This just in...

Have decided that neither the bongos, nor the harmonica will be part of my New Year's resolution.

Do you know how expensive a good harmonica is? And I've been told (by LB) that the only way to play the bongos is naked and it's way too drafty in this house for that.

So instead, I'm saying 2008 is all about knitting hats!

That's enough for a New Year's resolution, right?

Stress free air travel and how to avoid incompetent travellers

On a recent business trip I had a conversation with some colleagues about how to "avoid the dangers of incompetent travellers" in airports.

We have all learned to spot them from a distance. They usually have either:
- loads of bags,
- kids in tow,
- a wild look in their eyes,
- a general look of distress about them, or, god forbid,
- all of the above

They slow down lines, annoy the airport crew and just overall ruin any hope of having a stress free flight.

But what do you do when you arrive at the airport and encounter herds of these incompetent travellers in the general check-in line? Quite simply go to the business class line - the home of world weary travellers (mostly business travellers) with small check in bags and a look of efficiency about them. Do this even if you don't have a business class ticket. By the time you get up to the check-in counter it's too late for them to turn you away. If prompted, simply smile and shrug and say you didn't realize you were in the wrong line.

Once I even said to the check-in counter agent that I thought the other line was for group check-in given the general mayhem that seemed to be happening there. You know what he did? He smiled as if he understood and upgraded me!

Next is the security line. Dress sensibly (i.e. slip on shoes, no accoutrements, no liquids) and have your laptop ready to go. It also helps to sigh a lot as if saying "Why don't people just get it."

Oftentimes the security people will notice you and open up a new line or sometimes even motion you to the express security line - the one usually reserved for airport crew and/or handicapped travellers. While most people think airport security staff are mean, heartless and cold, they are in fact sensible people able to spot a good traveller and will reward you for making their jobs easier.

When they call for boarding you don't have to wait for your row or zone to be called. Rather board when they call for those needing special assistance or have elite status. Once again, they will not turn you away when you hand over your ticket (with your passport at the ready) even if you are travelling at the back of the bus. (After all, you checked in in the business class line, so why wouldn't you also get to board with them too?)

Demonstrate your good traveller habits. By the time you reach your seat you should already have your reading material and wallet out so that you can simply toss your carry on in the overhead bin and quickly slide in. It's a long walk from the gate to the plane. There's simply no excuse to not be organized by the time you get to your seat.

And make sure to smile at the flight crew. They like that. Being friendly and sympathetic with them pays off. Sometimes in free wine.

Yes, many travellers need education on how to be a competent traveller. This article is a good start. And perhaps governments should adopt Travel Studies as part of their national curricula.

Best of 2007

A few days early but here are some of the best moments from 2007. In random order.

• Completing the renos on our bedroom and building of a HUGE new shed (sauna to be installed this coming Spring)
• Margarita hour with LB’s family during Grandma’s memorial
• Mom being well enough to play golf again
• Weekly updates with the Divas
• LB’s new Tundra (he’s sooooo happy)
• Kudos from the CEO for a job well done this year
• Seeing my family content with new homes and new jobs
• Reconnecting with old friends
• My stay at the Beechfield House
• Seeing my nieces and nephew grow up and finding their inner sassiness
• Lunch time walking with Katie
• Celebrating Sherry’s 40th birthday
• Making at least one recipe from every issue of Gourmet and Bon Appetit magazine
• Every moment spent with LB (I’m a lucky girl…)

Those girls, statistically speaking, sock monkeys and squirrels

The annual tradition continued and it didn't disappoint. Met up with the Divas yesterday (minus one -- we missed you Chaya!) for a leisurely holiday lunch.

Helen is worried that she's become one of "those girls" waiting for her significant other to pop the question. We all agreed that it must be fairly imminent since her boyfriend's mom gave her dance lessons for Christmas. The question has now become when he'll pop the question.

Sherry hopes it's not on a significant day (like Helen's birthday today) because that day would forever be tainted if they were to end up in divorce. Statistically speaking of course, right Sherry? :)

Melle made me my very own sock monkey! I had him propped up on the couch with me last night while watching Wheel of Fortune. Charlie (a.k.a. The Monster) freaked out when he saw him and literally backed out of the room. If you have ever seen a cat back up, you'll understand how funny that is. Seems that tough guy Charlie isn't so tough after all.

And the passing of Manuel the Squirrel went to Helen. With more than three quarters of billion dollar loses at her company and still managing to get a promotion, we felt it was well deserved.

I look forward to our next get together. I hear there might even be a WWLD sock monkey in the works. I'll bring the tutu!

Surviving Christmas

Well, another Christmas successfully accomplished. Managed to squeeze in visits to all the family within a 24 hour time period. And surprisingly not one family drama emerged. Brilliant.

Also managed to finish off the two sock monkeys for my nieces in the nick of time. Somehow I managed to pull something in my shoulder in the process. Yes, you can hurt yourself sewing.

It was another turkey-less Christmas. LB and me managed to be at home Christmas night but we were too sick to prep a traditional turkey dinner. So we had soup and tuna fish sandwiches and curled up on the couch with the Kleenex box nearby.

