Something Foul Is Afoot

The unofficial start to summer is upon us, and that can mean only one thing.

Feet.

Sure, it ALSO means sunshine and ice cream, sprinklers and rainbows. But mostly, it’s time to unleash your pasty white dogs. This is my least favorite aspect of the season.

Let's face facts: Most of us should never allow our feet to see the light of day.

Case in point: I got in the elevator the other day at work, next to a guy in Tevas. I won’t go into all the things wrong with that statement, except to say that the posh company I work for is also home to the world’s top fashion magazines.

Frankly, I’m amazed he made it past security in those sweaty hogs.

Anyway, his feet were crazy looking.  I've never seen anything like them.

His toes were so flat and spread apart that you could literally fit another toe inbetween each one. It’s like they knew how ugly they looked, they got scared, they tried to get as far away from the next one as possible, and then they all got run over by a truck.

But the worst part was his toenails. They were approximately 64% longer than my fingernails.

Hey, could someone hold my hair for a sec?

BARF.

Anyway, it’s no wonder he had sandals on, because there is no way regular shoes could contain those funky toes.

In light of this unwanted encounter, I feel I am doing a public service by addressing summer feet now, before they get totally out of hand.

For the love of Dr. Scholl, hide your peds if they fit ANY of the following categories:

>> Frat Feet: are covered in bar sludge/beer from the night before
>> Jesus Feet: have dirty soles from walking barefoot in public
>> Middle Finger Feet: have a 2nd toe that is longer than the big toe
>> Shrimp Cocktail Feet: have toes that curl under from being jammed into small shoes
>> Nibble Feet: have toenails that look chewed on
>> Athlete Feet: have black and/or missing toenails
>> Troll Feet: are disfigured by bunions or corns
>> Ogre Feet: (see Troll Feet, add toe jam)
>> Finger Toes Feet: are so long they look like they could hold a knife and fork
>> Bearded Feet: are hairy
>> Weepy Feet: have so much chipped polish they are crying out for a pedicure
>> Sock Booger Feet: have pieces of lint stuck to them, lodged between toes
>> Smeet: are smelly feet


Be thankful I spared you a picture of my own feet in this post and went with my sandals instead.  Nobody needs to see that, primarily because my feet fit no less than 3 of the categories above (Middle Finger + Shrimp Cocktail + Troll). 

Embarrassing, but true.

Are you close-minded about open-toed shoes?  Kick your foot phobias below (toe-suckers need not reply -- save YOUR fetishes for a shrink).   

PS: NEVER EVER EVER do a Google image search for feet.  I can't even.  Just trust me.  Don't. 


tags: gross

Flight Plan

I’ve taken a bunch of trips over the last month – Los Angeles, Atlanta, and of course, Del Boca Vista. That's over 9K miles flown on Delta, American, United, and my beloved Jet Blue.

All this time in the sky has reminded me how much I love to travel. And how I really need to get my 50 state road trip back on track so my buddy, Jodi, and I can explore another new city.

And, how neurotic I can be.

Surely it can’t come as a surprise that the girl who has a pre-date ritual which involves dumping (clean) undies on her couch, might also pack a few quirks in her carryon…

For instance, I lay everything out 2 days before every trip so I have at least 1 day to remember the things I forgot. Also, I’d sooner ride in the luggage compartment than check a bag.

Ok, that doesn’t sound too bad. Still within the range of normal, right?

Now, run these through your security scanner:

In the Air:

• I require a window seat, because I hate getting up for people
• I am afraid that if I get up and walk around the plane, my weight will throw it off its course and we’ll go down
• I avoid going to the restroom because I fear a change in cabin pressure will suction my ass to the seat
• I avoid talking to the person sitting next to me
• I am incapable of sleeping in public, so I never nap on planes
• I don’t ever drink alcohol in-flight because I feel I need my wits about me at all times
• I never touch the tray or the materials in the seat pocket because I’m convinced they are covered in microscopic fecal matter

In the Hotel Room:

• I immediately strip the bed of blankets, throw pillows, and anything else not regularly washed
• I inspect every inch of the bed and the shower for stray hairs
• I order extra towels, as I require a minimum of 3 bath towels after I shower
• I locate the hairdryer and check the accuracy of the clock on the nightstand
• I grab a glass, but I never drink out of it – I use it to hold my jewelry
• My bare feet never touch the floor. NEVER.
• I disinfect the remote (oh my Lord of the Rings, you do NOT want to know what lurks on those buttons)
• I check the adjoining room lock(s) and flip the latch on my door so no one can ambush me in the middle of the night
• I read the room service menu, even if I’m not ordering, so I know what food I can get in a hunger emergency

These are just the things I'm aware of.  Imagine all the things I don't even know I'm doing! 

