Toronto musician SIDNY drops his second single, "Up All Night," on Friday Oct. 13. Here's everything you need to know about the singer-songwriter and his sweet new track.Read More
I'll never forget when my friend Amanda called to tell me that she wanted to adapt my blog into a podcast. I really had to pee, but I answered the phone anyway. And I'm forever grateful for that.
That was six months ago. And today, I couldn't be more honoured/scared/humbled/proud (yes, I'm feeling everything all at once) to share it with you.
Amanda produced and edited the My Life Without Pants Podcast. She also pored over the audition tapes that came in to read the part of Ava (that's me!). We fell in love with Jess, a fourth-year student at York University's acting conservatory – she plays the part of Ava better than I ever could. And, serendipitously, the feeling was mutual. "I'm not the biggest fan of pants myself, so I felt like I was maybe about to hear about a kindred spirit. And I was right!," she said about her willingness to be part of the project.
And there you have it. Well, it takes a whole pantsless village to make a podcast. The brilliant, witty and creative team at Channel 13 created the shiny new logo you see here and even loaned their voices to our very first episode. You can check it out on iTunes now here. Download and subscribe, and rate us (really high), and I will love you forever. We'll be posting new episodes soon, so be sure to check back often.
Special thanks to everyone who helped make the My Life Without Pants Podcast happen:
Amanda Cupido, Producer and Editor
Jessica Wareing, Actress
Channel 13 (Mike Gioffre, Gianluca D'Acchille and Riel Sammy)
Ever stop and wonder what you were like at 17? If perhaps the motives that drove your existence as a late teen are in fact what shaped you into the person you are today? It's scary to imagine that the traits that rightly made us insufferable then are still very much present today. But I have written proof.
Take this piece of investigative reporting from my formative days as an eager journalism student that recently resurfaced (thanks, mom). If I remember correctly, us first years were tasked with asking any question in the world and then going out to find the answer. And in this plum opportunity to research and uncover literally anything 17-year-old me could fathom, I chose to find out about love.Read More
You'll want to run. Out of the room, out of your body, after them. Anywhere. The overwhelming urge to escape will engulf you. Paralyze you. All you can do is try to stay upright when every part of you wants to drop to the floor.
It's okay if you do.
You will get pulled up, pulled back here. You'll remember your mismatched socks and the cold coffee sitting under the Tassimo machine because you got a text saying to get here as soon as you can. And now you have nothing but time.
Time while everyone else finds out. You will start telling them yourself for something to do in the hospital waiting room. Because you no longer have anything to wait for.
You will catch yourself speaking about them in the past tense for the first time. It's as if you're talking about someone else. You'll feel the words taunting you with loss. And you'll wonder if it will always be this way.
You won't remember anything anyone says to you at the funeral but you wish they would stop saying it anyway. Then someone will place their hands on your shoulders and whisper into your ear one word: coraggio. You will forever return to this word because it's the only one that matters.
You'll book a trip. Anywhere that's not here. You'll see the fear in people's eyes when you tell them you need to get away to clear your head. But they won't try to stop you. You'll talk about them with complete strangers when they ask you why you've come so far. Alone. You'll think you dreamt of them one stormy night and this will all have been worth it.
You'll return to the life and the things you once loved. You'll try to remember who you were before. Before everything fell apart. Before. But nothing is the same. Or maybe it's you. And you'll wonder if you'll ever recover the part of you that's missing. Or if you will just get used to the emptiness.
You'll want to talk to them. To catch them up on everything that's going on, what they left behind. Did they know which president was elected and that mom has been visiting them often, like she promised? You'll write them letters because you can never manage to get all the words out. And you don't want to miss anything.
You'll chase ghosts of them. In New York, in Boston, in Jasper, Alberta. For a chance to live in their memories. If you're lucky, you'll make friends in those cities so you can return often and find them again.
You'll long to dream about them. Even if just for a moment. To see them, to hold them as you did when it was so easy. You'll wait for them to come and tell you they're okay. Like a wave, they will wash over you. And disappear once again. But you'll be grateful they did. And hope they'll visit again soon.
You will laugh and smile because you'll find there are still many things worth laughing and smiling about. And you'll wonder why the world hasn't fallen apart even though the person you wish for most can't be here with you. This feeling, well, it doesn't ever really go away.
