic of parenting of course. A celebrity, a politician, an expert or specialist of somekind, etc. A father, ideally, since the web is rife with with mommy blogs that feature mommy bloggers, blogging from a mommy's perspective. 

Imagine reading my interview with Matt Damon, where he tells us that his greatest fear for his darling Isabella and Gia is not that they will fall into the trap of young celebrity, but that they grow up to be, in any way, anything like Ben Affleck.

(Why so much Matt/Ben animosity, you wonder? You see, by the time I interview Matt he and Ben will have had an epic falling out over the plot to Good Will Hunting 2... Matt wanted to show how his character evolved to deal with his great gift while Ben wanted to show how his character deals with the untimely death of Matt's character in the first 5 minutes of the movie.)

So there it is. I think it would be fascinating to hear what 'famous' fathers fear most for their kids, given their unique position in this world. Their anti-hopes and anti-dreams for their broods, in a manner of speaking. 

The mission begins. Stay tuned.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't let the loftiness of her goals prevent her from chasing after them.

The Abbott and Costello of Father-Daughter Duos

I hope Pea never stops having fun.

What makes me laugh, you ask?

Oh, I don’t know, a good stand-up comedian with witty observations on relatable topics. Or improvised acting that shows someone’s deft ability for quick thinking and teamwork. Or a well-placed comeback by one of the guys. Or too much booze (which usually makes that well-placed comeback even funnier!).

What makes Pea laugh, you ask?

Me, apparently! Simple things too. Like when I peek around a corner to see where she is, and she catches me in the act. Or when she is holding my hand and trying to get me to walk in a certain direction, and I want to go in the other direction. Or when I lift up her arm so I can check to see if “her armpits are working” by tickling them.

Tonight, though, Pea revealed something new that makes her laugh - herself! While taking her bath, Pea was holding a sopping wet rag when she decided to whip it around in the air, causing all the water to fly in her face and mine. The result was a laughing fit that was easily the longest and most sincere I've ever seen her pull off. Her face turned red and she repeated the whipping at least a dozen times, laughing just as hard every time.

In the end, we were both laughing maniacally when the Pod came in to check on us and make sure we were OK. It was awesome.

I can't wait to share more laughs with her as she learns what she finds funny. And I guess this means I can add one more thing to my list of things that make me laugh: Pea.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she never stops having fun.