So, am I flying solo on this?  Do YOU step off the plane and scrub your skin raw with antibacterial soap and a wire BBQ brush?

Check YOUR travel neuroses below...


tags: travel

The Social Butterfly

When I was in the 1st grade, my teacher, Mrs. Buzinky, told my parents I was a good student.  Her only complaint was, “Jenny is a social butterfly.”

It was the same with Mrs. Tubbs in the 4th grade. And with Mrs. Barbarise in the 5th grade.  And with Miss Kaminski in the 7th grade. And with Mrs. Kain in the 10th grade. And with Father Mayzik sophomore year in college.

Vocal. Talkative. Chatty. Motormouth.

That’s me.

I guess that's why I started this blog.  It gives me a place to talk about my favorite subject: Myself. 

But I am not someone who grew up with a computer. I went through high school and college with a dinky Smith Corona Personal Word Processor (a fancy way of saying electric typewriter). It had a screen that displayed 8 lines at a time. The modern-day equivalent of writing essays via text message.

I still remember the first computer I ever bought. It was 1995, I’d just graduated from college, and although I didn’t have a job quite yet, I DID have a shiny new credit card whispering in my ear... charge it!

So I did.

And for all I know, I’m still paying for it.  It was a Gateway, it came in a box that looked like a cow, and it weighed 100lbs. I taught myself to use it and my inner geek was instantly smitten.

When I did get a job later that summer, only ONE computer in my entire office was connected to the Internet. Today -- 3 desktops, 2 laptops, 4 wireless routers, 2 blogs, 7 social networks, 2 smartphones, 1 connected TV, and a tablet later -- I have crossed the final frontier (until they create a new one that involves holograms and/or smell-o-vision).

I bought my own URL.

It’s not like I thought someone would steal it – while my first name's a dime a dozen, my last name is pretty rare. I think there’s only 1 other girl in the WORLD who has it – she friended me once on Facebook in a total Twilight Zone moment. She’s about half my age, lives in France, smokes, has multiple piercings and tattoos, and a boyfriend who is a DJ. Soon after, she changed her name to a French obscenity and unfriended me.

We’re like twins.

In fact, I was inspired by an ACTUAL friend, who writes a really helpful blog. His most recent post was on all the reasons you should own your own name. Huh. He made a compelling argument. I’ve worked in digital for the past 12 years -- how could I NOT own my own domain?

Luckily, he’s also an excellent teacher so he created a step-by-step guide to follow. In about 20 minutes (which included time spent rooting around in 3 different handbags for my wallet), I was up and running.

It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a good place to keep track of all the networks this social butterfly frequents.  And it ensures nobody will confuse me with little Jenny Merde.

Oohlala.

poll by twiigs.com

PS: Social butterflies like company!  Follow me, I will follow you (unless you’re creepy, then you’re on your own):
Facebook
Twitter
LinkedIn
Google+
Tumblr
Foursquare
Pinterest (my personal fave)

 
tags: polls, technology, work

May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

Post-apocalyptic YA novels about starving teenagers in a televised fight to the death really aren’t my thing.

I tried to resist.  But let’s face it: I can’t stand being left out of a pop culture phenomenon. So I borrowed The Hunger Games from a friend at work.

Did I like it?

Let’s just say, I read the 1st book, ordered the full series from Amazon, got them, AND read the next 2 books all in the span of about 10 days. That includes time I foolishly spent working and sleeping. I could have read them even quicker, but I was trying to drag the 3rd book out because I didn’t want the series to end.

The last time I did this much binge-reading was Twilight. Which I loved.

It begs the question, which one did I love better: Twilight or Hunger Games? Wow.  That's like Sophie's Choice.  I can't decide. I love them both.  Differently.

Can one possibly come out on top? 

Let’s battle it out together…

THE SERIES:
>> Twilight: Stephanie Meyers' 4 books & 4 movies (+1 to come)
>> Hunger Games: Suzanne Collins' 3 books & 1 movie (+2 to come)
>> The Winner: Tie
Here's Why: Supernatural Twilight was way longer.  More to sink my teeth into (jokes=0, puns=1).  But futuristic Hunger Games was a fast-paced feast (ahem).  And each HG book had a title that related better to the story.  I could never remember the names of the Twilight books, even as I was reading them.  Still, for me, this one's a toss up.

