Am…musings

So much for maybe not blogging on vacation – I didn’t even make it two hours before I started drafting this in my head. But I was inspired … and I’m stuck on an airplane. 

And just so you know, I don’t think this will be the last post because I was reminded when I saw/heard him in my Minneapolis layover waiting area that I’m definitely inspired by cute, mild-mannered Canadian men and their adorable accents. He’s a tall, Kennedy-esque hottie from Edmonton who … is seated in my row because there is a God!

But I digress.  I’ll start with the kudos.  I’ve never been impressed by the main terminal at Lambert airport.  But my check-in was simple and security was breeze this go round – the agents were even pleasant.  Then came Diane at the Terminal A CPK.  She was fun and efficient – a good combo for starving flyers waiting in long lines for food. I really wanted a banana and they were out.  Diane was frazzled by all the people crowding her register and she could have easily said “I don’t know” or “no” when I asked if they had more.  Well, actually she did say both of those things … but lo and behold then she quickly said, “wait a minute … I’ll go check.”  And she promptly came back with a dozen of them. She went above and beyond, which I’d say is unusual for airport restaurant workers, and I truly appreciate it.

Now for the rant … dear Northwest Airline and all other airlines besides Southwest (American Airlines, US Airways, United Airlines – I’m talking to you): Efficient, assigned seating was the one thing you had going for you — I hate the cattle call, although it’s much better now.  Now that you are ridiculously charging $15 for the first checked bag, pretty much everyone is trying to shove too many bags in the overhead bins, creating a BFCF of the boarding process (BF stands for big fat – and if you don’t know what CF is, e-mail me and I’ll fill you in). 

Also, my flight to Canada (not overseas mind you) cost $550 – freaking robbery if you ask me – and it completely pisses me off to be forced pay a fee to check my suitcase – seriously!!!  Maybe you could waive the fee for flights over $350 or something.

Plus Southwest’s magazine is better than yours, their flight attendants are more entertaining, they don’t charge $3 or $5 for a snack and their planes are clean and shiny, which I realize is cosmetic, but it makes me feel safer.  Southwest was not an option for this trip, but you’d better believe when they are, I won’t choose you.

Of course, now that I think about it, Southwest probably has fewer Canadian flying their friendly skies, but next time I’ll have to travel during the day (it’s so dark, I can hardly see the cutie asleep across the aisle) so I get my money’s worth!

I’m on vacation for a blissful 12 days, beginning tomorrow evening. I typically don’t “unplug” during vacation – checking and often responding to e-mail and encouraging clients or co-workers to call if they need anything.

Not this time, I decided when I scheduled these days, thinking back to a harried spring vacation that seemed like more work than fun and resulted in me coming home far more hassled than when I left.

The question now is whether I’ll blog. It isn’t really “work” and I’ll be seeing old friends and visiting cool places so I should have fun things to share — and that’s not even considering a rant or two about all the things that could go wrong with my flight, etc.

I guess I’ll see if inspiration strikes.  Otherwise, I’ll talk to you in twelve days.

I’ve imagined this post for some time (even before this blog officially launched), but … I wasn’t sure about leaping right out there with the other five-letter word that came to my mind first (the word instead of WORD … for those of you that are a little naive, it starts with a B, then comes a vowel, then a double L, before the S ending).

It was Mistie that lead me to the better WORD (it was inadvertent … she was talking about her 2-year-old, mind you; and I imagine her Dixie Heart will cringe at that other WORD I’m talking about ).

Any-hoo … I completely understand not every date works. It’s either there or isn’t … that pesky chemistry. But I do not understand the men who give every appearance of it being a great date (who walks you to your car and gives you an awesome hug???) and then are basically never to be heard from again. Unfortunately, this has played out in a variety of ways with several different guys, but the end result has been me having to deduce they aren’t interested without them being man enough to tell me themselves.

So here is my unsolicited dating advice for the men/boys who don’t know how to use your words …

“I’m sorry, I’ve had a nice time, but I don’t think we’re very compatible.”

It’s not easy, but it’s the nice thing to do, you, (to use another five-letter word) spine-less wonders .

