What Are Friends For?

June 29, 2008

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve had it in my head to bring together a bunch of girls for a dinner party. A semi-themed posh dinner party – no boys allowed. I had ideas in my head – a pink party or a white party with matching speciality drinks – dinner at a posh resto-lounge and dancing at a club in the vip section.

I mentioned it only to a couple of my girlfriends who said it sounded like a great idea, they were enthused and looking forward to it. So I made up invitations, I decided to do the pink party theme – everyone wearing pink and drinking pink martinis – and set it up for a weekend in May, so it wasn’t too cold and not too hot. I sent out the invites a month in advance, invites that were hot pink with black embossed printing – I knew a company who did them so they gave me a huge deal.

A week after my guest’s received the invites I still hadn’t heard anything from anybody. No RSVPs, no questions, no remarks. I’m a control freak by nature, and even though there were two more weeks to rsvp, I needed to know NOW.

So I started making some calls.

Tara made an excuse about her boyfriend and said she ‘would let me know’. Another girl claimed she was too pregnant to come. Fari was confused – was this a birthday party? was this an engagement party? did she have to bring gifts? why couldn’t her husband come?

It was really making my head spin.

So I sent out a cute little email, all in pink, about the idea of the party (as if the invitation didn’t spell it out clearly enough for everybody).


You are all invited to a Pink Party – dinner, drinks and dancing. You are requested to wear pink from head to toe! My loft 7 pm for cocktails, followed by food at One, and finishing the night in the VIP booth at Circa. I need to know by next Wednesday who’s coming to make final reservations.

This is a GIRL’s night out – no presents required, no men – just crazy fun like we all used to have – and if you’re pregnant come out to dinner – you still need to eat!!


Tuesday rolled around and I got a few phone calls. Girls were saying yes but whining about the dress code (I don’t wear pink, I don’t like pink, It makes me look fat, etc, etc), the restaurant (is it expensive? i’ve never been there before), and yes, even the club (why don’t we go where we always go?).

I really didn’t believe that it would be THIS difficult to get together a group of girls for no reason other to have fun and remember what life used to be before fiances, husbands, weddings, babies and houses – even if that wasn’t their specific order.

Was it possible that I was the only one who wanted to do this? We’ve all been talking about “doing something” for almost a year now! I was getting exhausted, what was wrong with them? What’s going through their heads? Should I just invite their boyfriends and make it a boring dinner party – NO! I need to save the girls!!

In the end, six out of twelve girls came out, and we had a smashing time. Drinking and dancing, getting hit on like there was no tomorrow. The next morning we all went out for breakfast with our boyfriends, but made them all sit grouped together while we carried on giggling about the night before.

Everyone came up to me and thanked me for taking the effort to do the party, and asking when the next one was going to be… which somehow made me think of a yellow party, but would that just be too much to ask?

The Suburban Socialite

June 21, 2008

Socialites are a glamorous being found mainly in metropolitan areas, such as New York, Los Angeles, London, Milan and Paris, Toronto being a smaller city has its’ handful of up-and-comers, party girls with too much of daddy’s money and are deemed socialites as well.

My one favourite friend, Taylor, is a Toronto socialite. Her father owns a marketing/media company as well as a number of posh resto-lounges throughout the city, all of which makes Taylor a rich girl. She doesn’t work, sleeps in until 11 everyday, and makes shopping and partying her only two bullets on her list of things to do.

I used to envy Taylor, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her tiny body sculpted to perfection by a combination of pilates, personal trainer, and a doctor who shall remain nameless, her amazing shoes that she only wears once or twice before she deems them ‘out’ and keeps them in her enormous closet that’s larger than my apartment. And people always tell me not to be jealous, but really, not only is she rich, looks like a model, but she’s also such a sweet person – seriously. She gives money and food to the homeless on the streets, she always says please and thank you, and she always seems sincere.

Eventually Taylor found a boyfriend that stuck to her for more than 2 months, this boyfriend also proposed to her with a beautiful, huge ring from Tiffany’s, and pretty soon we were all going to Taylor’s wedding. Her wedding was not only featured in one, but two bridal magazines, an amazing fete that brought together bigwigs, celebrities, socialites, and people like me, friends of the bride and groom. Everything was white, the flowers, the fabric hanging from everything, the cake, everything was lit with candles, there were water features, a champagne fountain, sushi desert – and everything was done tastefully and chic.

The honeymooned first in Fiji, then in the South of France, for a whole month. Then the newlyweds disappeared into their huge Tudor-style mansion in the suburbs for weeks – literally. I spoke to Taylor probably 3 months after her wedding for the first time, and she was in marital bliss, as all perfect people seem to be. I almost wanted to puke at that point. And then it happened. A little trickle of unhappiness.

And as always, a trickle leads into a river, a river into a waterfall.