THE SETTING:
>> Twilight: Stormy Forks, Washington
>> Hunger Games: Dreary District 12, Panem
>> The Winner: Forks
Here's Why:  Panem seems miserable.  Everyplace but the Capitol is filled with struggling and starvation -- and that's a good day.  No thanks.  I'll take moody, rainy Forks and pack an umbrella.

THE SUSPENDED BELIEF:
>> Twilight: Vampires & werewolves live among us
>> Hunger Games: Children battling to the death is entertaining
>> The Winner: Kids fighting
Here's Why: Boxing.  Mixed Martial Arts.  Gangs.  Dog fights.  We live in a pretty violent society, and sometimes, you can even buy tickets and a beer so you can watch and cheer it on.  So is it really THAT far fetched that there'd be some annual kiddie Fight Club?  Sadly, no.

THE DEADLY THREAT:
>> Twilight: Bitten by vampire & live forever
>> Hunger Games: Starve & die young
>> The Winner: Vampire
Here's Why: This one's no contest.  Have you ever seen a broke vampire?  No.  I think I could stand an eternity of living in awesome houses, driving amazing cars, and vacationing on my own island.  Even if it meant sitting through chemistry again.  Sure, there's the whole blood-sucking thing.  But I'd rather make a meal out of a meathead than out of a squirrel and some tree bark.

THE HEROINE:
>> Twilight: Bella Swan
>> Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen
>> The Winner: Katniss
Here's Why: Bella's a whiner.  Waah, the cutest boy in school has pledged his undying love for me.  Waaah, I'm going to be 18.  Waaaah, I might also love a werewolf.  Waaaaah, I'm living dangerously.  Waaaaaah, I can't walk in heels.  Waaaaaaah, I love my demon baby.  Please.  Katniss should shoot an arrow in Bella's ass and give her a reason to complain.

THE LOVE TRIANGLE:
>> Twilight: Bella/Edward/Jacob
>> Hunger Games: Katniss/Gale/Peeta
>> The Winner: Katniss/Gale/Peeta
Here's Why:  It's a true triangle.  Ab-tastic Jacob really never had a chance of escaping the dreaded Friend Zone.  While Katniss faked her feelings to stay alive.  So to see real relationships develop with her hunting buddy, Gale, and fellow Tribute, Peeta, was sweet, surprising, and heart-wrenching.  PS: I'm totally Team Peeta.

THE VILLAIN:
>> Twilight: The Volturi
>> Hunger Games: President Snow
>> The Winner: Tie
Here's Why: Both smell like blood.  That's not normal.  They're also both very pale.  And they all speak in hushed tones, which is always scarier than yelling.  You'd really want to avoid these cats at all costs.

THE VOICE OF REASON:
>> Twilight: Vampire, Dr. Carlisle Cullen
>> The Hunger Games: Former winner, Haymitch Abernathy
>> The Winner: Haymitch
Here's Why: Sure he's a drunk, but somehow he thinks clearly when it comes to the Games and he does his best to keep his Tributes alive by delivering food, medicine, and developing their entire love story.  Carlisle wasn't even there to deliver the demon baby -- some mentor!

THE QUIRKY SIDEKICK:
>> Twilight: Alice Cullen
>> Hunger Games: Effie Trinket
>> The Winner: Alice
Here's Why: Aside from uttering the awesomely oblivious line that is title of this post, Effie's pretty useless.  Alice can see danger in the future.  That's a good skill to keep in your pocket.  Little known fact: when she's not busy saving other people's lives with her visions, she plays the odds in Vegas.  That's how they afford all Edward's Volvos.

THE SYMBOL:
>> Twilight: An apple, representing temptation
>> Hunger Games: A mockingjay pin, representing rebellion
>> The Winner: Mockingjay
Here's Why: That genetically-engineered mockingjay bird was all over the place.  It was famously worn as a pin, it was hidden on a watch, it was burned on a piece of bread, it inspired every outfit Cinna designed.  It became the symbol of a national revolution.  At the end of the day, the apple was just a fruity reminder that Bella shouldn't have sex before marriage.  Eh.


Well, alrighty then!  I guess Hunger Games took a bite out of Twilight (jokes=0, puns=2) after all. 

I can live with that.

Agree?  Disagree?  Too busy reading 50 Shades of Grey to care?  Comment below!


tags: entertainment, pop culture

Dear John Frieda,

About a week ago, my nearly 3-year-old niece was brushing my hair. Well, really, poking my head with a small white plastic comb.

But she had the idea.

We were chatting, and I was asking her questions. Was my hair long or short? “Long.” Straight or curly? “Straight.” She may be a hairstyling GENIUS once she gets the whole combing thing down.

Anyway, when I asked her what color my hair was, she sweetly said, “Brown.”

