Sunday, 27 February 2011
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
By the time you read this, I will have responded to the 187 daily e-mails that I’ve received for as long as I’ve had an e-mail account. And all of these e-mails proclaim I am a winner. I’ve given up the fight and am claiming all of my prizes. I have tried to live a humble life, but can do so no longer. They said I am a guaranteed winner, so I’ll no doubt write to you next from the shores of a fabulous tropical island, dripping in diamonds while I sip frothy cocktails.
Here’s the plan: first, I’ll respond to all the guaranteed cash winning e-mails. That will net me an assured $756,434, and that’s just today’s mail.
Next, I’ll begin an itinerary that includes every trip that I have been guaranteed, every airline ticket, celebrity filled cruise and African safari. From a week’s worth of e-mails, I figure Peter and I can circumnavigate the globe about three times before we run out of gas, so to speak. And even then, the thousands of dollars in promised gas cards should help out a bit.
I will outfit myself in all of the free clothing, shoe and jewellery gift cards that have been promised me by the likes of Niemen Marcus, Tiffany & Co., Juicy Couture, Abercrombie & Fitch and Nine West. Every card promises a $500 shopping spree. I don’t know about you, but I love a designer that cares enough to just give their stuff away.
When Peter and I return home from our extensive travels, the latest in electronics will be waiting for us. Because of all the free cell phone offers I’ve received, Peter and I will be able to give cell phones to every deer and squirrel that lives in the woods surrounding us. We may have to give away any number of plasma televisions, as there are only so many rooms in our house, and these companies just won’t stop guaranteeing me a new television.
In fact, the Internet people care so much about me winning all of these treasures that they’ve made sure to contact me no less than an emphatic sixty-two times each, just to make sure that I’ve been given enough warning. It’s only when I receive that ominous ‘final notice’ that I give in and claim my prize. It’s like I’ve given them every opportunity to give the prize to someone else, but they really want me to have it.
I’m thinking of hiring a personal assistant just to write thank you notes for the flattering kindness I receive, every single day, via my sweet e-mail in-box.
I guess if I was a smart girl, I’d quit daydreaming and maybe adjust the spam settings on my e-mail account before I climb out of my designated spot in the Matrix into the cocoon of wealth.
And really, maybe I shouldn’t be so greedy. Give me your e-mail address, and I’ll share the wealth by forwarding them to you. After all, there’s always tomorrow’s batch of false hope. I’m happy to share.
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
History.com states that a guy named Valentine may have been killed after it was discovered that he’d fallen in love with the prison warden’s daughter. The warden discovered a love letter signed, Your Valentine and had Valentine beheaded.
I’m not an overall fan of V-Day. I’ve been the girl at grade school who gets Valentines from all her classmates but doesn’t understand why some of the other girls get bigger Valentines.
I’ve been the girl at work to receive a dozen brightly coloured balloons along with a fragrant bouquet of pink carnations. Swoons of my female coworkers crowding around me fade to disappointed sighs as I open the card to read from your valentine – Mom.
I’ve been the girl who sits in her house in the pitch black, who doesn’t answer her phone so her ‘aww, no Valentine?’ pity calls will go unanswered and maybe all my friends would think I had a hot date for a change on that hated night.
I’ve been the girl who received a fragrant single red rose on her doorstep from the cutest guy in her group of friends. I thought I was special until I discovered that the most beautiful girl in our group got three roses from the same guy. Sigh.
I’ve even been the pathetic girlfriend who had to listen to her boyfriend tell her how funny it was that his ex received two bouquets from a standing order he’d forgotten to cancel, while the new girlfriend (me) read a card about why a remote control is better than a Valentine. Let me add that we were on a road trip, and there was no reasonable way I could push him out of the car and hope he’d die from road rash.
I can tell you that my Valentine’s horror ended when Peter showed up in my life, but it doesn’t mean I’ve been reformed to a believer in the ‘romance’ of Valentine’s Day.
When a person is in a loving relationship, how is it that the only way to ‘truly’ show your love is on one day when we’re commanded to buy jewellery, chocolate, flowers and sparkly cards. Don’t we show each other daily, with our actions, our words, our hugs and kisses how we feel?
If you don’t show your love in the above ways every day, then you deserve to get nailed on Valentine’s Day with thousands of dollars while you’re trying to make up for a loveless relationship.