Today I'm off to catch up with the WWLD gang. Our traditional curry lunch in Guelph. Gossip and laughter to ensue. On the agenda: Should I take up the harmonica or bongos for my New Year's resolution?

Mexico is at the end of the rainbow

Pot of Gold chocolates. A Canadian staple. I gave my mom, my dad, my teachers, my grandparents, well... probably several dozen boxes over the years growing up.

And in fact, LB's grandma was buried in a special commemorative tin of Pot of Gold chocolates.

The Moir's chocolate factory in Nova Scotia - makers of Pot of Gold chocolates - closed for good on Friday.

Here's an excerpt from a Toronto Star article:

As part of its restructuring, Hershey also announced the impending closure of its plants in Ontario, Quebec and the U.S., and the construction of a new plant in Mexico.

Ohhhhh... closing plants in Ontario, Quebec and the U.S. but building a plant in Mexico. Got it.

But here's more...

"This change is part of our broad supply-chain transformation, and as part of this we are shifting production to our manufacturing partners in Canada, as well as Hershey's manufacturing facility in Monterrey, Mexico," company spokesman Kirk Saville said this week.

Read between the lines. Remember the commercial? It goes something like this:

"We all know where the rainbow ends. We are told it's a Pot of Gold."

I think the new lyrics are...

"We all know where the rainbow ends. We are told it's Mex-i-co..."

Victory!!!

Holiday shopping today. Ok, well not really. We're not exchanging gifts this year. (Save the nieces and nephew. Hence the reason we were out.)

But it was in my head. The Mandle Candle. (See previous post here.) If only I can find it. Need it. Want it. We were everywhere, yet no Mandle Candle to be found.

Alas, we head home. I stop off in our local drug store to pick up some other things when I stumble across... wait for it... a whole Mandle Candle display!!!!! The shock, the awe. The hitting of my forehead. Of course I would find the Mandle Candle in my own backyard!

Three purchased. All going to immediate family.

Cats counting calories?

Charlie. AKA Monster.

Love that cat. Former barn cat turned house cat with attitude.

He won't "do his business" in the house/kitty litter. No, this cat MUST go outside to do his "thing." Unless absolutely (i.e. Kim is sleeping and WILL NOT get up and Lorne is away and won't give in) necessary.

We love him for it. I very, very, very, very rarely have to clean out the kitty litter. In fact, we have a bin of kitty litter that is now nearly three years old and will likely long outlast Charlie's time here on earth.

So as a way of saying thanks we sometimes give him "treat" food. He doesn't like the soft kind. It's gotta be crunchy. Whiska's Tempations is "IT."

Today I gave him some treats in the holiday spirit. But something caught my eye... 'Only two calories per treat,' read the label. What the @#$%!?

Are cats now counting calories? Do our feline friends worry about "thunder thighs?" Do I need to worry about how my cat looks to other cats? The neighbours?

Music and Drugs Don't Mix Well in Mexico

13 Killings of country music stars in Mexico in the last year and a half.

Link courtesy of International Herald Tribune.

Just when you thought candle innovation was dead...

Caught a commercial at the end of Jeopardy! tonight that had me in tears I was laughing so hard.

"When is a candle more than a candle?" the commercial asks. "When it's a Mandle Candle!"

Can't find the NA version of the commercial, but here's the UK version which is pretty much the same.

Priceless. Holiday shopping dilemma solved. Mandle Candles for everyone at Christmas!!

"Jesus is the Reason for the Season"

Sign spotted on walk to Post Office today.

I'm not religious but it did make me smile; all I could picture was some rap song with "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" as the chorus.

Monster Garage

Backyard neighbour (two over) is building a monster garage. It's smack dab in the middle of our view from the kitchen window. Aren't there such things as height restrictions? Please, please, please don't be some ugly aluminum and steel horror....

Death by Meetings

It's funny, 'cause it's true.

These Time Management Issues.

Friendship Spam

I hate friendship spam. The kind when a friend sends you (and 20 of their other closest friends and/or the first 2o people in their address book) a chain letter... *ahem*... email that you must forward along to 20 other people or risk:

a) losing all your money
b) being broken hearted forever
c) becoming gravely ill

or *aghast*

d) starting a chain reaction whereby someone else (possibly even the person who sent you the email) will suffer some horrible catastrophe/disfigurement/death and it'll be all your fault and you'll feel guilty and want to die

Facebook is the worst for this kind of stuff and the Super Wall application the worst offender. I'm turning it off and marking any Super Wall posting as spam. You should do this too.

Just simply forward this blog post along to 20 of your closest friends and instruct them to turn off Super Wall or something bad might happen. See choices a) through d) above.

What Time is it Anyway?

Saturday night - very late. Well, actually Sunday morning -early. But it's not so early in the UK. I'm still up waiting to get on an 8 a.m. conference call with the UK... (Their time.) The perils of global marketing.

Another 1/2 hour or so to go. Slap my face, wake myself up.

Why a call on an early Sunday morning? Well, if you work for a highly acquisitive company like I do... well Sunday morning "deals" are just part of the charm. Apparently closing deals on a Monday are bad luck in Europe.

Way too wired on tea. But I'm in my pajamas... with slippers.

Just Googled half my relatives, caught up on celebrity gossip and re-mixed my iPod. So I guess life is good.

