Monthly Archives: January 2013

Being a MILF

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I was driving home from yoga this morning and I heard “You Shook Me All Night Long” on the radio, and it occurred to me – not for the first time – that the line “knocking me out with those American thighs” had much different connotation back in 1980 than it would today.  American thighs probably doesn’t have the same seductive imagery these days. 

Unless, of course, the owner of the American thighs are following the MILF Diet.  Have you heard about the MILF diet?  I had been blissfully unaware until yesterday, when I discovered that there is a book and website devoted to becoming a MILF via nutritional intake.  The book describes a MILF and her diet in the following way:

A true milf is confident, sexy, and radiates natural femininity. By eating whole, plant-based foods, you, too, can find balance and dynamic health, and unleash your inner MILF. It’s simple: you are what you eat. So, to fulfill your true potential for health, happiness, and MILFiness, it’s best to avoid refined sugars, processed foods, dairy, and meat.
 
You guys, that is totally MY diet!  Plant based, no meat, avoiding dairy, refined sugars, processed foods…do you see what I’m saying here?  I AM A MILF.  Either that or the MILF people stole my diet plan. 
 
Who am I kidding, I didn’t need a diet book to tell me about being MILF-y.  I felt Mrs. Robinson-like the first time I accidentally flashed my thong while gardening in my front yard, and noticed the young guy across the street standing there, staring at me.  HOWDY NEIGHBOUR.  Nice day, isn’t it?  That incredibly awkward situation did have an upside: I now only garden in yoga pants and with long shirts.  No need to disturb the neighbourhood, or to make my other across-the-street neighbour feel like it’s okay for him to mow the lawn wearing only giant sneakers and a pair of cut-off red sweatpants.  This is not that kind of neighbourhood, people!  We have real estate values to think of, here. 
 
MILF is one of those words – or acronyms, to be more accurate – that some people find incredibly offensive, and to be sure, it isn’t the most polite way of saying that a woman is attractive.  It’s better than, say, hootchie mama, but that’s about it.  Still, it’s best not to think of it literally; in the fucking sense, I mean.  I would prefer not to think of men – especially those who live across the street from me and with whom I now have very stilted, awkward conversations about the weather – thinking of me as someone they’d like to fuck.  Because ew.  Just…ew.  I’m sure this goes without saying, but bedroom-sexy-times imagery is something I would prefer to keep between me and my husband.
 
Apparently though, the term has evolved to simply mean a woman who is a mother who happens to be attractive, which is okay, unless you take everything from When Harry Met Sally as Biblical-level wisdom:
 
Harry: No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive.  He always wants to have sex with her.
 
Do you see what I’m saying here?  I’m saying this term, which started out kind of gross and offensive, and which is generally now thought to have a gentler meaning, is really just gross and offensive, due to the nature of men wanting to have sex with attractive women.  It’s a circular argument.  That is, if When Harry Met Sally is considered to be an accurate representation of male/female relationships, and if it’s not, then I just do not know where to turn.  TOP GUN?  Never fire unless fired upon?  It’s unthinkable.  SAY ANYTHING?  They take your money and tell their friends everything.  It’s about economics, man.  No way.  THE BREAKFAST CLUB?  Don’t play with the bull, young man.  You’ll get the horns.  No, no, no.
 
One might think that I should possibly get on top of pop-culture references that are less than twenty-five years old.  This might be something to think about in future posts.
 
But really, do you know what I find offensive about the term MILF?  It’s an inaccurate acronym.  It really should be MILTF, but I guess that’s just too complicated.  Also?  In The MILF Diet, the author refers to – get this – DILFs.  As in “Dad I’d Like To Fuck”.  Is it me or has the whole thing just gone too far?  There was a line, MILF Diet author, and you crossed it.  That is a big fucking envelope and you are pushing it to the extreme.  First a diet based on how to get random male university students to want to fuck you, now we have to pull men and some kind of Freudian imagery into it?  Not to mention that DILF just makes me think of DILLHOLE, which isn’t exactly a term that makes me think of sexy-times.  The whole thing smacks of idiocy. 
 
