Wow. What a season. It was busy and full of the usual holiday festivities. There was a definite "Merry Bah Humbug" in the air. In one sense the holiday season drives us crazy. For instance those piped in Christmas carols in every store. I love holiday music, but you hear "Jingle Bells" screeching over the speakers at Macy's one too many times and you begin to cringe at the sound of all carols, sung anywhere...even in church, where they most certainly belong.
I love Christmas cookies, especially sugar cookies. They are the quintessential holiday treat. I practically live for them. I didn't bake any myself (way too much work in my tiny kitchenette) but I figured co-workers and clients would be bestowing cookies and treats on our office all month long. Wrong. Not one cookie entered the halls of AKJ Law. Not that my waistline needed such extravagance, but sheesh, it's Christmas. I wanted a damn cookie! Shaped like a tree maybe or a star...with those little green and red sprinkles on it. To make matters worse, my ex-mother-in-law was the queen of Christmas cookies and treats. I was lamenting to a friend about how I'd wished I 'd at least gotten a few recipes off that woman before my divorce. A few days later, I receive an email from this same friend bragging about the plate of "Marge's cookies" she just plowed through. She and my ex-husband are still friends. Sigh.
And don't even get me started on the crowds and all the mad spending. I'm running shopping errands during my lunch break so, of course, I'm in a hurry. Invariably, I'm stuck behind the lallygaggers who are strolling through the stores getting in my way. On one hand I'm annoyed by their lackadaisical pace, on the other I'm quite envious. Why aren't I slowly meandering through the shops holding hands with my sweetie savoring the Christmas moment?
Then there is the big question of the year, what to buy for whom? It's like everyone is traipsing through the stores seeking the best way to throw their money away. "Would you like a gift receipt with that?" the sales woman asks. "Hell yeah, cause I'm pretty sure Mary Sue is going to want to return this piece of crap anyway." Why do we spend so much time searching to spend? I do the same. I refuse to cave to the gift card idea and insist on giving an actual gift- something the receiver can "open". Except I am so bad at it. I ponder far too long and then all the good stuff in the right sizes and best colors are gone. And the scales of equality are all off kilter. Someone you normally exchange small tokens with suddenly presents you with an extravagant gift. There is just no way to feel good about that exchange.
Yeah, the Christmas season is full of traditions that can make any person at least a little crazy. But then there are the wonderful bits. Like the lights and decorations downtown that are so elegant and cheery, you can't help but feel the spirit. The Ginger Bread House display at the Sheraton and The Figgy Pudding Caroling Contest that is full of talent and surprises. The Christmas shows, plays, musical entertainment throughout the month of December at a variety of prices (including free) so everyone can find something to celebrate the season. This year I attended the Cirque de la Symphony at Benaroya Hall (highly recommended for the spendier lot) and the Improv Christmas Carol at the Pike Place Market Theater (a very affordable, entertaining must see).
My number one favorite Christmas thing, however, is my little 3-4' table top Christmas tree. Decorated in ornaments from various places I've visited and full of memories, it's my 'feel good' moment when I plug in those lights as soon as I get home. Because of its size, the entire process of getting the tree, putting it up, dragging out the Xmas box, decorating and cleaning up all took approximately 2 hours of my precious time. Small commitment for such great pleasure.
Getting through Christmas is only half the battle, as New Year's Eve follows on its heels in full force. Everyone wants to know what you're doing for New Year's. New Year's is one of those holidays that is reminiscent to those high school Tolos. The dances where the girls have to ask the boys to go with them. I always played along, but in hindsight I realize I hated those dances. The pressure of who to ask (I never had a steady boyfriend to go to those stupid things with), shopping for the perfect outfit, planning the evening events, getting the picture taken at the dance, and the inevitable -- never going out with the boy again.
New Year's Eve seems to have the same flavor. All week long people are asking me what my plans are. Usually, I make a plan, go to a party, go out of town, whatever it is, it seems to be a bit of a let down in the end. The ever ending traipsing around in search of a bad party. That damn clock ticks over to 12.00 midnight everyone around me is kissing someone. In the end, I go home alone and wake up to ponder another year...usually hung over from all the booze the night before.
This year, although there were plenty of opportunities to go out, dress up, and bring in the new year with others, I just wasn't in the mood. So I vowed to stay home and watch the Space Needle fireworks from my livingroom window. With a bird's eye view of the Needle, I am going to settle in, with a glass of bubbly, my tree lights on, reflect on my weird little life and watch the show. My first New Year's Eve alone. I love trying new things.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
TMI - How Much Is Too Much?
My friend and I are signed up to participate in a Speed Dating event this week. As some of you may be aware, I am familiar with the speed dating arena. Although I’m no expert, I'm somewhat seasoned in the art of the six minute date.
My friend, however, is a Speed Dating novice. She’s been divorced for just over a year ( one year, four months and four days….give or take). Actually, I may be dragging her to this event against her better judgment. However, she'd been in a relationship with her ex-husband for 20-some odd years. It’s weird out in the dating world these days and practice makes...err...perfect?
In a recent discussion with another friend who is going through a divorce and starting to date again, the topic of how much personal info to divulge on the first date arose. Just how much of your baggage do you share and how early in the game do you share it? It’s a sticky situation. There's not an easy answer. We strive to be honest and upfront, without being overly honest or upfront where it isn’t really warranted.
For example, one woman, I’ll call Fran…just because I’m pretty sure no one who reads this blog knows anyone named Fran, and I am trying to keep Fran’s situation anonymous. Fran was involved with a woman a while back. It was a semi-serious relationship, not one of those "college experiments". Fran and her partner were a “couple.” The relationship ended and they each went their separate ways eventually. Fran soon began dating men again. On a recent first time man-date, she was struggling as to whether she should reveal her “lesbian lover episode” to her new potential love interest.
Should she place ALL her baggage out on the table right from the get-go? Or should she just present a smaller version, say more of a carry-on size bag, to this new chap? If she puts it all out there, she risks the chance of scaring him off too early…unnecessarily. Maybe a carry-on is even too much info at this early stage. Maybe just a sleek stylish tote would be more appropriate, i.e. “ I’ve been with a woman.” That seems less daunting maybe. This would either intrigue the fella…or scare him off, if he’s a true conservative. If the latter, Fran probably isn't that interested…given her past and all. Obviously, she is more open minded, and would probably appreciate a man who was a tad more open minded as well.
Last night I was out with a group of women friends and one woman was entertaining us with a new internet dating story (women thrive on this stuff!). Apparently, the dude was yammering on (and on) about everything and asking NO questions of my friend, who was politely trying to listen but in reality making a Christmas shopping list and get-a-way plan during this guy's monologue. The final straw was the point when he told her he was fired for sexual harassment when he was on the police force, but it settled before having to go to trial. Whoa! Did he really just say all that? On a first date? In a coffee shop? I think it was at this point my friend perked up, shook off her daydreaming and knew it was time to call it a night. That is just too much information, a full-sized heavy load of luggage revealed way too early.
When meeting someone for the first time, it’s best to keep it minimal. Give just enough info to keep it interesting, but not so much your date misinterprets the true you- the you you are trying to portray.
During the speed dating event, we have 6 minutes to determine if there is a connection or not. Six minutes to tell our story and gather a bit of our dates’ stories. Six minutes to decide if this is someone we’d like to hear more about and get to know further. And six minutes to reveal our positive attributes and attract the interest of those we are interested in.
With regard to exposing any baggage within this six minute period, a small, coin purse…one with some pretty little beadwork or bling…set out on the table discreetly, would be more than enough for a first meeting to keep it interesting and lively without revealing the entire set of Samsonite.
My friend, however, is a Speed Dating novice. She’s been divorced for just over a year ( one year, four months and four days….give or take). Actually, I may be dragging her to this event against her better judgment. However, she'd been in a relationship with her ex-husband for 20-some odd years. It’s weird out in the dating world these days and practice makes...err...perfect?
In a recent discussion with another friend who is going through a divorce and starting to date again, the topic of how much personal info to divulge on the first date arose. Just how much of your baggage do you share and how early in the game do you share it? It’s a sticky situation. There's not an easy answer. We strive to be honest and upfront, without being overly honest or upfront where it isn’t really warranted.
For example, one woman, I’ll call Fran…just because I’m pretty sure no one who reads this blog knows anyone named Fran, and I am trying to keep Fran’s situation anonymous. Fran was involved with a woman a while back. It was a semi-serious relationship, not one of those "college experiments". Fran and her partner were a “couple.” The relationship ended and they each went their separate ways eventually. Fran soon began dating men again. On a recent first time man-date, she was struggling as to whether she should reveal her “lesbian lover episode” to her new potential love interest.
Should she place ALL her baggage out on the table right from the get-go? Or should she just present a smaller version, say more of a carry-on size bag, to this new chap? If she puts it all out there, she risks the chance of scaring him off too early…unnecessarily. Maybe a carry-on is even too much info at this early stage. Maybe just a sleek stylish tote would be more appropriate, i.e. “ I’ve been with a woman.” That seems less daunting maybe. This would either intrigue the fella…or scare him off, if he’s a true conservative. If the latter, Fran probably isn't that interested…given her past and all. Obviously, she is more open minded, and would probably appreciate a man who was a tad more open minded as well.
Last night I was out with a group of women friends and one woman was entertaining us with a new internet dating story (women thrive on this stuff!). Apparently, the dude was yammering on (and on) about everything and asking NO questions of my friend, who was politely trying to listen but in reality making a Christmas shopping list and get-a-way plan during this guy's monologue. The final straw was the point when he told her he was fired for sexual harassment when he was on the police force, but it settled before having to go to trial. Whoa! Did he really just say all that? On a first date? In a coffee shop? I think it was at this point my friend perked up, shook off her daydreaming and knew it was time to call it a night. That is just too much information, a full-sized heavy load of luggage revealed way too early.
When meeting someone for the first time, it’s best to keep it minimal. Give just enough info to keep it interesting, but not so much your date misinterprets the true you- the you you are trying to portray.
During the speed dating event, we have 6 minutes to determine if there is a connection or not. Six minutes to tell our story and gather a bit of our dates’ stories. Six minutes to decide if this is someone we’d like to hear more about and get to know further. And six minutes to reveal our positive attributes and attract the interest of those we are interested in.
With regard to exposing any baggage within this six minute period, a small, coin purse…one with some pretty little beadwork or bling…set out on the table discreetly, would be more than enough for a first meeting to keep it interesting and lively without revealing the entire set of Samsonite.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
A Discussion With The Dude Upstairs
So I made it through my least favorite month; that grey, wet, windy month of November. A friend pointed out to me that there was, in fact, only one sunny day in November and that day was the Friday after Thanksgiving. I didn't google the weather for the month, but she is probably correct. The month itself actually wasn’t so bad. I was super busy pet sitting, studying, reading, bookclub-ing, yoga-ing, and hanging with friends. Went to a couple of free shows and cheap concerts and basically just enjoyed myself. Almost forgot it was crappy old November there for awhile.
I’ve also, like the majority of the population these days, been job hunting. Not that I've ever stopped the job hunt completely, but I've turned up the volume once again. My current temp job finishes at the end of the year. The law offices of “Bickerstein, Gossipski, and Grumpfeld” are closing their doors for good. Although I’ve actually enjoyed working there for the most part, it is time to move onward, once again, in search of that ‘real live’ employment opportunity (one that comes with health benefits preferably). I’ve had some good leads recently, however, that’s all they’ve amounted to so far. Leads. Nothing has come to fruition as of yet. But I keep looking and keep praying. It goes about like this:
Me: Dear God, please send a perfect-for-me job my way.
God: Sure thing, WW, what is it you want specifically?
Me: Gee God, I don't know exactly, but it should be lucrative and flexible...I'm not really a morning person...
God: Uh Huh, what else?
Me: Ummm...oh I don't know...it should be fun, suit my skills, rewarding.
God: Okay, details?
Me: Oh, I don't know. You must have some thoughts. You know me better than me. Just do whatever you think is best. I'll stand by. Thanks, God!
God: Oiy vey.
In the meantime, while I wait for God to reach into his bag of tricks on my behalf (and somehow I’m pretty sure I’m not first on his agenda), I’m just going to continue what I started in November and enjoy December!
I’ve also, like the majority of the population these days, been job hunting. Not that I've ever stopped the job hunt completely, but I've turned up the volume once again. My current temp job finishes at the end of the year. The law offices of “Bickerstein, Gossipski, and Grumpfeld” are closing their doors for good. Although I’ve actually enjoyed working there for the most part, it is time to move onward, once again, in search of that ‘real live’ employment opportunity (one that comes with health benefits preferably). I’ve had some good leads recently, however, that’s all they’ve amounted to so far. Leads. Nothing has come to fruition as of yet. But I keep looking and keep praying. It goes about like this:
Me: Dear God, please send a perfect-for-me job my way.
God: Sure thing, WW, what is it you want specifically?
Me: Gee God, I don't know exactly, but it should be lucrative and flexible...I'm not really a morning person...
God: Uh Huh, what else?
Me: Ummm...oh I don't know...it should be fun, suit my skills, rewarding.
God: Okay, details?
Me: Oh, I don't know. You must have some thoughts. You know me better than me. Just do whatever you think is best. I'll stand by. Thanks, God!
God: Oiy vey.
In the meantime, while I wait for God to reach into his bag of tricks on my behalf (and somehow I’m pretty sure I’m not first on his agenda), I’m just going to continue what I started in November and enjoy December!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Walk of Shame
We're all familiar with the phrase "the walk of shame," some more than others. You know that walk. The one that happens the morning after a night of whoopee that you weren't quite expecting to be an entire night of whoopee. So then you end up skulking out of Mr. Man's place at 7 a.m. in your yesterday clothes, your bra in your purse and no makeup except maybe some well deserved chapstick, hoping you don't bump into any of his neighbors on the way out to your car--wherever that is at this point. You're not even sure. Did you drive to his place, or did you leave yours on the street near the bar all night? You might still be a little foggy about how all this went down last night. Worst than running into his neighbors is the possibility of running into yours as you pull into your driveway and greet them on their way out to work. Not that they are your parents or anything, but even so, it's just plain embarrassing.
What might be more embarrassing is if you don't have time to go home before work and you show up at the office in, yessiree Bob, yesterday's outfit! This little scenario happened to one of the women in my office...more than once. It's a small office. Unless one of us is hiding at her desk all day, we're going to see each other and probably notice what we are wearing, because we are women, after all.
Let me just clarify, this woman is not a complete tramp, a trollop or tart. She is actually dating someone. She just happens to be really bad at planning ahead. The first time this sort of incident occurred she showed up in the exact same outfit, of course. What was she to do? The second time it happened (today) she stands in front of me saying "does it look like I wore this outfit yesterday?" Now I recalled her wearing a flowy flowery skirt, but that's really all I remembered about her outfit yesterday. I chuckled knowing what she meant and suggested she start buying clothes she could turn inside out. At that point, she turned the hem of her skirt up to show me the side she was wearing yesterday. She had actually worn a skirt she could turn inside out! One of our colleagues suggested she could hoist the waistband of the skirt up over her boobs and wear it like a strapless dress tomorrow should she find herself in the same predicament for a third time.
Another woman advised her to start buying travel clothing that can be tightly rolled up to fit snugly into an evening purse or handbag. No ironing necessary! Or maybe it'd be to her benefit if she worked with women her same size so they could swap clothes once at the office.
I suggested she tell her fella she needs a drawer.
At one point there was a comment about what would happen if I got lucky tonight and had to slink into the office wearing the same outfit. There was a very slight pause before we all agreed I'd be strutting through the office pointing out that I was, in fact, wearing the same outfit as the day before. It's been a looooong time since these shoes have treaded down the path of shame.
And I'm kind of glad my friend at the office has no shame, as her behavior provides so much entertainment for the rest of us walking the straight and narrow.
What might be more embarrassing is if you don't have time to go home before work and you show up at the office in, yessiree Bob, yesterday's outfit! This little scenario happened to one of the women in my office...more than once. It's a small office. Unless one of us is hiding at her desk all day, we're going to see each other and probably notice what we are wearing, because we are women, after all.
Let me just clarify, this woman is not a complete tramp, a trollop or tart. She is actually dating someone. She just happens to be really bad at planning ahead. The first time this sort of incident occurred she showed up in the exact same outfit, of course. What was she to do? The second time it happened (today) she stands in front of me saying "does it look like I wore this outfit yesterday?" Now I recalled her wearing a flowy flowery skirt, but that's really all I remembered about her outfit yesterday. I chuckled knowing what she meant and suggested she start buying clothes she could turn inside out. At that point, she turned the hem of her skirt up to show me the side she was wearing yesterday. She had actually worn a skirt she could turn inside out! One of our colleagues suggested she could hoist the waistband of the skirt up over her boobs and wear it like a strapless dress tomorrow should she find herself in the same predicament for a third time.