Wish LB was here - even if asleep on the couch - to keep me company. He's back from CO tomorrow. Can't wait!

Spell Check

I like/love my job. I get to work in so many global markets. But sometimes, I get confused. Where am I? How do I spell that word? What the *$%#@ do they call 'that' there?

Today I was in a meeting - of a series of meetings - about creating a 'product navigator'. A single interface of sorts that would launch our entire enterprise of products... *ahem*... solutions. Globally.

Well, anyone who has ever worked on products... *ahem*... solutions that are sold globally knows that there are many words, catch phrases, lingo, etc. that is, well, unique to the local market. That's the point of global marketing with a local flavour/flavor. (See? I just did it again!)

It reminds me of when I first started a job at WWLD Institute (code name.) My soon to be friend Melle was helpful enough to phonetically spell out the word 'route' for me. Cause it's pronounced one way in the U.S. and another way in Canada, the UK, etc.

Now I have a whole host of words I need to localize. (Or localise.) Taking a cue from Melle, I have a big bunch of post-its with the proper spelling and pronunciation slapped to my cabinet above my desk.

In the meeting today I wanted to go and grab those post-its and slap them on the foreheads of the others in the room. Is that wrong?

Going the Wrong Way...

I bailed from work early today. It was a long week.

The sky was overcast and a hint of snow was in the air. Stuck behind cars inching slowly along Matheson. And then I spotted the sign. "No U-turns."

Huh? Do people really do U-turns on busy streets? I guess they must, otherwise the sign wouldn't be there.

Got me thinking - cause I wasn't going anywhere fast. Wouldn't it be nice to have a U-turn in your life? A do over? When you realize that perhaps you are going the wrong way and should have taken the road you just passed?

I'm the Only One

I've never been afraid to eat alone at a restaurant. I do it all the time while travelling on business. I know many people who avoid dining by themselves. I'm told they find it awkward. Not sure where to look or what to do while waiting for their entree. Some pull out a book or read the newspaper to 'look busy.'

I was mulling this over - while dining alone - on a recent business trip to Quebec.

When I first arrived at the restaurant I had been told was a 'must go' by the hotel concierge for crepes, I told them I was "one" for breakfast. The hostess asked, "Just one?"

"Well," I replied smiling, "not JUST one. One."

I was quickly squirreled away to the worst table in the entire restaurant. It wasn't a long walk. About two feet from the hostess stand and the front door. I was in mid stride prepared to step around this table when she placed the menu on the placemat and pulled out a chair for me - I nearly tripped over it.

"Oh," I said. "Could I possibly move further inside rather than right here by the door?"

The hostess replied, "But you are only one. The rest of our tables are for two or four or six."

I looked around. They weren't busy. I saw three or four empty tables. Were they expecting a rush of people at any moment?

"Thanks," I said. "I see you are really busy. I've changed my mind. I'd rather go somewhere else."

I stepped outside and looked up and down the street. I felt like a leper! Just a few doors down I spotted another restaurant advertising crepes (not too hard to find in Quebec City!) and walked in.

The hostess greeted me. "You look cold. One?"

"Yes, one please."

She brought me over to a cozy booth by a fireplace with a fabulous view of the street in Old Quebec.

"I will bring you some coffee perhaps?" she inquired.

"That would be lovely," I responded.

Sure enough a few moments later she was back with some coffee and a newspaper. "In case you get bored of the view," she said smiling as she placed the coffee and paper on the table.

I didn't read the paper because I didn't feel the need to 'look busy.' Plus the view was fantastic and I quickly got lost in my own thoughts. The meal was fantastic and the hospitality even better.

When I returned to the hotel later that day, I made sure to tell the concierge about where he should send his business next time.

Hurry Up and Snow Already!

I want to wear my new boots.

Brain Freeze

In Quebec City for business. Spent the whole day in committee meetings today (not so fun) but managed to get out in the early evening to check out Vieux-Quebec seeing as it's just outside the hotel door (good fun!)

I started strolling down rue Saint-Louis and had to turn up my collar and shove my hands into my coat pockets. Brrrr.... It was a bone chilling -5. I couldn't figure out why it felt so bloody cold here. It was a lovely 6 or 7 degrees when I left Toronto this morning...

A few paces later, it hit me. (And then I actually hit myself on the forehead for my stupidity.) It's colder here because Quebec City is considerably much further north than Toronto. Clearly sitting in those committee meetings all day had short circuited my brain somehow...

So it's a good thing tomorrow is a "free day" - no meetings and no stale conference rooms. Need to rejuvenate the old noggin'! I've made a list:

- consume crepes (Breakfast perhaps? I could get that one out of the way first thing!)
- check out the 'Picasso at the Chateau d’Antibes' exhibit at the Musee National des Beaux Arts
- travel down the Casse Cou stairs to Quartier Petit Champlain
- be really touristy and ride the funiculaire
- find some good Quebec artisanal cheese for sampling (In the name of cheesemonger research.)
- perhaps pop by the Musee de la Civilisation (Worried I might spend too much time there...)
- oh, and shop

Break on Through to the Other Side

I like surprises. And living in a 100+ year old home definitely provides lots of them. But not what was in store for me when I got home from work today.