Then one day, one of your best friends will tell you that her brother is gone. He just turned 31. And your heart will sink down with hers. You will try to muster everything that was once imparted upon you at a time that now feels so long ago. You'll want to tell her how she'll grieve. How she will crack right open only so that she can be filled with love and hope and lightness once again. But the crack will always be there. And she'll guard it fiercely and wear it proudly like a badge, as a tribute to the love and pain she carries in her heart.
But you won't be able to say all these things in the moment. So you will just cry with her instead. And you'll write this to try to tell her that she's going to be okay.
And then one day, she will be.
All good things come to an end and yet in spite of that, so did 2016. We may have clawed and fought our way to get here – thanks for cleaning up the trail of blood – but it's 2017 and Jon Bon Jovi is still alive and gifting us with new music, so I think that's reason enough to celebrate.
But since it might take some of us a little longer to get over the shell shock of last year's events, here are a few reasons why you're already far better off than you were 365 days ago.
1. You're not wearing pants. And in totally unrelated news, it's almost the one-year anniversary of My Life Without Pants! And you're still here! I like to think that my encouraging you to not wear pants/stay exactly as you are played a small part in your commitment to a more liberated lifestyle. Basically, it's kept you alive and free and I think it's best you soldier on that way. Why mess with a good thing?
2. You got a tattoo. Or didn't. You stopped texting ridiculously long messages to potential dates. Or not. You stopped eating meat...No? Just me? Alright then, I'll be fine.
3. Okay, you made other resolutions. Noble ones that focus on your commitment to improving your longterm health or landing your dream job. That's so great. You should write about them.
4. It's an odd year. No false pretences or hope given. If only everything else in life could be this straight up.
5. You've accepted that there's no sound way to pack salad dressing in your lunch without it spilling into your bag and so when the cashier at the cafeteria judges you every day for putting $0.80 on your credit card for a packet of balsamic vinaigrette because no, you don't have cash, you think about your brand new agenda and piles of books that are not currently splattered in oil and smile because you finally understand what it means to beat the system.
6. The Killers are coming back!
7. You renewed your driver's license on time this year. If you're getting pulled over in the next 12 months, it's definitely not because of your expired plates.
8. You're older and wiser. Than someone. Probably.
9. Regardless of what unexpected/tragic/generally fucked-up series of events you faced last year, you still made it to right now. So you might as well keep going.
10. I got you. There's always new and exciting stuff happening when you're not wearing pants and I wouldn't want you to miss any of it. Happy new year!
It started out like any other day that begins in court.
It was raining, which, in hindsight, probably should have tipped me off to the clusterfuck of events that I was headed toward. The same way an ominous sky in a Shakespearean tragedy alerts the audience to imminent danger. Or that soothsayer predicted Caesar would be stabbed to death by lunchtime. Alas, my own "beware the Ides of March" warning was slightly less dramatic, but I was already late after showing up at the wrong courthouse, so it's not like I heeded it anyway.Read More
My best friend Rachele lived across the country for the last four years – and on the bottom-end of Ontario the year before that. You get used to not being in the same city, but I'll never forget that first goodbye as she pulled out of my mother's driveway, waving and smiling with tears streaming down her face before she headed out west to teach on a native reserve in northern Alberta. Your heart still sinks every time after that, but the fear of the unknown - how the widening gulf of time and space between you will affect your friendship - is very real in that first move.
It's why I asked Rachele to write about her experience being a long-distance friend. How she managed to never miss an important moment in my life over the last few years even when she couldn't be there to experience them with me in person. And yet she was the one calling me at midnight on my birthday with Bon Jovi blaring into the phone (because how else do you wish your hopeless Bon Jovi fan-best friend happy birthday?) and the first person I texted immediately after I quit my job a year and a half ago. Like clockwork, my phone lit up with her face, as it does when she calls, seconds later.
I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a long-distance friendship. How you schedule bi-weekly phone dates over tea, last-minute rain checks and send novella-like updates over text of dates with a pro-gun cop and that Russian salsa dancer (I will also defer to Rachele for those tales).