She paused for a second, then added, “and white.”

Hilarious, but ouch!

I DO yank my gray (grey?) hairs out, but a few must have slipped past the goalie (go Rangers!). I've been to salons here and there to dye my hair when I felt like a change. But I never loved the results -- or the $250 price tag. So I began to DIY when the mood struck.

What my niece was trying to tell me was the L’Oreal Feria Natural Light Brown #60 (with 3x the highlights!) I applied around Thanksgiving had grown out.  I had roots down to my ears.  And not the sexy kind that they now call "ombre."  This was ugly.

She was right!  I needed a hair-ntervention.

Fast-forward to Wednesday night. I was on the phone with my mom watching Revenge and your John Frieda commercial came on. It was a sign from the Advertising Gods!

Huzzah!

I went to your website. I took your color quiz. I believed I could achieve true salon-quality color at home. With a foam!

I wasn’t going for anything crazy. Just a nice shade of brown that was a better version of my natural color. I’ll admit, I was indecisive in the hair care aisle at my local CVS. So I bought 2 of the shades your picker recommended.

Sure it was a little more expensive, but I’m worth it (sorry, L’Oreal).

One was medium brown with warm tones (Brilliant Brunette Medium Golden Brown #5G). The other had neutral tones (Brilliant Brunette Medium Natural Brown #5N).

Typing it now, this seems like a meaningless distinction.  But it seemed important at the time.

Anyway, at 11pm last night, after a WILD Saturday evening of L&L (laundry & Lifetime), I made the game-time decision to apply #5G to my head.

I poured the “colourant” bottle into the developer bottle, taking great care not to shake it, as instructed. I gently tilted the bottle no more than 5x to combine the dye. I squeezed tennis-ball-sized blobs of foam into my gloved hand, starting at the root. I applied the whole bottle in this fashion, and gently massaged it in to avoid tangles. I waited 20 minutes for the color to develop. I hopped in the shower and rinsed my hair with lukewarm water until it ran clean. I applied the ultra-nourishing conditioner, and let its healing Babassu oil and rice milk soak in for 5 whole minutes.

Then I dried my hair.

You know what? THIS IS NOT MEDIUM GOLDEN BROWN!

Also, I think “Babassu" oil is a made up name!

The first clue I’d gone offtrack was the reddish hue the dye had when it came in contact with my forehead. Hmmm. Next, was the foam’s refusal to stay white and foamy on my head, like it is the diagrams.

Instead mine was like… creamy dirt.

Okaaaay. The final clue was the jet-black appearance of my wet hair. I know, hair is always darker when wet, but this was a shade I’ve never seen before.

Uh oh.

No medium. No gold. No brown.

This shade is more like brownish-black with a flourish of burgundy when the light hits it a certain way.

Truth be told, I might actually like it. Now my ample brows match my hair. I have no more roots or grays, which was the original goal.  And my eyes look a little greener.  But this was a very RISKY game to play, Johnny Boy!!

Particularly since I’m headed to LA tomorrow on business, and I don’t own any hats.

So, would I have achieved a different result with #5N? Maybe. But I’ll never find out. I’m through with YOU, Mr. Frieda!  There is nothing precise about this color.

Sincerely,
(Formerly Golden) Brown-Haired Girl

PS: L’Oreal, my hair is very sorry it cheated on you. It won’t happen again.


tags: beauty

Freebies

Ok, ok, so I didn’t win the lottery. You either? Pfft. But today WAS a lucky day. I earned a free sandwich.

Take THAT, Friday the 13th!

(it’s the little things)

There's a lunch place near my office called Chop't, and every day no matter what time you go, the line is out the door. If you're not familiar, they're like the Cold Stone Creamery of salads. You pick your lettuce and your mix-ins, and a little dude behind the glass dumps it on the counter and dices it all up so there's dressing in every bite. Yum. You can have it in a bowl, or in a wrap.

I go for the Santa Fe. With bacon. And Russian. I'm sure there's a vegetable hidden in there somewhere.

Probably.

Anyway, with every 9 you buy, the 10th is free. Nevermind that you've probably spent $100 bucks to get the free one. It's still a happy day when the Frequent Chop'r Card (no joke, that's the name) pays a dividend.

So Tax Day is almost upon us, and my hand is cramping from writing checks to Uncle Sam, the Big Apple, and Sal my accountant (surely it's not from stuffing free sammies down my gullet). For some reason I cannot explain, every single year I either break even or have to pay. Well, except for the ONE time this century that I got a refund and I stupidly used it on movers.

I would have rather given my $ to the government.

My depleted bank account and this sandwich-induced euphoria got me to thinking of the other loyalty programs I love...

