National Day Diary Project

This release came from the nice folks at This Day in The Life…thought some of you might be interested in participating! (My mom had a diary in the last book!)

This Day is excited to announce the official launch of the National Day Diary Project, something we have long envisioned, and now a reality thanks to our partnership with Colgate’s Lady Speed Stick 24/7. The National Day Diary Project invites women from around the country to post and read day diaries.

There is no limit to the number of participants who can post to the website, and women can submit day diaries for any 24-hour period (unlike the book project, which requires participants to create a day diary on Tuesday, March 27 only!). Among the day diaries created on March 27 and posted to the website, This Day will choose one to feature in our upcoming book This Day in the Life of Working Women (coming out in spring 2008).

To help launch the National Day Diary Project, Joni will be doing a media blitz this Thursday! From El Paso to Greensboro, from Charleston to Las Vegas, Joni will be on TV and radio stations across the country (via satellite) inviting women to visit the website and celebrate their 24/7 lifestyles. Check here for details.

The National Day Diary Project allows us to extend our mission of connecting women: to reveal the individual behind the label; the real person beyond the stereotype. We love the This Day book series, but we never loved having to limit the number of women who could participate in the day diary experience, given our page parameters. And now, thanks to the National Day Diary Project, we don’t have to!

So spread the word to your girlfriends, grandmas, coworkers, mentors … Whose day diary would you like to read? Just send her to the site, or share a day in your own life!

The rat pack.

Our first night in Vegas. We were looking to have a mellow evening. After all, we’d woken up at the crack of dawn, had a nightmarish trip out there, went to an awards luncheon, presented a 2-hour seminar…all before 4:30 p.m.

But you know us. We wanted something good to eat. So Andrew suggested a place called Marc’s. I know it’s not my purview to talk about our food. (Ahem – Andrew? Any day now…)

We started with a martini. A wonderful Ketel One martini. Well, one for each of us. Straight up with olives.

Smooth.

Soon after the Lobster Martini came – it was lobster and polenta in a martini glass. It might not sound heavenly, but it was. Seriously. But I’m not allowed to write about the food so I’m going to have to stop. Besides, I’m getting hungry here.

Our waiter’s name was Julian. He was Italian. Couldn’t have been in this country for long. He was funny and adorable. The restaurant wasn’t crowded (with the time change, we were eating with the seniors!) so Julian could spend a lot of time talking to us. And he did.

Andrew and I were talking about the photograph on the wall. Just like that one up there, but the mirror image. I called them the brat pack. Even I laughed at that slip up. So there they were – The Rat Pack – such handsome young men.

Julian comes by and sees we’re talking about the photo. He says in his extremely strong accent, “The Rat Pack. Ahhh. Yes. Frank Sinatra. Dean Martin. Sammy Davis, Jr. and…..Shapiro.”

Shapiro?

We burst out laughing. Maybe it was rude. But who could help it?

So Andrew asked Julian who Shapiro was. He explained (after pointing to Peter Lawford) that the owner, Marc, had told him that Lawford’s name was Shapiro.

When we caught our breath, we suggested that he tell Marc that there is no Shapiro in The Rat Pack. Joey Bishop. But no Shapiro.

The rest of the trip (and maybe for the rest of our lives) when there was a dull moment, one of us would say, “Shapiro” and we’d crack up.

So here’s to you, Julian.

Thanks for the memory!

The moment.

There is a moment.

When something changes. Or more likely when you realize something is changing. Or has changed.

Most of the time, I see what has changed and it seems gradual and it’s not so hard to accept. Or it’s a good shift and I’m glad. Like the time Davis first talked to me about a book he’d been reading in terms of what it means to him or means in the scheme of the world and not just the literal translation of the story. That was huge. But it didn’t change in that moment. It had been changing over time and in that minute I realized it.

We’re at the pool. (Sorry to all you freezing cold friends.) It’s almost 90 degrees and there is not a cloud in the sky. It’s as blue as I’ve ever seen a sky. There’s a gentle breeze. A slight mist is coming from the canopy above some of the chaise lounges and it looks so tropical. (And a little like the mister over the broccoli at the grocery store.)

Andrew is reading The Wrong Man by John Katzenbach. I just finished The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. That wrecked me. But I digress.

There are a lot of people here from all around the country. I hear them talking. One blonde from North Dakota. A 30-ish guy guy from the Twin Cities. A brunette from Ohio. A pack of men with goatees and great pecs. They’re tossing a Nerf football across the pool. Some know each other. Some just met. It’s friendly. Nice.

And it looks like fun. Andrew’s in his book. I’m finished mine and I’d love to play. But I don’t get up. I watch from afar.