It appears I may have had too much coffee today.  Wait.  WAIT.  Is coffee allowed on the MILF diet?  Probably not.  I have overestimated my position as a MILF.  I guess I will abdicate and just go on with life as a regular mom.

Oooh, I hated the Colonel, with his WEE BEADY EYES

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After my last post, I had a few people grumpily say There is NOTHING good about January, to which I respond, sunnily, There is only a week left!  One week and then we are into February!  So there’s a positive thought for you, even if it is just time tick-tick-ticking away.  Also, tomorrow is Robbie Burns’ Day, for all you of Scottish or partial Scottish heritage.  Time for the annual viewing of So I Married An Axe Murderer, complete with Rod Stewart and the Bay City Rollers impersonations.  My dad is probably gearing up for a Haggis feast right this very second.  I was in the grocery store the other day and noticed this sign:

It’s so cheerful!  Got Haggis? 

Gracious, that’s repellent.  Well, the Scots are not known for their cuisine, that is for sure.  Anyone for some sausage cooked in a lamb’s stomach with a side of boiled potatoes?  OH YES PLEASE.  Has anyone noticed that there is not exactly a plethora of Scottish cookbooks around?  There is a reason. 

So I’m not a fan, of haggis or boiled potatoes.  But each to his own, right?  For example, my husband hates my new hairband, which I think is the cutest thing ever.  It has a bow on it!  And lest you think that I look like I’m about to break into the Good Ship Lollipop, the bow is very small:

I think it’s cute, anyway.  It occurred to me that the gap between what my husband thinks is cute and stylish and what I think is cute and stylish is often very wide indeed.  I do tend to pause, if he has issue with something I think is tres adorable, because after all I do not want to become one of those women who bring to mind the wretched “mutton dressed as lamb” saying.  It’s good to have feedback, even if that feedback isn’t exactly what we want to hear. 

Which brings to mind something I meant to mention last week, but I was too mired in the January Blues.  Kate Middleton is, in my opinion, the most beautiful woman in the world.  What I wouldn’t do for her hair and her wardrobe.  Her shoes!  Anyway, she is, without a doubt, stunning.  This portrait, however, is not:

Now, I’m no artist.  (This is an understatement.  I can draw little stick people, daisies, and a happy little sun and that is about it.)  However, I find myself a bit depressed about this portrait.  If this can happen to Kate, what chance do the rest of us have?  At least her hair still looks fabulous, even though her eyes look strangely dead and she looks like she needs to sleep for twelve hours. 

All of which is to say, feedback is good, even if it is not what we wish to hear.  And yes, I know that Kate was purportedly thrilled with this portrait, and to that I think, well, what is she going to say?  Is she going to threaten to have him beheaded and throw a bucketful of paint at it?  I’m guessing NOT.  I’m guessing she dug deep into her good manners reserves, smiled politely, went home, and berated William with questions “Do I need a new undereye concealer?  My god, why didn’t you TELL ME?” 

Nicole’s Favourite Things, January Blues Edition

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Last week I posted about being blue on Blue Monday, but today it was brought to my attention that TODAY IS BLUE MONDAY.  But I was sad last week!  I’m not sad today!  How can it possibly be Blue Monday if I am not sad?

I know.  I know.  It isn’t all about me.  Maybe some of you are feeling blue?  Well, you have come to the right place, because it is *cue Oprah-audience-like-screaming* Nicole’s Favourite Things, The January Blues Edition!!!

Squee!

January is SUCH a bear of a month, what with the comedown from the holidays and – if you live in a climate like mine – the thought that there is at least, at LEAST, three more months of winter, and often more.  Now that’s depressing.  But!  At least we don’t have to worry about the trains not getting through and grinding wheat and twisting hay to keep warm, am I right?  Plus there are lots of fun things that will help us get through this month.  So, let’s get started, shall we?