Sephora Beauty Insider
What You Get: Discounts, free samples with every 100 pts, special gifts with 500 pts, and a treat on your bday
Why I Love It: I have earned VIB status, based on the sheer quantity of lip gloss I buy and my irrational desire to smell like Jennifer Aniston at all times.

Best Buy Reward Zone
What You Get: A $5 certificate for every 250 pts, a visit from the Geeks, and free shipping
Why I Love It: I earned Premier Silver status here. You'd be surprised how many points you get for buying the full series of Dawson's Creek on DVD. That's the gift that just keeps on giving.

CVS Extra Care
What You Get: ExtraBucks to spend in the store
Why I Love It: Because you can combine these discounts. So on my last visit, I got Easter cards for the fam, a Reese's Peanut Butter egg (next to Peeps, it is the best Easter candy in all the land), nail polish remover, and a roll of toilet paper for FREE.

American Express Membership Rewards
What You Get: Points for every dollar you spend, which can be used to buy more stuff
Why I Love It: You can use these points on Amazon, just like cash, which made me the world's greatest daughter when I got my Dad a free Kindle for Christmas a few years back. But then they came out with much cooler ones. And now he wants an upgrade to the Fire. Good thing I charge my rent (kidding, they don't take Amex -- just Visa).

Jet Blue True Blue
What You Get: Free flights with no blackout dates and points that never expire
Why I Love It: Since I'm now an honorary retiree with all my trips to Del Boca Vista, I get a free trip at least once a year. You get points for checking in online.  Plus when they screw something up, they give you more points. I'm ok with that, but wonder how many points they doled out to the folks on the flight with Captain Crazypants?


Now, maybe you're thinking... why spend a couple grand to earn a sandwich, a perfume sample, $5 coupons, a lame-ass Kindle, and a ticket to sweaty Florida?

Simple: Because I like free things. Even if I'm paying for them. 

Plus I've recently graduated from extreme couponing to hoarding, so this fits right in.

List YOUR favorite loyalty programs below (fair warning: if Dave & Busters or Hooters makes this list, I will judge you)...


tags: shopping

Hey, You Never Know

I don’t think I’ve ever bought a lottery ticket. But I got one today!

Actually, I bought 7. One Mega Millions ticket each for me, my parents, my brother and sis-in-law, and the kids. That felt like a lucky number – my mom was born on the 7th day of the 7th month, and our last name starts with G, which happens to be the 7th letter of the alphabet.

I let the machine pick them, and the friendly guy behind the counter even wished me good luck.  Thanks, buddy!

Apparently I have a better chance of being in a car collision with a deer AND getting a hole in one in golf AND drowning then getting revived AND being attacked by a shark and surviving than I do of winning this lottery (176M to 1).  But I’ll take it.

Like the little guy says, “Hey, you never know.”

Until 11pm when the numbers are chosen, anything is possible. I could still win! And if I did snag this $640M jackpot (the biggest EVER), here’s how I would spend the first 7 days:

DAY 1: I’d buy a wig and a fake moustache. Another thing you never know is when you'll need a disguise. 

DAY 2: I’d take the lump sum payout of $462M and give Uncle Sam his 25% taste.  I'll pay my NY taxes too, but only if Bloomberg would personally come pick it up.  I'll be at the original Shake Shack eating my weight in crinkle fries.

DAY 3: I’d fill my 550sqft apartment with $100 bills.  Then I'd invite my family over for a dip in the money pool, while shouting, Oprah-style: “YOU get ten million dollars! And YOU get TEN million dollars! And YOU GET TENNNNN MILLLLLIONNNN DOOOOLLARRRRS!”

DAY 4: I’d get another BMW X3 with its glorious panoramic moonroof, and we'd all cruise on out to Pine Brook to buy our old house back. Just walk up and ring the bell, checkbook in hand. Name your price, lady.

DAY 5: I’d buy every exit on the Garden State Parkway. At each tollbooth, there would be a cardboard-cutout of me, which people could High-5 as they drove through for free.

DAY 6: I’d get myself a man-servant. I may never have a husband, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to throw out the trash and change light bulbs for the rest of my life.  I will call him Jeeves.

DAY 7: On the 7th day, I would rest. And by rest, I mean retire. To my own island.  Aloha.


So before some toothless bozo from Podunk, West Virgina wins and kills all our dreams, what would YOU do with $640M?


tags: pop culture

And Now, a Word From Our Sponsors...

There’s an 87% chance my DVR will explode tonight.

