New Old Party Dress.

Who doesn’t love a new old party dress? Especially when you’re 5 years old and are going to what you think at the time will be the party of your life. Here’s what happened when my best friend attended a party in her favourite new old frilly party dress.

Here’s the story:

“I was in my absolute favourite new old party dress and was about to attend a fabulous 5 year olds birthday party. During the party we had cake and juice, and being the young 5 year old I was I had a small bladder. I went to use the washroom, and as I struggled to sit back on the seat it felt bigger then usual. Someone had left the seat up. I was barely tall enough to get on the toilet and I didn’t know any better to notice it up. As I slid onto the lack of seat I fell right back into the bowl of water. Instantly I break into tears, calling for someone to come and rescue the girl stuck in the toilet. Running to my rescue my dad comes in and pulls me out. Distraught, my favourite new old party dress is ruined. I had to spend the rest of the party in a borrowed dress from the birthday girl.

Who by the way never got it back.

Mass.

Here's another story from the woman I'm proud to call my grandmother:

"When I was in high school the Catholic kids were able to miss school because they attended Mass. I decided that when the Catholic kids left for Mass I was able to also miss school and would go downtown for the day. I pulled this off for a few weeks before the Principal called me into the office. When he asked me why I was missing class, being the quick thinker I was, I told him I was thinking of changing my religion to Catholic and was attending church to learn more about it. Immediately he phoned my mother to ask her if this had been a discussion at home. Since my family was three times a week Protestant church goers the jig was up. 

Lots of detention time and no more Catholic holidays for me."

Horse.

In search of another story I once again asked my grandmother if she had any worth telling. A silly question to ask a lady who has taken at least one lesson on almost everything under the sun, some include: belly dancing, sewing, knitting, line dancing and horse-back riding to name just a few. The story I'm, well she is about to share comes from one these lessons, horse-back riding.

Here's the story:

"I am afraid of horses so I decided to take horse-back riding lessons to get over my fear. Expecting to merely ride the horse I quickly learned it took much more then just hoping on and going for a gallop. Turns out I had to groom the horse, clean the crap and mud out of it's hooves and harness it before I could even think of riding this thing. Finally, after an hour or two, I was at the point where I was going out to the ring to learn how to ride. I was told to grab a riding helmet before heading out, this may be quick for other people but because I wore my hair in a high bun I had to try on several different helmets in order to find one that would fit my head. The woman showing us the ropes suddenly bellows at me, 'JUST GRAB A DAMN HELMET, THIS ISN'T A GOD DANM FASHION SHOW!'. 

To think I paid good money for this abuse.  Today, I am still afraid of horses."

Monday.

Some say Monday is the worst day of the week. It's the beginning, your weekend just ended and you are stating a whole new week of work. It can be long yes, so for those of you who are having a rough day I give you this image.

This is a man with such confidence, I thought it would be best if I could somehow pass on his energy, and get you through the day.

So smile folks, it's only Monday.

The Irish.

St. Patrick’s Day, a day celebrated annually on March 17^th. It dates the death of the patron saint of Ireland, Saint Patrick. In the spirit of my Irish roots I thought this story of my grandmothers, a true Irish lass, is one that fits today quite well.

So here’s the story:

When I was 16 my friends and I were downtown when we noticed a new storefront. Being curious we walked in where we found a lad standing behind the counter with all kinds of utensils. He held a microphone and was broadcasting out to the street goers in attempt to bring in customers. He was one of those people who had the pitter-patter that could sell you on anything, but that day no one was biting. Pathetically, he asked us if we would just pretend to buy so maybe he could draw some people in. “I'll give you your money back.” He told us. What’s the harm in that? We said sure, he started his pitter-patter and we bought everything he was selling. Still, no one came in. We got bored and told him we were leaving, so we stood and waited for him to give us our money back. He didn’t budge. This was all the money we had to live on. Gone, for now that is. I said to my friends to wait here, I’d be right back. Down a few blocks was there was a pool hall where all the town thugs hung out. I walked in and told them my story. A few minutes later I walked back into the store with 5 big, tattooed, scruffy lads by my side. Two stood by the door, their tattooed muscled arms crossed and three walked right up to the storeowner. “We understand you owe these girls some money.” As fast as you can blink an eye our money was back in our hands. By morning the storefront was closed. 

Moral of this story, don't mess with an Irish Lass.

Dance.

Dancing certainly does not come as a natural way of movement for everyone, however in my family whether you are "good" or dance like Elaine from Seinfeld you will get up and dance regardless. 

Here's the story:
Family motto, dance like no one's watching.