Another woman advised her to start buying travel clothing that can be tightly rolled up to fit snugly into an evening purse or handbag. No ironing necessary! Or maybe it'd be to her benefit if she worked with women her same size so they could swap clothes once at the office.
I suggested she tell her fella she needs a drawer.
At one point there was a comment about what would happen if I got lucky tonight and had to slink into the office wearing the same outfit. There was a very slight pause before we all agreed I'd be strutting through the office pointing out that I was, in fact, wearing the same outfit as the day before. It's been a looooong time since these shoes have treaded down the path of shame.
And I'm kind of glad my friend at the office has no shame, as her behavior provides so much entertainment for the rest of us walking the straight and narrow.
Monday, November 2, 2009
A Happy Soul
November 2nd - All Souls' Day. This is a day set aside for remembrance of the beloveds who no longer share our lives with us here on earth. It sounds a little heavy, especially right after All Saints Day and All Hallow's Eve. Busy weekend actually. My parents' ashes are buried up north and visiting the cemetery wasn't possible for me today. But no matter. I still took a few moments out of my day to think of them, as I do most days actually, along with many others in my life who have passed on, including those special furry friends that treated me so well over the years. All Souls' Day really means "ALL" souls.
While that may sound depressing for some, it really isn't. It's actually a really good day to take a good look at your own soul and remind yourself to nurture it regularly. November is my least favorite month of the twelve. Always has been. I'm not sure if it's the weather, the time change (although that extra hour yesterday was rather nice and sorely needed after our All Hallow's Eve celebration), the darkness, the fact that all I really want to do is sleep, but I'm too busy for more sleep, or the weather...ooops, I said that already, didn't I? In any case, I am taking extra care with my soul this month, because I think it's going to need it.
For me that means more yoga sessions (at the studio not just in my livingroom with the noisy neighbors upstairs distracting my Zen mood), more homecooked meals (my crockpot is fired up), more herbal teas, more laughter, watching more movies and, yes, more sleep.
So take a few moments to honor those who've passed on and then, even more importantly, take a few extra moments to honor your own soul and promise to do what keeps it happy in these coming dark and crazy-making months that are sure to be full of challenges, as well as (sometimes hidden) rewards.
I opened the month with my favorite movie of all time, Breakfast at Tiffany's. I just love Holly Golightly's zest for life and adventure, not to mention her flare for fashion. But I can so relate to her lost soul in search of something that is right there in front of her. When "Fred Darling" tells her off and says it doesn't matter where she goes, she'll always keep running into herself, somehow that little speech really hit home for Wander Woman. Aahh.... the messages in these old films are so poignant.
My soul and I are off to bed with a cup of Chamomile, some pleasant reading and early sleeping.
While that may sound depressing for some, it really isn't. It's actually a really good day to take a good look at your own soul and remind yourself to nurture it regularly. November is my least favorite month of the twelve. Always has been. I'm not sure if it's the weather, the time change (although that extra hour yesterday was rather nice and sorely needed after our All Hallow's Eve celebration), the darkness, the fact that all I really want to do is sleep, but I'm too busy for more sleep, or the weather...ooops, I said that already, didn't I? In any case, I am taking extra care with my soul this month, because I think it's going to need it.
For me that means more yoga sessions (at the studio not just in my livingroom with the noisy neighbors upstairs distracting my Zen mood), more homecooked meals (my crockpot is fired up), more herbal teas, more laughter, watching more movies and, yes, more sleep.
So take a few moments to honor those who've passed on and then, even more importantly, take a few extra moments to honor your own soul and promise to do what keeps it happy in these coming dark and crazy-making months that are sure to be full of challenges, as well as (sometimes hidden) rewards.
I opened the month with my favorite movie of all time, Breakfast at Tiffany's. I just love Holly Golightly's zest for life and adventure, not to mention her flare for fashion. But I can so relate to her lost soul in search of something that is right there in front of her. When "Fred Darling" tells her off and says it doesn't matter where she goes, she'll always keep running into herself, somehow that little speech really hit home for Wander Woman. Aahh.... the messages in these old films are so poignant.
My soul and I are off to bed with a cup of Chamomile, some pleasant reading and early sleeping.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Falling for Fall
I’ve been known to fall for a scam, fall head over heals in love (although it’s been a really long time), fall all over someone I’m trying to impress, taken a fall, and I’ve definitely fallen short on more than one occasion. All that falling aside, I truly love fall. Autumn has always been my favorite season. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the northeast where Autumn meant loads of color, fiery oranges, bright reds and sunny yellows. Maybe it was Upstate New York’s crisp and tasty apples (I’m still biased even after 30 years in Washington State). Or maybe it’s that anticipation of starting something new. I loved shopping for new school clothes (what girl doesn’t?) and even buying new notebooks and writing in them for the first time.
I still get that feeling when September rolls around. While others mourn the end of summer, calling it quits after Labor Day, I relish these still sunny days and Harvest Moon nights. I no longer buy new school clothes, but I do enjoy window shopping and observing the local girls to see what fashion trends are hitting our Seattle streets.
It was about the first week in September when I noticed the word of the day on http://www.refdesk.com/ was impuissance, as in "powerlessness revealed by an inability to act (like a deer in the headlights)." I stared at the screen while this word sunk in and even stung a little. "Wander Woman's life was frozen in a state of impuissance, as she was unable to put any of her hair brain ideas into action."
Suddenly in a frenzy of action-taking command, I registered for several classes this fall, ordered a couple of books on how to do something or other and made yet another deal with myself to accomplish something...or other.
Beginning Salsa was one of the classes I started in early September. I've been wanting to take lessons for some time, but scheduling, cost, and committing always seemed to get in the way. This time, I just made it happen. As it turns out, it's really not very expensive at all. Besides being a fun activity, I was hoping I'd tone up the old nagging core and maybe meet some new people. Not that my old people aren't terrific, they are. So I guess I mean men. Yes, meet some new men to dance with me.
I'm only five lessons in and having a good time. It's a lot more complicated than imagined. Not too surprisingly several of the men are a bit awkward, robotic and have two left feet (sorry, fellas!) but the instructor is very patient and hot...er, I mean talented. Maybe it's his talent that is distracting me and I'm the one with the two left feet. I can't keep my eyes off the instructor when I'm suppose to be dancing with my partner, i.e. looking my partner in the eyes so I can follow his lead.
Contrary to what I had imagined, there are more men in the classes than women. That's a switch. Furthermore, there is no particular type noted. There are all ages, sizes, ethnicities - it's really quite refreshing. Of course there are the older, soft shoe wearing fellas that seem to gravitate toward me. Luckily we rotate partners throughout the lesson so we can learn to dance with different people. Good idea.
One of my partners (I'll call Ted) was counting out loud, which is encouraged at this stage, but it went like this as Ted was building up to a cross-body lead, "one, two three, and five, six, seven....it's coming, it's coming...one, two, three, and five, six, seven, it's coming, it's coming, it's coming...." Oh boy, you can imagine what I'm thinking. We are still just dancing, right? Just as a suppressed smile was beginning to spread across my lips, the hot and talented instructor yelled "Rotate partners!" Whew, thank goodness, who knows what was going to happen back there with Ted. I knew Salsa was a spicy dance, but honestly!
In any event, it's fun and funny and a good workout, or at least it will be once I actually learn to dance. And so far, I haven't fallen on my derriere - yet.
Happy Fall!
I still get that feeling when September rolls around. While others mourn the end of summer, calling it quits after Labor Day, I relish these still sunny days and Harvest Moon nights. I no longer buy new school clothes, but I do enjoy window shopping and observing the local girls to see what fashion trends are hitting our Seattle streets.
It was about the first week in September when I noticed the word of the day on http://www.refdesk.com/ was impuissance, as in "powerlessness revealed by an inability to act (like a deer in the headlights)." I stared at the screen while this word sunk in and even stung a little. "Wander Woman's life was frozen in a state of impuissance, as she was unable to put any of her hair brain ideas into action."
Suddenly in a frenzy of action-taking command, I registered for several classes this fall, ordered a couple of books on how to do something or other and made yet another deal with myself to accomplish something...or other.
Beginning Salsa was one of the classes I started in early September. I've been wanting to take lessons for some time, but scheduling, cost, and committing always seemed to get in the way. This time, I just made it happen. As it turns out, it's really not very expensive at all. Besides being a fun activity, I was hoping I'd tone up the old nagging core and maybe meet some new people. Not that my old people aren't terrific, they are. So I guess I mean men. Yes, meet some new men to dance with me.
I'm only five lessons in and having a good time. It's a lot more complicated than imagined. Not too surprisingly several of the men are a bit awkward, robotic and have two left feet (sorry, fellas!) but the instructor is very patient and hot...er, I mean talented. Maybe it's his talent that is distracting me and I'm the one with the two left feet. I can't keep my eyes off the instructor when I'm suppose to be dancing with my partner, i.e. looking my partner in the eyes so I can follow his lead.
Contrary to what I had imagined, there are more men in the classes than women. That's a switch. Furthermore, there is no particular type noted. There are all ages, sizes, ethnicities - it's really quite refreshing. Of course there are the older, soft shoe wearing fellas that seem to gravitate toward me. Luckily we rotate partners throughout the lesson so we can learn to dance with different people. Good idea.
One of my partners (I'll call Ted) was counting out loud, which is encouraged at this stage, but it went like this as Ted was building up to a cross-body lead, "one, two three, and five, six, seven....it's coming, it's coming...one, two, three, and five, six, seven, it's coming, it's coming, it's coming...." Oh boy, you can imagine what I'm thinking. We are still just dancing, right? Just as a suppressed smile was beginning to spread across my lips, the hot and talented instructor yelled "Rotate partners!" Whew, thank goodness, who knows what was going to happen back there with Ted. I knew Salsa was a spicy dance, but honestly!
In any event, it's fun and funny and a good workout, or at least it will be once I actually learn to dance. And so far, I haven't fallen on my derriere - yet.
Happy Fall!
Friday, September 11, 2009
From the Land Down Under
I do a fair amount of walking all over this city, up hills and stairs and running for buses, I practice yoga a couple times a week, have a light weight routine I do regularly and have been on a few hikes in our scenic and impressive Mt. Baker National Park this summer. I started a salsa class and enjoy golf, or at least getting to the driving range when I can. I try to eat relatively healthfully baring the occasional happy hour. I wouldn't call my lifestyle 'sedentary', although I don't compete in marathons, triathlons or any other such 'ons'. Even so, I've got this tummy issue that seems to be hindering my self-esteem. Furthermore, there are those few outfits that warrant special undergarments to assist in the belly control, while I'm working on whittling it away. I've resisted the purchase of such garments insisting that I will get rid of the unsightly gut. Why pay for special and expensive undergarments when the answer is clearly STOP EATING. So simple,right? Well, after catching a friend snickering at my 'big girl panties' showing through a clingyish dress in an effort to pull in the pooch, I gave up.
A trip to the lingerie department was in order. I'd put it off long enough. I was making headway on the tummy issue, but then started a temporary desk job and seem to have had a backward slide.
I bypassed Macy's and Victoria Secret and went straight for the Taj Mahal of lingerie; Nordstrom. I am not a huge Nordstrom shopper these days. As a matter of fact I avoid going into that store at all cost. However, when it comes to lingerie, they are "the man." I've made several purchases at other stores in an effort to save a dime only to be disappointed in the product. I now don't waste my time and money.
Cute, petite and twenty-something Whitney was helping me today with my tummy bulge, trying to convince me that she has the same problem. Uh huh, sure. She loaded me up with tummy controlling options and dropped me into a dressing room where the horror show began. Here is the lowdown:
The Hanky Panky lace high rise thong at $23 was certainly sexy and comfortable, but did not provide nearly enough tummy support. I'll keep that one in mind for general every day wear. I know some of my friends swear by that brand, but they are a bit steep on the wallet for an every day pantie.
Next, I wrestled into a Spanx Hide and Sleek full slip at $72.00. Although I was wearing a bra and panties, no lines showed through. However, I did feel like a stuffed sausage and not all that comfortable. It was a bit overkill, not to mention warm. However, the heat could have been a result of the effort it took to get into it. Golly, I hope there aren't two way mirrors or video surveillance cameras in those dressing rooms. What a show I would have provided! If worn under a dress, I am not sure I'd feel comfortable dancing, eating, or even sitting down in this garment.
The Yummie Tummie camisole at $62.00 was almost what I was after. The belly support was perfect, however, the garment is meant to be worn over, say, jeans and under a T-shirt with the bottom part sticking out giving a layered effect. Uhhh, not what I'm after. I need something to wear under some clingy dresses.
The Body Wrap boy short was a bargain at $28.00, but it felt like wearing bike shorts. I just can't feel comfortable wearing something that feels like I got off my bike and threw on a dress. I saw a girl the other day on the bus turn to sit down. Her purse caught her skirt and lifted up and voila, there were her 'bike shorts' flashing the other passengers. Okay, better than flashing commando, or a thong, but I just don't care for the bike shorts under my skirts. Again, just too much extra fabric.
Whitney went in the back to drum up a little secret hidden gem. She excitedly presented me with a "Fifty's Vintage Style" pantie with all kinds of panels and technological hoo ha that is functional, yet sexy. Okay, these are reminiscent of something my mother would have worn in her hay day. My mother, mind you, was born in 1923. You get the picture.
Another Yummie Tummie full slip was sleek and comfortable, but didn't really offer much in the way of support at all. Whitney told me she was wearing the same slip at that moment. Whitney is 110 lb soaking wet. I can hardly take her testimony seriously.
The final garment and the one I went home with is a Spanx Haute Couture lace thong. I can't even tell you what I paid for this tiny piece of fabric because it's unfathomable. I think there's a plane ticket to somewhere for less money. However, it was amazing. It hit in all the right places. It tucked in all the right places. It was still sexy. I didn't feel like I was wearing a girdle by another name (body shaper, body wrap, boy shorts, yummie tummie, spanx....they're all still modern day 'girdles.') Whitney said many customers who buy this pantie come back for another pair or two because they love them so much. I actually believe her.
As I was handing over my payment, i.e. VISA, to Whitney and promising to treat my new purchase with kid gloves, I was also promising [myself] that I would reduce this problem area so I would not have to return for another pair....ever.
A trip to the lingerie department was in order. I'd put it off long enough. I was making headway on the tummy issue, but then started a temporary desk job and seem to have had a backward slide.
I bypassed Macy's and Victoria Secret and went straight for the Taj Mahal of lingerie; Nordstrom. I am not a huge Nordstrom shopper these days. As a matter of fact I avoid going into that store at all cost. However, when it comes to lingerie, they are "the man." I've made several purchases at other stores in an effort to save a dime only to be disappointed in the product. I now don't waste my time and money.
Cute, petite and twenty-something Whitney was helping me today with my tummy bulge, trying to convince me that she has the same problem. Uh huh, sure. She loaded me up with tummy controlling options and dropped me into a dressing room where the horror show began. Here is the lowdown:
The Hanky Panky lace high rise thong at $23 was certainly sexy and comfortable, but did not provide nearly enough tummy support. I'll keep that one in mind for general every day wear. I know some of my friends swear by that brand, but they are a bit steep on the wallet for an every day pantie.
Next, I wrestled into a Spanx Hide and Sleek full slip at $72.00. Although I was wearing a bra and panties, no lines showed through. However, I did feel like a stuffed sausage and not all that comfortable. It was a bit overkill, not to mention warm. However, the heat could have been a result of the effort it took to get into it. Golly, I hope there aren't two way mirrors or video surveillance cameras in those dressing rooms. What a show I would have provided! If worn under a dress, I am not sure I'd feel comfortable dancing, eating, or even sitting down in this garment.
The Yummie Tummie camisole at $62.00 was almost what I was after. The belly support was perfect, however, the garment is meant to be worn over, say, jeans and under a T-shirt with the bottom part sticking out giving a layered effect. Uhhh, not what I'm after. I need something to wear under some clingy dresses.
The Body Wrap boy short was a bargain at $28.00, but it felt like wearing bike shorts. I just can't feel comfortable wearing something that feels like I got off my bike and threw on a dress. I saw a girl the other day on the bus turn to sit down. Her purse caught her skirt and lifted up and voila, there were her 'bike shorts' flashing the other passengers. Okay, better than flashing commando, or a thong, but I just don't care for the bike shorts under my skirts. Again, just too much extra fabric.
