CrazyMrsNancy.com

I will always be daddy's girl, even when I'm no longer a girl. But for now, I will be 31 years old in two months and I still feel more like a girl than a woman. As much as I look like my mom, personality wise I'm the female version of my father. My father has always been a trucker. When we were little kids, we used to love hearing my father tell stories about the new places he had gone to. I savoured the story of the time he went to New York City; I was fascinated. For him it was the trip from hell, driving an 18 wheeler in Manhattan. Maybe hearing all those travel stories is one of the reasons I got hooked on traveling. Oh and did I mention that for years my mom was a travel agent? 

Growing up, I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my father. He has always been a long-haul trucker, and sometimes he was gone for up to two whole months. Therefore, the little time we got to spend with our father was really precious. It still is, it's always been, except maybe those few teenage years when it's easy to take certain people and things for granted. This is my favourite Dad & Me memory:

I was 16 or 17 years old. I don't remember where my brother and mom were, but I remember expecting to have the house to myself that Friday night. I had invited Lison and Bobby over after school; they brought their guitars and beer. We were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, playing guitar (them), and singing (me). All of a sudden, I see my father's 18 wheeler appear in the picture window, followed by the sound the truck made when it was backing up in our driveway.Well, the sound it made backing up in general. When my brother was little, he used to try doing the sound: "cu-lee cu-lee cu-lee cu-lee!", and tat would make my dad laugh.

Oh.Shit! I'm going to be in SO much trouble!! 

My father came in the house, we all said Hello! to each other. He walked down the hall, into their bedroom. He came back in the kitchen holding his guitar and grabbed a beer on the way. He sat down and started jamming with us. My dad and I continued jamming long after Lison and Bobby left. Music is a passion that we share. To me, that was the night that my father told me with no words, that I was growing up and that he was okay with that.

Another big thing that my father and I share: shyness. It's nearly 10pm and I haven't had the courage to call my him yet to wish him a Happy Father's Day.

I'm not allowed to discuss a certain big thing. The big thing still has a 1-2% chance of falling through, because there is one signature missing. Well, two, with mine. So I don't even want to password-protect-blog it and jinx it.

: - X

I feel like having to keep this inside is blocking the rest of the words that would like to come out of me. Maybe I can let little slices of life farts out if I shoot bullets: 

• Mom and I are thinking of possibly going to Paris in the fall, if we find the right deal.
• Steph and I have booked a little getaway to Halifax for the last week of June, for our 7th Wedding anniversary. Thanks E for the great hotel deal! They say that the 7th year is the hardest; I would not disagree. Holy shit was year 7 hard. If you would have painted me a picture, 4 months ago, of what our relationship looks like today, I would not have believed it. It's amazing.
• Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. ~ Robert Frost.
• I am now one of those people who can (and will) spend an entire evening with the TV off, just listening to jazz music while I do whatever. You know how sometimes your soul is just thirsty for music and you can't stop listening to it? When your soul drinks the music so fast that it quickens your breath, until your levels of musical contentment are stable again? Lately, my soul needs jazz to feel content. I remember when I used to hate jazz. I wonder if I'll ever love brussel sprouts.
• Another surprise visit tonight, but it was the mother of all surprise visits. It was a surprise (to me & Steph) birthday party-ish thing for my brother and his step-son. Their birthday was Friday. We had a Dixie Lee feast and a DQ cake. It was a stressful Monday; my eyelids were droopy. For Christmas this year, I want notice. It's not like they don't live three hours away.
• I forgot to send one of the news releases that I'm sending out to the media and posting to the website tomorrow to translation. I hope it all works out and that I don't get in trouble.
• We're fully intending on spending New Years Eve in New York City again. Some people shake their head at us and ask "why"? We don't really care anymore if they don't get it, or what they think.
• I generally have no problems getting along with people. You know me! I'm always so smiley and easy-going (at least on the outside). There's a particularly uptight woman right now in my life who I have a very hard time being pleasant to. We just really don't jive, but it's one of those situations where I'll just have to learn to adapt to her and grow as a person for it. (+2 social skill points)
• I finally saw the Sex and the City 2 movie last weekend, and I liked it! My biggest two complaints, however: there was not enough sex, and definitely not enough of the City. I had read all of the negative critiques and went in with really low expectations, but as a long time die hard fan, it just hit the spot.
• TMI - I was expecting aunt flow last week. I saw a spot, I thought that was it. It faded away. It never really came. I think the bitch figured out that we're going to Halifax in 2 weeks.
• My coworker slash person who I'm convinced came into my life for a reason, is trying to convince me to register for a writing workshop this weekend that I just learned about today. W also gets ticked that I won't/can't refer to myself as a writer. She thinks that writing a blog counts. I suppose it might count if you're a decent enough writer? I don't know if I can talk my nerves/IBS into this weekend's workshop, but I think that they sound amazing. I want to go. Those particular workshops take place in nature and are described as 'a spay day for the soul'. W is trying to push me out of my comfort zone, and it makes me uncomfortable. Imagine that.