Nicole’s Favourite Things – January Blues Edition

I spend much more time outside in the winter than I would like.  I take the dog on long daily walks, I stand in the playground dropping the kids off at school, I stand in the playground waiting for the kids after school, I stand in the playground watching the kids sled and play in the snow and assure me that no, they’re not warm, in fact they are boiling.  In other words, I’m constantly freezing.  This year I bought legwarmers, and they have been life-altering.

Life-altering, I tell you.  They are not at ALL Flashdance-like.  They are long, and woolly, and cozy.  If I could, I would make out with them, I love them THAT much.

After I wrote this, a girlfriend told me about her favourite coat from Eddie Bauer.  She swore that she was warm walking her dog in minus 25 degree weather; she sent me the link noting that a) the coat was on sale for 25% off, and b) it was available in black.  SOLD.

It’s so long and warm, and as a bonus I do not feel like I’m an octogenarian while wearing it.  Plus it’s got a cute hood!

It’s faux fur, of course.  In the course of my winter coat shopping, my husband coaxed me to try on a Canada Goose coat, which he was highly in favour of.  That’s when I found out the grim truth – Canada Goose uses real fur on their coats!  Real fur!  Who does that anymore?  When I told the salesgirl that, sadly, this was a deal breaker for me, she informed me that Canada Goose only uses animals that have died of natural causes.  The bees are doing what now?  I have strong doubts about that.  How is that even possible?  Do they harvest their furs from roadkill?  Do they put animals on little treadmills until they die of exhaustion?  It boggles the mind.

Moving along.  Calgary is a dry, dry climate, and it’s much worse in the winter.  My hands have been known to snag my clothing, they can get so dry and chapped.  I bought this cocoa butter hand cream, and it’s a miracle.  I put it on at night because otherwise I’m not sure I could open door knobs.  The smell is wonderful; it reminds me so much of the cocoa butter stick I used on my giant pregnant stomach to avoid stretch marks.  It always makes me think of how happy I was while pregnant, and I always smile.  Cure for the blues, right there!

And I know, I know, I say something about Bath and Body Works lotion every time I write a Nicole’s Favourite Things, but, as I mentioned before, I’m a lotion addict.  The Brown Sugar and Fig scent is nice and warm smelling, perfect for a cold January day.

I like using shower cream instead of shaving gel; it leaves my legs softer and smoother.  This scent always makes me smile because I have a friend and yoga teacher named Harmony.  I like to think “Stop!  Harmony time!” in the manner of MC Hammer.  Also, it has a really pretty floral scent.

I have not yet seen Les Miserables, although I’m dying to.  I saw the play in the theatre years ago and immediately went out and bought the soundtrack, I loved the music so.  Now, I see movies in the theatre rarely but I’m hoping to make it out before it ends up on Pay Per View, but in the meantime I have been listening to the soundtrack non-stop.  Unfortunately, that means that I have At The End Of The Day perpetually in my head.  Remember that old episode of Seinfeld when George gets Master of the House stuck in his head and is worried about his eventual descent into madness?  It’s like that.

Of course, one thing leads to another, and then I start listening to The Phantom of the Opera.  This is terrible news for my children, as I sing all the parts.  Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say GOOOOOOD byeeeeee.
Speaking of the darling children, they have started karate.  “I know it’s a martial art,” I said to my husband, “But I’m surprised at how much they talk about potential attacks!”  He raised his eyebrows at me.  “You’re surprised by this?”

That last picture makes me nervous.  I mean, Mark is RIGHT by the stairs.  Well, they are all still in one piece, so it’s all fine.

Your turn, dear reader.  What makes you happy during this blue month of January?  xoxo

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PS Every Monday I will be writing about lunches, over at The Ladies Who (Make) Lunch!  I’m so excited about this, I just can’t hide it.  Go check out my first post, about coming home for lunch, and some nice memories from the 80s.

Anyone else have a crush on Mike the hitman?