However, for those of us that show our warm fuzzies every day, it’s time to take a stand against this madness, and here’s how we can conquer Valentine’s Day and all its relationship manipulation!
You can spend hundreds on flowers that die, candy that moves to the hips and never leaves, and cards that get old, dusty and thrown away. Instead, think of the money you can save if you’d just offer to cut off your head like the warden did to ol'’ Valentine.
Sit your honey down and bring up the origin of Valentine’s Day. Let her (or him) know that the only way you can show how much you truly love them on Valentine’s Day is to cut your head off, just like Valentine himself met his end. If you can look at your lover with a watery tear in your eye, even better.
Wait for the look of shock, awe and utter amazement. Wait for arms to be thrown around you, the hug of acceptance that shows yes, you really do love your sweetheart. If you’re lucky, and your ardour is returned, you won’t have to cut off your head at all, and this Valentine’s Day will be recorded as the most romantic in your relationship history.
And please, be good to those that love you, all the time. You don’t want next Valentine’s Day to come around, only to find a shiny new axe with a red bow on it, do you?
Thursday, 3 February 2011
The last time Peter and I went out of town, we had a couple of stressful moments. I gave our last twenty dollars (cash) to our neighbour for pet-sitting while we were gone. Peter doesn’t like to travel without cash, and if-he’d-only-known-he-would’ve-got-cash-before…my counter was what’s-the-big-deal-we-have-an-ATM-card-right?
Boys like cash in the wallet.
It turns out there was enough spare change to fuel Peter’s brain for driving in the form of a Timmy’s Iced Cap (that’s a Tim Horton’s Iced Cappuccino for those south of the border).
Note: There wasn’t enough change for both of us to get something at Timmy’s, so I chose my battle wisely and let Peter feed his monkey, while mine moaned silently.
When we arrive at the hotel, it’s dark. I’m pretty sure I’ve just dropped my dark brown leather glove on the pitch black parking lot, and I am not happy.
“Anyone got a flashlight?” I ask this of my husband and the concierge. No flashlight. The flashlight that doubles as the rear cargo light in my car has decided to take the night off.
Magically, there’s no flashlight at the hotel. Does that make any sense? What does the hotel do in emergencies, light a candle? Maybe they’ll let me set a bottle of shampoo on fire for light out there. And why is the parking lot so dark, anyway?
I really liked those gloves, too.
In the hotel room, I set about organizing my things, all the while grumbling about how nobody better run over my favourite glove. I begin to clean out my gen-u-ine counterfeit Chloe Betty handbag. I pull out trash, receipts, anything that I don’t want cluttering my perfectly organized purse.
But wait? What’s this? Change?
What woman doesn’t have change at the bottom of her purse? I pull out $8.57….imagine that. $8.57 that could’ve landed me an Iced Cap about 300 kilometers ago. I proudly put the change in front of Peter. “Here you go, honey. Take my money and buy yourself something pretty.”
I’m such a good martyr.
As I root around in the vast caverns of my bag, my hand slides around something cool and smooth. I pull it out. Well I’ll be….it’s a flashlight! I laugh myself silly over this one. This has been in my bag since we went on a night zoo safari. Excellent. Now I can go look for my glove like a professional!
And that’s when it hits me. A properly packed handbag can help a woman out in many situations. Here’s what I found in mine, and how I will classify each item for future MacGyver or Mission Impossible purposes…
- Antibacterial hand gel: Combats bird flu, mad cow disease, malaria, West Nile virus and general smarminess in icky people.
- Cell Phone & PDA: To keep up to date on important missions
- Halloween jewellery: To go into deep disguise at a moment’s notice
- Breath Spray: Sweet breath when gossiping…er….networking is crucial
- Business cards: To secure future missions
- Memo pad & pens: Used to leave notes, hints, clues, and to throw the bad guys off the hunt.
- Make up, dental floss, gum, hand cream: Come on, a girl on a mission has to look her best
- Tide Pen: NEVER leave home without it.
- Atomic Fireballs: A seriously hot cinnamon candy that can act as a flame thrower at a moment’s notice.
My handbag is full of mysterious powers that delight and amaze. Ladies, if you plan correctly, you could have an all-magical handbag yourself. And you’ll never have to ask a man (or a hotel) for a flashlight again.