My Birthday-Week Extravaganza will conclude with a neighborhood party tomorrow night. One of my neighbors/friends, Matt, and I share the same birthday, as does another friend of his. We’re having a luau courtesy of the neighbor’s girlfriend, Nora.

A few weeks ago I made Jell-O-shots for a company kickball practice on a Friday at noon (If I haven’t mentioned it yet, I love my job!) I’d never made Jell-O shots and turned to trusty Google for a recipe.

In the process, I found MyScienceProject.com. I LOVE this site! In addition to revealing how to concoct the best Jell-O shot and the critical intricacies of nailing Jell-O to a wall, this site also explores the ultimate beer cozy. A Rice-Krispie-Treat cozy was tested … and fared well for those wondering.

I’m doing a repeat performance of Island Pineapple and Captain Morgan Jell-O shots for the luau – they certainly are a fitting combo for the tropical theme and taste-tested well at kickball practice.

Honestly, I didn’t even find this particular recipe on MyScienceProject.com, but did find the information the site shared useful and … most importantly … hilarious.

Of course, you may want to stop scrolling on the home page before reaching the very last experiment – hmmmm?

On this day, during this hour, 37 years ago, I was born – on a Friday the 13^th no less.

I subscribe to the (clichéd, I know) belief that “you’re as old as you think you are.” Also, I don’t feel (or look, thank you very much) old. Yet I’ve been dreading this day for the past few weeks.

Being dismayed over 40 or 50 seems common, but who dreads 37? Me! I also hated 26 and 34.

Why not 25, 30 or 35?

The span from birth to 25 equaled youth to me. At 26, I was on the other side (not old, mind you, but I don’t think you can claim youthfulness after 25).

I approached, was and passed 30 with little anxiety … I think 26 just did me in. I also loved my job at 29, but was laid off and living at home for 30 and 31. I must have instinctively known dwelling on those ages, while jobless and sponging off mommy and daddy, would have caused me to curl up in a ball and likely remain there to this day.

I found another great job and bought a house by 34, but had a bit of a semi-midlife crisis – piercing my nose. At the time, I thought I’d finally gotten the nerve to do something I’d wanted to do for most of my life … my second-grade friend Chowdry Pinnameneni’s mom and her beautiful diamond stud made a big impression on me at 7. Later, taking an honest lens to the since-removed nose ring, I believe I may have been out to prove I was still young enough to pull it off.

And why the dread over 37? Partly, it’s because I believe I can no longer say I’m in my mid-30s. Also, I’m two years past 35 and blazing toward 40. The age itself doesn’t bother me so much … it’s that I’ve never been married and don’t have kids. I know biologically there’s still time for kids (Cheryl Tiegs had twins at 52) or I could adopt, but I’m not sure being an older mom is the right decision for me. And in my mind, 37 treads dangerously close to old-maid territory.

Of course, for those age-related crises, there’s my other stand-by cliché … “it’ll happen when it’s meant to be.” And when it comes to birthdays – dreaded or otherwise … the cliché, “it’s better than the alternative,” can’t be argued with.

PS All age-related judgments are my beliefs about ME.  Please don’t take offense or feel I’m commenting on anyone other than myself.

I’m on Match.com. I fought it for years. My friends nagged. My neighbors (who are also good friends) pushed. My parents even got in on the act. I didn’t like resorting to the impersonal internet to meet someone. After more than six pretty-much-date-free years in St. Louis I gave in.

As with all things in life, it’s had its ups and downs, but one thing about it gets to the very essence of why I avoided it … instant messaging.  About 70 percent of the guys I’ve talked to want to IM.  With some, it’s fine.  With most … it’s so very annoying.

I blame the impersonal nature of it. It somehow makes some men forget their manners.

I believe IMing is a conversation. I’m engaged, interested … all ears (or maybe eyes in this case). If my phone rings, I ignore it, ask if I can return the call later or at least let the person I’m IMing with know I need to take the call. (Occasionally, I’ll multitask, but God knows men can’t do that). 

In the time I’ve written these 241 words (and pulled the dogs apart many times), I’ve been waiting for an IM response from a guy I’ve been on a few dates with. He admits that he’s doing other things … it still irks me.

