The Best Thing That Has Ever Happened To Me

You might be thinking that it’s marrying my wonderful husband, or meeting Larry David.

It’s not.

Or maybe you’re thinking it was when I went on a tour of Henson Studios and met Brian Henson, son of Jim Henson, and got to hang out in his office with him and hold his Emmy, and then go watch a puppet show.

It wasn’t.

Some of you might even be thinking that it was the time that I sat in the front row at a Martin Short show and he gyrated in my face while wearing a nude bodystocking with drawn-on genitals.

While that was certainly a life-changing experience, it was not the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Perhaps you’re wondering if it was finding out that I’m 5-10% Jewish.

That was pretty awesome, but it’s not that.

I’ll bet that some of you think that it must be the time I received a letter from Steven Spielberg, or perhaps the time I was in a sketch with Amy Poehler.

Nope.

Those events were boring and forgettable compared to… THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME!

(While it was fun to keep you guessing, I’m going to tell you now.)

The best thing that has ever happened to me is a Roomba^®

I mean he’s high performance, good for pets, Wi-Fi connected, hypo-allergenic, and he has incredible suction. He’s everything you would want in a man AND he cleans.

Who knew that you could experience such a true and pure love with a robot vacuum*?

He’s taken on so much work around the house that I now have more time and space to just think (I’m planning on picking up where Stephen Hawking left off).

Thanks Roomba^® 

Now I know what all of those 80s ballads were about…

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* Probably some weirdo.

The Conformist

I’m officially a yuppie.

I realized this while driving my Toyota Prius down a Vancouver street, listening to U2, with five avocados in a reusable grocery bag on the seat next to me.

(FYI – the official, Mirriam-Webster dictionary definition of “yuppie” is: a young college-educated adult who is employed in a well-paying profession and who lives and works in or near a large city. While I’m not especially young (I may or may not be in my mid 30s) or in an especially well-paying profession, I do live and work in a large-ish city so that should count for something.)

It just sort of happened… I slowly grew up and began conforming to accepted behavior and established practices – including shopping at Whole Foods, eating tofu, and listening to classic rock.

(Believe me, I didn’t seek to conform. For much of my life, I definitely did not conform. In fact, some might have even called me a nonconformist because my behavior and/or views definitely did not conform to prevailing ideas or practices – i.e. I wore thrift store clothing and dyed my hair yellow and read experimental poetry!*)

I digress.

I want to talk about the best thing about conforming… Whole Foods.

I love Whole Foods.

I love everything about it… I love the smoothie station. I love the natural products. I love the cashiers with their green aprons. I love that some Whole Foods have bars and food and a really great happy hour. I love that all of the bathrooms have toilet seat covers!!!!! I love the paper bags which are super handy for so many things. I love the high ceilings. I love the pre-cut watermelon. I love the varied and vast assortment of kombucha drinks. I love that you can return anything with a receipt (I returned a chicken that tasted gross last week). I love the free parking. I love the free samples. I love that they have six kinds of tamari. I love all the things!

And you know what? It’s okay.

Conforming is okay.

It’s just going with the flow, playing the game, meeting halfway, rolling with the punches, following the beaten path…**

I mean, we all grow up, and we all feel a little bit less, and we all die a little bit inside every. single. day. This is totally normal. This is just growing up, and taking on responsibility, and signing on the dotted line of a mortgage that you can’t afford. It’s totally okay. This is just being an adult.

It’s just maturity… and it’s fine.

I mean, they have six kinds of tamari.

 

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* And! Because I was a member of a Protestant church in England that dissents from the established Anglican Church (which is also called a nonconformist)!

** These are all just synonyms of conforming.

 

 

The Momentous Moment

There are moments in one’s life that define one (and one’s life).

In other words, there are going to be moments that define you, determine your fate, and are important in you life’s journey. Some might even call these events momentous,* which, I must say, is a really good word to describe such things.

A job interview. A first date. A first kiss. A third wedding… Those kinds of things.

Moments that are etched in your mind forever. Moments that you will never, ever, ever forget… No matter how much you try, and how much time has passed, and how much therapy you have undertaken, and how good your therapist is.

Those kinds of moments.

I hope you’re picking up what I’m putting down.

Not all of these moments are good. Sometimes these moments are really, really bad and also quite embarassing.

If, for some lucky reason, you have never been embarrassed and have managed to coast through life poised and graceful, then I actually feel sorry for you because embarassment builds character (and you can quote me on that).

If, like me, you have not managed to avoid embarassment (the self-conscious emotion dictated by a disconnect between how we feel we should respond or act in public and how we actually respond or act), then you might appreciate this story.