Whitney went in the back to drum up a little secret hidden gem. She excitedly presented me with a "Fifty's Vintage Style" pantie with all kinds of panels and technological hoo ha that is functional, yet sexy. Okay, these are reminiscent of something my mother would have worn in her hay day. My mother, mind you, was born in 1923. You get the picture.
Another Yummie Tummie full slip was sleek and comfortable, but didn't really offer much in the way of support at all. Whitney told me she was wearing the same slip at that moment. Whitney is 110 lb soaking wet. I can hardly take her testimony seriously.
The final garment and the one I went home with is a Spanx Haute Couture lace thong. I can't even tell you what I paid for this tiny piece of fabric because it's unfathomable. I think there's a plane ticket to somewhere for less money. However, it was amazing. It hit in all the right places. It tucked in all the right places. It was still sexy. I didn't feel like I was wearing a girdle by another name (body shaper, body wrap, boy shorts, yummie tummie, spanx....they're all still modern day 'girdles.') Whitney said many customers who buy this pantie come back for another pair or two because they love them so much. I actually believe her.
As I was handing over my payment, i.e. VISA, to Whitney and promising to treat my new purchase with kid gloves, I was also promising [myself] that I would reduce this problem area so I would not have to return for another pair....ever.
Monday, August 31, 2009
The Golden Years Look Pretty Golden
A wonderful couple I've known for thirty years just celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary. Wow. Fifty years. That seems amazing to me. In this day and age, it is amazing. Marriages don't tend to last "til death do us part." It's more like til the marriage dies for one or both parties.
Ironically enough, I left the Bridal Barn to go work at a law office. The attorney I'm temporarily assisting happens to specialize in "Marriage Dissolution." Oh, how my life takes a turn on a dime. I'm sure there is some lesson here. Can you just imagine me answering the phone one day "Good afternoon, Divorce Attorneys R Us," and it's one of my brides on the other end of the line. Okay, that's morbid, I know. Besides, given the fact that both jobs were/are so temporary, it's highly unlikely.
Some stats:
43% of first time marriages end within 15 years. I signed my divorce papers just one and a half months before our 15th anniversary. This wasn't planned. I did not have this information on hand when choosing to divorce. It's not as if I was thinking, "hmmm...our 15 year limit is about up, better get those papers filed in time."
The average lifespan of a marriage is eight years. Okay, so you get to the seven year itch and then it takes another year to get everything in order?
75% of all divorced people remarry, usually within three years. I'm on the seventh year with no future prospects in place. But I might be an unusual case study. In any case, I'm perfectly happy not being married. However, a partner would be cool, eventually.
Considering how difficult it is to find a partner at age forty-$!&, maybe finding one and getting married at age 18 like my friends and then sticking it out through thick and thin (and I'm pretty sure there were plenty of thick and thin times within that 50 years) isn't such a bad idea. I'm sure it wasn't a 50 year honeymoon. No one is perfect. Today these two are (at least seem to be) happier than ever. And from what I hear from the grapevine (their information sharing daughter) they are having sex like rabbits. OK, besides thinking "Ick, I don't need to know this," I'm both envious and inspired. Maybe my current "lean" years are setting me up for an active later phase that's sure to come.
Regardless of the stats about divorce rates, I feel confident that those family and friends in my life today will be celebrating their Golden Anniversaries as well. I don't know why I feel that way. My pretend-to-be-jaded self aside (I've been accused of being a romantic even), I do believe they will survive til death do them part. For one thing, I'm certainly looking forward to all the upcoming parties. Especially if they are as fun as my friends' party which included a live backyard band and dancing all afternoon on the grass dance floor!
Congratulations Janice and Wayne!
Monday, August 17, 2009
In Response
I just want to clarify in response to all the comments regarding my recent post "Urban Girl, Suburban Boys," I'm not actually opposed to dating men from the suburbs. THEY seem to have difficulty coming into the city. I am limited by my own lack of transportation. If Federal Way boy from the airplane ever actually called me, I'd be all too thrilled to date him. I thought we were having a connection. When, in fact, we were just having a conversation 35,000 ft above sea level.
Obviously, I was light headed. sigh.
Obviously, I was light headed. sigh.
Friday, August 14, 2009
My Life Not Lost
You may notice I've changed the title of my blog from "Lost in Transition" to "My Life in Transition." I decided after almost 3 years the word "Lost" has a bit of a negative connotation. After delving into such books as "The Law of Attraction," "The Secret", and "The Alchemist," as well being a believer that we attract what we dwell upon, I decided being "lost" isn't what I wanted to dwell upon or create for myself.
In reality, I'm not actually lost at all. I'm simply transitioning, and, while going through the process of discovering my next career has become somewhat of a career in and of itself, I do think I am on the right path. I've got a basic, although fuzzy, outline of where I'm headed. With each little side step or diversion along the way, I learn something new, gain an additional skill, meet interesting a valuable people, and have an experience (usually good, sometimes questionable).
My sales consultant career at the 'Bridal Barn' has come to a close. Weirdly enough I actually enjoyed working there the past five months. What could be more fun than dressing excited girls up like princesses all day? Hell, there are days I wouldn't mind dressing up in some ridiculously expensive frock and doing a runway walk. It's been three weeks and I sort of miss my brides, as well as my co-workers. Ah well, on to the next adventure. Currently I'm working in a law firm downtown for a few months, thanks to my wonderful sister-in-law who is always looking out for me. Another play, another cast of characters. The work isn't nearly as fun as the bridal shop, but fun, as well all know, rarely pays as well.
While describing my latest temp job to a friend her immediate response was "Wow, that's great! This could go somewhere. You might decide you want to get into paralegal work or something. This is good for your resume. You never know where this could lead."
I must have been looking at her sideways, because she was quickly snapped back to the reality of who she was talking about.
"Oh, that's not you is it?"
Although that is not my ultimate career goal, she is right about one thing. You never know what one thing might lead to. I honestly enjoy trying out different types of work and switching it up every few months. For seventeen years I worked in the insurance industry and while definitely more lucrative, I became bored and frustrated to tears (literally some days).
So no, "lost" I am not. I am on the exact path I'm suppose to be on, although it may not be a path others can appreciate or even see from their own maps. I'm certain that I'll arrive in the right place at the right time.
In reality, I'm not actually lost at all. I'm simply transitioning, and, while going through the process of discovering my next career has become somewhat of a career in and of itself, I do think I am on the right path. I've got a basic, although fuzzy, outline of where I'm headed. With each little side step or diversion along the way, I learn something new, gain an additional skill, meet interesting a valuable people, and have an experience (usually good, sometimes questionable).
My sales consultant career at the 'Bridal Barn' has come to a close. Weirdly enough I actually enjoyed working there the past five months. What could be more fun than dressing excited girls up like princesses all day? Hell, there are days I wouldn't mind dressing up in some ridiculously expensive frock and doing a runway walk. It's been three weeks and I sort of miss my brides, as well as my co-workers. Ah well, on to the next adventure. Currently I'm working in a law firm downtown for a few months, thanks to my wonderful sister-in-law who is always looking out for me. Another play, another cast of characters. The work isn't nearly as fun as the bridal shop, but fun, as well all know, rarely pays as well.
While describing my latest temp job to a friend her immediate response was "Wow, that's great! This could go somewhere. You might decide you want to get into paralegal work or something. This is good for your resume. You never know where this could lead."
I must have been looking at her sideways, because she was quickly snapped back to the reality of who she was talking about.
"Oh, that's not you is it?"
Although that is not my ultimate career goal, she is right about one thing. You never know what one thing might lead to. I honestly enjoy trying out different types of work and switching it up every few months. For seventeen years I worked in the insurance industry and while definitely more lucrative, I became bored and frustrated to tears (literally some days).
So no, "lost" I am not. I am on the exact path I'm suppose to be on, although it may not be a path others can appreciate or even see from their own maps. I'm certain that I'll arrive in the right place at the right time.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Urban Girl and Suburban Boys
My friend "S" keeps lamenting about getting online pursuits from men who live in the least desirably geographically located towns (or just undesirable in general. It's all subjective.), i.e. Sequim, Duvall, Sedro Woolley. She is no more a country bumpkin than Eva Gabor from Green Acres. Seems I, too, am the attraction for "out of towners". However, mine are more suburban in nature.
One such suitor began “IMing” (another improper verb, by the way) while I was online. I checked out his profile which stated he lived in Seattle. He wanted to meet me, but upon further investigation I learned he actually lives in Woodinville. Woodinville is NOT Seattle. If your address isn’t Seattle, you don’t post that you live in Seattle. If you’re traveling abroad, you could say you live ‘near Seattle.’ You could also say you live 45 minutes outside of Seattle or you live in the ‘greater Seattle area.’ By no means are you a "Seattelite."
At first he says Seattle isn’t all that far, yet quickly the conversation takes a turn and he begins to fret about parking downtown. Okay, HE pursued ME. My profile states that I actually live in Seattle and I don’t own a car. Read: YOU are driving to ME. We never met.
Such alarming suburban comments regarding parking, traffic and favorite restaurants that include Applebee’s and Macaroni Grill are clear signs that these men are not for me.
The next guy who wanted to meet me was from Everett. He did make the trek to my Queen Anne neighborhood for Thai food without complaint (a plus), but there was absolutely no love connection so I sent him back to the North Pole.
A couple of weeks ago, a fella drove in from Bothell. He called to tell me he was running late as he was sitting in I-5 Friday afternoon traffic and once he gets to our meeting area it might take him some time to find parking for his very large truck. Oiy Vey.
On my recent trip to San Diego, I met an interesting character who seemed quite engaged during our flight. Okay, so he was occupying the window seat and pretty much pinned in forced to listen to my tales and anecdotes. Turns out he was headed back to San Diego to pack his bags and move to Seattle and start a new job. This was sounding promising. After six hours of lively conversation and banter (my version of how this went), I offered to give him my contact info so I could show him around his new city once he arrived.
While he was entering my number into his Blackberry, I asked what neighborhood he would be living in. I was holding my breath listening for neighborhoods like Belltown, Queen Anne or Capitol Hill. Actually, any Seattle neighborhood would have been suitable. His answer: Federal Way.
I think I turned blue waiting for a more appealing answer. Needless to say, he hasn’t called.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Full of Abundance
Whenever I start in about my “lack” in life, i.e. lack of job, lack of money, lack of men, lack of romance, lack of willpower, lack of house, lack of a flat stomach, I can look back on my 46th birthday (last Sunday) and be reminded that I have no lack of love in my life.
I was overwhelmed and truly touched by the number of friends and family who called, sent text messages and emails, wrote comments on my Face Book wall, and mailed wonderful cards for my birthday. My boss baked me a delicious cake (lemon cake with strawberry and kiwi fruit center), of which she and I polished the remainder off the following day. My friends took me out for a yummy, unique and lively dinner at Quinn’s on Capitol Hill, where we ate, drank and laughed til we cried. I was presented with many fabulous and thoughtful gifts.
I know I’m getting overly sappy in my old age, but seriously, each time I’d read a well-wisher’s sentiment, I was awe struck. “This is really what people think? Wow.” I am truly blessed to have such a supportive and amazing group of friends and family. No, there is no lack in my life. My life is absolutely full of abundance of the best kind!
I was overwhelmed and truly touched by the number of friends and family who called, sent text messages and emails, wrote comments on my Face Book wall, and mailed wonderful cards for my birthday. My boss baked me a delicious cake (lemon cake with strawberry and kiwi fruit center), of which she and I polished the remainder off the following day. My friends took me out for a yummy, unique and lively dinner at Quinn’s on Capitol Hill, where we ate, drank and laughed til we cried. I was presented with many fabulous and thoughtful gifts.
I know I’m getting overly sappy in my old age, but seriously, each time I’d read a well-wisher’s sentiment, I was awe struck. “This is really what people think? Wow.” I am truly blessed to have such a supportive and amazing group of friends and family. No, there is no lack in my life. My life is absolutely full of abundance of the best kind!
Friday, July 17, 2009
Maire Claire Should Be Single In Seattle
By now most Seattle women have heard the news: Seattle is the best city to "snag a seriously great guy." That's according to an article in Marie Claire Magazine (August 2009)which states that Seattle is the number one city to find men. And not just men, but seriously great ones to boot. The article suggests patronizing such places as The Little Red Hen in Green Lake on Monday nights for line dancing, Pyramid Ale House for pre-Mariners pints, Frontier Room's Ladies' Night, Seattle Coffee Crawl and the Sunday Ballard Market. Aside from the fact that these are primarily 20 something haunts, yes, you will find guys there (the jury is still out on whether we want to dub them "men" yet). Okay, there is no question that there are plenty of men in this city. We are the tech capital, airplane making capital and 'outie' capital. We have an air force base, an army base and a navy base nearby, and we have dozens of universities and colleges within the city limits. There are lots of possibilities for locating the male species.
King 5 News did a short segment on this articles and interviewed women in the area. During an interview in one bar the reporter points out to the woman being interviewed that there were four guys sitting at the bar right behind her. She turned and looked at them, then turned back to the reporter and started, "Uhhh, yeah...." The response was edited out so we viewers aren't sure exactly what her comment was. But based on her facial expression, it wasn't flattering.
The general consensus: there may be a large quantity of guys, but the quality is lacking.
Case in point: Last Saturday night a group of us girls took our soon-to-be-married friend out for her Bachelorette Bash. It was a fun night overall with lots of cocktails, dancing and laughs. However, not one guy bought our gorgeous bachelorette a drink all night. She and I were both surprised. I'm not sure why. It seems par for the course in this neck of the woods. There are plenty of guys in this city, but it's a rare occasion when one buys a girl a drink.
I agreed to an online date last Sunday evening. We had planned to go eat Thai food in my neighborhood. My date phoned me from my building entrance and when I went down to meet him, he was dressed in a fleece pullover, hiking-type pants and Birkenstock. Dude, this is a dinner date, not a hiking date. Thanks for making the effort. Now this fella's approach was probably to just "be himself." No need to put on airs. "If she doesn't like me for who I am, forget her." Or maybe he's just an idiot who doesn't realize you should actually try to look nice when going out to dinner. I walked out in my nice dark jeans, heels and pink trench coat. Clearly we were not on the same page from the get go. The rest of the date went about on par. Every time he said something, I said the opposite. He lives in Everett and dreams of buying a house in Sedro Woolley. I am an urbanite who rarely leaves "Manhattan." I love travel, he won't get on a plane if he can help it. You see where this is going. In the end, he still asked if I would want to get together and do something sometime. Like what?
Other than online, I have found other spots for meeting men. There's Barista Boy from my coffee shop, the 60 year old from the driving range and, of course, Mr. Karaoke from Hula Hula's karaoke night.
So, yes, there are definitely guys in this city. No doubt about it. But I'd have to agree with the lack of quality factor. It's not as if there are no quality men out there. There must be some. The article says so. Maybe they are just hidden underneath bad manners, sloppy attire and tight wallets.
King 5 News did a short segment on this articles and interviewed women in the area. During an interview in one bar the reporter points out to the woman being interviewed that there were four guys sitting at the bar right behind her. She turned and looked at them, then turned back to the reporter and started, "Uhhh, yeah...." The response was edited out so we viewers aren't sure exactly what her comment was. But based on her facial expression, it wasn't flattering.
The general consensus: there may be a large quantity of guys, but the quality is lacking.
Case in point: Last Saturday night a group of us girls took our soon-to-be-married friend out for her Bachelorette Bash. It was a fun night overall with lots of cocktails, dancing and laughs. However, not one guy bought our gorgeous bachelorette a drink all night. She and I were both surprised. I'm not sure why. It seems par for the course in this neck of the woods. There are plenty of guys in this city, but it's a rare occasion when one buys a girl a drink.
I agreed to an online date last Sunday evening. We had planned to go eat Thai food in my neighborhood. My date phoned me from my building entrance and when I went down to meet him, he was dressed in a fleece pullover, hiking-type pants and Birkenstock. Dude, this is a dinner date, not a hiking date. Thanks for making the effort. Now this fella's approach was probably to just "be himself." No need to put on airs. "If she doesn't like me for who I am, forget her." Or maybe he's just an idiot who doesn't realize you should actually try to look nice when going out to dinner. I walked out in my nice dark jeans, heels and pink trench coat. Clearly we were not on the same page from the get go. The rest of the date went about on par. Every time he said something, I said the opposite. He lives in Everett and dreams of buying a house in Sedro Woolley. I am an urbanite who rarely leaves "Manhattan." I love travel, he won't get on a plane if he can help it. You see where this is going. In the end, he still asked if I would want to get together and do something sometime. Like what?
Other than online, I have found other spots for meeting men. There's Barista Boy from my coffee shop, the 60 year old from the driving range and, of course, Mr. Karaoke from Hula Hula's karaoke night.