Good thing the sheer size of my cable package entitled me to a free upgrade for the super-capacity hard drive when I switched from truly horrendous Time Warner to seemingly better (but the jury’s still out) Verizon Fios.

This evening, I am recording no less than 11 shows – Jerseylicious (8-9pm, Style), The Amazing Race (8-9pm, CBS), The Good Wife (9-10pm, CBS), Celebrity Apprentice (9-11pm, NBC), GCB (10-11pm, ABC), Watch What Happens (11-11:30pm, Bravo), Mad Men (11pm-1am, AMC), Worst Cooks in America (12-1am, Food Network), Shameless (2-3am, Showtime West), House of Lies (3-3:30am, Showtime West), Californication (3:30-4am, Showtime West) – which amounts to nearly 12 hours of glorious television.

This is like a couch potato soufflé – one timeslot shift and the whole thing caves in.

Thankfully, cable re-airs the shit out their shows, or else this scheduling masterpiece would not be possible. You almost can’t imagine the same person could love both Jerseylicious and The Good Wife. But I do. And this is just my Sunday night lineup!

Honestly, though, I’m really only counting down to 1 show. Of course, I’m speaking of Mad Men.

You too?

It’s no secret I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the show, but it has been an excruciating 526 days since Mad Men season 4 ended (October 17, 2010, but who's counting?). At long last, Don Draper and the gang are back for more womanizing, boozing, and advertising.

Life at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce is my favorite part of the show. I’m a sucker for a good ad. Even a bad one, on occasion. Since we last rode the elevator together, I’ve noticed a pattern in the suits from Madison Avenue: Truth in advertising. I can name 3 companies off the top of my head who have launched multi-million dollar national campaigns centered around telling the truth about their brand and their industry.

I’m officially calling it a trend.

I mean, if 2 is a coincidence, 3 has got to be a trend, right? Regardless, grab your secretary, pour yourself a Tom Collins, a Brandy Alexander, or an Old Fashioned (Don’s fave), and watch these spots:


DOMINOS
Cardboard crust. Processed cheese. Flavorless sauce. Only enjoyable if you’re drunk. Domino’s CEO Patrick Doyle faced these criticisms head-on, and set out to make a better pizza. Steering a 50-year-old company and its 9000+ franchisees in a different direction couldn’t have been an easy task. They looked at 10 crust types, 15 sauce recipes, and dozens of cheeses to reinvent the product. And they cooked up a better ordering process (it’s actually fun!). Then they spent millions on a brutally honest ad campaign, which publicized their formerly lousy pizza and offered money-back guarantees to anyone who didn’t taste the difference. And they posted new customer feedback on a 125-ft electronic billboard in Times Square. Oh no they didn't? Oh yes they did!




KOTEX
Blue liquid. White spandex pants. Twirling in slow motion. Riding horses on the beach. Feminine hygiene product ads made periods seem SUPER fun. Somehow, erectile disfunction commercials could show an old geezer in the bedroom, but these girls had to be ANYWHERE but in the bathroom. So Kimberly Clark took the tampon by the string with their 90 year-old Kotex brand and turned the spotlight on themselves. They used their own old commercial footage to illustrate how silly the industry had become about monthly goings on “down there.” They changed packaging from sterile white to chic black. And in the process, they showed young girls that the only embarrassing thing about this topic was its advertising. Still think periods are all kittens and cartwheels? Get real!




JCPENNEY
Artificially inflated prices. Confusing markdowns. Massive exclusions. Retail industry pricing strategies were the enemy here. JCPenney’s CEO Ron Johnson (formerly of Apple) decided to stop the madness. This company was spending over $1B a year in promoting their sales (almost 600 per year). They looked at what they were charging, and what customers most often paid after juggling discounts. Turns out, only 1 in 500 items sold for full price. So he re-priced everything. And then he did away with complex return policies.  Did I mention he only joined the company in November? On February 1st, with a new logo (reminiscent of the American flag) and Ellen DeGeneres, the concept of “fair and square pricing” was introduced to this 110 year-old company. A breath of fresh air, indeed. Enough is enough!





These 3 brands existed in the Mad Men-era. And I’m guessing that’s also when the stereotypes they’re now fighting were invented.  I'm sure they worked at the time.  As Don Draper would say, “Trust me, I work in advertising.”

(As an aside, the current issue of Newsweek is a real treat -- right down to the ads)

Now, if you can stomach just one more teensy-weensy commercial before the show, I'll end with my most favorite ad airing right now.  It looks at truth from a different angle.  And truth be told, I don’t drink coffee, but I really would like 3 cups of Johan…






So, can there be truth in advertising? And what's YOUR favorite Mad Men moment? The womanizing, the boozing, or the advertising? Put your cocktail down and comment below!


tags: commercials, entertainment

A Century of Samoas

Amidst news of the 300lb disease-ridden feral pigs that are eating New York state farmers out of crops, and utterly gushy Olive Garden reviews out of North Dakota, you might have heard that the Girl Scouts turned 100 yesterday.

