It’s July 28th, the day that Charley Warady was born some odd years ago. So I think it’s only fitting that the blog today should be about him…and me. Him and me!
I was born into the Warady family 26 years ago. Sometimes I think that I was born just so my Dad would have someone to bother. “Smell this, it smells awesome” was one of my first sentences. You know, when you have a bowl of ice cream or yogurt or anything else that can be easily pushed into the person who fell for the line and attempted to smell that. That is the kind of family I have.
My childhood was great. I’m not traumatized by my parents. I will not go to therapy and blame them for everything that is wrong with me. I was a happy kid. When we were growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, my Dad was home during the day and my Mom worked at the hospital. My Dad is a stand-up comedian (yes, it’s as cool as it sounds), so he worked nights. He bathed my sister and me, which meant spiked soapy hair and a sing a long of “Do I dittie dittie dum didi do”. He flossed our teeth while we fidgeted (this from a man who can’t watch TV ickiness- he was able to over come the grossness so that we would have a healthy mouth.). He made us breakfast in the morning and gave us vitamins. He would tickle us awake until we couldn’t breathe. He made dinner (until we moved to Israel, I didn’t think my Mom could even cook) – Ala’ Warady’s. He taught me how to ride my bike. And he was there when I fell.
My Dad and I have pea fights (yep, pea fights. Fights with driedPeas), that is when he finally remembered where he had hid them. We have jokes that never get old. We watch the same shows, and if we aren’t together while watching them, we’ll repeat line after line that made us laugh so hard(who are we kidding, we’ll do that even if we do watch together.).
At some point in my life, my Dad went from Father to Friend. He’s awesome. He taught me that family is the most important thing in my life. He taught me how to balance a spoon on my nose. That if a guy doesn’t make me laugh, he’s not worth my time. Actually, in general, guys are not worth my time.
I can always get advice from him. He will always be able to make me giggle. I will never want to disappoint him. I will always try to make him laugh. I will always want to spend time with him(even when I was a teenager, I was never embarrassed about being seen in public with my parents). I will always be a better person because that is how I was raised.
Happy Birthday Dad. I love you a lot.
Oh yea, and, smell this……
If you ever ask me the question: ”If you could be a man-would you?”. I’d answer right away, “No way!”
I admit that there are some advantages to be a man- like peeing while standing up, anytime, any where, any place. Standing over a public toilet(sometimes even over my boyfriend’s toilet, but we’ll get to that) is not an easy thing to do. It’s definitely very challenging, balance combined with finding the right angle should be considered an Olympic event(especially after a couple of shots).
But the advantages to being a girl start the minute you’re born. From the first minute that your father holds you, he’s yours. I know- I’m daddy’s little girl(as far as he’s concerned, I’m still 12, and I don’t argue with him). I have a great relationship with both my parents. To define “best friends” is to put both there pictures in the dictionary. My Dad and I have a great relationship. We have inside jokes, I tell him everything(well..not everything, I’m 12 remember??), and if i disappoint him it breaks my heart(even though he insists that I can never disappoint him).
Barbies and other toy dolls(before I developed my strange fear of dolls, but that’s for a different blog).
Really, it’s one of the more fun things about being a girl. Boy’s manly barbies just aren’t the same(guys, it may be holding a gun, but it’s still a little doll. So don’t try to deny the fact that it’s a barbie). Our barbies are pretty, who want peace instead of war. They want to be doctors or teachers(you can tell what they want by the clothes that they are wearing) instead of fighters. I would spend hours in my friend’s basement playing with barbies while taking care of our 2 baby dolls.
Boys and later Men.
What causes confusion, pressure and failing attempts to flirt causes for us interest, a reason to go where boy is, good anxiety and smiling for no reason. It’s fun to have a crush on a guy. It’s fun to analyze every move, it adds hours of good conversation with friends.
Clothes.
