Dear Nanny,

First off I want to say congratulations. You buying an IPAD has not only been inspirational but it’s a real testament to the fact that you have always challenged yourself to try new things and continue evolving regardless of the obstacles. I am beyond proud of you and love you more than anything.

I Blog (staceytheblog.tumblr.com), which you will quickly learn is a narcissistic act of pointless rants about how my mom “doesn’t get it” or “how being fat in high school made me an awkward adult”. Just remember I am a late bloomer and have finally been kissed.

I also make YouTube videos (youtube.com/staceymcgunnigle). These videos are filmed in my closet on random topics of my choosing which often lead to the occasional belch or swear word caught on camera. I apologize and hope you don’t feel sorry for me. I am doing okay…ish

 I am also on Twitter (@TheStaceyMcG) and have been known to Tweet about farting in public or judging people I find gross, smelly, or weird. I know people in glass houses should not throw stones but sometimes the internet is a seductive beast and people on the TTC can be real assholes.

And last but not least my Facebook. Presently, I use this mainly as a stealthy creep machine, lurking on people that I usually loathe but can’t delete because I need to know that I am better than they are, and when I say better I always mean thinner. My Facebook has been active for many years and has seen me through some tough shit. The statuses from 2009/2010 should best be ignored as I know song lyrics played a major factor in their creation. My Facebook is also filled with embarrassing photos of me in interesting environments and with questionable company and are usually of me drinking beer not in a glass, which I know you always insist I do.  

You raised me well Nanny and I just want you to know that I really try to be a lady but sometimes I fall victim to the Internet and her opportunistic quality. I blame no one but myself. I wanted to be upfront and give you the links not just because I need the traffic (which means people going to the sites) but because I want you to check out these Internet hubs that have helped me find my voice which you have always encouraged me to find. I just hope you can forgive me for my embarrassing choices and for dragging our family name through the mud.

To be honest these admissions are just the tip of the iceberg. I wish I could hold your hand and protect you from the hackers, spammers, virus holders, and god forbid MySpace and LinkedIn requests but I can’t.  I urge you to explore and find out what’s out there because you are the bravest renegade I know. I trust you will take everything you read with a grain of salt and just because a link comes up and says you won a cruise I trust you will ask before clicking. Oh, and if you ever find the Internet to be too much for your little Scottish self never hesitate to pick up a phone and call me. I will help you anyway I can and am always here to take that IPAD off your hands if and when you ever find it useless.

Sincerely,

Your idiot granddaughter

Stacey 

 xoxoxo.

There is nothing more fantastical then your first date - at least for me anyway. It is frightening, incredibly theatrical, filled with suspense and unbelievably romantic. You spend all day getting ready, stealing your mom’s red lipstick, playing romantic pop songs about Love, Lust, and Dirty Grinding in Da Club, and then the doorbell rings, you rush downstairs and Mr. Right is waiting there on your doorstep, with flowers and the promise of the best night of your life. You spend the evening laughing, giggling, and strategically caressing his inner thigh until it’s time to be dropped off, precisely at midnight in order to keep your parents at bay. Then, just as a shooting star passes over both of your heads, he leans in and gives you the best first kiss of your life.

…swoon…

However, if you were anything like me (overweight with a massive sweating problem, braces, and the incessant need to perm your hair in hopes of looking like Jennifer Grey from Dirty Dancing), then you know that your first date was anything but perfect or “swoon-worthy”.

It was Grade 12 and I had yet to be kissed, touched, or looked at in any sexual way. I was hopeless or as my mother deemed me “A Late Bloomer” or “Lesbian”. I always wanted to go on a date but thought I was a lost cause. That was until I met my Mr. Right. He was a tall boy, with oddly shaped teeth, who had yellow blonde hair that shot out in front of him like a cartoon character. I outweighed him by at least 40 pounds but he was there and willing. For safety and security (of both parties) I will lovingly call him Lanky. Lanky was sweet and a member of the “the cool kids crew”. We were doing a play and Lanky was the only person to talk to me about my favourite topic…me. I remember this day like it was anything. We had just finished rehearsal and I was in our self-made “dressing room”. Due to my sweaty glandular problem, I was changing into my second shirt of the day and as I was pulling my Backstreet Boys t-shirt over my grey sports bra, Lanky came up behind me:

Lanky: Hey Stacey what’s up?
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Lanky: You okay?
Stacey: yep. I’m cool (due to this unforeseen surprise I had sweat through the shirt almost instantaneously)
Lanky: Hey you wanna go out this Sunday
Stacey: okay.
Lanky: That was a fast response….
Stacey: sorry.
Lanky: you’re weird. And funny. Weird funny. Anyways let me get your number and then I will call ya.
Stacey: Okay,
Lanky: Great. Nice shirt.
Stacey: Thanks.