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Wowza, it’s been quite a strange week.  I was eyeing the bottle of wine on the counter, wondering if it would be acceptable to enjoy a glass before dinner; it’s a Friday after all, I spent ninety minutes standing in the playground this afternoon, my husband is working late as usual and what the hell.  I need no more excuses.  I cracked that baby open and am now enjoying a polite, lady-sized glass which will be replaced by a few big-ass trashy ones later.  IT’S FRIDAY.

Yesterday I was contemplating ending it all, or at least drinking myself into oblivion, because I could not get the song Crystal Blue Persuasion out of my head.  Those of you who have been watching Breaking Bad may understand why this is pertinent.  My husband and I have been watching this show for a few months now, and now that we are all caught up on episodes, I am feeling bereft and wondering what I have left to live for, on weekend evenings at least.  Anyone want to talk about Breaking Bad?  Because I’m kind of upset it’s all over until the SUMMER.  I’m also realizing that there is something inherently wrong with me; no one else seems to have a crush on Mike the hitman.

Crystal Blue Persuasion was soon replaced by – oddly enough – Old Time Rock and Roll.  If there is a song that can possibly be more “get people out on the dance floor at a wedding”, I would like to know what it is.  In fact, dancing with my husband’s best friend – who was our wedding MC – to that song is one of my favourite memories from my wedding.  Other than getting married to my awesome husband and being totally the centre of attention, of course.  That was pretty fun too.



Old Time Rock and Roll seems a standard at weddings, bringing about nice memories of happily drunken dancing.  See also: YMCA, Do the Locomotion (with the bride leading the chain), Macarena, Celebration, and, of course, the Chicken Dance.  For my wedding, my brother gave me a card with a picture of a very drunken guest, tie on head, yelling at the band “Play Freebird!” while the bride and groom danced sedately.  The caption: “Why You Shouldn’t Have an Open Bar”.  We did have an open bar at our wedding, however I am fairly sure we didn’t play Freebird.  Freebird!  The 70s was a great time for such songs.  Freebird, Baby Don’t Get Hooked On Me, and By The Time I Get To Phoenix.  All songs about how monogamy is the WORST, apparently, and only suckers go for it.  Suckers who do not wish for a life of loneliness and STD’s, I guess.  The other day I was listening to Summer Breeze, one of my favourite songs, and I was struck at the idyllic picture of domesticity it portrays, given that it was written in the 70s.  Did the writers not know that casual and unprotected sex was where it was at?  *draws a square in the air with fingers*

A little note on open bars: I voiced a slight concern about one of our wedding guests – a notable messy drunk – and my aunt gave me these words of wisdom, “There is a drunken idiot at every wedding.  In my case, it was my husband.”  BURN.

I opened up my computer today and in the “news headlines” was a story about child stars – where are they now?  The star in question pictured was Tina Yothers, so I had to click on the link since Tina Yothers looks uncannily like one of my cousins.  It turns out that Tina Yothers – and most of the other child stars – are not really doing much, from a Hollywood standpoint, unless you count reality television, which I do not.  However, I was stunned – STUNNED – to discover this little piece of information: Leonardo DiCaprio was on Growing Pains.  He was?  This feels like something I should have known, although why I should know this I’m unsure since I essentially am terrible at pop culture.  I’m not as bad as my dad, however, who confuses Will Smith with Samuel L. Jackson.  DAD.  It’s the Fresh Prince versus Mace Windu.

My plan for this post was to copy Amber Strocel and compile a “happiness list” but right now I have wine and After Eights on it.  Oh, and this cashew “cheese” recipe.  Oh!  I just thought of something else: my husband, dear man, bought me my very own copies of The Breakfast Club (Judd Nelson – where is he now?) and Say Anything (ditto Ione Skye).  Squee!  That’s happiness right there, on a DVD.  Ditched in the Malibu! It’s your castle!  I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen.  Diane Court is a show pony, and you, my friend, are a stallion.   