Apparently LB was working away in the pseudo basement today clearing things out. (It's more of a crawl space really as they didn't really have basements 'back in the day.' Most of it is a dirt floor actually. Creepy.) He accidentally pushed through part of the wall that was holding up some old paint cans on a series of shelves.

And what was in store was a big surprise...

A whole other area under the house complete with dilapidated washer and dryer and two big mysterious card board boxes. (Feel kind of stupid actually, because if you stand back you can clearly see that there used to be a door frame there and that it had been converted into a shelving unit. But I digress...)

So we have another area of the house yet to be explored. The stuff can't be that old. The washer and dryer are probably from the 70s (the harvest gold color is a dead give away) but still... It's like our very own time capsule!

I must admit that my first reaction was "Who can we sue for leaving this crap here?" But now, I'm rather excited. Just what is in those card board boxes and why would anyone leave them behind? How in the hell did they get the washer and dryer into that space when the door frame isn't wide enough for them to fit through? What other surprises are in store for us?

Pictures to be posted soon.

Dibs On The Thimble!

You've got to be kidding me:
Monopoly Electronic Banking Edition.

But waving your big wad of cash around in your opponents face is the BEST PART! And the new tokens? A personal transporter, an Altoids tin, space shuttle, flat-screen TV, baseball cap, and a dog in a handbag!

Give me the thimble any day. I guess when it comes to Monopoly, I'm still "old school."

Lucky girl...

Hiking. Happy.

Leaves not so great. But solid soil.

LB is ahead of me. Turns. Smiles.

I think... wow... this is the man I want and am spending the rest of my life with.

Lucky me.

Soldier Down!

Well, that's that.

It appears that the last of the couple friends is now expecting. So that leaves me and LB as the only DINKS left.

Say What?

One of our competitors bought another competitor today and issued a press release. This has got to be one of the best quotes ever:

"Our plan is to evolve into a global, international multi-faceted wireless solutions company by diversifying into several synergistic business units focused on distinct vertical markets to drive future significant revenue growth and shareholder value," ...

Say what?

People Watching

LB and I were enjoying some pub food at a local roadhouse - The Beacon - in Wasaga this past Saturday. Food's mediocre at best but it's the only place to go that's in stumbling distance from the cottage. (This is critical if you've already been sampling the virtues of red wine for several hours prior...)

In the time we were there we saw:
1. a typical happy go lucky East Coaster (you know the type...)
2. a skinny rocker dude straight from the 80s complete with long straggly hair and acid wash jeans
3. a woman entertaining her wedding party since she just got married at 2pm that day (WTF? Who goes to The Beacon on their wedding day?)
4. two women that LB was convinced were drag queens or trannies (I had to explain to him that they were in actual fact real women)
5. a retired couple patiently waiting for the karaoke to start and polishing back jugs of beer

What a great night for people watching. You couldn't have cast these characters better if it were a movie.

I Can't Help the Way I Feel

Pictured is "I Can't Help the Way I Feel" - a sculpture by John Isaacs from the Wellcome Collection in London, England.

It's a commentary on obesity.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Royal

An excerpt from a recent article on the world's richest royals at Forbes.com:

"The list's youngest member and the only one from sub-Saharan Africa is 39-year-old King Mswati III of Swaziland, with a net worth of $200 million. Almost every year, he chooses a new bride from among 20,000 naked bare-breasted virgins; so far, he has 13 wives and is building a palace for each."

20,000? And all bare-breasted virgins? Seriously?

Good call though on the seperate palaces.

Full story here.

Ciaran and Shay

A friend of mine at work, Cris, had twins with his wife back in July. More than three months earlier than anticipated. The little guys - Ciaran and Shay - have had a bit of a rough go at it and are still under hospital supervision but are getting stronger every day.

I was chatting with Cris today about how things were going.

Cris told me all about the special treatments the boys have received (and will have have to receive) as well as the special equipment they are hooked up to and how he and his wife are helping out by doing their own physiotherapy with the twins.

He told me about fitting in hospital visits while juggling work, dealing with the setbacks and also even dealing with the highs of little victories. And he told me that he doesn't think he can hear "We'll just have to wait and see." from the doctors one more time without losing it.

Sounds like Ciaran and Shay aren't the only ones that have to be strong. Mom and Dad do too.

All my best to the family. We're all rooting for you!

Church Lady or Drug Lord?

There's a little yellow house at the end of the street. Very tiny. We've seen many folks come and go from there. Mostly renters. Priceless was the "Little Curiosity Shop" that tried to make a go of it in the outbuilding beside the tiny house. Scary dolls and knick knacks and such. Creepy.

After a year and a bit on the market the house finally sold. We were interested in learning who had bought it. A single mom and kids perhaps? Maybe a widower? Someone who doesn't want to be bothered with more than a 100 sq feet of lawn? Someone who likes being on the main street of the village with transport truck traffic not 15 feet from the front door?

Alas, we still aren't sure who bought the place. Why the confusion? Well, there have been oodles and oodles of cars and people at the place since it turned over. Expensive cars. Cheap cars. Kids helping out. Elderly folk helping out. Trade men. A crazy woman in pajama pants with pigtails. You name it... A revolving door of people!!!! The place is over run with folks helping out.