I never became a full-fledged Girl Scout, but I WAS a Brownie for 1 glorious year in the 3rd grade. And man, I loved that little polyester brown uniform!

Every other Tuesday was like a holiday because my troop would meet, and I could wear my snazzy duds to school. I loved the sweater. And the Peter Pan shirt collar.  And the orange snap-on necktie. And the beanie hat. And the shapeless pants. And the matching mini-Brownie doll my mom got me from JCPenney.

But most of all, I loved the sash.

I still have it! It’s in a bin in my brother’s basement with all my other childhood memorabilia. I recall it having a “gold” Girl Scout logo pin and a bunch of badges, all lovingly sewn on by my mom.

But only 2 of the badges really stand out in my mind, 30 (ahem) years later...

The first I remember I earned for gardening at a greenhouse. I know this because my small hands swelled up while I was doing it. Turns out I was allergic to the cactus we were planting. How could a girl from suburban New Jersey (by way of The Bronx) possibly be expected to know that?

The second I remember earning for selling the most cookies in my troop. (I believe it said “go big or go home” at the bottom in teeny tiny embroidery.)

But really, it’s my dad who should have earned the badge.

I wasn’t much for going door-to-door. Not when my high school class decided to sell stinky green bandannas as a fundraiser (that’ll be $40, mom… Go Mustangs!). Or when my CCD class decided to give us all cardboard rice bowls during Lent (yes, parents, I’ll take ALL your spare change). And certainly not when I was 8 and it was time to stimulate the cookie economy.

That’s where my dad came in.

Armed with nothing but a glossy fold-out card covered in irresistible cookie porn (aka Samoas, Tag-a-longs, Thin Mints, and Trefoils), my dad went to his office to sell those suckers.

Turns out he could sell a dumptruck of cookies to a bunch of middle-aged Wall Street dudes with a sweet tooth and 20 extra beans weighing down their alligator wallets.

If I recall, they had to attach 2 additional legal-sized pages for all the orders. A few months later, the Girl Scout bakers birthed out our jumbo-sized order and my poor dad had to schlep massive bags of cookie boxes into NYC for a week straight.

In all our cookie-fueled enthusiasm, I don’t think we thought that part sufficiently through.

The Girls have come a long way in all this time. I hear there’s even an app to locate a cookie-dealer near you, which sounds WAY riskier than going door-to-door in your neighborhood, but who am I to judge? My dad was a 37 year-old man-Brownie for a day. I never had to lift a finger, except to push sweet, sweet Tag-a-longs into my toothless mouth.

Lucky me!

(And for the record, I will pay it forward by buying all the stale candy bars, ill-fitting t-shirts, car wash coupons, and cheap gift wrapping sets that my niece and nephew will ever get saddled with selling.)

So here’s to the Girl Scouts (and to my dad) – who have inspired my lifelong love of cookies.  And the color brown.

Happy 100th birthday!


Were YOU ever a Brownie? Or do you just like to eat them? No matter, list your go-to GS cookie below... for me, coconutty Samoas and peanutbuttery Tag-a-longs are in a dead heat.


Tags: family, food, holidays, pop culture

London Calling

I know I’m overdue for a post. Hopefully this is a juicy one...

Right before the holidays, a guy from eHarmony sent me a communication request. He was 36, 6’ tall, lived on the UES, brown hair and eyes, worked as a “fitness manager” (whatever that is) but looked more like a bookworm than a gym rat.

On a scale from 1-10 with 10 being the best, he was about a 4. But then I read that that he was British. Hmmm. That did change things because I do love me some British accent -- even if awful teeth and pale skin often ride shotgun. 

Suddenly, he was a solid 6.

So I tore myself away from my first love (TV) and wrote him back. We went through the normal communication stages, and I began to notice a pattern.

We had absolutely nothing in common.

I like to sightsee in big cities, he thought camping in the wilderness was a swell way to spend a weekend. I like to cook big dinners, he thought a protein shake was a meal. I like going to concerts and movies, he thought the only events worth going to involved a football (and by football, I mean soccer ball).

Then London Calling and I talked on the phone.

Camping, shakes, and soccer be damned -- I was wooed by that accent!