Am I digressing?  I’m digressing.  There are lots of things that make me happy but at the moment I cannot adequately organize my thoughts into a list.  I got too distracted after I found this kind of awesome live version of Freebird on youtube.  And this bird you cannot tame.  Also this post has taken longer than I initially thought to write, and now I’m onto big-ass trashy glasses of wine.  What are we talking about?  Whee!  Happy Friday!

Such a cliche

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I don’t know if you could detect it, but when I wrote my last post, I was very low in spirits.  One might even say that I was blue.  I later realized that it was Blue Monday, the saddest day of the year!  I was sad on Blue Monday!  I’m a walking cliche. 

The tide has turned, so to speak, although I have a School Council/ Parent Association meeting tonight that I’m looking forward to in the same way I look forward to a pelvic exam, or perhaps tooth scaling at the dental office.  But – and maybe this is just the coffee speaking – I am feeling equal to the task.

Speaking of the school, yesterday was Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up day, which is the WORST school spirit day ever.  It is the only spirit day in which I discourage participation.  It’s a terrible concept.  Unless a child wants to be something that requires a uniform, or that has a “typical” look, planning an outfit is simply an exercise in frustration.  For example, both of my children have the career goal of “wealthy businessman” and, let me tell you, there is no good way to accurately portray this with what they currently have in their closets.  Mark ended up opting out altogether, while Jake, after some thought, decided to dress up like a “wealthy businessman who is doing business on the golf course”, wearing khakis, a golf shirt, and his orange Ricky Fowler hat.  When I picked him up at lunch he changed back into his jeans, confessing that he felt the explanation would have taken too long, and so he did not tell anyone he was dressed up. 

My children’s obvious materialism aside, does this not seem like a ridiculous dress-up day?  When I was a child my career goal was to be a concert pianist.  How does one dress up like a concert pianist?  A long sparkly gown?  I was talking about this to a friend yesterday who suggested an appropriate outfit would be wearing something with musical notes all over it, to which I say NO.  No concert pianist would ever wear a sweater with musical notes all over it.  That would be perhaps an appropriate outfit for a retired music teacher, maybe.  Apparently my kids have inherited my tendency to want reality only when dealing with Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up day.  Fortunately their lack of participation will only result in two less points for the Red Team, and therefore the world will keep on turning.

Who are we kidding.  The world is going to keep on turning, even if the stakes were higher.  I came across this piece by Anymommy which gently and beautifully reminds us that we all make choices:

I just don’t want to choose judgment over understanding. Because the minute we mark our choices as right by marking other choices as wrong, we lose the power of choice.
 
I loved this piece so much, and it said so eloquently what I’ve been feeling lately.  I have been bombarded with the Facebook equivalent of op-eds about the following topics: breastfeeding, cloth diapering, home births, the Waldorf system of education, hockey, native land treaties, veganism, co-sleeping, rescue dogs versus dogs purchased from breeders, vaccinations, gun control, the government fucking up the country, the government saving the country, and – my personal favourite – the failure to buy into a particular home business is equivalent to failure to care about one’s health or financial well-being.  And while I recognize that social media is a reasonable outlet for one’s personal opinions, i.e., this blog, I also vehemently object to its utilization as a stick of judgement with which to beat people.  I am going to choose understanding over judgement, and continue to resolve to remember that merely because something does not take great importance in my life, that does not mean that it is not greatly important to someone. 
 
In other words, I think I’m ready for the meeting tonight.

"I think you need a pin, dear."

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I had a rather strange and upsetting weekend, which I am not going to talk about except to say that my role as School Council/ Parent Association Chair is priming me for a career in diplomatic relations.  Or perhaps, given my experiences of this weekend, I can now apply for a job as a very, very low-stakes hostage negotiator.  In any event, I had moments of maybe I should quit this ridiculous job, which was echoed by my husband’s view of when are you going to quit this ridiculous job?  My zen state was severely tested, although I think the situation has now, happily, been resolved, even though the process made me feel simultaneously wrung out and irritated that something so unimportant could take so much time and energy. OM SHANTI.