So we came to a conclusion. No, actually LB came to a conclusion. "It's either a church lady or a drug lord. Both inspire that kind of fanaticism," he said.

Humph. He may be right. Regardless, I like the colour of the new window shutters.

Death Wish

Yesterday we had a memorial/celebration/wake for LB’s grandma. (See painting to the left done by LB's dad.) She was 90-something years old and apparently the best years of her life started in her 80s. (As LB’s dad said: “There’s still hope for all of us.”)

Grandma was cremated and buried in a Pot of Gold heritage tin surrounded by rocks from the old farm and other mementos. Apparently the tin was what she wanted; she really liked chocolate. Her husband, who died many years earlier, was cremated and buried in a paint can because he spent all of his working life in the paint industry.

That got me and LB thinking. What would we want to be buried in?

LB was quick to respond: A ski boot. Ironically he’s always complaining about his ski boots. (LB skis for a living.) Would he really want to spend his ‘afterlife’ - whatever that means or is - in a ski boot?

The answer was still yes.

I gave my answer much more thought. Please write this down for future reference:

1. I DO NOT want to be cremated naked. I want to be cremated in flannel pyjamas. Absolutely NO exceptions.


2. Bury me in a tea pot and please seal up the spout. (I hate bugs.)


3. If you could throw in a couple of pair of slippers into my grave, that would be super. Perhaps the kind with the open toes?


4. Oh, also add one trashy novel. Preferably a long one.

Cheese Balls are just WRONG

Yes, I'm a lover of cheese. Even stinky, smelly, really ripe, hold your nose kinda cheese. But I draw the line at cheese balls.

I know there was a time when a mound of fluorescent orange cheese covered in nuts was all the rage, but let's face it rat's tails were also once considered fashionable hair styles and you know that's just wrong too.

As LB said: "A cheese ball is to cheese what an aspic is to... well everything."

I tend to agree. It's just plain wrong. He's a smart man.

Cause Sherry and Melle did it too...

Yup, same result every time.

What does that say about me? I guess just follow my lead. ;)

ENTJ - "Field Marshall". The basic driving force and need is to lead. Tend to seek a position of responsibility and enjoys being an executive. 1.8% of total population.

Jung Word Choice Test (similar to MBTI)
http://similarminds.com">personality tests by similarminds.com

Life's a Beach

Yup, still waiting on numbers (see previous post) so thought I would do the vacation update with Mom.

Every year my Mom and I spend a week together at the cottage. (See picture to the left.) She grew up spending summers there. And for me growing up, every July my Mom would bring me and my sis up for a girls' week at the cottage to spend with my cousins and aunts. Oh the memories...

Anyway, we're *ahem* older now. Girls' week now includes kiddies of my sis and cousins. I don't have any (kids that being) so I usually jump on the last weekend of 'the week' to see everyone before the week with my Mom begins.

Only got to see Aunt Sheila and Mel's kids. I guess I arrived too late. Anyway, come Monday morning my Mom and I were on a tight schedule.

The agenda included painting (the cottage, not the artistic kind), biking every day, reading (four maybe five books each), golfing, garage sale-ing, dollar store hunting and, of course, beach time.

The weather wasn't great. Very windy and not as hot as I would like it. But apparently perfect for kiteboarding.

See picture to the left. This was taken from 'the dunes' where we normally hang out. That is clearly not me on the kiteboard. (How could I have taken the picture elsewise??) I think those people are crazy. Sure... strap a board to your feet, attach a kite and ride the waves. Sounds safe enough to me. Until the wind picks you up and drops you off in the water a good 40 feet away!!!!! No thanks.

Anyway, the wind did die down one night and we were able to get a walk in on the beach. Here's my mom, me and a classic pic of 'take the camera out in front of you to get a snapshot of the two you.' Classic. Can't wait to do it all again next year.

Waiting for Numbers...

It's a beautiful day, yet I'm stuck inside. Crunching numbers. Yuck.

Meanwhile LB has gone up to the Collingwood Elvis Festival leaving me to wallow in my own misery.

Oh woe is me. :(

Le Tour! Le Tour!

The Tour de France starts tomorrow. That means my morning will kick off with a champagne breakfast followed by several hours in front of the TV watching the Prologue.

There is no major favourite to win this year. Operation Puerto in 2006, Floyd Landis’ suspension, and a myriad of other doping confessions and scandals over the past few months has somewhat shrunken the pool of big name athletes. LB asked me why I would even bother watching.

But with no major favourite in a sport that is highly political means that many, many, many cyclists are going to be hungry to win. And THAT could make for a very interesting race indeed.

Besides I have a favourite – Christophe Moreau of AG2R. I would just love to see a Frenchman win it.

C'mon... I Know You Watched It Too

Yep, I watched the Paris Hilton interview on Larry King Live. I couldn't resist.

I wanted to:

1. see for myself that Larry King is actually still alive (I thought he was dead)
2. hear what kind of hard hitting questions they would throw at her
3. chuckle at her inane responses

I wasn't disappointed.