So, yes, there are definitely guys in this city. No doubt about it. But I'd have to agree with the lack of quality factor. It's not as if there are no quality men out there. There must be some. The article says so. Maybe they are just hidden underneath bad manners, sloppy attire and tight wallets.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Let the Best (Wo)Man Win
My wonderful friends and family all over the country (and globe even) are vying for me to move to their hometowns. When I first came back to the states, I stayed a few weeks in Syracuse, NY with my brother and his wife. It was Dec/Jan (read knee deep in snow) and my brother was doing the sales pitch the entire time. I commented on how lovely their home was "Oh, you can pick one of these up for about a hundred grand," my brother said. "They are a dime a dozen." He proceeded to take me out on the town every afternoon and wine and dine me for lunch some place fun and quirky. He introduced me to his friends and colleagues. Even on the way to the airport, he leaned his head to the backseat where I was planted and said "we even have an international airport here." What they don't have? Water. There is no large body of water surrounding this cozy, artsy little university town. He couldn't argue with me there. However, the offer seems to always be open if I ever need a place to stay. They probably feel safe keeping that offer open knowing there is a slim chance of me taking them up on it any time soon. But believe me, I've considered it. More than once.
When I headed west, I thought I'd only be in Seattle for about six months before moving on to a new city. My friend in San Diego was pushing Southern Cal so much, I was pretty sure I'd pack my entire storage unit into a U-Haul and head south. However, after a brief visit to San Diego, I wasn't exactly smitten. It didn't really resonate with me. I'll think about it. We'll see. I've visited again since that first time, and it seemed more appealing. Maybe it could grow on me. The weather was certainly nice. This very eager San Diego friend set me up with a possible job opportunity this summer, but that didn't pan out. Maybe that's my answer.
My friend in Austin hasn't let up about how wonderful Austin is since she moved there two years ago. It's a city that consistently crops up on those "best places to live" lists. Her husband was offered a HUGE promotion if he would have agreed to move back to Seattle with the company. After much deliberation, he and his wife said "no way." They love Austin too much. The same sentiment I received from every person I met while I was visiting last month who'd moved there from various parts of the country. They'd never live anywhere else. Interesting.
My cousin outside of Denver says, "my vote is Denver...it's surrounded by the Rocky Mountains." Yes, there is beautiful too. And I do love to ski, hike and play golf.
San Francisco, Lisbon, London. Everyone has a viable reason why I should come live in their amazing city. And let's not forget Seattle. My friends here are doing their level best to keep me camped right here in Sunny Seattle. I receive daily craigslist ads from my sister-in-law and another friend. Others are sending me websites and contacts for companies and jobs for which they think I'd be suitable. I appreciate the work everyone is putting into this little project.
I've been sending out applications in droves, but so far nothing has panned out. Besides the usual rejection notices, I feel that my applications just go into a black hole somewhere. I keep telling myself I haven't found a job yet, because the right job hasn't come along. At least that is what I keep telling myself, so don't go bringing me down with some other theory.
Basically, I'll live almost anywhere in the world. So whoever finds me that perfect (or semi-perfect) job, wins.
When I headed west, I thought I'd only be in Seattle for about six months before moving on to a new city. My friend in San Diego was pushing Southern Cal so much, I was pretty sure I'd pack my entire storage unit into a U-Haul and head south. However, after a brief visit to San Diego, I wasn't exactly smitten. It didn't really resonate with me. I'll think about it. We'll see. I've visited again since that first time, and it seemed more appealing. Maybe it could grow on me. The weather was certainly nice. This very eager San Diego friend set me up with a possible job opportunity this summer, but that didn't pan out. Maybe that's my answer.
My friend in Austin hasn't let up about how wonderful Austin is since she moved there two years ago. It's a city that consistently crops up on those "best places to live" lists. Her husband was offered a HUGE promotion if he would have agreed to move back to Seattle with the company. After much deliberation, he and his wife said "no way." They love Austin too much. The same sentiment I received from every person I met while I was visiting last month who'd moved there from various parts of the country. They'd never live anywhere else. Interesting.
My cousin outside of Denver says, "my vote is Denver...it's surrounded by the Rocky Mountains." Yes, there is beautiful too. And I do love to ski, hike and play golf.
San Francisco, Lisbon, London. Everyone has a viable reason why I should come live in their amazing city. And let's not forget Seattle. My friends here are doing their level best to keep me camped right here in Sunny Seattle. I receive daily craigslist ads from my sister-in-law and another friend. Others are sending me websites and contacts for companies and jobs for which they think I'd be suitable. I appreciate the work everyone is putting into this little project.
I've been sending out applications in droves, but so far nothing has panned out. Besides the usual rejection notices, I feel that my applications just go into a black hole somewhere. I keep telling myself I haven't found a job yet, because the right job hasn't come along. At least that is what I keep telling myself, so don't go bringing me down with some other theory.
Basically, I'll live almost anywhere in the world. So whoever finds me that perfect (or semi-perfect) job, wins.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Father of the Bride
Sales down at the bridal warehouse are pitiful. No one is making goals. Brides are not buying. Summer weddings are bought for and no one is quite ready to buy for summer 2010. Can you blame them? I wouldn't know what I'd want to wear next week, no less a year from now.
One of these 2010 brides came in last week with her father. When she introduced me to him as her father, I about fainted. He looked way too young to be this girl's father. Did she really mean father, as in my paternal father, or father as in "Dad-Dad-Daddy-O?" She told me her parents were divorced when she was three, so I'm thinking it was a high school sweetheart situation. And maybe they were still in high school when they got divorced. Other than his youth (my age bracket for sure), I also noticed that he was HOT. While trying to focus on my bride, her gown choices, and making sure she felt special and princess-like, I was wondering how to bring up the topic of her father. Would it be inappropriate to ask if her father was available? I was trying to give eye contact and flirt in a professional "I'm not really flirting, but paying attention to your beautiful daughter who is my client" kind of way. I gave the bride my card, as I always do, but should have given one to her dad. Now I just have to hope she comes back into the shop and brings him with her.
Other dating news:
I met a guy a few weeks ago when I went out with the girls after work to a karaoke bar. Mr. Karaoke was paying close attention to our table of girls all night, but not in a creepy sort of way. Gradually, my co-workers fizzled out and I was left standing solo with Mr. Karaoke. Now whether he asked me for my number because we were the only two people in the bar over 40, or whether it was because all of my friends had retreated, or if he actually found me interesting, I'm not sure. But I did give him my number.
He called promptly and we talked for awhile and then he asked me out on a proper date. After doing the scheduling dance for a bit, we determined the following Sunday would work for both of us. The very next day, he called to invite me to his company Christmas Party that Thursday. Apparently, it had been cancelled due to snow storms and they were finally getting around to it in May. Okay, first of all, we had just had a rather lengthy discussion about our schedules and how I wasn't available on Thursday. Was I suddenly going to change plans? More alarmingly, he was asking me to his company Christmas Party as a FIRST DATE. I just find that a bit strange. Everyone is bringing their significant others and he is going to bring someone he just met. "So how do you know Mr. K?" a co-worker might ask. "Oh, we just met at karaoke on Saturday. This is our first date. What can you tell me about him?"
As it turned out our first date (on the originally scheduled Sunday) included a trip to the top of the Space Needle, a dinner at Belltown Bistro and a complete walk to my front door. Now that is a proper date. I was so impressed I almost didn't know how to act! It was really nice.
The next day he informed me that our old Alma Mater was closing its doors and there was a huge gala with closing ceremony and party following the next weekend. I'm not really into old high school reunions, gatherings and the like, but didn't want to be rude about it. Clearly he was pretty excited and really wanted to take me. I tried to play it down and skirt the topic. I thought I successfully avoided the issue, when after our second date (an even nicer dinner at Cutters), he dropped me at my front door again and said "so we're going to have to figure out how to get you to that LHS event." I just laughed, said I'd be out of town and he could tell me all about it.
While I was out of town, he sent me a text message (no he did not "text" me) saying "call me tomorrow and let me know if you're up for going to the LHS party." Sheesh, ya stalker, how many times do I need to say "no thanks?" I explained that due to late flights, me working, unknown schedule, I had to decline, but thank you and let me know how it is.
I finally decided that Mr. K is just one of those guys who feels like he needs to have a date to things. He doesn't want to go into parties and other social situations alone. Why else would he be so insistent on my company to such events? Hope there are no weddings coming up in the near future. I couldn't afford the outfit.
Missed Opportunities:
The other day I was standing in line at a pizza joint for a slice on my way home from work. I had been out of town for a week and had no groceries. I was starving after a full and long day of dressing and undressing brides and didn't want to head into the Safeway hungry or I'd be up and down every aisle buying far too many inappropriate items. There were no pizzas available in the pizza joint and I wasn't prepared to wait and left.
Suddenly, while standing at the corner waiting for the light, the man who I'd been chit chatting with in line at the pizza joint came up behind me.
"Excuse me, are you single?" he asked. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I was stunned by such a simple question to which I was sure I knew the answer. "Uh, not exactly," I said.
He then offered to take me for Thai food across the street. I thanked him profusely and assured him how nice an offer that was and went on my way, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and dejected. I'm, however, walking away guiltily feeling like crap. I could tell from our brief encounter that he isn't my type and it would be wrong to lead him on by accepting his offer of a free meal. However, it'd be mean to say I am single but I simply don't want to go out with him. Later I decided it would have been easy to simply say "I am just starting to date someone and don't feel comfortable going out with others at this time." Why can't I think of that stuff on the fly? Now I'm keeping my eyes peeled for this character in my hood so I can talk to him again. It was a very nice gesture and I want to encourage him to keep up the bold moves.
Barista Boy:
He still uses his low talking, big blue eyed technique of wooing me and suggesting we "hang out." So far Mrs. Robinson is steering clear.
Nothing else going on in the dating or non-dating world. Just waiting for my bride to bring her father back for my enjoyment.
One of these 2010 brides came in last week with her father. When she introduced me to him as her father, I about fainted. He looked way too young to be this girl's father. Did she really mean father, as in my paternal father, or father as in "Dad-Dad-Daddy-O?" She told me her parents were divorced when she was three, so I'm thinking it was a high school sweetheart situation. And maybe they were still in high school when they got divorced. Other than his youth (my age bracket for sure), I also noticed that he was HOT. While trying to focus on my bride, her gown choices, and making sure she felt special and princess-like, I was wondering how to bring up the topic of her father. Would it be inappropriate to ask if her father was available? I was trying to give eye contact and flirt in a professional "I'm not really flirting, but paying attention to your beautiful daughter who is my client" kind of way. I gave the bride my card, as I always do, but should have given one to her dad. Now I just have to hope she comes back into the shop and brings him with her.
Other dating news:
I met a guy a few weeks ago when I went out with the girls after work to a karaoke bar. Mr. Karaoke was paying close attention to our table of girls all night, but not in a creepy sort of way. Gradually, my co-workers fizzled out and I was left standing solo with Mr. Karaoke. Now whether he asked me for my number because we were the only two people in the bar over 40, or whether it was because all of my friends had retreated, or if he actually found me interesting, I'm not sure. But I did give him my number.
He called promptly and we talked for awhile and then he asked me out on a proper date. After doing the scheduling dance for a bit, we determined the following Sunday would work for both of us. The very next day, he called to invite me to his company Christmas Party that Thursday. Apparently, it had been cancelled due to snow storms and they were finally getting around to it in May. Okay, first of all, we had just had a rather lengthy discussion about our schedules and how I wasn't available on Thursday. Was I suddenly going to change plans? More alarmingly, he was asking me to his company Christmas Party as a FIRST DATE. I just find that a bit strange. Everyone is bringing their significant others and he is going to bring someone he just met. "So how do you know Mr. K?" a co-worker might ask. "Oh, we just met at karaoke on Saturday. This is our first date. What can you tell me about him?"
As it turned out our first date (on the originally scheduled Sunday) included a trip to the top of the Space Needle, a dinner at Belltown Bistro and a complete walk to my front door. Now that is a proper date. I was so impressed I almost didn't know how to act! It was really nice.
The next day he informed me that our old Alma Mater was closing its doors and there was a huge gala with closing ceremony and party following the next weekend. I'm not really into old high school reunions, gatherings and the like, but didn't want to be rude about it. Clearly he was pretty excited and really wanted to take me. I tried to play it down and skirt the topic. I thought I successfully avoided the issue, when after our second date (an even nicer dinner at Cutters), he dropped me at my front door again and said "so we're going to have to figure out how to get you to that LHS event." I just laughed, said I'd be out of town and he could tell me all about it.
While I was out of town, he sent me a text message (no he did not "text" me) saying "call me tomorrow and let me know if you're up for going to the LHS party." Sheesh, ya stalker, how many times do I need to say "no thanks?" I explained that due to late flights, me working, unknown schedule, I had to decline, but thank you and let me know how it is.
I finally decided that Mr. K is just one of those guys who feels like he needs to have a date to things. He doesn't want to go into parties and other social situations alone. Why else would he be so insistent on my company to such events? Hope there are no weddings coming up in the near future. I couldn't afford the outfit.
Missed Opportunities:
The other day I was standing in line at a pizza joint for a slice on my way home from work. I had been out of town for a week and had no groceries. I was starving after a full and long day of dressing and undressing brides and didn't want to head into the Safeway hungry or I'd be up and down every aisle buying far too many inappropriate items. There were no pizzas available in the pizza joint and I wasn't prepared to wait and left.
Suddenly, while standing at the corner waiting for the light, the man who I'd been chit chatting with in line at the pizza joint came up behind me.
"Excuse me, are you single?" he asked. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I was stunned by such a simple question to which I was sure I knew the answer. "Uh, not exactly," I said.
He then offered to take me for Thai food across the street. I thanked him profusely and assured him how nice an offer that was and went on my way, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and dejected. I'm, however, walking away guiltily feeling like crap. I could tell from our brief encounter that he isn't my type and it would be wrong to lead him on by accepting his offer of a free meal. However, it'd be mean to say I am single but I simply don't want to go out with him. Later I decided it would have been easy to simply say "I am just starting to date someone and don't feel comfortable going out with others at this time." Why can't I think of that stuff on the fly? Now I'm keeping my eyes peeled for this character in my hood so I can talk to him again. It was a very nice gesture and I want to encourage him to keep up the bold moves.
Barista Boy:
He still uses his low talking, big blue eyed technique of wooing me and suggesting we "hang out." So far Mrs. Robinson is steering clear.
Nothing else going on in the dating or non-dating world. Just waiting for my bride to bring her father back for my enjoyment.
The Not-So-Reality TV
How can people watch that Bachelorette show and take it seriously? Or even find it entertaining as far as that goes? Where's the challenge? Where's the entertainment? You take an already beautiful, young woman, who has a successful career and wants to be married and have a family, make her even more beautiful with designer clothes, professional hair and makeup, introduce her to a dozen (or more?) successful, handsome men who also want to be married and have a family, and see who she picks. Sure each week there is some drama between the contestants vying for her attention. Sure there's the dramatic rose ceremony where she boots out the ones with whom she feels there is no "chemistry." All the while the music is escalating, the drums rolling, and with each presentation of the rose, there are sighs of relief. You'd think something real was hanging in the balance. And don't tell me these people have feelings that are "real" at this point. They just met for crying out loud.
I sound like I know far too much about this show to criticize. I come home from work tired and hungry. Prop my legs up with a big salad and grab my remote. One round of clicking, I discover there is nothing on, but I land on The Bachelorette and like a bad car accident, I can't turn away.
During the commercials I leave the room to change out of my work clothes and get so sidetracked, I forget I'm even watching TV. When I return to my living room I realize I've missed some drama. The Bachelorette is crying about something. What did I miss? I'm annoyed that I'm even watching this show at all, then I'm annoyed that I missed something, and then I'm annoyed that I'm even annoyed about missing some staged drama.
And that Bachelorette seems to always be crying about something. Whenever they show the clips of what happened last week, she is crying. She is crying this week. And then they show clips of next week's episode and she's crying. Okay, ya big baby, you're dating loads of gorgeous boys, in beautiful settings and money is no object. Stop your belly aching.
In my constant effort to come up with new and interesting (and lucrative) reality TV shows, I've got a far better idea. How about taking a middle aged, average looking woman, who lacks a proper career (anyone you might know?), doctor her up to look fabulous on TV (this feat may actually require a doctor), and without revealing to the men (handsome, successful, interesting ones, of course) her lack of career, assets or financial security, see how hard they compete for her hand. That sounds way more fun.