Why?

I look around the pool deck. And I realize. This is the moment. The moment I guess I’ve always dreaded.

I’m too old to play. I don’t fit in.

The others who are on their chaises and not playing? Some of them are like me. We’re not old and decrepit by any means. We look pretty darn good. For our ages.

Yikes. For our ages.

It’s not that I feel old. Or older, if you must. But today, I realize that I am. Older, that is.

And though I know full well I can keep up with those 20′s and 30′s, they don’t. And frankly, I’ve decided that they don’t care to know.

And all in a flash it hits me. This is how the ones who are older than me feel about me and my peers. We don’t change, really, but outside of ourselves we do and others see us differently that we see us.

Don’t go feeling sorry for me. This is not my point. And besides, I have plenty of friends – some my age, some younger, some older. They young ones? They know me. They like me for who I am and my advanced years aside, we have a lot in common. And I’m not sad. I’m just aware.

Last night, we went to Rosemary’s* for dinner. What a meal. Seriously, you must go if you come to Las Vegas. It’s a little out of the way, but worth it. I think this started sinking in then. All the young, attractive people. All the style. This is a crazy city. I feel a step out of it.

And something really, really, really terrible happened before we went to dinner last night.

I chose the comfortable shoes.

I did. I chose the comfortable shoes.

All those years I secretly snickered and judged the older women with the practical shoes.

And today I realize. I am one of them.

*Andrew promised me he’d blog about all the amazing food we’ve eaten here in Vegas. It’s been inspiring. He’ll be working on it on the way home.

Guest blog

Read on for a guest blog by Andrew. He couldn’t contain himself….

The Big Dance

There are many things I love about March. The last snow, and the first whiff of spring. Firing up the grill for the first time in a few months. Getting back on my motorcycle. But most of all I love the NCAA tournament.

I was never a huge sports fan growing up. Watching games or talking about sports just wasn’t something we did in my house. Thinking about it now, I ‘m not really sure why. It may have been because I wasn’t very interested in sports as a kid (much like son Uno is today). But my father didn’t show any particular interest either. I just don’t remember him sitting around watching sports on TV either.

It all changed for me when I got to college. For some reason, basketball became one of my passions. I was at Duke from 1976 to 1980, right around when the basketball team began its ascent back to the top rank it holds today. Of course, it was under another coach, but who cares except for me and a few other fans?

I remember (and that in itself is a miracle. as I’m not known for remembering much of my life) walking into Cameron Indoor Stadium that first time. Cameron was, and is, a special place. Small for arena (maybe 9,000 seats), with the students having the best seats in the house. The traditional of taunting the opposing team with spontaneous unison cheers, the effort the players put forth, the closeness of the game and many other things, made it a special thing in my life that I have managed to carry with me 30 years later (damn I‘m old).

I’ve continued to be a college bball fan all these years, and for fans like me this is the best time of year. An orgy of basketball, spread over two and a half weeks, with diversions like bracket pools in case you get bored. Of course the fact that Duke has been successful hasn’t hurt my interest. I’ve gone to a few early round games, and watched even more on the tube.

One thing I had never done however was go to Las Vegas during those first four days. I‘d been asked before, and been and had heard the descriptions of the sports books with hundreds of televisions, fans. And money being tossed around like confetti. I felt I had missed something important.

But then a miracle seemed to occur. Wendy was asked to speak at a conference in Las Vegas, and I got to come along! And then I realized it was during those first four magical days! I got so excited I could barely contain myself.

And so here I am on board Southwest Flight #462 almost to Vegas and I’m ready to just scream. And not in a good way. Somehow, in all of my dreaming about this day I didn’t stop to think about my fellow passengers. Now, as many of you know we live in Maryland, the Terrapins have been playing well over the last few years — unlike those days when Lefty Drizell was the coach (when I was at Duke we all used to regularly make fun of that poor fellow by wearing bald wigs).

So Maryland is back in the group of 64 after several years’ absence, and a good portion of the plane is full of Maryland fans. Despite the manufactured one-sided rivalry between Maryland and Duke, I like watching Maryland basketball. (Please don’t tell Larry or Pam). This plane ride has made me change my mind. This idiot next to me, has been screaming and laughing like MACHINE GUN all flight long, fueled by bourbon and beer. And thanks to the poor judgment of the flight attendant who has been continually selling him drinks the entire way despite the rather obvious inebriated state that the moron was already occupying. I’ve gotten to the point that I fear for his safety and I’m praying for the plane to land so I can just get away from this jerk.

Did I mention he was incredibly loud and obnoxious? Well he was! Did I mention this was a FIVE HOUR FLIGHT?

