Some of you have been asking for updates on The Monkey’s party.
Frankly I’m surprised that Entertainment Tonight (and Entertainment Tonight Canada) aren’t covering it.
This event is huge.
I’ve seen royal weddings that involved less planning.
Actually I’ve never seen a royal wedding.
I don’t like weddings.
I support eloping. (Unless you are totally locked into having a wedding, Future Wife. In that case…. we’ll discuss.)
Since my muse has quit and I’ve lost all ability to write, I’ll tell you about the party.
The other day Monkey arrived at my door with papers in her hand. I knew this was not a good thing.
“These are the songs that I want on my playlist.”
I took the pages from her.
Two pages, front and back, FULL of songs.
148 songs. I did some quick math and realized that was almost 9 hours worth of music.
The party will likely last 4.
But a Monkey planning a party cares not for such trivial things as time.
Or words coming out of my mouth.
Instead she started telling me about The Blind Side, which she had seen the night before. I told her that I had just watched it too. She told me her favourite scenes. And she described one part as “…when he was going right tight there.”
Now, you English people are reading that exactly as it is written.
“going right tight” and “there” (and their cousin “tight out”) have to be heard in a nasal French twang. There is no way for me to type it that would explain it’s gloriousness. So. Nasal. I’m convinced that French people can say “tight” even when muzzled.
I’ve only muzzled a handful of French people so I’m not positive.
Well, one was two handfuls. You know what I mean? You know? Savez-vous?
Oh yeah, this is a kid’s birthday story. Focus, man.
So, anyway, I went about downloading her music. Well, the stuff that wasn’t already on my pc from other ipod filling jobs. Grown men should NOT have this many Jusitn Bieber songs. Oh, and on her list Justin Bieber is known as “JB.” I mean, OBVIOUSLY.
When I had about 90-95% of her songs — and was done searching for the stragglers, because 4 hour party, 8+ hours of music — I emailed her that she could bring me her ipod any time.
The next morning at 8:07, my phone chirped.
A text from The Monkey.
“Heeeey. I’m at the busstop if you want to come and get my ipod. Thaaaaankssss.”
Could she have gotten up 2 minutes earlier and delivered it to me — you know, the person doing her a favour?
Would that have ever crossed her mind?
Not a chance.
Fine. I went to get the iPod.
Why do you people think kids in my family are spoiled, he asks.
This was… Friday morning.
On Saturday evening she arrived to borrow something. I explained that I hadn’t gotten around to setting up the playlist on her ipod yet. She didn’t look impressed, but since she was borrowing something, she let it go.
Just before she left, we had this exchange:
Peter: I’ll do your ipod tomorrow.
Monkey: You better.
And then I didn’t.
But I DID do it yesterday evening.
We were having too many text exchanges like this:
“Is my ipod done?”
“Sorry, not yet.”
I delivered the ipod, but she wasn’t home. She was off doing more party prep work.
Some of which may have included:
1) The red carpet — Yes. A friend of the family donated material to make one for her. Her reaction to the news? “Is it A LOT of material?”
2) Mock strawberry daiquiris — Wait. She didn’t say “mock” when telling me about them. I better double check. This IS Cape Breton…
3) Prizes — She’s giving out prizes for best dressed, best dancer, King and Queen, etc. I’m not kidding.
4) Disco ball — Every party needs a disco ball. She told me, “It kinda smells. Do NOT sniff it.” I don’t know why, but that cracked me up.
5) Dress — Is hanging in her bedroom. It is ready. Her (our) other little cousin, a year older than The Monkey and pseudo co-host, bought the same dress in a different colour combo. They shopped together. That’s pretty cute. Other cousin (who doesn’t have a blog nickname) has gotten into making cakes and will be making one for this party. I assume she’s hooked on the fancy cake shows. The Monkey told me “I wanted her to come over the night before the party, but she’ll be working on the cake.” And then with the slow, knowing nod of an experienced baker, “On her last one, the fondant was a little too thick.”
Other adult friends and family members keep telling me, “I hear you’re actually invited to the party.”
“Well… kinda. I’m the doorman. I have to stay outside.”
Then they laugh at me.
Last night, I was all relaxypants and waiting for the Raptors game to start. (Suck it, Clippers!) I was sending a ridiculous e-mail to this broad. (This was before the travesty that was the American Idol results show and– Too soon. Too. Soon.)
My phone rang. It was The Monkey.
“You didn’t get [song I’ve already forgotten]?”
“No. I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“You have eight-ish hours of music!”
“But… It’s the song I wanted the most.”
Guess what I’ll be looking for today.