Rachele moved home for good this summer, but ours wasn't the only relationship she tended to from a distance. I'll leave you with her thoughtful and sometimes painful words about the reality of moving away while trying to maintain an active role in the lives of the people left behind. This is how to be a long-distance friend. Or as I like to think of it, how to keep being a best friend (or girlfriend, or non-asshole Facebook friend you met abroad) without the privilege (and exceptions) of being there in person.Read More
I spent the last few weeks travelling Italy (and then about a week and half after that recovering from the jet lag and gelato withdrawal) so it finally seems like the right time to document it here, with just enough healthy distance and clairvoyance to recapture it fully. Twelve days traversing medieval towns in the north to Venice to the palm-tree lined Adriatic coast in Molise, and the best place to start this story is a few weeks before my brother Lucas and I left for Italy, while out for my mother's birthday.
The following is a text I sent my best friend Rachele, hours after the incident took place (Rachele lived across the country for the past four years, so yes, most of our correspondence looks like this):
"Random update that just happened tonight... So as I pull into the parking lot to meet my family for dinner, I'm on the phone with my bro Lucas. I'm not paying attention, and I drive onto the curb.
So, cut to the hot man, probably in his late 30s, smoking outside his car watching this all unfold. He hears me drive on the curb, so naturally he has to watch me drive off of it.
I get off the phone to scope out my damage and he walks over and tells me he doesn't think it's too bad, smirking. He's British. He's smoking a cigar.
I tell him I do this all the time, he laughs and starts asking me about my car. Then his phone rings. Literally in that same second my stupid brother pulls up and parks between my car and hot British man's. Bro says 'let's go inside.' Hot British man is still on his phone, watching, as he turns to walk away.
So my bro and I turn to leave and hot British guy turns back to wave. And that is all.
The point of this story is that I'm wearing a sign in Italy that says 'this asshole's my brother.' There will be no confusion."
Based on this experience, I figured that most of our trip would look a lot like this:
It wasn't nearly this traumatic for Lucas, who didn't understand what was going on most of the time as I casually explained to servers, ticket booth operators, baristas, anyone that would listen, in Italian, that my brother over here, yes, THIS GUY is with me. "But we look nothing alike," he would protest, cluing in just enough to detect my subtle attempts to announce our shared DNA.
When I eventually gave that up, I realized how big of a bro my older brother could be. Like when it came to navigating – Lucas could look at a map and pinpoint exactly what winding streets to follow that would lead us to the restaurant that serves gluten-free pizza in Rome. I, on the other hand, lose my orientation every time I walk out of a store.
And I had his back, too. Like, we rarely ever ate any gelato without the other, that way no one would feel bad about their life decisions during that trip.
I was beginning to think that I found the perfect travel companion in my brother, in part because he almost always paid for the gelato as well. Then he showed me the following text he sent our mother:
I spent our last day unsuccessfully trying to deposit him at the lost and found box at the train station.
I should start by saying that I don't really know how to feel about Father's Day anymore. After losing my dad almost four years ago, the day passes by like any other without him, except I'm viscerally aware that the person I'm supposed be celebrating on this day isn't here to appreciate it. It's like going to a birthday party and the guest of honour is nowhere to be found but you get punched in the gut for showing up in the first place. And still you keep going back every year.
Seeing #throwback images of young dads cradling their future sources of grey hair flood my Instagram feed only adds to the aching feeling that I clearly don't belong at this party. I quickly learned to avoid all social media on Father's Day in that first year after his death.
The thing that bothers me most about this day is that I never really took it seriously as a tradition while my dad was alive, and now that he's gone, I'm made to feel lesser for not having a parent with whom I can gift novelty tool belts and argyle socks (I mean, unless you're into that, mom?).
I'm not a monster – as a kid, I pasted the shit out of that macaroni pasta into a portrait that sort of looked like him for this very occasion. (And it prompted the typical response from my dad, that glue made it taste better anyway).
It's just that, over the years, our weeknight runs for M&M Blizzards or movie nights where I got to hold the popcorn bag or meandering walks during which I listed all the things wrong with the guy I was currently seeing were always more fun than actual Father's Day. It was on those treasured dates with my dad that I had him all to myself.
So when I agreed to cover a music awards show on Father's Day in 2012 – the same one held on Father's Day every year, including this one – for work, it wasn't in favour of passing on something that I was already doing: spending regular, quality time with my dad. (Also, that cute chubby kid from Modern Family was going to be there and like hell I was missing that.)
Still, I was feeling uneasy about my decision when I told my family, including my dad, a few weeks before that I wouldn't be joining them for our Father's Day festivities. They took the news surprisingly well.
