You know my love of the list, and so, this week I figured out how to incorporate the list into my Sweetspot blog post...
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
My dad's birthday is only a few days after Father's Day. Which means what's normally a hard task (what to get the guy who has it all?) is even harder. Or that's my excuse. So this year, the Hubs and I decided we'd cook up a feast for my dad for Father's Day. Okay, okay, it's kind of sort of a totally selfish gift, because it meant a) we got to BBQ and b) go in the pool and hot tub at my dad's house. Still, we had to actually cook the meal.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Today, over at Sweetspot, I'm talking about why I can't find a single item with my name on it.
The back story: When I was born, my parents named me Chantel (surprise, I know). But my dad, even though French, knew me too well even when I was only a day old, and could see that despite multiple attempts -- a stint of French immersion, a summer in Paris as an au pair, an exchange to Quebec during my summer vacation, and a diet of poutine, I would never speak French well. Thus, he anglocized my name with an "e", giving me an out when people said "why don't you speak French?" and also, making my name unique.
Which I love. But as a result, I have had only a handful of personalized items:
1. A mug from Quebec with my name spelled "Chantal".
2. A Minnie Mouse hat from DisneyWorld. But that doesn't count, since they'll write whatever name you tell them on it.
3. A mug from my coach my first year of baseball. Ditto on the not counting, because the coach handpainted all the names herself.
4. Return address labels. Tritto.
5. Personalized stationery. Quattro. Still, I love them.
So because I could never have anything with my name on it, I became obsessed with things that sort of have my name on them. Like an item I talk about today at Sweetspot.
PS: I know what you're thinking: Why am I coming here just so that you can send me over here?
I promise only to do it on Mondays. And to update more regularly here. Girl Guide's Honour.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Yesterday I went to the YMCA, where I work out. I use the term "work out" loosely. Basically, when I'm not too lazy to get out of bed in time to get to a class before work, I go. But since most of the classes are at 6:30 and I usually end up getting there at 7, I'm forced to create my own "workout" -- which often is centred around what TV show is on the elliptical trainer. Note: There are very few good shows on at 7 am -- on BT, Today and GMA, the good guests come on in the 8-9 hour. And MuchMusic airs French Kiss at 7 am. I like crepes...
I also like frites...
Monday, June 15, 2009
I have a friend named Nerissa. Actually, her name's Marissa, but we used to golf together in a ladies' league and the guy in the pro shop used to call us "Nerissa" and "Chanel", and now the names have stuck.
Marissa and I met at TV Guide when we both got engaged at the same time (is there anything better than bonding over tiaras and flowers?)
Now, Marissa and I are both authors. Marissa's first novel, Saving the World (in Sensible Shoes) is not only funny but also so smart, so it's almost a non-guilty pleasure, because you're learning something while laughing. I can't do the premise justice, so in Marissa's own words, here's what the book's about:
Rhiannon O’Shea, an eco-justice intern, doesn’t fit in anywhere: she’s not a vegan (despite what she’d have her eco-fascist boss believe); nor is she an upscale socialite (never mind the grandparents with the Park Avenue penthouse or the handsome oil heir suitor she’s not falling in love with). She’s also not a particularly good intern. Until she's sent to the arctic to save beluga whales from offshore drilling, and her whole world changes. This book is about choosing your own adventure in a world full of forked roads, escaping the daily grind and searching for enlightenment, figuring out what you believe in, then turfing it all to believe the unbelievable -- and finally, it’s about dressing for success and accessorizing for survival.
Doesn't it sound good? Don't you want to buy it right now? I know! Me too.
But we're all going to have to wait. Her agent is shopping the book to publishers, so hopefully the book will sell very soon! In the meantime, Marissa has started her blog, where she writes about writing, getting published, and trying to be as green as she can. And it's super funny, just like her.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Don't worry. It wasn't me. (Not surprisingly, when you live near an unswimable lake, not an ocean...). Still...
