It's one of those days

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well played, Facebook. Well played.

It's Valentine's Day, and since I haven't blogged since Christmas I thought I should mark the occasion with a post.  A post about Facebook.

It seems these days that Mark Zuckerberg or one of his many, many Facebook drones is taking an unseemly amount of interest in the fact that I'm single. 

I've noticed over the past few weeks that the ads for Dr. Oz's diets, Air Wick air fresheners, and vacation resorts in Puerto Vallarta appearing next to my news feed have been replaced with ads for dating sites.  Awww, Facebook is worried that I'm lonely.  (Yeah, I know, it's nothing personal -- the fact that I ticked off 'single' in my profile sets off an algorithm that populates the ad space with dating-site ads.)  But still. The variety of ads is amusing and maybe a little disturbing.

First of all, they started with the largest possible dating pool: single men.

No thanks. I don't want to meet single men. At least not online. But hey, thanks for asking.

Then they realized I'm a bit more discriminating than that, so they countered with a site advertising 'high-quality men'. 

(Because really, a girl has to be assumed to have *some* standards, and presumably would not be clicking on ads for 'low-quality men.')

Yeah, no.

Ok, they must have thought that maybe I'd like to hook up with someone old enough to know who Blondie was.

(Once, after getting my hair cut and dyed blonde, I said to my young, attractive styist, "Thanks, this looks great!  I look just like Debbie Harry!" "Who?", he said, wrinkling up his adorable forehead. "You know, the lead singer from Blondie?" *blank stare from big brown eyes* "Um, nope." Gah!)

Nice try, but still no.

OK, they upped the ante romantically: French men?

Non. Je pense que non.

OK, time to try some other niche markets. How about tempting me with a tattooed boyfriend?

Unless it's Adam Levine, no.

Faithful single policemen seeking a second chance at love?

Why can't I get them for the first chance at love? And why just policemen? Why can't I browse the faithful single accountants, management consultants, radio personalities, or cowboys?

Oh. Never mind.

But still, no.

You have to respect the imagination inherent in this, but I still wonder about the success of a marketing ploy that figures if photos of real, attractive-ish men won't do the trick, maybe women might respond to stick figures. 

  

And here's my answer.  In stick figure font.

(Wouldn't it be hilarious if some guy I met on this site came to my house and found that I *was actually* a stick figure with a triangular dress and no hands?)

(Not that I'm even remotely stick-like, sadly.)


But then Facebook finally did it. The algorithm finally kicked out something that speaks to me.  A hook that might be really, really hard to resist. 

Well played, Facebook. Well played.





Gingy goes to Nice

In the movie Amelie, one of the characters kidnaps a garden gnome and takes pictures of him all over the world and mails them back to the owner. I liked that idea, but garden gnomes are too big to carry in my purse. But Gingy isn't, so this is Gingy's trip to Nice.

The first leg of the journey was a train from Ottawa to Toronto to Windsor.  It was a long day.

 

Here is Gingy the next day, checking his luggage at Detroit International airport:

 

 

The trip did not go exactly as planned.  We flew from Detroit to New York's JFK airport.  We were delayed almost an hour leaving JFK, and so here's Gingy killing time with the boys in Charles DeGaulle Airport in Paris, waiting to get on a new flight since the delay meant we missed our connection to Nice.

 

Finally we arrived in Nice with most of our luggage.  Gingy collapsed on a chair on the balcony of the villa.  He was very jet-lagged and in need of a glass of wine.

 

Soon he headed for bed. In the movie star bedroom of the villa.

 

The next day, we went into downtown Nice.  The Port is pretty cool.

 

We went into the Old Town (Vielle Ville) and stopped for lunch and a drink in the K'fe Cayenne in Place du Palais:

 

Cafe au lait hit the spot:

 

Later we stopped for lunch. You kind of have to order Salade Nicoise when you're in Nice.
 

 

 After all that food, cafe au lait wasn't going to cut it. It was time for espresso!