The date was March 30, 2015. The city was Burbank, California. It was around 6pm. My husband and I were meeting some friends for dinner at Adana, a Persian restaurant that had recently been praised by The New York Times writer Mark Bittman. In other words, it was quite a scene**.

The restaurant is in an indrustrial area on San Fernando Road, which is a busy four-lane road. The windows have dark drapes that are kept closed, and you wouldn’t know it was any different from the self storage next door, except for a small sign that says, Adana.

As we walked up to the restaurant, we noticed a Buick LeSabre*** pull up in front and an older gentleman get out of the vehicle. We didn’t pay much mind, because there are approximately seven billion people on earth, and he was just one of them.

I wish I had.

I opened the door, stepped inside the restaurant, and was immediately blinded by no fewer than 100 camera flashes and a very enthusiastic and deafening rendition of “Happy Birthday” that quickly trailed off when they realized I was not the birthday boy.

I stood there, paralyzed with fear, in front of at least 100 Armenians that did not look happy****.

My whole life flashed before me: my first job interview. My first date. My first kiss. My third wedding… And then I thought about how bummed all of these Armenians would be to go through their photos later, and see pics of some stupid white chick.

I reached for my husband’s hand… knowing that we have taken sacred marital oaths and consumated our marriage literally dozens of times, to signify that whatever life brings our way, we will get through it together…

Yeah, he was nowhere to be found. Apparently, when he saw the flashes go off and heard the singing start, he ducked back outside the restaurant, leaving me alone, red-faced, literally***** dying of embarassment.

Finally, a waiter rushed over and pulled me aside, just as Buick LeSabre guy opened the door, and was immediately blinded by no fewer than 100 camera flashes and a very enthusiastic and deafening rendition of “Happy Birthday” that was sung through to completion.

My husband entered the restaurant and rushed over to me, but it was all very momentous and I needed to sit down.

Let’s just say we didn’t consumate our marriage that night.

 

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* If you’re the kind of person who likes to throw around big words to prove to the world (and specific people) that you’re very highbrow and fancy, I would suggest adding momentous to your vernacular. Momentous (if you don’t already know) is an adjective to describe a very, very important decision, event, or change, which is of great importance or significance, especially in its bearing on the future.

** You know, associated with or immersed in a particular cultural scene.

*** I can’t actually remember what kind of car it was, but if you’re telling a story and you need a car make and model, I highly recommend a Buick LeSabre.

**** Okay, full disclosure: some of them looked happy, and some of them did not look happy.

***** Not literally.

 

 

The Oprah

Oprah announced that she will not be running for president in 2020, stating, “It’s not something that interests me… I don’t have the DNA for it.”

And the world let out a collective sigh.

Oprah was, and is, relatable, brilliant, emotionally intelligent, inspirational, and she has great hair. Oprah would have made a great president.*

I hope she still has this jacket

When I was seven years-old, watching Oprah’s first syndicated tabloid talk show that I definitely should not have been watching at age seven, I knew that she was destined for more. (I was a very perceptive child.)

Aside from having the it** factor, Oprah is Oprah. And when you have just one name, you are always destined for more.

I mean, the very fact that your parents looked at you and said, “This child only needs one name!”

Side note: It must be really nice to have parents that think you are so special that they give you just one name. In fact, I’ll bet that having parents that think you are so special that they give you just one name contributes to increased feelings of self-worth that sets you up for a lifetime of success. It’s just a theory – but I think it really checks out.***

Still, I’m sure that there are pros and cons to having just one name.

Pro: You’re definitely destined for greatness. See: Madonna. Cher. Beyonce. Bono. Sting. Prince.

Pro: You get to hang out with other people that only have just one name because you are all fabulous, and you can relate to each other on a one-name level.

Proof

Con: It can get confusing at Starbucks when the barista calls out your order: “Oprah!” And you look around, and you wait to make sure no one else is reaching for the non-fat, half-caff, extra hot latte because at Starbucks, everyone is special and is called by one name.

Con: I would imagine it’s not super convenient when you’re registering for Amazon Prime, and it requires a last name.

I digress.

Oprah should run for president.

 

 

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* Dear Oprah, if you’re reading this, I want you to know that even though you said you didn’t want to be president and that it doesn’t interest you and that you don’t have the DNA for it, it is totally cool if you want to change your mind. For the longest time I thought that I hated avocados, but then I tried one and I loved it, and now I eat avocados all the time (5x/week). Another example: I thought knitting was for sad, old people, but I now know that it’s for very cool (and warm!) people, so I’m considering taking it up. I don’t know how much thought you actually gave to the presidency, but maybe just let it percolate for a few extra years. Washington D.C. is lovely, and there’s a restaurant there that has pizza with a sourdough crust, which is really, really good. I can’t remember the name right now, but if you end up being president I’ll make sure to get it to you.