I sound like I know far too much about this show to criticize. I come home from work tired and hungry. Prop my legs up with a big salad and grab my remote. One round of clicking, I discover there is nothing on, but I land on The Bachelorette and like a bad car accident, I can't turn away.
During the commercials I leave the room to change out of my work clothes and get so sidetracked, I forget I'm even watching TV. When I return to my living room I realize I've missed some drama. The Bachelorette is crying about something. What did I miss? I'm annoyed that I'm even watching this show at all, then I'm annoyed that I missed something, and then I'm annoyed that I'm even annoyed about missing some staged drama.
And that Bachelorette seems to always be crying about something. Whenever they show the clips of what happened last week, she is crying. She is crying this week. And then they show clips of next week's episode and she's crying. Okay, ya big baby, you're dating loads of gorgeous boys, in beautiful settings and money is no object. Stop your belly aching.
In my constant effort to come up with new and interesting (and lucrative) reality TV shows, I've got a far better idea. How about taking a middle aged, average looking woman, who lacks a proper career (anyone you might know?), doctor her up to look fabulous on TV (this feat may actually require a doctor), and without revealing to the men (handsome, successful, interesting ones, of course) her lack of career, assets or financial security, see how hard they compete for her hand. That sounds way more fun.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Austin: It's Not Really Texas
Ever since my friend moved from Seattle to Austin two years ago with her accommodating husband and two small children, all I've heard is how wonderful Austin is. "Austin has fabulous weather, Austin has great parks, lakes and nature, Austin this and Austin that. You must move to Austin." During Seattle's miserable rainy, cold winters I'd get daily updates on her whereabouts and wardrobe, "It's 85 F, I'm at the pool in flip flops and bikini!" Anyone I've ever spoken to about Austin insists that it's a marvelous, hip, and liberal minded city. I'm not really doubting that, but my only concern is that it's surrounded by TEXAS.
As an unaffordable, yet seemingly necessary research project, I finally went to Austin to see for myself. On Tuesday afternoon, my friend and her two year old met me at the airport and whisked me off to the beautiful Steiner Ranch where they live. Actually, it's where they live, play, work, go to school, shop, eat out, drink. It's a self-contained community which offers so many amenities no one ever leaves. Seriously, they even have more than one liquor store, and one is a drive-through! How convenient is that for those stay-at-home-moms? My friend assured me she'd show me around and we'd get downtown where the single folks hang. I wasn't worried...yet.
That first afternoon, she gave me a little tour of the area on the way back from the airport, then a tour of Steiner Ranch with a stop off at one of the liquor stores. We headed back to her home where her new pool is currently being built, located inside a gated development amongst other ginormous homes with fancy wancy pools. She and I began with a celebratory cocktail on her balcony with an expansive view of lush greenery (Who knew? In Texas?) and started gabbing. We left to go listen to some of Austin's live music at a local joint in Steiner Ranch, then stopped by one of her friend's homes for a nightcap. One gin and tonic and three bottles of champagne later, we staggered back to hers and tucked ourselves in. We'll start again tomorrow.
The next day was a bit of a slow start. Although the kids were up early and off to school, my friend wasn't able to peel herself off the sofa to go for a morning walk around the neighborhood. I left her to nurse her hangover and went exploring on my own. At 9.30 a.m. the temps were already climbing, but still pretty comfortable for a power walk. When I returned, she was feeling much better so we went for a drive and landed at an exceptional lunch spot, The Oasis, which overlooks Lake Travis.
From there she showed me Mt Bonnell, where we hoisted our very full bellies up a long fairly steep set of steps to see the views of Lake Austin. And there, in the distance, I saw downtown Austin. "We'll get there," she promised. Heck, it's only day two. I'm not worried. Although I did take a picture, just in case.
After our excursion, we went home to prepare for a night out with the girls, live music at the Steakhouse in Steiner Ranch. It was a lovely setting with the sun set in the background, good music and her friends were great fun. Being around all these gorgeous, thin, wonderfully dressed mommies was beginning to give my self-confidence a workout, but I just pushed on and tried not to fret. My friend kept assuring me there were women of all sizes and shapes, but I only saw fit stunning women everywhere we went.
Day three's schedule was to include renting wave runners on Lake Travis, Bunko with the girls and then on downtown for nightlife. Uh oh. Bunko? I'm starting to get concerned now. I know what happens at Bunko and I'm not seeing a trip downtown afterward being too likely. However, I don't want my friend to completely cater to me and give up her entire life just because I'm visiting. She already re-scheduled her kids' school pickups, had friends and family help out with watching them so we could go play, and she had been paying for everything. I offered to go downtown one day on my own so she wouldn't be inconvenienced. She insisted she really wanted to go downtown since she doesn't get to very often. In the end, she decided to skip Bunko altogether. I'm sure her friends were disappointed.
Our night out downtown was fun and included the typical night out activities of music, drinking, dancing, a lot of laughs and 2 a.m. pizza in the cab ride home. I was woken by two little children jumping on my bed giggling and playing. Who can be crabby with that going on? After hauling them off to there perspective schools, we 'napped' for a couple more hours before packing up and heading out. We returned downtown for lunch, a tour of Zilker Park, and a walk around town before my very long flight home (flight delays and layovers turned a seven hour trip into ten hours. Better coming home than going!)
So what do I think of Austin? Well, the homes are big, the cars are big, it's pretty sprawled out, the tempuratures are hot and the women are beautiful, but other than that, it's not really Texas.
It is actually quite beautiful, the people were very friendly. Unlike Seattle where getting a greeting from a passerby can prove challenging, total strangers wave to each other in Austin. I'm sure I could live there happily enough if I had a job. Frankly, if I had a decent job, I think I could live anywhere happily enough at this point.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Neighbor Noise- New Neighbor/New Noise
After a pipe burst in the apartment above me last March, causing water damage to eight units (including my own), the noisy sex couple moved out of their fourth floor "penthouse." I hadn't realized this until I went upstairs to inform all my neighbors about the cat burglar incident and advise them to keep sliders and windows locked.
A man I'd never seen before opened the door, big guy, very friendly, said he just moved in a couple weeks prior. As it turns out, dude snores like a freight train. Which is worse, the noise of something as personal as people having sex, or the constant drone of very loud snoring? At least the sex would end at some point. The snoring continues on all night. The man said "we just moved in" and I'm wondering if he really meant "we". Is there another person living with him? If so, how is she/he getting any sleep? If he's keeping me awake an entire floor below, how can someone right next to him be getting any rest? And I'm only assuming that it's he that is doing the snoring. It is possible that his partner is the culprit.
I've tried earplugs, eye mask, and chamomile tea to calm my nerves and lull me into the most relaxed state before bedtime. But all I can hear is that nasty nasal noise.
One of my favorite and most memorable books from high school is "My Petition For More Space" by John Hersey. In the book the main character, living in an 8 x 12 foot dorm, is standing in a long line to petition for a bit more space. Here I am living in a very spacious one bedroom apartment, all to myself, with a fabulous view, a large balcony, and plenty of comforts and I feel 'crowded' by my neighbors' most intimate sounds. The sounds of sex, sleep, toilet flushing, shower water running just seem like sounds we shouldn't be sharing with total strangers. However, that is apartment dwelling.
Would it be rude for me to anonymously place a box of "Breathe Right" nasal strips outside my neighbor's door? Should I just knock on the door and explain that since he is new to the building, and on the top floor, he is probably unaware that noise travels downward (hint hint) and let him know I can hear everything? Or do I just buck up and buy more effective earplugs?
A man I'd never seen before opened the door, big guy, very friendly, said he just moved in a couple weeks prior. As it turns out, dude snores like a freight train. Which is worse, the noise of something as personal as people having sex, or the constant drone of very loud snoring? At least the sex would end at some point. The snoring continues on all night. The man said "we just moved in" and I'm wondering if he really meant "we". Is there another person living with him? If so, how is she/he getting any sleep? If he's keeping me awake an entire floor below, how can someone right next to him be getting any rest? And I'm only assuming that it's he that is doing the snoring. It is possible that his partner is the culprit.
I've tried earplugs, eye mask, and chamomile tea to calm my nerves and lull me into the most relaxed state before bedtime. But all I can hear is that nasty nasal noise.
One of my favorite and most memorable books from high school is "My Petition For More Space" by John Hersey. In the book the main character, living in an 8 x 12 foot dorm, is standing in a long line to petition for a bit more space. Here I am living in a very spacious one bedroom apartment, all to myself, with a fabulous view, a large balcony, and plenty of comforts and I feel 'crowded' by my neighbors' most intimate sounds. The sounds of sex, sleep, toilet flushing, shower water running just seem like sounds we shouldn't be sharing with total strangers. However, that is apartment dwelling.
Would it be rude for me to anonymously place a box of "Breathe Right" nasal strips outside my neighbor's door? Should I just knock on the door and explain that since he is new to the building, and on the top floor, he is probably unaware that noise travels downward (hint hint) and let him know I can hear everything? Or do I just buck up and buy more effective earplugs?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Marketing to Women 101
Frock sales at the old Bridal Barn have slowed down considerably. We're in that season in between seasons. The majority of the brides getting married this summer or fall have already purchased their gowns and those with 2010 dates aren't quite ready to buy. We are working on the "pebbles and sand" sales as my boss likes to call them. You know, those little sales that are suppose to add up, i.e. veils, slips, shoes, bustiers and tiaras. Tiaras. Now there's a purchase every girl needs to make. Matter of a fact, we should bring the tiara back and just wear them around town with our street clothes. Wouldn't that make us all feel like princesses? Personally, I think my head was made for a tiara. Ask any of my five brothers and I'm sure they would agree.
In an effort to boost sales for the meager number of brides-to-be that do walk through our doors, I thought I'd do some research on what makes people, i.e. women, buy.
My boss advised me to always ask three personal questions about themselves. I do!
1. What kind of work do you do? (Gives me ideas about my own possible career change and network in the process.)
2. Where did you meet your fiance? (Gives me some ideas about where to meet men in this town!)
3. Where are you going on your honeymoon? (Also, gives me some ideas about where to plan my next vacation when I find myself, yet again, between jobs and needing to "get away from it all.")
During my internet search on marketing to women I found dozens of books available on the subject, but none that would just give me the answers I was looking for with a few clicks of my fingers. I'd have to actually march down to the book store and peruse the aisles and do the research. I just really don't have that kind of time. I keep searching.
I find out realtors use tricks like the smell of home baked cookies, a coat of fresh paint, and bouquets of flowers to make a home feel warm and cozy and a potential buyer eager to make an offer. The scent most appealing to men is, apparently, vanilla, so you'll find a hint of vanilla fragrance in many perfumes and lotions on the market today.
I learn some of the most marketable gifts for Valentine's Day are champagne, chocolate and flowers. Unfortunately, we don't have a liquor license down at the Frock Shop, but the other two are options. So last Saturday on my way to work, I picked up a bouquet of soft pink tulips (there is some positive mumbo jumbo with the color pink, but I can't remember now what it is) and chocolates (dark chocolate - it's a health food nowadays) placed in a pretty candy dish my mother left me.
What was the outcome? Well, within my last four days at work I sold one wedding gown, one pair of shoes, the flowers are now wilted and the chocolates are gone.
I read somewhere that techniques such as building trust and rapport, telling personal, yet positive stories, and creating a connection might also work. Sure, they'll work. Over a glass of champagne.
In an effort to boost sales for the meager number of brides-to-be that do walk through our doors, I thought I'd do some research on what makes people, i.e. women, buy.
My boss advised me to always ask three personal questions about themselves. I do!
1. What kind of work do you do? (Gives me ideas about my own possible career change and network in the process.)
2. Where did you meet your fiance? (Gives me some ideas about where to meet men in this town!)
3. Where are you going on your honeymoon? (Also, gives me some ideas about where to plan my next vacation when I find myself, yet again, between jobs and needing to "get away from it all.")
During my internet search on marketing to women I found dozens of books available on the subject, but none that would just give me the answers I was looking for with a few clicks of my fingers. I'd have to actually march down to the book store and peruse the aisles and do the research. I just really don't have that kind of time. I keep searching.
I find out realtors use tricks like the smell of home baked cookies, a coat of fresh paint, and bouquets of flowers to make a home feel warm and cozy and a potential buyer eager to make an offer. The scent most appealing to men is, apparently, vanilla, so you'll find a hint of vanilla fragrance in many perfumes and lotions on the market today.
I learn some of the most marketable gifts for Valentine's Day are champagne, chocolate and flowers. Unfortunately, we don't have a liquor license down at the Frock Shop, but the other two are options. So last Saturday on my way to work, I picked up a bouquet of soft pink tulips (there is some positive mumbo jumbo with the color pink, but I can't remember now what it is) and chocolates (dark chocolate - it's a health food nowadays) placed in a pretty candy dish my mother left me.
What was the outcome? Well, within my last four days at work I sold one wedding gown, one pair of shoes, the flowers are now wilted and the chocolates are gone.
I read somewhere that techniques such as building trust and rapport, telling personal, yet positive stories, and creating a connection might also work. Sure, they'll work. Over a glass of champagne.
Monday, April 20, 2009
And Justice Prevails
My neighborhood Cat Burglar was nabbed this past weekend and that just warms my heart. Apparently, Mr. CB, barely missing a beat after my confrontation with him, continued his life of crime just blocks away. After two failed attempts, he was picked up and arrested by police on Saturday.
I received a call from the police on Sunday, letting me know they thought they'd captured my guy. On Monday, two detectives came to my office to show me a serious of pictures and take my statement.
I was a little concerned about picking this guy out of a lineup. I didn't really get a very good look at his face. He kept his back to me and his head down. In the past, I've always said I'd be crap at picking a guy out of a lineup. I never even seem to be able to recognize famous people, whether they are local celebrities, politicians or Hollywood starlets. I went to the Sundance Film Festival one year and my friends had to keep pointing out the movie stars. If I did see someone who appeared "Hollywoodesque", I'd ask "is that someone?"
So I wasn't real confident that my identification abilities would do much good. Unless they had a good shot of his hairdo, I'd be screwed.
Also, I didn't figure they'd have five guys who look totally different, i.e. a redhead, a blond, a bearded fella, a 400lb dude and my CB, making is easy for me to choose. As I suspected, the detectives showed up with six photos of clean shaven, dark haired fellas. However, only two had that thick, dark, curly hair and luckily one of those two had the jawline of the guy I had pinned to my front door. I actually picked the right guy! How excited was I when the officers told me that was, in fact, Mr. Cat Burglar.
As I suspected, my laptop is probably long gone. Having been swapped for some quick cash, it has probably changed hands twenty times by now. Minor detail, really. Justice prevails and Mr. CB will spend some time in the "big house" and in some wee way, I feel like I helped put him there.
I received a call from the police on Sunday, letting me know they thought they'd captured my guy. On Monday, two detectives came to my office to show me a serious of pictures and take my statement.
I was a little concerned about picking this guy out of a lineup. I didn't really get a very good look at his face. He kept his back to me and his head down. In the past, I've always said I'd be crap at picking a guy out of a lineup. I never even seem to be able to recognize famous people, whether they are local celebrities, politicians or Hollywood starlets. I went to the Sundance Film Festival one year and my friends had to keep pointing out the movie stars. If I did see someone who appeared "Hollywoodesque", I'd ask "is that someone?"
So I wasn't real confident that my identification abilities would do much good. Unless they had a good shot of his hairdo, I'd be screwed.
Also, I didn't figure they'd have five guys who look totally different, i.e. a redhead, a blond, a bearded fella, a 400lb dude and my CB, making is easy for me to choose. As I suspected, the detectives showed up with six photos of clean shaven, dark haired fellas. However, only two had that thick, dark, curly hair and luckily one of those two had the jawline of the guy I had pinned to my front door. I actually picked the right guy! How excited was I when the officers told me that was, in fact, Mr. Cat Burglar.
As I suspected, my laptop is probably long gone. Having been swapped for some quick cash, it has probably changed hands twenty times by now. Minor detail, really. Justice prevails and Mr. CB will spend some time in the "big house" and in some wee way, I feel like I helped put him there.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sleepless In Seattle
Three years ago, when I found my Seattle apartment, I was so excited because I had a great view of the Space Needle and downtown, and even a bit of the sound from my balcony. It's on the third floor, which is actually four stories up since my building starts with 'G', rather than 1. As a single woman living alone, I was specifically seeking something off the ground floor. Something that felt safe and secure.
My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.
However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.
Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.
He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.
Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.
Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.
Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.
"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.
"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.
Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.
There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.
My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.
However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.
Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.
He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.
Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.
Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.
Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.
"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.
"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.
Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.