 

 

Christmas Eve we made a special feast of cheese and crackers and prosciutto and pineapple and salami and shrimp and champagne.  We even tried lumpfish roe that we bought by accident, thinking it was seafood sauce.  It was salty and fishy.  No one had seconds.

 

 

We took turns having our pictures taken in the jacuzzi tub in my Dad's bedroom.

 

Gingy hit the champagne a bit too hard and decided to wear the wire thingy that came on the bottle.

 

After Christmas dinner, we had Buche Noel for dessert.

Sadly, Gingy got into an altercation with some locals.

 

Hopefully, his New Year's will be better!

 

Merry Christmas, everyone!!!!

I'm not dead yet

Though you might be forgiven for thinking so, seeing as I haven't blogged since early November.  I've been totally bereft of blog ideas a bit busy, what with Christmas coming and our family's upcoming trip to Nice. 

How busy, you ask?  Well, I have one of those perpetual calendars with the dates on little wooden tiles.  Sort of like these, except nicer.



Three days ago, I finally changed it from 'August' to 'December'. 

Yeah, that busy.

In my own defence, I've also finished a few knitting projects. And shopped for a new car. And worked/commuted/shopped/cooked/drove kids places/etc.  Occasionally, I've slept.

But I need to get back on the horse so that my blogging ability doesn't leave me entirely.  And so, dear reader, here is a bunch of random stuff rattling around in my head.  With pictures.

From the 'NHL lockout' files 

I had the following Facebook exchange with my friend Josie on my timeline:

Josie: Just an FYI, I am no longer referring to Bettman as "that troll" but instead as Gollum.

Alison: I guess that money is 'his precioussssss'. Stupid troll.

Josie: Watch a clip of Gollum and then watch Bettman last week during his press conference after talks broke down. Only difference is a suit and a wig.

And you know, I checked out some pictures, and she's right. So I made this for her:

From the 'You shouldn't have to get wrinkles and pimples at the same time.  It's just not fair.' files

I have a giant pimple on my forehead, right where I would have a lightning-shaped scar if I were Harry Potter.

It seems impervious to all my attempts to get rid of it -- creams, ointments, facial washes, even Avada Kedavra.

I am going to call it "The Zit Who Lived."

From the 'Introducing my children to popular culture/They're getting so much older' files

  

The past few nights, we’ve been piling onto my bed and watching Roger Moore in ‘Live and Let Die’ on DVD. Along with the Daniel Craig movies, I got a DVD with three of Moore's James Bond movies on it for my birthday.

The kids were interested in watching a James Bond movie, and this one, released in 1973 at the height of the Blaxploitation movie genre, has sparked some interesting conversations about racism, as parts of it are set in Harlem and southern Louisiana. The implied sex scenes are pretty tame, and both girls seem to be enjoying watching, though we keep pausing it so that I can answer questions. We’ve been watching about 45 minutes per night.

Part of the plot of this movie, if you’ve not seen it, is that Jane Seymour plays Solitaire, a clairvoyant who can reliably read the future in Tarot cards. She has this power only so long as she remains a virgin. This fact is discussed quite obliquely, and Rae did not pick up on it. Apparently Leah did. James tricks Solitaire with a Tarot deck stacked with ‘The Lovers’ cards and makes quick work of her powers. Offscreen, of course.

So, last night, we were watching the last 45 minutes of the movie, and Rae was full of questions. Leah was patiently answering them:

Rae:“Why is James throwing the chicken on the ground?”
Leah:“So that the alligators will come out of the pond and make a diversion”

Rae:“What is James doing?”
Leah:“He’s setting the drug lab on fire”

Rae:“Why is James’s boat slowing down?”
Leah:“Because when he was escaping, the guy with the hook shot at him and hit the outboard and it’s leaking gas.”

This went on for a while. And then came the question I was afraid would crop up.