It appears Larry is indeed still alive. (Although LB commented that he could just be a puppet -- like Weekend at Bernie's -- with someone pulling on strings. )

The 'hard hitting' questions were priceless. One of which was: "What did you eat for lunch?" followed by "What did you have for dinner?" And the somewhat creepy (coming from Larry King) yet soon to be classic: "Were you strip-searched?...Is it as gross as we might think?" Now that's riveting journalism.

Ahhhh... and Paris. When asked what she would change about herself, Paris commented that she didn't like when she's nervous or shy her "voice gets really high."

But why am I tell you all this? I know you watched the interview too.

Finding the Inner Me

I’m really not a girly girl. I rarely spend much time on my hair, I only wear make-up on occasion (Does MAC’s Spirit lipstick even count as make-up?), I prefer flip flops to high heels, I wear flannels or t-shirts to bed, I don’t drink cosmos or other fruity drinks, and colour was just recently introduced into my wardrobe.

I do have a slight obsession with handbags… but that’s only a small part of what it takes to be a girly girl.

However, while surfing for a birthday present for my niece I think I found my inner girly girl side. I saw this:

The Glitter City Dollhouse...

And I said: “Me want! Me want!” It has a working elevator AND a disco ball!

So now I’m off in search of this treasured piece as it appears it is not available online. They better have one in stock in the store or I just might throw a girly girl tantrum.

Addicted to Handbags

Purse paradise.

Must have one.

Nose for Trash

I'm addicted to Lainey.

'Nuff said.

Conspiracy Theory

Is there a secret hiding place where hair elastics go? I can never seem to find any.

I bought a sleeve of 28 not less than two weeks ago. I’m now down to two on the sleeve. The other 26 have mysteriously disappeared and are nowhere to be found. And I mean nowhere.

Perhaps they go to the same place that missing socks go to. Maybe they have some sort of joint conspiracy. Yes, that’s it – an evil hair elastic / sock conspiracy…

Toilet paper, mushy peas and justifiable handbags

Recently was in the UK on business. Lovely weather. (Shocking, I know.) Lovely time. Lovely people.

However there were a few notable observations and experiences during my two week stint:

1. UK toilet paper is much thicker than its North American counterpart.
2. Mushy peas are wonderful with a little bit of allspice added. Fish and chips are optional.
3. Never, ever ask what's in black pudding. Especially after you have already consumed a mouthful or two.
4. David Beckham is just as hot on TV in England as he is in North America.
5. At work if you are going to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee/tea it is socially required that you also ask everyone in the immediate area if they would like something too. (Thankfully they post who takes what in their tea/coffee on the cupboard doors and there is usually a handy little tray beside the sink to carry it out with.)
6. Brits are just as in love with Colin Firth as I am. (And I'm slightly pissed about that...)
7. There is a difference between "whisky" and "whiskey" but I can't remember what. Perhaps that's because the conversation occurred while consuming some large quantities of whisky. (Or was it "whiskey"...)
8. Living on a house boat is not only socially acceptable, it is revered.
9. Roundabouts rule but driving on the left hand side of the road is not for the uninitiated.
10. Paying a rather large sum of money for a Mulberry bag while in England is totally justifiable.

Battle of the Boom Box - Part Two

Oy vey. A fairly intense session of the 'Battle of the Boom Box.'

In the line-up... some jazz, Amy Winehouse, and Bob Sinclair vs. The Crap (i.e. We don't know for sure what the music is per se... but we know it's crap.)

Victorious! The neighbour's boom box volume went down. We have won!

Or so we thought. Turns out they just went out for awhile.

We need a new strategy.

Sob, snaab, snob, Saab

It's car buying time. Ever since I was a little girl I ALWAYS wanted a Saab. I would like to say it's because of my Scandinavian heritage. But really it's because 'Saab' - growing up - sounded an awful lot like 'sob' and being a sensitive Gemini, I always thought those cars were lonely.

My husband thinks I'm really an undercover 'snaab' and wanting a Saab is my understated way of saying @#$%&* to the world. I don't think he's half wrong.

We don't have kids. (Which is good if you own a Saab because they don't really accommodate kids very well.) We have fantastic credit. And my husband thinks I would 'look sexy' / 'rock' in it. It's the perfect time to get a Saab. Yes, I could get the Saab of my dreams.

But now I'm not so sure that's what I want. Go figure.

Exhausted and Tan Less

Thank god that's over.

The last two weeks I've been holed up in Arizona for work and have just returned back home exhausted and tan less.

I was there working on our annual North American User Conference. It was a hit with customers and staff alike and we enjoyed our largest turnout ever. Almost 500 delegates!

Here's what I learned this time around:

• Never offer to buy Ben cigarettes. It usually ends in disaster... or a car accident.
• If the resort is good enough for Joe Sakic and his family, then surely it's good enough for our sales people.
• Our CEO needs golf lessons.
• It is impossible to find a spot at the pool away from customers and staff. They will find you.
• Dust storms are scary. And dirty.
• I need more margaritas in my life.

Battle of the Boom Box

Jazz vs. Crappy Rock.

Who wins?

Our neighbour is cranking it. Nickleback of all things. Crappy pants. I HATE that band. More importantly... what are our neighbours doing being annoying and scrappy on our turf?