** Charisma! Something magical that you just can’t put your finger on!

*** I have three names, and I have suffered.

 

The Womance

I was so sure that I had created a new term.

It wouldn’t be the first time… Barf bag ripper. Wacky bat nuts. Those terms came from my brain, vibrated through my vocal chords, and then spat out of my mouth – and were quickly and firmly entrenched into the lexicon of modern English.

Last fall I spent a week at Royal Roads University doing a residency for my Communications Management Post-Graduate Certificate. During the residency, I met a very special group of ladies (and one man!), and we just clicked. 

To be clear: I don’t mean that we made a short, sharp sounds as of a switch being operated or of two hard objects coming into contact. Or, the act of selecting options on an electronic interface by pressing a button or touching a screen.

(I mean, we definitely did both of those things, but that isn’t what I meant by clicked.)

What I meant by clicked is that we immediately formed a very close relationship in a way that is usually associated with an empowering summer camp experience, or a tour of duty in Afghanistan.

In five short days, five of us went from strangers to best buds, and our friendship has continued to flourish. We may live in different cities in Western Canada, but we text and email regularly, we send holiday cards, and we meet up when we’re in the same city.

Last night we were texting, and one of the ladies commented on our bromance (you know, a close, emotionally intense bond between two men).

I replied: “You mean womance.”

I was so proud of myself. I wrote the word down on a scrap of paper: womance… Yet another phrase to be quickly and firmly entrenched into the lexicon of modern English. I felt super cool, self-important, and lofty.

And then I googled it and I found out its already a thing. (insert crying emoji.)

According to Wikipedia, womance (also called a sismance, or shemance) is a close but non-sexual relationship between two or more women. 

So it’s already a thing.

So many things are already things!

This happens to me all of the time: I’ll think of some thing, and then I’ll get all excited, and then I’ll google it, and then I’ll find out its already a thing, and then I’ll become so disheartened that I need to go lie down.

Creativity is really a blessing and a curse.

*googling*

That’s already a thing.

I have to go lie down now.

 

 

 

 

 

The Mind, It Boggles

Do you ever think about the fact that we are all just clinging to earth, as it rotates on its axis, at around 1674 kilometers an hour, and also orbits around the sun, traveling 940 million kilometers each year (give or take)?

I mean, it is pretty crazy, right?

We are all part of this constant, even movement that’s been going on for hundreds of millions (possibly billions, maybe even trillions) of years.

It’s mind-boggling!

Sometimes it actually boggles my mind, and I have to stop and have a stiff drink.

The idea that we are all hanging out, and hanging onto, this precious earth, as it spins and orbits, oh, and also gives us everything we need to sustain human life (water, air, food, and a new season of Will & Grace)… I mean, it’s all just too much to think about sometimes (a Gin & Tonic helps).

But here’s the thing: it’s worth thinking about sometimes!

It is important – and necessary – to consider the earth, the miracle that is life, and why you are on this earth right now.

In Casablanca, Humphrey Bogart’s character Rick delivers a famous line: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” referring to his chance encounter with his ex, Ilsa, who walks into a club with her current husband (who happens to be a Czech resistance leader wanted by the Nazis). I mean, it’s quite the coincidence.

But you, being here, on this earth, right now, is also a rather large coincidence. Possibly too large.

So, maybe it’s no coincidence?

Why are you here, on this earth, right now – as opposed to being here (on this earth) during the middle ages, or Proterozoic era, or (and I wish this was true for me) the Ming Dynasty?

Good question, and one that is definitely worth pondering.

I am of the opinion that we all have a purpose.

Everybody’s purpose is probably different, but they most likely involve showing love, being kind, and caring about other creatures (people, animals, bugs, some types of flowers) that also happen to be here, on this earth, right now.

I don’t know what my own purpose is, but I think it’s worth thinking about.

Why am I here, on this earth, right now? (I need a drink.)

Some people think our universe is all just a huge fluke, and there is no reason for our existence. They might be right.

But I don’t think they’re right.

Unless this is all a Truman Show-type hoax?

 

The “Hi, how are you?”

I love to disarm people.

And by disarm I mean, to divest or relieve of hostility, suspicion; win the affection or approval of; to charm.

I also love to disarm people by depriving them of a weapon or weapons. Both ways of disarming are obviously great, and helpful in many situations, but I’d like to speak to the former.