There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Text Me When You've Googled Him
Upon scrutiny of my last T-Mobile bill, I decided it might serve me to step into the 21st century and pay for the text message service. I was resisting previously because I didn't want to add any more money to my bill. I had 1000 calling minutes with free nights and weekends for $39.99 (make that $49.99 with tax, fees, tips, excess unknown charges etc.). Still, fifty bones I was willing to pay. But when my last bill came in at nearly $70 I sat down to take a closer look.
Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.
Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.
I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.
Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."
"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.
Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.
Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.
I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.
Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."
"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.
Monday, March 30, 2009
A Holly Jolly Workplace
Although the pay at the 'Bridal Barn' is less than ideal, there are some positives about the job. I'm able to work autonomously with my clients. I take my bride into a private and rather elaborate dressing room fully stocked with bustiers, slips, mirrors all around, veils, shoes, sashes and bows, and extra chairs for their entourage, i.e. mom, future mother-in-law, sisters, best friends and bridesmaids (not always one in the same). In there, she is able to sample bridal frocks to her heart's content, or at least up to two hours, the standard appointment time. We have a fabulous runway for the brides-to-be to strut their stuff and get an even better view of their favorite gowns. It's a professional environment without the 'corporate' feel.
She is my client, my bride. I can chat, joke and build rapport while I get to know her tastes and needs. No one is breathing down my neck or listening to my favorite lines which I tend to use over and over. "That silhouette is soooo flattering on you." "You have the perfect bridal dress figure. Everything looks great on you" (a real crowd pleaser). Or the ever popular response to brides droning on about how much weight they plan to lose before the big day, "oh now, that's no way to live. You look fabulous and your guy loves you just how you are. You want to be able to relax and enjoy your day, which includes eating and drinking champagne!" Everyone loves to hear that nonsense regardless of size.
But the best thing about the job is what a 'happy' place it is. Even now in these times of economic strife when all anyone can think of are their purse strings and the media reminding us daily of the doom and gloom of the world, our clients come in excited and happy to spend a grand or two...or three...on a silk white gown they'll wear once. It's amazing really. Many groups will bring champagne and make a real event of the bridal dress shopping experience.
Sometimes the happy factor can be a little tough even for this perpetually optimistic soul. Remember Cameron Diaz' character in "My Best Friend's Wedding" and all the squealing and carrying on she did throughout the movie? Well, she was my bride a few weeks ago. Even enclosed in our private dressing room, the consultants could hear her squeals of delight throughout the store. Once she found her dream dress (a Sally Crew Satin Ball Gown for $2200) she was so thrilled gazing at her view from the runway, even her friends warned me that she would do a cartwheel if she could. No doubt. I was actually getting ready to duck.
Yet another more subdued, but equally as excited bride expressed her gratitude for helping her find her special gown (another Sally Crew for $1900) by offering me a $20 tip. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to accept tips. But hell yeah, I took it and gave her a hug!
In any case, I have to admit that I don't dread going to work, the clients are happy, excited and generally eager to buy. I usually leave pretty beat, however. All that smiling, lifting heavy dresses and running for eight hours, and pretending to be sincerely interested in the details of an overpriced event is truly quite exhausting.
She is my client, my bride. I can chat, joke and build rapport while I get to know her tastes and needs. No one is breathing down my neck or listening to my favorite lines which I tend to use over and over. "That silhouette is soooo flattering on you." "You have the perfect bridal dress figure. Everything looks great on you" (a real crowd pleaser). Or the ever popular response to brides droning on about how much weight they plan to lose before the big day, "oh now, that's no way to live. You look fabulous and your guy loves you just how you are. You want to be able to relax and enjoy your day, which includes eating and drinking champagne!" Everyone loves to hear that nonsense regardless of size.
But the best thing about the job is what a 'happy' place it is. Even now in these times of economic strife when all anyone can think of are their purse strings and the media reminding us daily of the doom and gloom of the world, our clients come in excited and happy to spend a grand or two...or three...on a silk white gown they'll wear once. It's amazing really. Many groups will bring champagne and make a real event of the bridal dress shopping experience.
Sometimes the happy factor can be a little tough even for this perpetually optimistic soul. Remember Cameron Diaz' character in "My Best Friend's Wedding" and all the squealing and carrying on she did throughout the movie? Well, she was my bride a few weeks ago. Even enclosed in our private dressing room, the consultants could hear her squeals of delight throughout the store. Once she found her dream dress (a Sally Crew Satin Ball Gown for $2200) she was so thrilled gazing at her view from the runway, even her friends warned me that she would do a cartwheel if she could. No doubt. I was actually getting ready to duck.
Yet another more subdued, but equally as excited bride expressed her gratitude for helping her find her special gown (another Sally Crew for $1900) by offering me a $20 tip. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to accept tips. But hell yeah, I took it and gave her a hug!
In any case, I have to admit that I don't dread going to work, the clients are happy, excited and generally eager to buy. I usually leave pretty beat, however. All that smiling, lifting heavy dresses and running for eight hours, and pretending to be sincerely interested in the details of an overpriced event is truly quite exhausting.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Who Knew?
Who would have thought I'd be any good at this whole bridal sales thing? Certainly not me. I've never pegged myself as a 'saleswoman.' As a matter of fact, I've purposely avoided sales-type jobs as much as possible. Years ago, in my naive youth, I made a feeble attempt at home makeup sales. No, not Mary Kay, but their competitor, "Beauty Control." I purchased the starter kit for several hundred dollars, booked home parties with all of my friends and co-workers and at most I'd come home with a few lipstick sales. I sucked at it. My dream of becoming a Senior Sales Consultant earning six figures was quickly squelched. Furthermore, much to my husband's chagrin, I was stuck with an expensive inventory of makeup. I spent the next few years trying to recoup the money I laid out, at least a portion of it.
While in Europe working for the tour operator companies, part of my job was selling excursions i.e. island tours, boat trips, Greek and Turkish Nights, pub crawls and tours to ruins. My success rate was a bit better than the makeup sales, but still not what I'd call dynamic. Luckily, it was only a small portion of my job description and I excelled in the other areas so my bosses loved me anyway. Phew.
So based on my past, I've always known that a career in sales was not my destiny. I had considered real estate sales when I first returned to Seattle, however, being realistic about my strong suits, I decided to opt out of that career choice. What made me go into wedding gown sales? Rent. I had to pay my rent and with limited jobs available in this town, as well as others, I had to take what was offered to me. I'd considered a career as a barista, but even that seems to require a Ph.D. in coffee these days.
As luck would have it, I seem to be doing okay with this bridal biz. A couple more gowns to sell and I will have reached my monthly goal. I wasn't even trying. As a matter of fact, when I saw what my monthly goal was I just scoffed at it. How was a brand new consultant who barely knows the difference between a Mermaid and a Trumpet style or can't judge a Taffeta from a Tissue Taffeta by touch suppose to reach that kind of goal? Honestly, I just didn't take it too seriously. Instead, I simply chummed up to my customers and tried to make them feel like I cared about them and their stupid wedding. Apparently, that's the ticket. Who knew?
While in Europe working for the tour operator companies, part of my job was selling excursions i.e. island tours, boat trips, Greek and Turkish Nights, pub crawls and tours to ruins. My success rate was a bit better than the makeup sales, but still not what I'd call dynamic. Luckily, it was only a small portion of my job description and I excelled in the other areas so my bosses loved me anyway. Phew.
So based on my past, I've always known that a career in sales was not my destiny. I had considered real estate sales when I first returned to Seattle, however, being realistic about my strong suits, I decided to opt out of that career choice. What made me go into wedding gown sales? Rent. I had to pay my rent and with limited jobs available in this town, as well as others, I had to take what was offered to me. I'd considered a career as a barista, but even that seems to require a Ph.D. in coffee these days.
As luck would have it, I seem to be doing okay with this bridal biz. A couple more gowns to sell and I will have reached my monthly goal. I wasn't even trying. As a matter of fact, when I saw what my monthly goal was I just scoffed at it. How was a brand new consultant who barely knows the difference between a Mermaid and a Trumpet style or can't judge a Taffeta from a Tissue Taffeta by touch suppose to reach that kind of goal? Honestly, I just didn't take it too seriously. Instead, I simply chummed up to my customers and tried to make them feel like I cared about them and their stupid wedding. Apparently, that's the ticket. Who knew?
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Serious Business of Bridezilla Wear
Lots to learn in the bridal industry I’m finding out. It’s not just selling a fancy dress to the Princess Bride as I’d expected. From the first day when my manager sent me home with three bridal magazines to ‘study’, along with books “The Law of Attraction” and “Jeffrey Gitomer’s Little Red Book of Selling”, I knew she was a bit more serious about this stuff than I’d ever be. Okay, fine, I’ll play along. Besides, as everything in my life, it’s only temporary. It’s also an opportunity to learn something different and experience something new.
The first day of work found me engulfed in a sea of white. Every dress looked the same to me; big, fluffy, lacey, flouncy and white. Lots of white. Later I learned they were not all white. They were varying shades of white, diamond white, ivory, natural, dark ivory. Learning the fabrics is even more complicated. Satin, silk satin, silk/poly blend satin, Japanese satin, Indian silk, taffeta, silk satin taffeta, Duchess, silk crepe, silk organza, silk voile is just a start in my very long lesson on fabrics. My mentor lost me after the satin. I was frantically trying to take notes, but when I went back to review it was all just a bundle of words that really made no sense at all.
Next are the silhouettes: sheathe, mermaid, trumpet, A-line, ballroom. Sounds easy enough until you’re caught putting a trumpet in with the A-lines. The difference is very subtle when on a wooden hanger- believe me!
Alencon lace, French lace, Chantilly lace – wait, isn’t that a song?
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn,” my mentors assure me. Oh really? I’m not so sure. This is a temp job, after all. Technically it’s an 8 week gig. The learning curve for a non-fashionista like me could be a lot longer. Just when I think I’m starting to distinguish a Pronovias gown from a Paloma Blanca gown, I’m stood corrected.
After a week studying my books, taking copious notes, pouring through racks upon racks of the fluff, I start to become more familiar with the inventory. Knowing the inventory is key for a successful sales consultant. Clearly. Then walk in a gaggle of bridesmaids and I’m the only one available to assist. Crap. Bridesmaids’ dresses are a whole other ball game. They come in a lot more colors, shapes and styles. And so do the bridesmaids. One wedding party will contain a variety of heights, shapes, body issues to hide, body issues to augment, and ONE bride to please. After spending an hour with a group of girls trying to decide upon the chocolate brown or the truffle for their dresses, I learn by going on the designer’s website that neither color is still available in the particular style of their choice. Our in-store color swatch book is out of date. ARGH. The whole process of buying a wedding gown and the accompanied bridesmaids’ dresses is about like buying a car. Actually, I think people put less time and effort into buying their car. This job requires a good deal of acting as well. While my face is smiling and saying “this is the perfect gown for your lovely figure,” my cynical old mind is saying “chances are you won’t even be married to this guy in five years, so save your dough or spend your money on something you can really use, like a nice vacation.”
The first day of work found me engulfed in a sea of white. Every dress looked the same to me; big, fluffy, lacey, flouncy and white. Lots of white. Later I learned they were not all white. They were varying shades of white, diamond white, ivory, natural, dark ivory. Learning the fabrics is even more complicated. Satin, silk satin, silk/poly blend satin, Japanese satin, Indian silk, taffeta, silk satin taffeta, Duchess, silk crepe, silk organza, silk voile is just a start in my very long lesson on fabrics. My mentor lost me after the satin. I was frantically trying to take notes, but when I went back to review it was all just a bundle of words that really made no sense at all.
Next are the silhouettes: sheathe, mermaid, trumpet, A-line, ballroom. Sounds easy enough until you’re caught putting a trumpet in with the A-lines. The difference is very subtle when on a wooden hanger- believe me!
Alencon lace, French lace, Chantilly lace – wait, isn’t that a song?
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn,” my mentors assure me. Oh really? I’m not so sure. This is a temp job, after all. Technically it’s an 8 week gig. The learning curve for a non-fashionista like me could be a lot longer. Just when I think I’m starting to distinguish a Pronovias gown from a Paloma Blanca gown, I’m stood corrected.
After a week studying my books, taking copious notes, pouring through racks upon racks of the fluff, I start to become more familiar with the inventory. Knowing the inventory is key for a successful sales consultant. Clearly. Then walk in a gaggle of bridesmaids and I’m the only one available to assist. Crap. Bridesmaids’ dresses are a whole other ball game. They come in a lot more colors, shapes and styles. And so do the bridesmaids. One wedding party will contain a variety of heights, shapes, body issues to hide, body issues to augment, and ONE bride to please. After spending an hour with a group of girls trying to decide upon the chocolate brown or the truffle for their dresses, I learn by going on the designer’s website that neither color is still available in the particular style of their choice. Our in-store color swatch book is out of date. ARGH. The whole process of buying a wedding gown and the accompanied bridesmaids’ dresses is about like buying a car. Actually, I think people put less time and effort into buying their car. This job requires a good deal of acting as well. While my face is smiling and saying “this is the perfect gown for your lovely figure,” my cynical old mind is saying “chances are you won’t even be married to this guy in five years, so save your dough or spend your money on something you can really use, like a nice vacation.”
Sunday, February 1, 2009
New Job New Shoes
I accepted a part-time sales position at the bridal shop. Hey, they called me back almost two months later practically begging. How could I say ‘no’? Okay, really how could I say ‘no’ when rent is due and with thousands of layoffs in the area and virtually no decent jobs available at the moment work needs to be had? I’ve had far more greenbacks outgoing than incoming these past few months, so when I said I’d do most anything, I really did mean anything. I’m sure there are worse things I could be doing. I’m sure I’ve done them already.
Besides, this is just a temporary bandaid to rescue me from my current lack of funds dilemma. I’ve been applying for jobs- “real” jobs - all over the country, as well as outside the country. One job in particular, I think I’m quite interested in. I’m in stage two of the hiring process. The stage where they’ve reviewed my resume and have now asked me to submit some ‘homework’ assignments. I did that and now I wait.
I say I think I am interested in this position because accepting a job is similar to buying a pair of shoes. You see them sitting prettily in the shop window looking very stunning and appealing (that would be the job posting), you inquire about the designer, the materials, and cost (read the job description), you picture yourself wearing the shoes (you envision yourself actually doing the job). You decide ‘yes, these shoes I’d like to try on’ (you apply for the job). You then walk around the store in the shoes, trying them on carpet, on the hardwood floor, determining if you really want them, thinking about outfits and occasions you would wear them with(you go to the job interview and find out as much as you can all the while selling yourself). You take the shoes (accept the job offer) excited about your new purchase. But until you actually wear the shoes for a full day, in your practical everyday walk-a-day life, running for buses and traipsing through the rain, you really can’t tell if the shoes are the right fit.
I have dozens of shoes that haven’t worked out. They are ‘date’ shoes. Shoes I can only wear if a date picks me up from my front door, carries me to the car and drops me off in front of the restaurant while he parks. Minimal, if any, actually walking involved. I rarely wear these shoes. I also have dozens of jobs that haven’t quite worked out. My well-rounded talents and diverse interests are glowing on my lengthy resume, however. I’ve had to start bundling jobs to keep it under ten pages.
I’ve applied to jobs in Chicago, Honolulu, D.C., San Diego for example. My mind begins to race. What if I actually get a job in one of these places? Will I like living there? Do I want to live there? Suddenly my love/hate relationship with Seattle leans more on the love side of the meter. I’ll miss the mountains, the sound, the islands, my great friends, plentiful arts and music scene, restaurants and happy hours. What about my terrific low rent apartment with the spacious balcony and incredible view?
Wait. Am I seriously considering my idiotic apartment in all this? I’ve lost my mind. Anyway, I’m still trying on jobs and haven’t even gotten to the point of having to make a decision. I’m sure if and when I do, it’ll be the right decision. Besides, as my dear brother has previously pointed out, like the shoes I can return to the store, I can always return to Seattle.
Besides, this is just a temporary bandaid to rescue me from my current lack of funds dilemma. I’ve been applying for jobs- “real” jobs - all over the country, as well as outside the country. One job in particular, I think I’m quite interested in. I’m in stage two of the hiring process. The stage where they’ve reviewed my resume and have now asked me to submit some ‘homework’ assignments. I did that and now I wait.
I say I think I am interested in this position because accepting a job is similar to buying a pair of shoes. You see them sitting prettily in the shop window looking very stunning and appealing (that would be the job posting), you inquire about the designer, the materials, and cost (read the job description), you picture yourself wearing the shoes (you envision yourself actually doing the job). You decide ‘yes, these shoes I’d like to try on’ (you apply for the job). You then walk around the store in the shoes, trying them on carpet, on the hardwood floor, determining if you really want them, thinking about outfits and occasions you would wear them with(you go to the job interview and find out as much as you can all the while selling yourself). You take the shoes (accept the job offer) excited about your new purchase. But until you actually wear the shoes for a full day, in your practical everyday walk-a-day life, running for buses and traipsing through the rain, you really can’t tell if the shoes are the right fit.