I guess I need to remember my manners when I type him a nice IM sharing my frustration. 

He might be a little furry, but he’s a gorgeous, strong, silent type. He also loves to give kisses and cuddle, and listens way better than any man I’ve ever known.

Meet Trooper.

He’s the sixth dog I’ve fostered through Stray Rescue in St. Louis. The other dogs have been little puppies and have found forever homes pretty quickly. Not Trooper – I’ve had him since early May.

I love this dog and considered keeping him, but it’s becoming painfully obvious he’s not a good fit with my own dog, Chewy – a 15 pound, lanky mess of curly hair and a so-ugly-he’s-cute under bite.

Chewy spends most evenings getting his you-know-what kicked by Trooper. When Trooper was smaller their antics seemed like good fun for all. Now, he outweighs Chewy by at least 30 pounds and doesn’t realize his strength. Chewy doesn’t enjoy the bullying and I don’t particularly like spending my evenings yelling and pulling them apart.

If you know anyone looking for a good dog, please pass this along. The adoption fee is $150 and he’s neutered, chipped and has had all of his shots. Here are more details.

Stray Rescue also is desperately in need of fosters if you or anyone you know might be interested. It is one of the most rewarding things I’ve done. I’ll admit, the little ones are a lot of work, but I love getting a puppy fix and then sending them on their way.

Finally, if you know any non-furry, available, handsome men … I’m interested in being adopted by one of those!

With gas prices sickeningly high who isn’t gobbling up all those helpful fuel-reduction tips (except that one about driving under 60 mph – something I’m simply not capable of)?  My gas-related hint isn’t really going to save you much cash, but it truly was a revelation for me yesterday. 

I was driving a rental (an incredibly posh Lincoln MKX), with my mom (aka Shar) riding shotgun because our cars were in the shop.  As we pull in to top off the gas tank, I ask Shar if she can see the car’s gas door in the mirror on her side.  Shar says nonchalantly, “Can’t you look at the fuel gauge?” 

What?  I look at the dash and there it is  … a cute little arrow next to the fuel pump symbol directing me to the driver’s side gas door.  And no, this is not some snazzy feature on the Lincoln according to Shar – there’s apparently one on most vehicle gas gauges and I’ve never seen it.

“Shut the F up,” I say to Shar … about four or five times just for good measure.

One reason I’m amazed by this is because I’ve had to get back in, restart and move plenty of rentals or borrowed vehicles to be on the right side for the pump.  It’s always annoyed me.  Also, I will mark my 21^st anniversary of driving in about a week (as a side note, my dad had to teach me because Shar and I almost threw down on a few occasions over her passenger-seat driving).  I’d think she – or someone else – might have shared that helpful hint with me in all of those years.

So … I’m curious to know if I’m the only one who didn’t know.

A “Part 2” as the first post on this blog?  Well … yes.  Part 1 was my boss explaining on the company blog how she’d been called a hypocrite by one of her colleagues for not blogging. And just who was the fool who’d say such a thing to her boss?  Well … me. (I explore the reasons why in this post. And for those wondering, I think she’s forgiven me.)

I bring this up as a way to introduce this blog because it is the result of me feeling the hypocrisy of not practicing what I preach.   

I coach clients on leveraging social media tools.  I decided along the way I’d better be using the tools so (and please pardon the hokey swimming puns) …

I dipped my toe in the water with Linkedin. I was delighted to find new and old friends as I dangled my feet in Facebook and Myspace beginning in December.  And I waded farther in with a few posts on the company blog this spring. 

I wasn’t an expert, but I was feeling pretty good.  Then a few months ago, I began counseling a client on the launch of a new blog.  I knew the blogging basics, but this client isn’t usually satisfied with skimming the surface (something I’ve been challenged by and am truly thankful for).  It was the push I needed to dive in with my own blog.   Ah … the water’s nice.

(And I’d be remiss not to thank a few of my coaches along the way … Susan, who has answered tons of questions and graciously helped me build this blog, and Marijean.  And then there’s Melissa, the boss I once called a not-so-nice name … I can absolutely say I wouldn’t be anywhere near the pool without her.)