A few of my friends have said when they go through TSA at the airport, or cross the border at a land crossing, they get very, very anxious.

And it’s not because they are smuggling drugs (as far as I know).

They are just normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Canadians that want to get on a plane or do a Trader Joe’s run. These are good people, with nothing (or very little) to hide, that are just jonesin’ for a jar of Tomatillo salsa. But for some reason they get sweaty palms and a dry mouth when they talk to a TSA agent or border guard.

Maybe it’s the crew cut, or the dark shades, or the attitude, or the fact that they have a gun*?

Or, maybe it’s because they (my friends) have  unconsciously-held issues with authority that makes them respond to power and/or control in inappropriate ways, and perhaps they find themselves fluctuating between over-compliance and hostility? I mean, I’m no psychologist, but that’s probably it.

Whatever it is that makes people so nervous and awkward that they blurt out their SIN number, mother’s maiden name, and sexual history (when he just asked you the purpose of your trip), I can help.

It’s called, the “Hi, how are you?”

It’s very easy… (I really wish I could make money from sharing this information with you).

As you approach the TSA agent or border guard – before they have a chance to say anything – smile and say, “Hi, how are you?”

It literally disarms them.

And by “disarm” I mean, to divest or relieve of hostility, suspicion; win the affection or approval of; to charm – I do NOT mean, depriving them of a weapon or weapons*.

It’s just that simple.

Those four little words literally disarm them (again, I mean to divest or relieve of hostility, suspicion; win the affection or approval of; to charm – I do not mean depriving them of a weapon or weapons*).

Most people do not extend pleasantries to their TSA agents or border guards, which is a shame because their job is tough, and thankless (without thanks), and I’m sure they would benefit greatly from a few more positive interactions at work**.

So, next time you find yourself face-to-face with a TSA agent or border guard, just say, “Hi, how are you?” and feel free to thank me later***.

A few notes:

• You must say it quickly, all in one breath: Hi-how-are-you?
• You must have your music off.
• You must have your sunglasses off.
• You must be a woman.
• You must not try to be funny.
• You must limit eye contact to six seconds.
• You must not be chewing gum.
• You must not be smuggling drugs.

See? Easy!

 

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* I’m obviously talking about the TSA agent or border guard.

** NEVER DO THIS. DO NOT TRY TO DEPRIVE A BORDER GUARD OF A WEAPON OR WEAPONS. YOU WILL GO TO JAIL, OR WORSE.

*** Who wouldn’t?

**** With cash.

 

 

The Summer of George

Those of you who know me know that I love Seinfeld.

Like, really, really love Seinfeld.

I’m talking more than pizza, and weddings, and Roald Dahl books, and sauvignon blancs, and friends, and receiving mail, and cave-aged cheeses, and really anything else that I profess to love.

It really goes beyond love and is best described as a “frenzied passion”.

I digress.

As you may know, Seinfeld was full… brimming, packed, saturated… with cultural and comedy references that shaped my world view, and are still very much relevant to this day.

Case in point: the 156th episode of Seinfeld titled, “The Summer of George.” George is laid off from the New York Yankees, and receives a severance package equal to three month’s salary. He decides that he’s going to take some time off to become physically active and take full advantage of the summer.

Like George, I was also laid off at the beginning of summer. I was working on a short contract as a project coordinator and it turned out they weren’t going to need me as long as they thought they would, so I received a severance package. I decided I was going to take some time off to become physically active and take full advantage of the summer…

On Seinfeld, George does not become physically active, nor does he take full advantage of the summer. Instead, he becomes very, very lazy. He wears pajamas all day and doesn’t leave his apartment.

I almost became like George.

The first few days I was lethargic and listless (without a list!), but then I bought the June 2017 issue of The Oprah Magazine. There, on the cover, was Oprah* – living her best life – with the heading, “Your One Wild and Precious Summer!”

When is she not living her best life?

I realized that I needed to start enjoying my one wild and precious summer*!

My summer has been full of BBQs, beach days, ice cream (a lot of ice cream) traveling, cocktails, friends, family, flip-flops, sunshine, etc. I have been living my best life!

(Admittedly, my best life is probably meh compared to other people’s best life (like Oprah), but still… I’m enjoying the heck out of my one wild and precious summer!)

And guess what?

IT’S NOT OVER!

There are 37 more days of summer left!

Get out there and enjoy your summer*****!

 

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* Oprah’s always on the cover.

** Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly sure what Oprah meant by “wild” because I’m not sure that her “wild” and my “wild” are similar. I mean, Oprah’s “wild” could be combining fish with cheese in a casserole, and my “wild” could be going to a foam party at a club in Berlin***.