We fight back with a little Stan Getz. And drink some more red wine...

Boom boxes get louder and louder on both sides. It's war.

LB asks..."Since when do we have neighbours who aren't retired?"

Good question.

Yes, But Does He Pay the Fare?

Just because I'm in transit, I had to share this story courtesy of the Daily Mail.

Here's an excerpt:

Bus drivers have nicknamed a white cat Macavity after it has started using the No 331 several mornings a week.

The feline, which has a purple collar, gets onto the busy Walsall to Wolverhampton bus at the same stop most mornings - he then jumps off at the next stop 400m down the road, near a fish and chip shop.

Check out the full story here.

Just the Way We Like It

Our regular 'Diva' get together and sleepover took place this past weekend.

It involved the usual:

• eating good food (Rockets, Mini Eggs and red meat are our idea of a well balanced meal)
• consumption of too many glasses of wine (or in some cases Scotch)
• the awarding of the WWLD trophy (but since the original WWLD trophy appears to have disappeared we have had to make do with "Manuel"... a squirrel statue which will soon adorn a red Speedo.)

There was also:

• discussion about our careers (the good, the bad, and the downright ugly)
• gossip about former colleagues and certain columnists (the good, the bad and the downright nasty)
• animated debate over what constitutes fashion (velour track suits - yes, bling - no)

But contrary to popular belief... and much to the chagrin of men everywhere... there were no naked pillow or tickle fights.

And that's just the way we like it.

That's a Bunch of Croc

I received a phone call from my sister the other night. She sounded rather sheepish. I was immediately intrigued.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Well..." she said. "If you are looking for a good birthday present for Hannah. She'd be real interested in a pair of Crocs."

I nearly choked on a red pepper. (I was prepping dinner at the time.)

My sister hates Crocs. Vowed she would never be caught dead in them. Last summer she uttered her disgust that I had a pair. Didn't bother me any. Yes, they are ugly but they sure are comfy. And I'm all about comfort. I have an extensive collection of flannel pjs and copious amounts of slippers to prove it.

It turns out that all the other kids in Hannah's Day Care Centre have Crocs... and Hannah, being the OCD child that she is, repeatedly points them out when my sister picks her up. Apparently it's too much for my sister to handle.

"Yup. I can do Crocs," I said smiling with utter satisfaction. "Ummm... but you HATE Crocs," I pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. But I hear that they are really comfortable and maybe I should get a pair for myself too. Not that I would wear them out of the house or anything," my sister admitted defeated.

Just you wait.... I thought. Before long you'll be running to the grocery store in them.

No way was I going to wait until July for Hannah's birthday. Easter was coming up. So I ran right out and got my niece a pair of bright lime green Crocs with a number of cheesy charms - like glitter stones, mermaids, monsters and butterflies - to decorate them with.

We'll see Hannah on Sunday. I can't wait to see her eyes light up when we give her her Easter gift.

And I can't help but wonder if my sister will answer the door in a pair of Crocs herself...

I've been found out...

It appears that one of my friends has discovered my blog.

Crappy pants.

Now I can't write incriminating stories about her without her knowing...

Give us JLo undies, or give us death!

A colleague and I were chatting the other day about some of our most embarrassing moments. (Yes, there has been more than one...) That got me reminiscing about a particularly embarrassing moment here at work involving JLo underwear and Google Notifier.

I was still pretty new to the company at the time and was gearing up for my first big Marketing presentation to the senior management team. You know, plans for the coming year, budget, etc. etc.

After sitting through a pretty intense discussion about financials, sales numbers, strategic focus of the company etc. it's finally it my turn to present. Just as I share my desktop over WebEx and turn to face the senior management team in the room, a Google snippet pops up.

"Give us JLo undies, or give us death!"

I am mortified.

You see I had been conversing with some friends earlier that morning about getting together for lunch and maybe even squeezing in some quick shopping. JLo lingerie was on the hit list.

It just so happened that my one friend couldn't quite contain her enthusiasm for the excursion and Google Notifier, being Google Notifier, was more than happy to let me know that she had sent me a message on the subject - "Give us JLo undies, or give us death!" The timing however was unfortunate.

Slightly red faced, I quickly tossed my hair (you know... for a little dramatic flair), laughed and said: "Now that I have your attention, let's talk marketing."

Thankfully the presentation was a hit and no one asked any further questions about JLo or underwear. But lesson learned...

Ode to Firth

Huge fan of Colin Firth. Heck, I even went to a 'sneak preview' of What A Girl Wants with a fellow Firth fan friend of mine and we were the only people over 13. And we loved every minute of it. (Despite the dancing in the tight leather pants...)

Why the call out to Firth? Well, I just watched Valmont again this evening and it reminded me of the infamous pond scene, wet shirt, sex and horses. In no particular order. What more could a woman want?

And so what if I have a Photoshop picture of myself with him on my desk at work. Hey... it was a gift from a friend!

Scorecards

We have Scorecards at work. They used to be called Balanced Scorecards but I guess senior management decided that was too fluffy.

So now we have just Scorecards and they are used in our performance reviews. However not everyone in the company actually has a Scorecard... Maybe that's why they took the word "balanced" away.