Taylor said she missed the city, the nightlife, and the parties. She said she missed shopping everyday, and she said she was getting a little lonely. She even took up cross-stitching, but as soon as she was done her first one, she threw everything into the fireplace so she would never be succumbed to that kind of boredom again. It was HIS mom that bought her the cross-stitch set in the first place.

She even asked me what my latest shopping spree got me – Marc Jacobs bag and Lamb shoes – which she never ever does because she’s always five steps ahead of me shopping wise, at least, before she was. Now, locked up in her suburban mansion she’s the wife that used to have a life as a single. She confessed she sometimes goes for drives aimlessly in her Porsche convertible, not knowing where she’s going, and not really trying to get away, but just looking for something, anything, interesting in this little suburban town.

Last I heard, she had remodelled her mansion and was looking for a magazine to feature it. Poor little Taylor, the richest little sad suburban socialite I’ve ever seen.

I’m a few months shy of turning 25, I’m young, I’ve been in a long-term relationship for almost 5 years, I have a baby, and for some strange reason, lately everytime I’m asked if I’m engaged/married, I get a look and a ‘Aww, you poor thing.’ Why is it that if you’re 25 with a baby and a man, you are automatically supposed to be married?

25 is mid-twenties, the majority of my friends have recently finished a second degree in university, many of whom are in Europe backpacking and travelling. Some are single, some aren’t, many are still out clubbing it up every weekend, and the thought of marriage isn’t even in most of their minds. Yet, because I have a daughter and I’m with the father (I get asked everytime), it’s like people look at me and want to ask ‘What’s wrong with you?’

What’s wrong with me? I’m young. I’m not ready to be married – yet. Don’t get me wrong, I want to get married in the next couple of years sometime, but at the same time, I’m not desperate to be married tomorrow. Yet lately, I’ve been getting this panicky feeling.

A panic that’s been setting in for a few weeks now, and I don’t know what to do about it. Anytime I talk to my bf on the phone (who’s away for a week for work), somehow I bring marriage and weddings into the conversation, and I end up sounding like a desperate girl who needs to get married. And it’s frustrating to me as a girl who is SO not like that, it’s frustrating that I’m coming off this way.

Do I want to get married? Yes. Am I afraid my bf is going to leave me? No. Am I concerned that our relationship will dissapate? No. So what’s the big deal? What is this panic I’m feeling? Why am I letting people get to me like this?

I know I have a bit of control freak in me, and I probably just need the reassurance that I will one day get married.

But sometimes I feel I need to take a step back out of this bubble and tell myself that I’m not even 25, I’m going to get married one day when we’re both ready. I’m not ready. What is this whirlwind I’ve gotten caught up in?

Where’s the ‘easy’ button I can push to make this all blow over?

And what can I say to those stupid women who are all married/engaged and wondering where my ring is? One day I’ll think of something. Until then. xoxo


June 11, 2008

After the heat, the rain came pouring down for days. At times it would come down intense, with thunder and lightening, at times just soft and sprinkling. It seemed to cool me down for a bit, but the humidity would come back stronger than before.

It relates to my relationship in many ways – sometimes we seem to not get enough of each other, sometimes we don’t want to be in the same room as each other, and sometimes it’s just so-so, just getting by, day to day, which is boring, but sometimes, that’s life.

I wish my relationship was exciting and intimate and sexy all the time – I wish it was a rush of me and him, him and I, 24/7. That feeling you get when you first meet somebody, that feeling of butterflies and flirting, and feeling hot for him all the time. The way a girl shows off a bit when she first meets a guy, laughing a little louder, thrusting her breasts out a little further – sometimes I want that all the time.

And it’s so cliche isn’t it? Enter a kid, a dog, a house, a life together, and the passion retreats just a bit, sometimes a large bit, but in my case it’s a small-medium bit. My boyfriend works an awful lot as well, for instance, today he left the house around 7 am, and he’s hopefully going to be back by 9 pm. He’s always tired.

But sometimes I’m left to wonder, are these all just excuses?

Successful couples learn to deal with each others issues, problems, and learn to live together somewhat synchronized albeit in a repetitive semi-bored state, right? It’s like a machine that’s well-oiled. And everyone else is what? Unsuccessful? Meaning that their relationship will eventually dissipate? Do “successful” couples even exist?

Kids, dogs, work, and other issues in relationships should NOT be excuses as to why a relationship is slowing down or losing its passion. They shouldn’t be – but we let it happen to ourselves all the time. Are we self-sabotaging ourselves? Why do we let this happen?

I have to say though, there are times where I don’t feel entirely connected to him, I feel like we are more a mom & dad both working at keeping the world turning consistently and boring, working hard and living life. But there are times….

When he comes home from work at 9 pm to find me all dolled up and ready to go out, and, instead of hanging his head and whining about a hard days work, he gets dressed and cleaned up, and takes me out for a light night snack. A couple of glasses of wine.

And then we make love so passionately, so intensely, that I forget any feeling of disconnect I could have had.

Maybe that’s what makes a relationship work. Those special nights of passion intertwined with the blandness of life. Just to keep things interesting.