My zen state was also severely tested by all the swearing in my house this weekend.  Football, you know.  Saturday was fine but the Sunday games left a blue cloud in the living room: Seattle “shit the bed” and the officiating in the Patriots/Texans game was “fucking moronic”.  However, the Pats came out on top, which made my husband happy; I was less so when I realized that we were watching the Patriots’ “Fifth Quarter” when I could have been watching the Golden Globes.  Instead of looking at all the fashion, I was wondering how heavy Vince Wilfork’s Mr. T-style chains were, and if I put them on would I tip over, and also what’s with the hat?  In any case, at some point my husband took pity on me and changed the channel.

I’m no Tom and Lorenzo, but I do enjoy fashion, which is the only reason, save entertaining hosts, (shout-out, Tina and Amy!) that I watch awards shows.  Frankly, I couldn’t care less who wins or loses or what their speeches are like.  I’m into it for the dresses!  And the Botox-spotting, which is always kind of fun in a disturbing, schadenfrude-ish sort of way.

A few years ago I wrote about Sophia Loren and her terrible, terrible plastic surgery, and in response one of my girlfriends said that reruns must be hell for actresses: the constant reminder of what one used to look like.  That comment stuck with me.  If my face was my fortune – which it most emphatically is not – it would be very difficult to see the ravages of time on it.  As it is, I have a hard enough time looking at this recent picture of myself:

Forehead wrinkles and undereye circles!  Granted, this picture was taken mere days after my bout with Norwalk, and a number of sleepless nights due to my children’s bouts with Norwalk, but still.  It’s hard for me to look at, and I’m not exactly a world-renowned beauty.

These days, most actresses are beautiful.  There isn’t much room for “character” actresses anymore; there is so much pressure to be beautiful and physically perfect.  I can understand, then, the impetus for surgical options; I don’t condone it, and I think that such unnatural interventions just look…unnatural and strange at best, but I can understand why an actress would start reviewing her options in her mid-to-late thirties.  Roles start to dry up with the drying up of the reproductive years.  Desperate times call for desperate measures, and if one’s career and livelihood depends on looking younger, thinner, sexier, more gorgeous than the competition, well, then, one must do what one must do.  It’s a sad testament to our appearance-obsessed culture, but it’s a reality.

I came across this old picture of me, circa 1995, getting ready (i.e., drunk) to go out dancing with girlfriends:

Hoo boy!  I had a rack back then.  Even though I appear to be wearing very high waisted jeans, my perkiness is still pretty obvious.  If a perky rack and smooth, youthful skin was my livelihood, you can bet that I would be pretty depressed looking into the mirror these days, what with my deflated bosum and my grey roots and the horizontal lines permanently etched into my forehead, not to mention the network of fine lines around my eyes.  However, it’s not, and I’m not, but that’s not to say I don’t understand the angst that must drive women – and men too; I’m talking to YOU, Kenny Rogers and Sylvester Stallone – to the surgeon’s office.  It’s sad, is all I’m saying.

Speaking of perky racks, I noticed a definite trend last night; that of the deeply plunging neckline.  Can we all agree that this is just not a good look?  I also recognize that it’s important to MAKE A STATEMENT, but if that statement is “I have lots of double-sided tape and also I better not sneeze”, then I’m not sure that’s the one you want to make.  For example:

This would be such a cute look and dress, were it not for the neckline.  The neckline brings it down from glamorous and classy to kind of trashy and slutty.  See also: Sally Field.

Sally, I love you, and I think this dress is gorgeous – EXCEPT FOR THE NECKLINE.  As my grandma would say, “I think you need a pin, dear.  Or maybe a nice brooch.”

Now, Jennifer Lopez is beautiful, and she has a va-va-voom figure, but I really dislike these kinds of dresses, the “nude without being nude” genre.  They remind me a) of figure skating outfits, and b) nylon nighties of the type found in the Sears catalogue.