Duct Tape and Dreams

Duct tape. Wow. Ingenious invention. One of the best. AND it needs no marketing dollars behind it to sell it's benefits. Imagination rules when it comes to duct tape.

Today with duct tape I was able to:

1) mark out a 150 square METRE booth space
2) sketch out demo locations within the space using different colors of duct tape
3) have the key stakeholders walk through the space and visualize our uber-expensive demonstration at an upcoming world exhibition

All with a few dozen rolls of duct tape.

No technology. No graphics. Just duct tape, a good marketing plan, a spiel and a little imagination. And now... an approved budget.

Poof!

Sound of Traffic

Traffic. I was stuck in traffic this morning. It's somewhat ironic that I commute in a car... on my own... when I work for a "people transportation" company. Anyway that's not the point. The point is that I was hanging out in my car - not moving - and on the radio in rapid succession was a series of commercials with jingles from popular music from the eighties.

Crikey. I'm getting old.

When I was growing up, I remember my mom and dad commenting on ad jingles that used music from "their time." Is there an acceptable period of time that passes when music that was "cool" becomes nostalgic and can be used to promote the latest gadget, cola or insurance company? What is the time frame?

The Price of Whine

I'm a bit of a wine fanatic. My husband thankfully shares this passion. (It's so nice to be married to someone who prefers wine over beer. There's just something so much more romantic about that.)

One wine we discovered a couple of years ago still remains our favorite and we drink it on a regular (perhaps too regular?) basis. The local store knows it's "our brand" and always makes sure to keep enough of it on hand for us. (That's just one of the benefits of living in a small town.) They also started recommending it to others and the bottles regularly fly off the shelves.

But lately we've watched the price of this wine steadily climb. First by 15 cents, then another 5 cents, then 20 cents. Within the last year alone the price of this wine went up by nearly 50 cents. Over the past three or four years a whole $2. Still chump change so why am I whining about the price of wine?

It's the principle of the thing. This wine is starting to leave a bad taste in our mouths - figuratively, not literally speaking - because we feel like we are being nickled and dimed to death. So tonight when I go to pick up some red I just might reach for something else.

Field of Dreams

This is the mug that sits on my desk. It’s a Field of Dreams mug from Dyersville, Iowa. Most would assume that I’m a fan of the movie. Actually I can’t stand it. But I really, really love this mug.

I wash it out by hand every day. It never goes into the kitchen cupboard at work for fear that it might fall into someone else’s hands. I smile every time the hot liquid I pour in to it makes the baseball players magically appear from the cornstalks. I smile even more as the players fade away again as the liquid cools.

So why am I obsessed with a mug for a movie I never liked? It’s quite simple really. This mug represents victory.

You see this mug was a “giveaway” chosen by a business unit manager located in our new Iowa office that made my life a living hell at work. I’m in charge of our company’s brand; the look, the feel, the emotion. Iowa Guy didn’t like that. He was new and wanted his own sandbox.

So I was shell-shocked the first time he pulled out cartons full of mugs, baseball bats and baseballs from Field of Dreams at a customer event. “What does baseball and Field of Dreams have to do with our company or our industry?” I asked him. His response was that he thought they were cool and showed customers that we were just “friendly folks from Iowa.” That would be all well and good perhaps if our US headquarters was in Iowa, but it’s not. It’s in Arizona.

Little did I know that that was just the beginning. Over the next year-and-a-half Iowa Guy was given free reign to do whatever he wanted despite my protests that he was bastardizing our brand. I was told he was in charge of a new high risk initiative for the company and that they needed to give “him some rope to get things done” even if it meant doing things a little differently than before.

He made up his own marketing material, ignored corporate colors, created his own tagline and just generally went amuck. And then one day … he didn’t deliver to plan on the initiative.

Someone high up on the totem pole later on told me that Iowa Guy was so busy trying to change our brand and marketing strategy that he forgot to take care of our customers. We weren’t delivering. Ouch.

That’s when the rope tightened. A company re-org was done and I got to issue a press release reaffirming our commitment to the initiative and announcing that… in related news… Iowa Guy was “retiring.”

Later on that day I pulled out the Field of Dreams mug from my collection of Iowa Guy’s brand bastardizing paraphernalia. It made me smile. I felt like I had won. And as I filled up the mug with hot tea and saw the baseball players emerge from the cornstalks, it made me smile some more.

Two hours later I had identified and located the many pieces of marketing material Iowa Guy had ever touched and had a plan of attack to reverse the damage. By this time my tea had gone cold. All the baseball players had faded back into the cornstalks from which they came. Hmmm… just like Iowa Guy.

Yup. It’s my favourite mug.

Poof!

No, this is not a blog about chemistry or medieval philosophy. And it has nothing to do with my search for eternal youth. (I think.) As my sister so adequately put it in her blahg, I've become a bit of a self-professed master of alchemy. Lately I feel like I have a magical power to turn something usually of little value, into a substance of great value. Poof!

It must be my job. I'm in marketing.

So I am hoping that my abilities at alchemy will help turn this blog - which is currently nothing - into something of interest to and valued by my friends and family and others looking in.

Subjects will be varied. Rants and raves will be diverse... possibly even contradictory.

So here goes... Poof!