Our clothes are prettier, period. I recently discovered pink and with all due respect to metro-sexuals(don’t get me wrong, a little male care has never hurt anyone) pink is just prettier on us. We have a wide variety of shoes, belts, jewelry and other decorations. Sometimes guy clothes can be more comfortable, but pretty beats comfortable any day(especially if a guy is involved).
Cleanliness.
In most cases we are cleaner. I spent 2 hours yesterday cleaning my boyfriend’s apartment because his idea of clean is washing the floor. But I bought cleaning supplies and started cleaning, I found out that the gray shelves he has- are actually white! And you can sit on the toilet seat! We are better at personal hygiene as well. My boyfriend does shower every day and I thank him for that. But Sweetheart, after you’ve worn your boxer shorts all day-they are no longer clean! Please put them in the laundry basket. Even my Dad is a sinner. He has the “clean socks system”-if they don’t get up and walk away, they are still clean!
Movies and TV shows.
They are all for us girls. Even the manly shows will have some emotional point for us girls. Someone will always fall in love with someone else and give a tear jerking speech declaring that love. Or someone will die and of course will be followed by lots of tears. I cry at everything. Happy moments, sad moments, EVERYTHING! I’m girly and there is nothing that i love more than sitting down on the couch, after a horrible and depressing day,and put the DVD of “The Notebook” in the DVD player. Because no matter how many times I’ve seen the movie, I will always cry. And then, after the depressing day, I’ll feel better. Because I let it all out by crying about fictional characters and their fictional life. It’s therapeutic.
I’m willing to give up the satisfaction of peeing anywhere, anytime, and any place. ’Cause it’s too much fun being a woman!
A year ago I worked out every day. Every day I pulled myself up from the couch, put on my running shoes, get my ipod from the charger and leave to run. When I got to the point that I had to turn around and run back home, everything was still smooth sailing. It was easy. My thoughts would wonder. I’d think about everything from- what I had to do today, to what that cute was thinking when he smiled at me and what did that mean.
But then I’d get to the point. The point when the variety of thoughts became themed. The theme was “Keep Pushing”. My thoughts went from wondering to cheering me on- “You can finish, you did it yesterday”, “It’s not that far”, and “You’ll feel so much better after the run”.
The harder it is to breathe and the more my legs hurt, the more the cheerful thoughts turn into a fight between the devil and the angel on my shoulders. The devil whispers into my ear- “You can stop, you’re almost there and you ran enough yesterday” , while the angel argues back- “No way! It’s not worth anything if you stop now! You made it this far, you may hurt now, but it will feel so much better if you finish ! Stopping now would be admitting failure!” So I would keep on running, because there is now way that I am going to admit that I’m a failure! If it doesn’t hurt, if you don’t feel like you are going to throw up, if the thought “If I pass out here, how long will it take someone to find me?” never crosses your mind, then it just isn’t worth anything-and you haven’t really done anything.
Then came this year. Winter started and I decided that I’ll run tomorrow. Then tomorrow turned into-I’ll run the next day. Then the next day turned into Friday, and you should rest on the weekends!
I started waitress, for the first time in my life, and a great bar. I fell in love with my wonderful job and I couldn’t love two things. I had to break up with running, it just wasn’t fair to it.
But there was a few down points committing to waitress.
The Calories.
Mainly-Pizza at 3 am didn’t help me keep my figure. And if I could keep from eating in the middle of the night, alcohol doesn’t exactly burn calories.
So last month I started talking about joining a gym. A week ago I called the gym to find out how much it is to join. And again I talked about joining a gym. Yesterday I signed up for the gym, and to celebrate that brave step- I had some cheese cake!
Today I rode my bike to the gym and got on the treadmill. I ran for 40 min. My old friends (the angel and the devil)were back and it felt like they never left. I still pushed myself to finish what I started. So today I’m getting back in shape. Because even though the alcohol at the bar has it’s highlights, nothing feels better than when the sadist in me pushes me to finish 40 min. of torture