*** I would never do this****, but I do consider it to be the very definition of wild.

**** I know people that have done this.

***** Why the heck are you reading this blog when you should be out enjoying your one wild and precious summer?

I wish I liked anything as much as Oprah likes the beach.

The Tom Selleck Coincidence

Who doesn’t have a crush on Tom Selleck*?

I mean…

He was Magnum, P.I.** for goodness sake.

Now I’m a married woman, but I can still appreciate beauty in all of its forms… A crimson sunset, a blossoming flower, and a handsome man with a significant mustache.

If you’ve ever wanted to sleep with Tom Selleck, now you can***!

At Seattle’s Kimpton Palladian Hotel, each room features a pop-art pillow with a different celebrity portrait. When my husband and I recently visited the Palladian we were pleasantly surprised to find this beauty in our room:

Of all of the handsome male celebrities that could be featured on a pillow… Tom Selleck is definitely one of them****.

I must pause for a moment, to ask a very serious question: Do you believe in fate? Chance? Circumstance? Destiny? A predetermined course*****?

Well, I do now.

We didn’t think much of the pillow in the room, until we switched on the television later that evening and what should be on, but Friends. You know… the TV show about six 20-30-something friends living in Manhattan featuring an ensemble cast starring Jennifer Aniston, Courteney Cox, Lisa Kudrow, Matt LeBlanc, Matthew Perry and David Schwimmer.

I know what you’re thinking, “When is Friends not on?” and that is a valid question (answer: never).

But the fortuity****** of this incident is that it was an episode featuring Tom Selleck!

The universe is obviously trying to tell me something!

But what?

Please send all theories******* about what it could possibly mean, and what the universe is trying to tell me to: tomselleckcoincidencetheory@gmail.com

 

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* I’m obviously referring to 1980s Tom Selleck.

** And Quigley!

*** Something to keep in mind… He’s now 72.

**** Because he is a handsome male celebrity.

***** All synonyms for fate.

****** Another word for coincidence.

******* Or, hypotheses.

(Yes, I went a little crazy on the end notes.)

 

The Puppet Show

A few weeks ago I went to Los Angeles for a puppet show.

You might be thinking, that’s a long way to go for a puppet show… And you’d be right (2057 kilometers is a long way to go for your average puppet show).

But this was not your average puppet show! This was a puppet show put on by legendary puppeteer, director, and producer, Brian Henson, who happens to be the son of legendary puppeteer, screenwriter, director and inventor, Jim Henson.

When I saw an advertisement for the puppet show, I knew – with every fibre of my being – that I needed to see that puppet show with my own two eye balls, and if I didn’t… I would regret it every minute of every hour of every day, for the rest of my life.

 

I’d be lying on my death bed (hopefully a Sealy Posturpedic), and I’d be gritting my teeth, clenching my fists, gnashing my teeth, all the while lamenting that singular decision… To buy, or not to buy.

According to a study in Psychology Today, “regret can have damaging effects on mind and body when it turns into fruitless rumination and self-blame that keeps people from re-engaging with life. […] Other research […] shows regret can result in chronic stress, negatively affecting hormonal and immune system functioning. Regret impedes the ability to recover from stressful life events by extending their emotional reach for months, years, or lifetimes.”

So, obviously, I had to buy tickets for the puppet show.

(I mean, who has time for all that fruitless rumination?)

A week later, I travelled the 2057 kilometers by plane, rented a car, and drove to The Henson Studios.

And it was the second best day of my life**.

If I can impart any wisdom to you, let it be this:

Sometimes you just need to be crazy.

Sometimes you’ll think of some crazy thing that you kinda want to do, and then you’ll be like nahhhhh, but you should just say, yahhhhh.

Sometimes you just need to take a giant leap (for mankind, or womankind, or yourself) into the unknown.

Sometimes you just need to live your best life. @Oprah

Sometimes you need to have a “Summer of George”.

Sometimes you just need to get off your high horse (or low horse, or whatever it is that you’re sitting on) and stop what you are doing, and do the thing that you’re thinking about doing.

Sometimes you just need to do the thing (whatever the thing is), and ask questions later.

#NoFruitlessRumination

#JustDoTheThing

#NoRegrets

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* A close second to the time when I sat in the front row at a Martin Short show and he gyrated in my face while wearing a nude bodystocking with drawn-on genitals. 

 

Me, Brian Henson and some other guy.

 

A lot of people have asked if this is my Emmy.

 

Great, now I have an unhealthy obsession with puppets. I probably would have been better off with having regret.

 

I love you Kermit.