BOOYA! I WAS GOING ON A DATE. I didn’t even care that he chose Sunday. It was unorthodox but as they say beggars can’t be choosers. I promptly ran to find anyone who would revel in this news; the running also helped air out my now sopping t-shirt. My friends and family (primarily mother) were so excited for me. The whole week I felt like a goddess. I could see my sexuality in the distance and by Sunday I would soon be a Woman. Friday and Saturday could not go by slower. On Saturday night, Lanky made good on his promise and called me. He was working at a gas station at the time so we couldn’t talk long but he told me to be ready for 5 pm because he was going to take me to dinner and a movie. DINNER AND A MOVIE…this is a classic first date and I was now living the dream. For the rest of the night I couldn’t stop smiling. I finally felt special. On Sunday morning I picked out my best flare jeans, and favourite platform shoes…I was ready. At 5pm I sat promptly in front of the bay window in my parents living room. I wanted Lanky to pull up to my house and find me casually waiting in the window. As cars passed by, I would pretend someone said something funny so I could whip my hair back and laugh in order to show Lanky how free spirited and whimsical I was. After I hurt my neck in one of my “laughing fits” I decided to scrap the act and just wait for my Prince Charming. So I waited, and waited, and waited. I remember staring out the window for what felt like an hour and I thought I had been stood up. My parents tried to comfort me and tell me that he wasn’t worth it but, there was no point, I was devastated. But then I heard it; a loud honk of the horn. At 6:30, Lanky showed up in his dad’s JEEP and the date WAS BACK ON. I waited for him to get out of the car but I guess he was playing hard to get, so after the 7^th honk, I ran outside trying to be as cool as possible. I had remembered to wear a black shirt so I had no fear of embarrassing pit stains.

When I got in the car I was blasted by two things: Lanky’s cologne and the loudest punk music I have ever heard.  I would like to say that we talked all the way to dinner but that would be a lie. He began screaming and punching the steering wheel to what I can only assume was “the beat” of the music. I spent the half hour drive looking out the window wondering if the passing cars would think we were a couple or at the very least “romantically involved”. We had decided to go to Jack Astors for our romantic meal - which was awesome because I adore their pan bread (haven’t tried it? You haven’t lived). But before we could go, he wanted to stop at the Mandarin because he wanted to see his friends. My immediate reaction was shock and horror. His friends were less than kind and their girlfriends liked to remind me of my social ranking anytime they could. By the time we got to the Mandarin his friends and their horribly popular girlfriends had just finished eating, so I spent 45 minutes sitting by myself at the table adjacent to them (because there was not enough room at their table),  twirling the white linen table cloth in between my fingers, trying not to cry. At this point I was devastated but   still determined to have my perfect date.

We headed to Jack Astors with punk music blaring louder than ever. Lanky must have felt bad about the Mandarin incident because he said I could order anything I wanted - as long as it wasn’t over $15. In rare form, I had lost my appetite, so I ordered a salad and excused myself to the bathroom. I had no cellphone at the time so I just sat on the toilet wondering what the hell was happening. Dinner was quiet except for Lanky telling me about how his band was hitting it big in the “basement concert circuit”. After dinner (which I helped pay for because the gas station business was just not how it use to be), we headed to the movies. At this point I still had hope that we could snuggle up to a nice movie and fall in love. That thought was immediately crushed when I found out that his friends would be joining us and the movie of choice involved aliens and  guns with a future apocalyptic theme. I spent the movie by myself, eating popcorn and a large Pepsi, unnoticed by everyone. While everyone around me was making out and falling in love, I sat on the opposite side of the “gang” wanting my night to end. I couldn’t believe I wasted my jeans and platforms on this idiot. On the ride home I was almost deaf and wanted nothing more than to get home and pretend it never happened. But in a sudden turn of events, Lanky looked at me and said “I’m sorry if this wasn’t the night you wanted, can I walk you to your door?”. To my door? He wanted to walk me to my door. I thought: classic romantic comedy switch up. Here I think everything is lost - but no, wait! This guy wants to SMOOCH ME. Oh man. THE DATE IS BACK ON. He turned off the punk music, walked around to the other side of the Jeep and opened my door. He grabbed my hand and helped me out of the Jeep. The porch light was on and provided the perfect kissing setting. We looked at each other and I thought: here we go. And just as I thought he was about to lean in he said what every girl longs to hear: “Night. Meeting the guys.” And then he vanished in the South Simcoe air.

I went inside feeling like a complete idiot. The next few hours involved petting my dog, eating a box of powdered donuts, watching A Walk To Remember, wondering why I didn’t get my perfect First Date. A week after our date, I caught Lanky making out with my enemy in the hallway and I finally got closure on the whole thing. I wish Lanky and Captain Huge Hips all the best in the future. I hope their gas station babies and ESSO points are doing well. As for me, my glandular problem resolved itself by university and I no longer trust JEEPS or people with weird teeth. We all won.

Onwards and Upwards!