Rae:“Why did being James’s girlfriend make Solitare not able to read the future anymore?”

Leah looked at me and said, “Your turn.”

From the "Things in your kitchen that can hurt you' files

• The pointy end of the meat thermometer is quite ouchy when encountered unexpectedly in the sudsy dish-water by being jammed under your thumbnail.
• Bricks of butter are unexpectedly heavy when they are cold and solid and have been dropped on your foot.
• Picking up the skittish cat when he's having a bite to eat at his dish and holding him like a baby in order to smooch him on the head is potentially dangerous in itself.  Doing so at the same time your daughter drops a metal saucepan loudly onto the tile floor? Cue the band-aids and Neosporin.

Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies. And photoshop pictures of Daniel Craig for you.

Today is my birthday. 

It's been amazing so far.  I've been taken out to lunch, treated to cake and muffins, and had lots and lots of phone calls, emails, and Facebook and Twitter messages.  I am very lucky to have so many friends.  Especially ones who know me so well.  Friends who know what I like. What I love. And whom I'd jump in a second if I ever got the chance.

(I should probably clarify here that I mean that I am lucky to have friends who know whom I'd like to jump if given the chance, and *not* that I would like to jump my friends, attractive though they all are.)

The kind that would help me move bodies. And they are all very, very funny women.

Julie sent me this:

(I think the package is being hand-delivered, lol)

And JenB, JenS and Josie came up with following.  (Kudos to JenB on the stellar use of Microsoft Paint.)  It's my perfect birthday, and it's too perfect not to share. 


SADLY, BLOGGER HAS EATEN THE VERY FUNNY DOCTORED PICTURES THAT JEN PUT IN THE BLOG.  I WILL DO A 'CLOSE CAPTIONING' FOR YOU IN RED.


Oh Alison, it's your birthday again. Have you been a good girl this year? Yes, of course you have. In honor of your big day, we got you season tickets to see your guys in action:

A PICTURE OF AN EMPTY SCOTIABANK PLACE, WHERE THE OTTAWA SENATORS PLAY, YOU KNOW, WHEN THE LEAGUE ISN'T EMBROILED IN A STUPID LOCKOUT DUE TO STUPID OWNERS AND STUPID GARY BETTMAN.

Oh.

We tried to negotiate with the NHL, but they wouldn't listen to Wife Logic. Voodoo didn't work either. We're really sorry. Here's some poutine to make it all better:

A PICTURE OF DELICIOUS, DELICIOUS POUTINE. *DROOL*

And, we have an even better gift planned. Pack your bags, because we're sending you here:

A PICTURE OF THE PROMENADE DES ANGLAIS, IN NICE, ON THE FRENCH RIVIERA.

Want to know where you'll be staying?

A PICTURE OF A YACHT MOORED IN THE HARBOUR IN NICE.

And who will you be spending time with?

A PICTURE OF DANIEL CRAIG, TAKEN FROM A STILL FROM 'QUATUM OF SOLACE' AND PASTED (VERY PROFESSIONALLY) INTO A STREET SCENE FROM NICE.  HE IS CARRYING ROSES AND CHAMPAGNE AND SPRINTING TOWARDS THE CAMERA.

He's clearly in a hurry to see you.

We packed your bags for you and you have a suitcase full of fabulous clothes, shoes, and bikinis. Naturally, everything fits perfectly, is in your favorite colours, and makes you feel terrific.

We didn't schedule a lot for your birthday trip -- just lots of beach time and some tasty snacks.

A PICTURE OF WHAT APPEARS TO BE ME, LYING ON A BEACH KISSING DANIEL CRAIG.  IF ONLY.......

We think you're going to have a great trip!

A PICTURE OF ME WITH THE CITY OF NICE IN THE BACKGROUND, AND DANIEL PHOTOSHOPPED IN BESIDE ME.  I HAVE THE BEST FRIENDS.



Happy birthday Alison!

xo, Jen, Jen, and Josie