"OMG let's go for Mexican!" said my downhearted brother Lucas.
"I'll make reservations!" added my mom.
"Meat for everyone!" confirmed my dad, in case anyone wasn't up to speed on the cause for celebration that having a vegetarian in the family rarely allows.
I gave my dad the closest thing to perfection in the scope of Father's Day presents that morning: a mug with a picture of Charlie Brown and Snoopy skipping off into the sunset on it, which summed up my dad's relationship with our dog Mickey. I think he may have even shed a tear at the resemblance.
Before I could get sentimental about missing out on his day, my dad and the rest of my family rushed out the door to make their reservation and celebrate Father's Day in a way he hadn't been able to for years: a taco-filled day with his carnivorous family members.
I took him for a vegan brunch the following weekend, and everything was right in the world again.
Scene: The washroom
Characters: You, the worst; Me, unsuspecting
You (answering your phone in a washroom stall): Hello?
Me (minding my own business in the one next to yours): Um. Hi?
How's your day going?
Fine? Are you...out of toilet paper?
Ugh. Just got out of a crazy-long meeting. I finally have a few minutes to chat.
That's why you're here?
Oh, hold on. I'm just texting Steph back. One sec.
It's cool. I'll wait.
I was thinking I'll stop off to pick up chicken for dinner. Maybe you could barbecue them tonight?
I'm vegetarian actually. Can you hear me pee?
I don't know, do we have lettuce?
I'm just going to hum so this doesn't get weird. Carry on.
Why, what's tomorrow?
Wait, are *you* peeing right now?
That's tomorrow night? I don't think I want to sit through a whole dinner with Matt and Ang. Can we just do drinks instead?
So are you holding your phone? How does this work with washing your hands?
I don't know, she's just the worst. Don't you remember what happened the last time? I can't even get into that right now.
Alright, I'm all done. Is it cool if I flush?
Hold on I have another call coming through –
OMG IT'S ANG!
OMG ANG. So good to hear from you! No, no this is a great time to talk. I'm so happy you called!!!
I'm going back to work.
I inherited more traits from my mother than I'm willing to admit – like how to win people over with guilt and Italian food, and an imminent fear of bears. These were formative lessons of my childhood, the same way that some kids learned how to French braid their hair or not to do their older brother's homework from their moms (strangely, such values were absent from our household).
I can see where the impulse to over-stuff your guests with cured meats and cheese came from, given that my mom was raised by immigrant parents (a guilt trip before sharing a meal is like saying grace in Italian culture). But an aversion to bears was her own Darwinian development.
For their honeymoon, my parents crammed a three-day hike through Jasper National Park into less than 24 hours after my mother learned of bear sightings on the camp grounds. Thus birthed a tale of fear-mongering that was used to keep us children out of the forests near our North York home or from taking too kindly to that Berenstein family.Read More
I was preparing a salad the other day when I thought that I had accomplished enough with my life to assume that I could probably even hard-boil an egg myself, too. I should have known better. Ten minutes later, my half-boiled egg was runny and in no state to be tossed into a salad nor placed back into boiling water to finish the job. And so I called my mom to tell me what to do instead. Put it in the microwave, she said. Genius, I thought.
So I did, and then heard what sounded like a detonating bomb as my egg exploded in the microwave and I was forced to scrape off egg shell shrapnel from the ceiling inside. And still no hard-boiled egg.
Now. I'm not a stranger to the kitchen; I grew up baking desserts and then gluten-free desserts for my friends. I am a grownup and kept my family dog alive for the week that I was pet-sitting him. And yet the fact that I still cannot boil an egg leads me to conclude that it is neither an intuitive life skill nor critical to human survival (it's basically the food equivalent of using Snapchat). And there are plenty of other things that are easier to do anyway.
1. Not wearing pants.
3. Getting a tattoo (removing a tattoo)
4. Getting in trouble for not doing your brother's homework growing up.
5. Writing a short story about a princess cat named Queen Mao because a child came up with the idea and you said you would write it, and kids take everything you say seriously.
6. Living in an apartment where every day you wonder if your neighbour's cat Lupe will wander into your balcony again and attempt to kill you.
7. Spending the night at a karaoke bar on a layover in Tokyo with your best friend.
8. Calling someone else to kill spiders for you.
10. Refusing to learn how to replace a flat tire not because you rely on a man to do it for you or that you're a bad feminist but because you straight up just don't want to.