I'm obsessed with sharks. And the Hubs is convinced we're going to get eaten by them.
If we have kids, it's going to make for some interesting bedtime stories. The other night we went to a wine tasting from South Africa, to prep for our vacation to South Africa later this year. A woman at our table was telling us how it's the best place to do shark dives (in a cage, however). You TOTALLY cannot go into the water by yourself, with just a wetsuit, unless you are crazy or want to get eaten.
But the Hubs was like "No one's going in a cage."
I was like "I'm TOTALLY going in a cage!"
The Hubs looked at me like I just admitted to liking sardines. Seriously, who likes sardines? Not me.
I get the risk. You could do everything you're supposed to do, but the shark could still eat you.
But if you go skydiving, the shoot could not open, and the ground would break you.
If you go ziplining, the zipline could break, and a tree could break you. So is it really all that different?
On the way home, I was thinking to myself how I still have a few months and can totally convince The Hubs that it's going to be fine for me to go in the cage.
Then we got home and as were both on our laptops, and I saw the main story on my home page: Shark-infested beaches of the world.
Of course, I gasped, then quickly closed the screen. Too late.
Unfortunately, The Hubs had the same home page.
He: "I saw it."
Me: "I'm sure South Africa isn't even on the list."
He: "It's Number 1."
He: "You're not going."
Me: "But why?"
He: "Because I like you. I would like to keep you."
Hmph. How can I argue with that?
Monday, June 8, 2009
As you probably know, I got myself a new job a few weeks ago, and this week I started my new blog over at Sweetspot.
I had to come up with an idea about what to blog about.
Since the whole mandate of Sweetspot is to talk about things we love (how hard is my job?!), we decided that my blog -- The Cherry on Top -- would cover all the pretty little things that make your outfit, hair, home, life or events that much better.
Today I'm talking about those little things that make your desk pretty (and keep you inspired to keep working)! Because seriously, don't you get totally distracted when there's ugly crap nearby?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Since Love Struck is set in New York and I don't usually frequent Wall Street when I'm in the city, I asked my friend who lives there for the name of a good restaurant on Wall Street that bankers would go to for lunch.
He wrote back. "Does it actually have to be on Wall Street? Or do you mean that they "work on Wall Street", the way I do?"
Did you know that people who "work on Wall Street" don't actually "work" on "Wall Street"? My friend works in Times Square. Even though he works on Wall Street.
I'd make a TV reference for comparison, but there isn't one. When I say "I watch the Bachelorette", I mean it. I really do.
Monday, June 1, 2009
After finishing the latest revision of Love Struck, I asked The Hubs if he would read it over. He's very good at catching things that I just make up, but which, in reality, make no sense. In Stuck in Downward Dog, he was my go-to guy when it came to Mara's ex-boyfriend's business-y career. He knew why he was leaving and where he was going. And I trust him that when it comes to numbers and suits, it all makes sense.
The Hubs said he'd read the manuscript if I took it to Kinko's and got it double-side photocopied and bound so that the pages wouldn't go flying when we took a trip out west on the weekend. So I did, then he read the book on the plane while I drank red wine and pretended to read a book and discovered a new love for Lionel Richie on XM radio ("Hello! Is it me you're looking for?") But I couldn't focus. As soon as he pulled the top off his pen and circled a word on the page, I just had to know what he was doing.
I looked over as he circled the words "MBA" and "Cambridge". In my mind, I thought it sounded lovely that one of the characters got an MBA from Cambridge. I pictured him eating scones with clotted cream and looking very smart in an argyle v-neck over a shirt and tie.
Me: "Why did you circle that? Can't he get an MBA at Cambridge?" (I had no clue. That's why it's called fiction. I just make it up).
The Hubs: "He can. But I doubt anyone will hire him."
Yikes. I hope no one reading this has an MBA from Cambridge and a job they love. Anyway, the character in question is no longer a Cambridge student. I hope he enjoyed the ride while it lasted.