I have dozens of shoes that haven’t worked out. They are ‘date’ shoes. Shoes I can only wear if a date picks me up from my front door, carries me to the car and drops me off in front of the restaurant while he parks. Minimal, if any, actually walking involved. I rarely wear these shoes. I also have dozens of jobs that haven’t quite worked out. My well-rounded talents and diverse interests are glowing on my lengthy resume, however. I’ve had to start bundling jobs to keep it under ten pages.
I’ve applied to jobs in Chicago, Honolulu, D.C., San Diego for example. My mind begins to race. What if I actually get a job in one of these places? Will I like living there? Do I want to live there? Suddenly my love/hate relationship with Seattle leans more on the love side of the meter. I’ll miss the mountains, the sound, the islands, my great friends, plentiful arts and music scene, restaurants and happy hours. What about my terrific low rent apartment with the spacious balcony and incredible view?
Wait. Am I seriously considering my idiotic apartment in all this? I’ve lost my mind. Anyway, I’m still trying on jobs and haven’t even gotten to the point of having to make a decision. I’m sure if and when I do, it’ll be the right decision. Besides, as my dear brother has previously pointed out, like the shoes I can return to the store, I can always return to Seattle.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Looking for Work IS Work
My luck seems to have run out. Over the last three years since my return to Seattle, I've found it quite easy to find work. Most of it was temporary work, but that's all I was looking for. Not sure of what I wanted to do outside of travel, play and write, temporary gigs were ideal for my lifestyle. With one foot out the proverbial Seattle door, a temp job was preferred over anything too committal.
In the past three years I've been an ESL teacher, a janitor, a receptionist at a theater supply store, a law firm and a seafood company called Ocean Beauty Seafoods (I kept answering the phones "good afternoon, Ocean Booty" and they offered me full time work anyway!), an administrative assistant in the City of Seattle's Engineering Records Center, a Seattle Art Museum librarian assistant and education department admin assistant, a pet nanny and dog walker, and I did market research for WhitePages.com. I was head of programming and development at a non-profit international education organization, catered an event at an art gallery, was a mystery shopper and drove a woman's car from Denver to Seattle.
The jobs over the last three years have been as diverse as my interests in life. Intriguing and entertaining. Unfortunately, the opportunities seem to have come to a screeching halt. No longer are friends or friends of friends tracking me down with the random odd job. Those days seem to be over for this "professional service provider." sigh.
I knew it would all have to come to an end eventually. I was just hoping I could hang on to the multiple thin income strings (or threads rather) a bit longer. With thousands of out of work talent hitting the streets with every layoff announcement, the competition for these and other crap jobs is fierce.
So, as Dr. Phil says, "if you're out of a job, then that's your job!" Oh, the reality of it all. I've been hitting it hard and letting up is not an option. Keeping the momentum up along with the optimism is a full-time job!
In the past three years I've been an ESL teacher, a janitor, a receptionist at a theater supply store, a law firm and a seafood company called Ocean Beauty Seafoods (I kept answering the phones "good afternoon, Ocean Booty" and they offered me full time work anyway!), an administrative assistant in the City of Seattle's Engineering Records Center, a Seattle Art Museum librarian assistant and education department admin assistant, a pet nanny and dog walker, and I did market research for WhitePages.com. I was head of programming and development at a non-profit international education organization, catered an event at an art gallery, was a mystery shopper and drove a woman's car from Denver to Seattle.
The jobs over the last three years have been as diverse as my interests in life. Intriguing and entertaining. Unfortunately, the opportunities seem to have come to a screeching halt. No longer are friends or friends of friends tracking me down with the random odd job. Those days seem to be over for this "professional service provider." sigh.
I knew it would all have to come to an end eventually. I was just hoping I could hang on to the multiple thin income strings (or threads rather) a bit longer. With thousands of out of work talent hitting the streets with every layoff announcement, the competition for these and other crap jobs is fierce.
So, as Dr. Phil says, "if you're out of a job, then that's your job!" Oh, the reality of it all. I've been hitting it hard and letting up is not an option. Keeping the momentum up along with the optimism is a full-time job!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Enough with the Tipping
Webster's Definition:
Tip: vb - to give a gratuity to. n- a gift or sum of money tendered for a service performed or anticipated; gratuity.
At what point did tipping transition from it's original intent of an extra amount in appreciation for good service to an obligation, an expected and entitled amount?
Tipping has gotten out of hand. Rather than giving a small amount of change to show appreciation for outstanding service, it's now an expectation in certain fields. And not only is the tip itself expected, but a certain amount is also expected regardless of the level of service provided. That's where I get irritated. Since when are we tipping people for doing their basic job?
The only job the curbside check in fellow has is to check you in and take your bag and the expected tip (posted on the sign in front of his desk) is $3 per bag. Is he doing anything particularly unique from his basic job duties that should require an added tip? If so, I don't know what that would be.
I have no problem giving a waiter/waitress a fair tip based on the service they provide. I can be a little demanding requesting sauces on the side, lemon but no ice in my water, eggs cooked very well done for example. However, 20% is a bit steep. Add that to your bill and a reasonably priced lunch sky rockets into dinner pricing. A friend just informed me that 15% is standard, 18% is above average and 20% is outstanding. Those three amounts are generally listed at the bottom of your bill, too, just to help you out when figuring your payment. Again, I tip according to service, not the price of the bill. In Seattle, the service is usually quite high, so I don't mind tipping accordingly.
Tipping the barista, on the other hand, is minimal if at all. She's making me a latte. There's nothing unique about my latte. I order off the menu. I don't ask for extra foam, or super hot. They don't even put the sleeve on the cup for me. The drink costs $3.56 as it is, I'm not giving an extra dollar because they are doing their job. I know most people do and I'm sure the baristas are spitting in my drink before shoving it over the counter at me.
On my recent trip to Vietnam, there was an exceptional amount of tipping involved. Besides the cost of the trip itself which wasn't necessarily cheap, we were informed that tipping certain providers was expected. The pre-travel information packet laid out who we were to tip and how much was standard. Besides the tour guide, who did his level best to go above and beyond to look after us and make sure our every need was met, we were also expected to tip the bus driver, the bus assistant, the maids, other guides, and anyone else who provided a service.
The bus driver drove us around. He is paid to drive. Is he expected to do anything else? No. Did he do anything else? No. Why are we tipping this person? The suggested tip was $3-4 per person per day. The bus assistant's job was to keep the bus clean inside and out, distribute waters and "cool and refreshing towelettes" to the passengers, assist everyone getting on and off the bus and handle the luggage. The suggested tip for this fellow was $1-2 per day. I had no problem tipping him that amount. I think he pretty much has a crap job and probably is a servant to the bus driver running his errands and getting him coffee. And I can bet his wages are nearly nothing.
There was one tipping incident in particular that left me with a sour taste in my mouth during the trip. My friend and I had a massage at our first hotel. The cost of the massage was $10 for an hour. I told my friend we should probably give an extra dollar for a tip. Based on what we had learned, this seemed adequate. The massage itself was not very satisfactory. The girl sat on my rump while she massaged my back. That alone did not allow me to relax and enjoy the massage. Her movements were quick and the entire massage felt rushed. She slathered baby oil on her hands once before the massage began and never reapplied it again. It felt like a dry massage. The room was stark with no music or candles and you could hear the other employees outside the door chatting and laughing loudly amongst themselves. There was nothing relaxing about the entire experience. At the end of the treatment the girl handed me a receipt book for me to write in my tip amount. I handed her a dollar. She made a face and threw it back at me insisting I give more. I requested to speak with the man at the front desk. I asked him if my dollar was out of line and he assured me that it was absolutely fine and took my money. My friend told me that her girl wouldn't take her dollar, but wasn't asking for more. She simply indicated a tip wasn't necessary. Completely inconsistent.
Here in America the list of professions that we are expected to tip is getting longer by the minute: bellboys, sky cab, taxi drivers, hair stylists, nail and spa services (you tip for a massage, but do you tip your physical therapists? No.), hotel maids, room service, concierge. I was even told that it was good practice to tip the flight attendant- not necessarily with cash, but a gift of chocolates or some other specialty item would be appropriate. Although the thought has crossed my mind, I have never done this. I wonder if the gesture would get me upgraded into a first class seat for free? I'll have to experiment with that in the future.
I would just like to see a day when everyone made a decent enough wage for providing exceptional customer service that it wasn't left up to the customer to contribute further to the provider's income. Ah, in an ideal world.
Tip: vb - to give a gratuity to. n- a gift or sum of money tendered for a service performed or anticipated; gratuity.
At what point did tipping transition from it's original intent of an extra amount in appreciation for good service to an obligation, an expected and entitled amount?
Tipping has gotten out of hand. Rather than giving a small amount of change to show appreciation for outstanding service, it's now an expectation in certain fields. And not only is the tip itself expected, but a certain amount is also expected regardless of the level of service provided. That's where I get irritated. Since when are we tipping people for doing their basic job?
The only job the curbside check in fellow has is to check you in and take your bag and the expected tip (posted on the sign in front of his desk) is $3 per bag. Is he doing anything particularly unique from his basic job duties that should require an added tip? If so, I don't know what that would be.
I have no problem giving a waiter/waitress a fair tip based on the service they provide. I can be a little demanding requesting sauces on the side, lemon but no ice in my water, eggs cooked very well done for example. However, 20% is a bit steep. Add that to your bill and a reasonably priced lunch sky rockets into dinner pricing. A friend just informed me that 15% is standard, 18% is above average and 20% is outstanding. Those three amounts are generally listed at the bottom of your bill, too, just to help you out when figuring your payment. Again, I tip according to service, not the price of the bill. In Seattle, the service is usually quite high, so I don't mind tipping accordingly.
Tipping the barista, on the other hand, is minimal if at all. She's making me a latte. There's nothing unique about my latte. I order off the menu. I don't ask for extra foam, or super hot. They don't even put the sleeve on the cup for me. The drink costs $3.56 as it is, I'm not giving an extra dollar because they are doing their job. I know most people do and I'm sure the baristas are spitting in my drink before shoving it over the counter at me.
On my recent trip to Vietnam, there was an exceptional amount of tipping involved. Besides the cost of the trip itself which wasn't necessarily cheap, we were informed that tipping certain providers was expected. The pre-travel information packet laid out who we were to tip and how much was standard. Besides the tour guide, who did his level best to go above and beyond to look after us and make sure our every need was met, we were also expected to tip the bus driver, the bus assistant, the maids, other guides, and anyone else who provided a service.
The bus driver drove us around. He is paid to drive. Is he expected to do anything else? No. Did he do anything else? No. Why are we tipping this person? The suggested tip was $3-4 per person per day. The bus assistant's job was to keep the bus clean inside and out, distribute waters and "cool and refreshing towelettes" to the passengers, assist everyone getting on and off the bus and handle the luggage. The suggested tip for this fellow was $1-2 per day. I had no problem tipping him that amount. I think he pretty much has a crap job and probably is a servant to the bus driver running his errands and getting him coffee. And I can bet his wages are nearly nothing.
There was one tipping incident in particular that left me with a sour taste in my mouth during the trip. My friend and I had a massage at our first hotel. The cost of the massage was $10 for an hour. I told my friend we should probably give an extra dollar for a tip. Based on what we had learned, this seemed adequate. The massage itself was not very satisfactory. The girl sat on my rump while she massaged my back. That alone did not allow me to relax and enjoy the massage. Her movements were quick and the entire massage felt rushed. She slathered baby oil on her hands once before the massage began and never reapplied it again. It felt like a dry massage. The room was stark with no music or candles and you could hear the other employees outside the door chatting and laughing loudly amongst themselves. There was nothing relaxing about the entire experience. At the end of the treatment the girl handed me a receipt book for me to write in my tip amount. I handed her a dollar. She made a face and threw it back at me insisting I give more. I requested to speak with the man at the front desk. I asked him if my dollar was out of line and he assured me that it was absolutely fine and took my money. My friend told me that her girl wouldn't take her dollar, but wasn't asking for more. She simply indicated a tip wasn't necessary. Completely inconsistent.
Here in America the list of professions that we are expected to tip is getting longer by the minute: bellboys, sky cab, taxi drivers, hair stylists, nail and spa services (you tip for a massage, but do you tip your physical therapists? No.), hotel maids, room service, concierge. I was even told that it was good practice to tip the flight attendant- not necessarily with cash, but a gift of chocolates or some other specialty item would be appropriate. Although the thought has crossed my mind, I have never done this. I wonder if the gesture would get me upgraded into a first class seat for free? I'll have to experiment with that in the future.
I would just like to see a day when everyone made a decent enough wage for providing exceptional customer service that it wasn't left up to the customer to contribute further to the provider's income. Ah, in an ideal world.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Home From My Holidays
Vietnam turned out to be even more than I had imagined. We started our tour in the busy northern city of Hanoi where the streets are bustling with hundreds of motor scooters and the "honk honk beep beep" of traffic coming and going in every which direction. Crossing the street took an act of bravery - or stupidity- and some skillful eye/feet coordination. Although some of our fellow travelers were afraid to make attempts, I found the challenge exhilarating. Tall skinny houses lined the streets of Hanoi where we were told not one, but up to seven families may be living per household. People crowded the sidewalks crouched on small stools eating food prepared right there on small cookers. This, our guide explained, was due to the crowded kitchen inside the house. With seven families sharing one kitchen and one bathroom, it just makes sense to eat on the sidewalk (comparable to our version of an outside BBQ or having a picnic on the porch while we watch passers by).
Throughout our trip we continually were witness to so many contrasts. For example, the people take their shoes off to enter their home, yet at the end of the day, they park their scooters inside the house. Safety reasons. There is a helmet law for drivers, but apparently not for passengers. We'd see a helmeted driver with his entire unhelmeted family of five strategically stacked on the scooter with him. And Christmas decorations adorned every window, hotel, street corner in this mainly Buddhist country. Western dressed woman donned traditional conical hats.
Other highlights of this interesting city included a Cyclo tour of Old Town - another contrast of old vs new transportation, a visit to the Temple of Literature where I rubbed a turtle's head for good luck in my upcoming studies, an entertaining water puppet show, the French Quarter, Museum of Ethnography and some wonderful Vietnamese food.
After a few days in Hanoi, we headed to Ha Long Bay for an overnight trip on a traditional Junk boat. The weather was unseasonably cooler than expected, but we managed to get this far without actual rain. We were four days into the trip by now and I was still wearing the same top I flew over in! I hadn't been able to break out any warm weather garments yet and only took a couple of long sleeved tops because it wasn't suppose to be this cold. I had borrowed my niece's windbreaker for the trip and I was so glad for it.
From the very majestic Ha Long Bay, we headed back to Hanoi for our in-country flight to Hue a little further south. Warmer, but rainy. We visited the Thien Mu Pagoda (Pagoda of the Heavenly Lady) which overlooks the Perfume River, the magnificent Hue Citadel and the Forbidden Purple City which took us back in time. Our guide shared detailed stories of past Kings, Queens and residents and their impact on the history of Vietnam. Although the weather was inclement, this kept the crowds at bay and the rain actually accentuated the peacefulness of the temple and the Hien Lam Pavilion.
From Hue, we headed south to Hoi An, a nearly Venice-like town in Central Vietnam (complete with regular flooding and small boats to haul you around) just south of the famous China Beach and Lang Co Beach. We took some time and stepped out on the beach to dip our toes in the sea. Tired of the cooler weather and rain, we were excited to finally see a bit of sunshine and sandy beach. Upon reaching Hoi An and checking into the resort hotel perched on the river, we were greeted with yet another amazing Vietnamese meal (there were many of these and my rather snug trousers are proof) and then a walking city tour weaving our way through the alleys and narrow passages of this cozy little town. Here we also participated in a Vietnamese cooking class where loads of laughs were had while we learned to make fresh spring rolls, banana flower salad and grilled tuna wrapped in banana leaves.
The rains picked up as we trekked through the ancient My Son ruins of the Champa Kingdom. Again, it wasn't enough to spoil the day's activities. On the way to the ruins we stopped at a local market that isn't used to tourists. This was a highlight for all of us. Our guide walked us through the market explaining all the unusual 'treats' and how they are prepared. My travel buddy and I sampled the juice of a duck egg that had been boiled just three days prior to the duck being born. It tasted like chicken broth. Then we ate the duck fetus. No, not the yolk, the actual baby duck that was scooped out of the shell. Yeah, this from the girl who'd prefer china plates with food separators like a two year old so nothing touches. Later my friend tested Beattlenut. After watching her basically get stoned, I laughed my tush off as her entire mouth turned a bright red. The market ladies had fun at our expense. I'm not sure who was more entertained, them or us.