11. Driving two hours to interview a stage actor in person for a class assignment because it adds colour to the story. And he's really cute.
12. Getting a university education.
13. Asking yourself, What would Elle Woods do? Doing that.
14. Giving blood.
15. Being a vegetarian. Going vegan, I guess.
16. Telling a small child that, no, you can't have a cookie. Haha! Telling them, oh, shit, I was just kidding when they fail to interpret your sarcasm. Telling them they can have the cookie, all the cookies, a pony, just please stop crying. Living with the consequences of your words once again because kids take everything you say seriously.
18. Starting a blog about not wearing pants. Also: scrambled eggs.
Like most people who somehow made it to adulthood, I largely blame my parents for making me who I am today. Like all those times when I was a kid and I would ask my dad to be serious and tell me how much longer we would have to drive to get anywhere we were going and his response would vary from "until my hair turns brown again" to any random number of hours as if this was the theme song of Rent. While I was not impressed at the time, I grew to anticipate (and expect) wildly animated responses to any mundane question I asked. It became our language. And after spending 22 years seldom getting a straight answer out of him, I eventually learned to never give one myself: "No, Officer. I didn't realize I was speeding." "Tomorrow I will put on pants." Stuff like that.Read More
It starts with the flashing lights.
Then denial. Who, me?
They trail closely.
Alright, it's you.
You know the drill. You pull over. You fumble for your ownership papers, your license, your dignity.
You wait.Read More
"Hi, my name is Ava and I am a vegetarian."
This simple statement has raised more questions and concern about my life, my health than anything I could ever say about not wanting to wear pants (though that's quickly becoming a close second).
And the truth is, my giving-up-meat story is a mundane one at best: one day I ate a piece chicken, and then decided that I would not be eating chicken (or any other kind of meat) again. That was more than six years ago. And yet it's truly amazing how my family has managed to retain the same level of surprise every time I turn down a slice of homemade salami or grilled lamb on a stick. Because when you tell your Italian family that you will no longer be eating spiducci – by choice! – you may as well be saying that you are abandoning your country, your last name and your mom for a slice of white bread and an early death: the fate of "whale-kissing, Dukakis-hugging moon maidens," according to my brothers and Rainier Wolfcastle.Read More
Whenever I need to make sense of the events in my life or I just need to take in some wise words of inspiration, I have three solid, dependable guys I turn to: Rainer Maria Rilke, Antoine de Saint-Exupery (The Little Prince, and because he's French, obviously), and Vincent van Gogh.
Of course, for advice in real-time scenarios, there's my friend Jon. Jon counsels me through pressing matters like how to actually deal with French guys (it helps that Jon's from Montreal) and what font I should choose for my pantsless logo. "Cursive is charming and so are you," he promptly replied. (Alright so I might have added in that second part but I feel like that's what Jon meant to say. What a guy.)
The point is, there are enough incredibly wise and articulate people out there who dealt with existential crises and wrote about it that trying to figure out this life on my own seems arrogant and a little unnecessary. No need to reinvent the wheel.Read More
So you want to give up coffee? Great, me too! Let's do this together. *high-fives the screen*
1. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is full of promise. Tomorrow is a really good day to give up coffee.
2. Why are we doing this? Because we are responsible for our own happiness. We don't need coffee to lift us out of a sleepy consciousness and tell us how to live. WE ARE ALREADY ALIVE, COFFEE.
3. How about we meet for a decaffeinated herbal beverage, instead? Say, 5:30 p.m.?
4. It's part of this new cleanse I'm on. Day two! You know, no gluten, no sugar. Caffeine? No, that's out too. Oh, that? That's just a twitch under my eye. You can hardly notice if you don't look directly at it.
5. They say the withdrawal headaches stop after three days. It's been 18 minutes since my last cup. So close!
6. I see you're drinking an espresso. Can I sniff it? It's the best when it's piping hot!
7. I've been saving so much money since I gave up drinking coffee. At this rate, come June, I'll be able to pay for a train ticket. To the airport. One way.
8. You know what they say, beet juice, it's just like coffee!
9. Nothing for me, thanks. I'll just lick his empty cup.
10. Waking up is hard. Mornings are rough. I can't think of a torture worse than the afternoons. Nights aren't so bad, until I realize I have to do it all over again tomorrow.