I don’t think I’m a prude – after all, on the beach I wear tiny little bikinis that, borrowing a phrase from Laurie in Little Women, “reveals a whole new Nicole”, but I think two of the loveliest dresses of the evening were those worn by Adele and by Julianne Moore:

Stunning, am I right?  And no double-sided tape required!  No fear of a wardrobe malfunction, just plain loveliness.

High Street Bingo

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Starting back to school on a Tuesday after a holiday virtually guarantees that I will be in a constant state of confusion for the entire week.  This week has been no exception.  Yesterday I had to keep reminding myself that it was WEDNESDAY and that the following day was THURSDAY and I had committed to volunteer in Mark’s class for the morning.  So today I spent the morning volunteering for what is known as an in-class field trip, or when the class brings a presenter with hands-on materials into the class.  It is a well known fact in my family that although I spend a vast amount of time doing volunteer work for the school, I WILL NOT volunteer for traditional, bussed, second location field trips.  I do not want to ride on the school bus.  I do not want to be responsible for a group of children that aren’t mine in crowded, unfamiliar settings.  Also, as my children have pointed out to me, I’m just not that much fun.

However, I’m here to tell you that this morning’s “The Amazing Race Alberta!” was a barrel of fun!  I learned a great deal about the boreal forest and the Canadian Shield.  The object of the game was to visit six stations that boasted facts about the different regions of Alberta, and in the end the group decided WHICH region was the best to build a brand new town in.  Also the group was tasked with naming the town, choosing a mascot and slogan, and deciding what industries would be represented.

Are you still with me?  It was actually way more fun than it sounds, possibly because this age group seems to be up my alley.  The last time I volunteered for one of these in-class field trips, I ended up spending a vast amount of time digging googly eyes out of glue sticks.  I much enjoy the non-crafty, brainstorm-then-write-it-down age group.

I found it somewhat interesting that the project was named The Amazing Race but there was no racing actually involved.  It reminded me of my fantasy Amazing Race team, which consists of myself and my friends Hannah, Beck, and Misty, the latter of whom is the only one in our group with a strong sense of direction, the ability to drive anything, and who can get through the day without bursting into tears.  The rest of us would have to rely on being fan favourites as the team that cries a lot and gets lost all the time.  We could possibly get sponsorship from a line of waterproof mascara.

Speaking of sponsorship, as you know, I’m not a “sponsored post” kind of girl, but I do often receive product pitches that, if I wrote about them, I would receive those products for free.  Generally, they are nothing that I – or you, dear reader – would be interested in reading about: mainly household cleaning products or television programming for very young children, and so they get deleted almost immediately.  However, the following came to my in-box the other day, and I saved it because it made me feel like I’ve finally made it as a writer:

Hi,
I am currently working for a high-street bingo client who is trying to get some articles live with links back to their homepage from websites and blogs just like yours.
What they are looking for is for bloggers to write the content in order for the articles to look natural on their site, you can do this by writing about topics such as:
– Personal Bingo experiences of yours or of a friend.
– Top three ways to relax when the kids are out of the house or finally fall asleep (only one of the three reasons has to be about on-line bingo)
-Stuff to do on rainy days..
Or anything like this…let me know if you can think of anything better.
Please not you will not be linking to some spammy site at the back of the internet, I am working for an actual betting company with shops in the high street.
I am very much looking forward to your response,
Best regards Jack
I do not even know where to start with the awesomeness.  Is it the references to a high-street bingo client/ actual betting company with shops in the high street?  Is it the assumption that I actually have personal bingo experiences?  No, I think it’s the request to write about the top three ways I relax without the children, and only one of those ways has to be about on-line bingo.
Only one?  I’m not sure how I got this pitch, but prior to it I did not even know that on-line bingo was in existence.  Insultingly there is no reference to compensation anywhere in that email.  Perhaps Jack thought that just writing about bingo would be a reward in itself.  Sorry, Jack.