Our next destination was the beautiful seaside town of Nha Trang where we'd spend a couple of days relaxing on the sunny shores of the China Sea...or just walk along the beach in the rain. By now we were getting a little discouraged by the "unseasonably rainy weather" we were experiencing and our guide was getting nervous. His job was to make us happy. My travel buddy was having her period and was seriously crabby by this point. After spending five hours digging her car out of her snow-filled driveway and driving from Spokane to Seattle to fly out the next day, this was suppose to be her tropical sun-filled holiday. The rain was bothering her much more than me (hard to believe, I know) but I didn't want to agitate her by patronizing her about how it could be so much worse. After lunch she found a bit of alone time to walk on the beach during a brief clearing, meet a local woman cooking lobster and take a "happy pill." She came back refreshed and smiling. We then hopped a scooter taxi and headed up to the beautiful Cham tower still in operation. We decided to walk back to our hotel and no sooner than we headed back, the rains began again. We spent the evening drying out in our hotel room which had an amazing view of the stormy sea, sipping rather poor Vietnamese wine and reading our books. We went to bed dreaming of a sunnier tomorrow. Or at least high clouds.
We were granted high clouds for our boat trip to a local fishing village, a ride in a round basket boat - an actual round boat woven with bamboo used mainly to fish for squid, and finally a relaxing afternoon on a private beach where we were able to swim in the China Sea and enjoy massages and pedicures on the beach....until a sprinkling of rain drove us under the thatched umbrellas. All in all it was a great day even without the sun.
Our hotel hosted a New Years Eve Gala which was basically a flop. The Gala took place on the rooftop off the second floor. Rather than mingling with all the other guests as I had hoped, everyone sat at their perspective dinner tables watching the dancers on stage perform routines to songs from ABBA and "We Are the World." They were trying to promote unity, but everyone just sat and stared at them. The best part of the night was viewing the growing crowd of locals gathering on the street below. Thousands of people jammed the streets outside the hotel and stood staring up at us-staring back down at them. Everyone watching and waiting for something to happen. Nothing ever did. Prior to the countdown balloons and confetti were released from the top floor windows, but the wind had picked up substantially and rather than fall downward, they were scooped up over the top of the building and carried who knows where. There was a giant disco ball, but it never got lifted and dropped at the appropriate time. I'm not sure it got lifted and dropped at all. After midnight, they announced all night dancing in the lobby. We all shuffled down there for some dancing, but the music wasn't set up yet. We waited around til almost 1.00 when we decided to call it a night. Happy @#$ing New Year.
After Nha Trang, we headed into the mountains to the city of Dalat. Unfortunately, after an hour of driving we learned the mountain pass we were headed to was closed due to flooding (imagine that) and we had to turn back and take another route. Seven hours of bumpy, jiggly, uncomfortable bus ride later, feeling completely beat up, we pulled into the stunning French style village of Dalat. So different than any other town we'd seen at this point. Highlights here included a scenic gondola ride through the lush mountains to visit the Truc Lam Zen Buddhist Pagoda and beautiful gardens, Dalat Cathedral, Xuan Huong Lake, exploring the village and seeing how the locals live, a home hosted dinner, visit to the University of Dalat to talk to local students and a visit to the Lat village to enjoy music and dance performance by the indigenous residents. That was great fun as we laughed and danced along learning their stories and traditions.
Leaving Dalat by plane, we headed to our final destination of Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) for the last three days of our tour. Saigon was the city I had expected it to be. Somewhat more modern than Hanoi, but not much. More busy scooter traffic (my travel buddy and I were seasoned street crossers by now), lots of shops, huge market, coffee shops and beautiful buildings. After some consideration of our finances, we decided to take the optional tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels with the group. It turned out to be well worth the money. We were able to explore the tunnels first hand as a group and even had the opportunity to drop into a trap door and crawl through a portion of the tunnel alone (except for resident bat). This was actually a bit creepy as you put yourself mentally in the shoes of those who lived in these tunnels 40 years ago.
Next day was a visit to My Tho for a boat trip along the Mekong Delta which included a stop off at a local bee farm for some exotic fruit samples; dragon fruit, longan fruit, rambuton, coconut, jackfruit and something that resembled grapefruit, but not really a grapefruit. We visited a family owned coconut candy factory where we saw the very labor intensive handy-work of making different types of coconut candy.
I am still skeptical about the 'tour group' method of travel, but it does come with pros, as well as cons. Our guide was informative and relayed entertaining stories of the history, traditions, superstitions and culture of the various regions of his country. I am certain I wouldn't have been able to cover as much ground and see all the sights we saw in the same amount of time if I had attempted the trip on my own. I'm not sure, however, I'd book a trip with Overseas Adventure Travel (OAT) for the next 30 years. Seems to be an older crowd who frequent these particular tours. My travel buddy and I deemed the acronym Old And Tired people upon meeting our fellow travelers. There were 16 travelers in our group and our youthful 45 years of age brought the median age down to 60 years old. Our guide informed us that ours was the youngest group he had ever hosted.
By the first day we had everyone pegged. The overly optimistic person who clapped her hands and squealed 'yea!' about everything (no this wasn't me!), the professional photographer who got into every local person's face with her rather invasive camera equipment, those who continuously asked every ridiculous question because they either liked to hear themselves talk or just refused to pay attention to our guide. We dubbed these gals as Numbers 1, 2 and 3 so we could gossip about them in code. This kept us equally annoyed and entertained at the same time. At various points throughout the first week or so each woman would shift on the totem pole of Most Annoying depending on what irritating thing they did or said that day. Yes, an awful game to play (we were clearly the young bitches of the group). However, I dare anyone to spend nearly three weeks with 14 total strangers and see if you don't start inventing inappropriate games. I'd never make it on "Survivor." Even if I didn't get voted off right away, I'd volunteer to leave after a few weeks. By week two, Numbers 2 and 3 were growing on us more and more. We were finding them almost delightful. We also really liked their husbands and thought we better make nice with these wives. By the end of the trip #3 was hugging us goodbye and calling us her daughters in her Philadelphia Jewish Lady accent - "dawwters". Just goes to show we need to give people a chance. It was a bit challenging for this introverted extrovert to be corralled with 16 people all day every day. My travel buddy and I managed to get away on our own on a few occasions but not many. It was a full schedule.
Overall it was a good trip and we had a great time and lots of laughs. And more importantly, I'm so glad I got to experience this amazing country - the beautiful rice paddies, colorful markets, children riding water buffalo, and farmers working the fields- before commerce and fierce development step in and turn the unique farm villages and seaside into tourist resorts and the cities become just another Asian hot spot of night clubs, bars, glitz and glitter and overpriced shopping.
Throughout our trip we continually were witness to so many contrasts. For example, the people take their shoes off to enter their home, yet at the end of the day, they park their scooters inside the house. Safety reasons. There is a helmet law for drivers, but apparently not for passengers. We'd see a helmeted driver with his entire unhelmeted family of five strategically stacked on the scooter with him. And Christmas decorations adorned every window, hotel, street corner in this mainly Buddhist country. Western dressed woman donned traditional conical hats.
Other highlights of this interesting city included a Cyclo tour of Old Town - another contrast of old vs new transportation, a visit to the Temple of Literature where I rubbed a turtle's head for good luck in my upcoming studies, an entertaining water puppet show, the French Quarter, Museum of Ethnography and some wonderful Vietnamese food.
After a few days in Hanoi, we headed to Ha Long Bay for an overnight trip on a traditional Junk boat. The weather was unseasonably cooler than expected, but we managed to get this far without actual rain. We were four days into the trip by now and I was still wearing the same top I flew over in! I hadn't been able to break out any warm weather garments yet and only took a couple of long sleeved tops because it wasn't suppose to be this cold. I had borrowed my niece's windbreaker for the trip and I was so glad for it.
From the very majestic Ha Long Bay, we headed back to Hanoi for our in-country flight to Hue a little further south. Warmer, but rainy. We visited the Thien Mu Pagoda (Pagoda of the Heavenly Lady) which overlooks the Perfume River, the magnificent Hue Citadel and the Forbidden Purple City which took us back in time. Our guide shared detailed stories of past Kings, Queens and residents and their impact on the history of Vietnam. Although the weather was inclement, this kept the crowds at bay and the rain actually accentuated the peacefulness of the temple and the Hien Lam Pavilion.
From Hue, we headed south to Hoi An, a nearly Venice-like town in Central Vietnam (complete with regular flooding and small boats to haul you around) just south of the famous China Beach and Lang Co Beach. We took some time and stepped out on the beach to dip our toes in the sea. Tired of the cooler weather and rain, we were excited to finally see a bit of sunshine and sandy beach. Upon reaching Hoi An and checking into the resort hotel perched on the river, we were greeted with yet another amazing Vietnamese meal (there were many of these and my rather snug trousers are proof) and then a walking city tour weaving our way through the alleys and narrow passages of this cozy little town. Here we also participated in a Vietnamese cooking class where loads of laughs were had while we learned to make fresh spring rolls, banana flower salad and grilled tuna wrapped in banana leaves.
The rains picked up as we trekked through the ancient My Son ruins of the Champa Kingdom. Again, it wasn't enough to spoil the day's activities. On the way to the ruins we stopped at a local market that isn't used to tourists. This was a highlight for all of us. Our guide walked us through the market explaining all the unusual 'treats' and how they are prepared. My travel buddy and I sampled the juice of a duck egg that had been boiled just three days prior to the duck being born. It tasted like chicken broth. Then we ate the duck fetus. No, not the yolk, the actual baby duck that was scooped out of the shell. Yeah, this from the girl who'd prefer china plates with food separators like a two year old so nothing touches. Later my friend tested Beattlenut. After watching her basically get stoned, I laughed my tush off as her entire mouth turned a bright red. The market ladies had fun at our expense. I'm not sure who was more entertained, them or us.
Our next destination was the beautiful seaside town of Nha Trang where we'd spend a couple of days relaxing on the sunny shores of the China Sea...or just walk along the beach in the rain. By now we were getting a little discouraged by the "unseasonably rainy weather" we were experiencing and our guide was getting nervous. His job was to make us happy. My travel buddy was having her period and was seriously crabby by this point. After spending five hours digging her car out of her snow-filled driveway and driving from Spokane to Seattle to fly out the next day, this was suppose to be her tropical sun-filled holiday. The rain was bothering her much more than me (hard to believe, I know) but I didn't want to agitate her by patronizing her about how it could be so much worse. After lunch she found a bit of alone time to walk on the beach during a brief clearing, meet a local woman cooking lobster and take a "happy pill." She came back refreshed and smiling. We then hopped a scooter taxi and headed up to the beautiful Cham tower still in operation. We decided to walk back to our hotel and no sooner than we headed back, the rains began again. We spent the evening drying out in our hotel room which had an amazing view of the stormy sea, sipping rather poor Vietnamese wine and reading our books. We went to bed dreaming of a sunnier tomorrow. Or at least high clouds.
We were granted high clouds for our boat trip to a local fishing village, a ride in a round basket boat - an actual round boat woven with bamboo used mainly to fish for squid, and finally a relaxing afternoon on a private beach where we were able to swim in the China Sea and enjoy massages and pedicures on the beach....until a sprinkling of rain drove us under the thatched umbrellas. All in all it was a great day even without the sun.
Our hotel hosted a New Years Eve Gala which was basically a flop. The Gala took place on the rooftop off the second floor. Rather than mingling with all the other guests as I had hoped, everyone sat at their perspective dinner tables watching the dancers on stage perform routines to songs from ABBA and "We Are the World." They were trying to promote unity, but everyone just sat and stared at them. The best part of the night was viewing the growing crowd of locals gathering on the street below. Thousands of people jammed the streets outside the hotel and stood staring up at us-staring back down at them. Everyone watching and waiting for something to happen. Nothing ever did. Prior to the countdown balloons and confetti were released from the top floor windows, but the wind had picked up substantially and rather than fall downward, they were scooped up over the top of the building and carried who knows where. There was a giant disco ball, but it never got lifted and dropped at the appropriate time. I'm not sure it got lifted and dropped at all. After midnight, they announced all night dancing in the lobby. We all shuffled down there for some dancing, but the music wasn't set up yet. We waited around til almost 1.00 when we decided to call it a night. Happy @#$ing New Year.
After Nha Trang, we headed into the mountains to the city of Dalat. Unfortunately, after an hour of driving we learned the mountain pass we were headed to was closed due to flooding (imagine that) and we had to turn back and take another route. Seven hours of bumpy, jiggly, uncomfortable bus ride later, feeling completely beat up, we pulled into the stunning French style village of Dalat. So different than any other town we'd seen at this point. Highlights here included a scenic gondola ride through the lush mountains to visit the Truc Lam Zen Buddhist Pagoda and beautiful gardens, Dalat Cathedral, Xuan Huong Lake, exploring the village and seeing how the locals live, a home hosted dinner, visit to the University of Dalat to talk to local students and a visit to the Lat village to enjoy music and dance performance by the indigenous residents. That was great fun as we laughed and danced along learning their stories and traditions.
Leaving Dalat by plane, we headed to our final destination of Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) for the last three days of our tour. Saigon was the city I had expected it to be. Somewhat more modern than Hanoi, but not much. More busy scooter traffic (my travel buddy and I were seasoned street crossers by now), lots of shops, huge market, coffee shops and beautiful buildings. After some consideration of our finances, we decided to take the optional tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels with the group. It turned out to be well worth the money. We were able to explore the tunnels first hand as a group and even had the opportunity to drop into a trap door and crawl through a portion of the tunnel alone (except for resident bat). This was actually a bit creepy as you put yourself mentally in the shoes of those who lived in these tunnels 40 years ago.
Next day was a visit to My Tho for a boat trip along the Mekong Delta which included a stop off at a local bee farm for some exotic fruit samples; dragon fruit, longan fruit, rambuton, coconut, jackfruit and something that resembled grapefruit, but not really a grapefruit. We visited a family owned coconut candy factory where we saw the very labor intensive handy-work of making different types of coconut candy.
I am still skeptical about the 'tour group' method of travel, but it does come with pros, as well as cons. Our guide was informative and relayed entertaining stories of the history, traditions, superstitions and culture of the various regions of his country. I am certain I wouldn't have been able to cover as much ground and see all the sights we saw in the same amount of time if I had attempted the trip on my own. I'm not sure, however, I'd book a trip with Overseas Adventure Travel (OAT) for the next 30 years. Seems to be an older crowd who frequent these particular tours. My travel buddy and I deemed the acronym Old And Tired people upon meeting our fellow travelers. There were 16 travelers in our group and our youthful 45 years of age brought the median age down to 60 years old. Our guide informed us that ours was the youngest group he had ever hosted.
By the first day we had everyone pegged. The overly optimistic person who clapped her hands and squealed 'yea!' about everything (no this wasn't me!), the professional photographer who got into every local person's face with her rather invasive camera equipment, those who continuously asked every ridiculous question because they either liked to hear themselves talk or just refused to pay attention to our guide. We dubbed these gals as Numbers 1, 2 and 3 so we could gossip about them in code. This kept us equally annoyed and entertained at the same time. At various points throughout the first week or so each woman would shift on the totem pole of Most Annoying depending on what irritating thing they did or said that day. Yes, an awful game to play (we were clearly the young bitches of the group). However, I dare anyone to spend nearly three weeks with 14 total strangers and see if you don't start inventing inappropriate games. I'd never make it on "Survivor." Even if I didn't get voted off right away, I'd volunteer to leave after a few weeks. By week two, Numbers 2 and 3 were growing on us more and more. We were finding them almost delightful. We also really liked their husbands and thought we better make nice with these wives. By the end of the trip #3 was hugging us goodbye and calling us her daughters in her Philadelphia Jewish Lady accent - "dawwters". Just goes to show we need to give people a chance. It was a bit challenging for this introverted extrovert to be corralled with 16 people all day every day. My travel buddy and I managed to get away on our own on a few occasions but not many. It was a full schedule.
Overall it was a good trip and we had a great time and lots of laughs. And more importantly, I'm so glad I got to experience this amazing country - the beautiful rice paddies, colorful markets, children riding water buffalo, and farmers working the fields- before commerce and fierce development step in and turn the unique farm villages and seaside into tourist resorts and the cities become just another Asian hot spot of night clubs, bars, glitz and glitter and overpriced shopping.
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