11. Sometimes I like to imagine a parallel universe where Coffee is lying in bed awake at night trying to picture its morning without me. That helps.
12. You are bigger than this. You are bigger than your addiction. You are bigger than the Venti no-foam extra-hot soy milk latte in your hand.
13. I make my own choices in life. I am choosing to have this one sip.
14. Okay, this last sip.
15. Sweet coffee. Don't ever leave me again.
The milder temperature in Toronto this week ignited an age-old debate with a friend over text. "K I should have worn pants today. My legs r freezing," Cynthia sent me one morning. Piquing my interest – because why would anyone say such a thing? – I probed her to explain. "I love pants so much because I hate tights so much. Nothing makes me angry like tights."
While I fundamentally disagree with her premise, I wholeheartedly support her right to say so. And anyone who opposes an article of clothing so vehemently deserves to be heard.Read More
I can't think of a time where citing a quote from Legally Blonde (the first film, obviously) hasn't served me well in life. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it has an 83% success rate of making someone smile (everyone one is probably just cold and culturally dead inside). And not that I'm bragging, but It helps when you have the entire film memorized to deliver a well-timed Elle Woods reference in real life. For example, when your friend has just got bangs.
While there is infinite wisdom to parse from the film, I will leave you with the words of Elle Woods that changed my life in 2001 – when the film was released on DVD and I watched it on repeat endlessly – to help improve yours.
1. Orange is not the new pink.
"Last week I saw Cameron Diaz at Fred Segal, and I talked her out of buying this truly heinous angora sweater. Whoever said orange was the new pink was seriously disturbed."
2. The importance of cardio in a long-term relationship.
"Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't."
3. Never wash your hair immediately after getting a perm.
"Isn't the first cardinal rule of perm maintenance that you're forbidden to wet your hair for at least 24 hours after getting a perm at the risk of deactivating the immonium thygocolate?"
4. Intelligence in a mate is the key to success.
"If I'm going to be a partner in a law firm by the time I'm 30, I need a boyfriend who's not such a complete bonehead."
"I have always respected redheads as members of a hair colour minority."
6. How to have the last word in arguments with the opposite sex, a.k.a. the mic drop.
"Any masturbatory emissions, where the sperm is clearly not seeking an egg, could be termed reckless abandonment."
7. Before Beyoncé, Elle Woods taught us how to be independent women.
"Paulette, I taught Bruiser to shop online – I think I can handle congress."
8. The importance of education.
"Going to Harvard is the only way I'm going to get the love of my life back."
9. How a man dresses is a crucial indicator of his personality.
Brooke: "You know a Delta Nu would never sleep with a man who wears a thong."
Elle: "I know."
10. How to speak up for yourself.
"I feel comfortable using legal jargon in everyday life." [Man whistles] "I object!"
11. How to politely stomp out ignorance.
Enrique Salvatore: "Don't stomp your little last season Prada shoes at me, honey."
Elle: "These are not last season."
12. The all-encompassing power of the bend and snap.
"In my experience, it has a 98% success rate of getting a man's attention and, when used appropriately, it has an 83% rate of return on a dinner invitation."
"You must always have faith in people. And, most importantly, you must always have faith in yourself."
14. And most most importantly, feminism.
"I promised her. And I can't break the bonds of sisterhood."
P.S. Did I miss any? Add in your favourites to the comments below!
Although the result of his labour has come into question over the years, it was my father who taught me how to drive – an ongoing lesson that took place in many vehicles over the course of my young adult life.
At 13, I was shifting the gear from the passenger seat of his 1997 red Golf at his cue and believing that I was single-handedly keeping the car in motion (more likely, I was responsible for stalling it at every red light; but he never let on to that either).
At 15, I was circling a school parking lot in his automatic silver Mazda minivan between fits of laughter as he said, "Now try to park it in the lines." My dad had the best sense of humour.
At 18, I was as tired of commuting on public transit as my older brother and friends were of chauffeuring me around. I finally signed up for driving school when the boy I had a crush on did too. And because my dad never let up on something that I had halfheartedly committed to, he picked me up from my mom's place several times a week for our lessons. Sometimes I would find his car in our driveway when I got home from class and before I could roll my eyes at his determination, he would promise to buy me ice cream if I could get us there safely.Read More