I agreed to meet him for a drink and went through my traditional pre-date ritual. (What? You aren’t familiar? Oh, sit back and enjoy -- it’s a true window into my neuroses…)

First, I dump a pile of underwear on my couch. I should clarify: this is CLEAN underwear. It is 100% MORE probable that Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house than it is that I would EVER invite a guy up to my apartment on the first date. But still, I like having this insurance policy. A couch full of unmentionables means nobody’s making it past the lobby. Period. (I’m sure there’s a joke there, so let’s pretend I made one.)

Second, I put on a pair of heels. This puts me at 6’ tall and allows me to verify that my date is as tall as he says he is and that he meets/exceeds my 6’ height requirement. I know, I KNOW, totally, completely, unbelievably superficial. But it beats carting around one of those signs you see at amusement parks which state you must be this tall to ride this ride. That would just be awkward and gives the wrong impression! I’m not that kind of girl (see my undie-covered couch).

Third, I puff up my hair – but just on one side. Being a Jersey Girl with a thick mane, this is not tough. The “wall of hair” is an essential weapon in my dating arsenal (recall its use to block the view of my date’s public flossing). This provides ample cover should I ever find myself on the receiving end of an unwanted kiss goodnight.

Are you exhausted yet? Me too.

BTW if I’ve ever gone on a date with someone who’s reading this post, I NEVER did this with you (yes I did).

Anyway, I got to the bar first. It was pretty crowded, so I stayed by the door, purposely situated near a squirrely girl who struck me as the type who might keep a bag of drain hair or toenail clippings in her nightstand.

Needless to say, it was a flattering adjacency.

He came in a few minutes later and instantly recognized me from my pics. We wandered away from the bar and grabbed a table by the front window. Looking back, it’s possible the people already sitting there weren’t ready to leave yet, but I was in heels and my feet were swelling by the second. No doubt, I’d have gotten full-on kankles if we stood all night. Besides, I’d just verified that he checked out as 6’ tall so we were in the clear.

I ordered a vodka tonic, he ordered a warm, dark beer that was not Guinness. Then we began to talk. And talk. And talk. THREE hours, another round of drinks, and a trip to the loo later, it was really time to go.

Now, here’s the confusing thing about me: Just because we talked for 3 hours doesn’t actually mean we hit it off.

We still had nothing in common. Actually, no we had ONE thing in common. He had a face and so do I. Otherwise… nada. But I could talk the paint off a wall, and he, having just met me, could not be expected to know such a thing.  He mistakenly thought this was a good first date.

To be fair, it WAS better than the vast majority of my other horrific first dates. Plus, I DID hang on his every word because I loved his accent. AND I laughed at his dry humor, because I am polite and also because I couldn’t exactly hear everything he was saying above the noisy crowd. And he laughed too! Or maybe it was a cough. I couldn’t tell.

I can see why he would have gone in for a smooch, but I don’t think I have to tell you what happened next…

Still dazed from his faceful of hair, he muttered something about doing it again, and stumbled off. I felt bad.  I tried to keep an open mind -- really I did -- but you can’t fake chemistry. And we had none. Which is why I felt even worse, when he texted the next morning telling me what a nice time he had and how he hoped we could do it again next week.

Again? Oh no! Ugh. I’m horrible.

I texted him back saying I enjoyed meeting him too (this was true). I said it was unfortunate we can’t meet up (this was NOT true). I said I would be away visiting my parents in FL the following week (this was true).

He wished me a good trip, and I forgot all about it. Until Christmas Day. My phone buzzed and it was a text from him. He wanted to wish me a merry Christmas. Why couldn’t he be a Grinchy Scrooge? And why couldn’t I find him remotely attractive? And WHY didn’t I ever want to camp or check myself for ticks?

I texted him back and wished him a jolly holiday. I got no response. And because I’m so destined to be alone for all eternity, in my twisted mind that was a GOOD thing. Ahhh. Until, he texted again. This time, on New Year’s Eve. He wanted to wish me a happy 2012, and asked when would I be back in NYC?

Sigh.

I wrote him back. Happy New Year, I said. But I didn’t answer his question about when I’d be home. That’s the last I heard from him. The other day, he closed our match on eHarmony.  Aaand I feel awful.

I know I didn’t handle that right. He was a nice guy, it’s not his fault we didn’t click. And now, I’m certain I have a big fat ugly ball of bad dating karma waiting for me. You just know there’s going to be a tall guy with beautiful teeth and a tan who reads to blind old people WHILE he’s curing cancer AND rescuing kittens from trees. He’s going to blow me off big time. And I’ll totally deserve it.

Right? 

Soooo that was my last first date. Nailed it!

poll by twiigs.com

tags: dating, polls