Tag Archive | embarrassment

Sea Pancakes and Toilets: Imaginary Friends

Yes, I had several. Now to all of you who are silently saying “Imaginary friends? Is she nuts?” I answer: 1) Yes, I am crazy. And quite proud. And 2) Come on, you know you had at least one too. From what I’ve gathered, having an imaginary friend is sort of a right of passage when you’re a kid. Some people may think that having friends who don’t physically exist is pathetic, and to them I say “BOY HAVE YOU EVER MISSED OUT ON SOMETHING GREAT”.

It’s not that I’m a social recluse and never had any friends. So sometimes I prefer staying home on a Friday night with a good book and a hot chocolate; that doesn’t mean that the only reason that I had imaginary friends was because I felt lonely (and let’s not even talk about Monday nights, when I am unreachable due to the amazing sport of football).

I got my first imaginary friend when I was pretty little, no more than 8 years old. I was reading Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials (you know, The Golden Compass and all that) and was fascinated by the concept of a dæmon, a creature that was essentially part of the person and from whom they could not separate from without great pain. So I decided that if Lyra and Will had dæmons and were the best heroes ever, logically if I had a dæmon I would be an amazing person as well. HA. I named my dæmon Manta. Why? Well… Because at the time I had an obsession with manta rays, or as I called them; sea pancakes. The fact that mint ice cream is my favourite flavor of ice cream also contributed to the name. I was young and innocent, don’t judge. At least, don’t judge harshly. Manta was there when I needed to babble to someone and I didn’t have The Mostly Confused Teenager to ramble on, when I was waiting all by myself for my always-late mom in the rain after school, when I wanted to make fun of my brother but no one was around. Plus, if someone asked me why I was talking to myself, I could always answer that I was actually talking to my imaginary friend, before staring at them with a mixture of befuddlement and disdain.

My second imaginary friend is one that is slightly/waaaay weirder than Manta ever was. His name is Fish, and he’s been my friend for so long that I can’t even remember when I started talking to him. This is awfully embarrassing to write, so I’m glad that not many people that I know read CT’s long winded blog posts. Still I hope that they don’t stop interacting with me because I’m such an absolute weirdosomething. See, I can only talk to Fish when.. um.. a toilet paper roll is finished. A roll with no more paper on it is the telephone that I use to contact him, at which point our conversations go something like this: “Hey Fish! How are you doing? I’m fine Fish, yeah. Ok so seeya Fish.” Now that I think about it these conversations are actually monologues. *sigh*

Still, my imaginary friends never socially hurt me (until now, I hope that this confession doesn’t The MCT’s death warrant). In fact they were a formative part of my childhood and made me into the person I am today. Whether that is a good thing or not I can’t tell 😉 Nonetheless they fostered a singular creative ability and view of the world for which I am eternally grateful. I’ve grown up a lot since the times when I heatedly debated with Manta on my brother’s level of silliness, but I haven’t forgotten the friends who helped me through some odd as sh*t days.

So parents, stop worrying because your kid has an imaginary friend, and kids, be proud! You’ll understand how a thought and/or dream can seem so real that it turns into something that you’ll cherish for the rest of your lives. Ladies and gentlemen, that is all. Peace out.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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Parents and the realm of weirdness

Parents are weird. Fact. Parents do embarrassing things. Other fact. I love my parents. Other other fact.  (weeeell, most of the time anyway)

My parents are the very definition of opposites attract: my mom is 5 feet 4 inches, dainty, quiet, with blond hair that is never out of place, and has a sort of fear of voicing her opinion (although you can tell when she disapproves because her eyes get way darker). My dad on the other hand is a 6 foot dude with a loud voice, built like a teddy bear with graying hair that goes in all directions, and round glasses. Actually if you just look at his face there is a clear resemblance with Einstein. However my parents do have some things in common: they’re both adorably cheesy and they love each other very very much. And I love them too, it’s just that sometimes they do things that make me question their sanity.

When I was little I saw my dad drinking a glass of whiskey. Being the innocent girl that I was, I asked what was in the glass. “Oh, it’s apple juice, would you like a sip?” I haven’t regained the taste for whiskey to this day. He’s also dared me to eat a chilly pepper (which I did) and to drink a bottle of salad dressing (which I did. Um…not). He calls them ‘life experiences’. My mom told me he was an idiot. Ah, love..

After reading and severely annotating a paper I had written for school in his messy handwriting and seeing the look of dismay on my face he reassured me: “don’t worry if you can’t read my handwriting, I can’t either. And if you don’t understand something I wrote, don’t ask me, I don’t know what the hell I was drinking when that pen was in my hand”. Frickin’ fabulous.

My mom has this habit where she’ll break into song at any and every point of the day, no matter where we are or who’s company we’re in. Now, she has a lovely, clear voice that rings in your ears long after she’s stopped, but starting to sing “Jeremiah was a bullfrog, tadaaa, was a good friend of mine, tadaaa” (Joy to the World, Three Dog Night) in the middle of the food court does not seem like a good idea to me. She’s very quiet when she talks, but boy when she starts singing… things change.

A couple of weeks ago my dad came up to me and said these exact words “what if God were one of us, and everyday he took the bus, and Lucy (our cat) changed her name to Gus?” The beffudled expression on my face said everything. He grinned at me and walked away. Talk about randomness.

It would take me a whole book to describe all of the odd occurences I’ve lived through in my life, but I’ll wrap up here with this one. Last week we were in New York City visiting old friends and bla bla bla. Both my parents were born there and although it seems to have left no particular mark on my mom, my dad likes to think that’s he’s still a New Yorker (please, he moved to Vermont when he was 6) so he uses this ridiculous accent whenever we’re there. Anyway, when we had just arrived, we were in a cab and he started talking to the driver. My mom nearly went into hysterics laughing at him while I pretended to have ended up in the cab by accident. The driver just looked at us like we were aliens.

But hey, at least they don’t rip off their clothes anytime they see a pool. That’s my grandad’s thing. Did I mention that I have a weird family?

Mom, Dad, I love you.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.