But like a bad movie, this flight just keeps going and going. Maybe I should mention that there are 20 more like him behind us. But despite the fact that they would have seemed unbearable in normal situations, compared to this Bozo, they actually weren’t all that bad. Except for the occasional phrases that made me want to ask them if they kissed their mamas with those mouths.

Okay. Sounds awful. Right?

But like Ron Popeil says, “Wait, there’s more.”

The plane lands. This guy put his feet up across the aisle onto my armrest. Seriously folks, I’m not kidding here.

I had had enough. I pushed his feet off of me and he started to talk directly to me. If I’d had a match, I’d have lit it just to see if his breath was as flammable as it seemed. I told him I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

SIDEBAR: Wendy said she was very proud of me for not engaging and that I held my temper admirably. Just needed to point that out. This was not easy for me.

Back to the story. He kept on badgering me. I ignored him. It was time for our row to get off, but we decided to let the plane empty and we’d exit last. Those crazies can get off. We’re not in a hurry. But that guy.

He was so enraged that I wouldn’t get off before him – his isolated act of manners. We said we were waiting. But he stood there unmoving, waiting for us. Well, you can imagine the 50 people behind us were not happy.

Still. He stood there.

Finally, he called me an asshole and started to walk. I’m proud to say that Wendy called after him with a huge laugh, “Are you kidding me? You are calling my husband an asshole? Seriously, are you kidding?” A proud husband moment for me. She does love me.

On the way out, we commiserated with several passengers as irritated as we were. It was cathartic.

I just hope it hasn’t killed my love of this time of year forever.

(And I hope we finish our seminar in time to watch the Duke game on the big screen at Caesar’s’ Palace.)

Feeling lucky?

We’re heading out to Las Vegas in the morning. I’m giving a seminar tomorrow afternoon. And then?

Fun! Nothing but fun.

We have reservations for a couple nice dinners. A rental car so we can see Hoover Dam and Death Valley.

I’ve shaved my legs and gotten a pedicure.

So I’m ready to go.

It’s funny. This is the first time since June 1995 when my first son was born that I’ve left them and felt really relaxed about it. They’re so capable. Not to mention that my parents and wonderful friends are pitching in to make it all work.

When I come back with a golden tan and a newly invigorated, sunny disposition, promise me you won’t begrudge me.

I am really looking forward to this!

Start ‘em young

I have no moral problem with gambling. I play poker for money. Not a whole lot, mind you, but money just the same. I love the horse races. Parimutuel betting is legal in Maryland and I went to the races as a kid, to Preakness as a young (and stupid) adult, and even been back a couple of times since I’ve been a certified grown-up.

I play the lottery a couple times a year – if the jackpot is high enough to justify the ridiculousness of the odds. I know, it’s silly. But a girl can dream, right?

As an advertising person in my previous life, I worked on casino business (Trump) and on more than one state lottery.

I’m in a long standing Survivor pool. I buy squares at Superbowl parties.

But.

But.

I volunteered in 4th grade today and learned that these scratch-offs were being given to all the kids in the class for St. Patrick’s Day. True, there is no real prize – just a tease. But this is like Lottery for Dummies. Learn it now and we can get you to play the scratch-off games (you have to play to win!) when you grow up. In fact, you can probably even buy some before you’re 18 – it’s not like they card you for scratch offs. They’re in vending machines, for goodness sakes!

And that doesn’t even bring up the question of why the kids will spend 1/2 day of precious education time celebrating St. Patrick’s Day.

(I know. Lighten up, Wendy.)

Deceptive advertising? I think not!

The other day, I was reading my ADVO coupons – the ones that come with the Columbia Flier. And I found this on the back page:

A couple of things struck me as quite remarkable and possibly even unbelievable. (Sorry, I can be a skeptic sometimes!)

- How could one squeeze into a bathing suit powerful enough to squish in 4 sizes?

- Why aren’t her limbs oozing out a the end of the suit? I mean, is this suit so amazing that it slims the parts that aren’t even in the bathing suit? Wow.

- Why would a company brilliant enough to make such a miracle suit charge only $9.95? Are they philanthropists? Working to help boost the self-esteem of bathing suit wearers everywhere?

- If I was willing to pay – say – double or even triple, could they make it for me in a nicer pattern?

So this got me thinking. Are there other miraculous pieces of clothing out there? I know (because Stacy and Clinton told me) that some things are more flattering for our figures than others. But what I had to know was… is this an isolated incident?

Inquiring minds want to know.

So I had this photo taken in the pink dress. Not my most flattering look, but hey, this is a bare-all, no ego blog, right?

And then.

I went searching for the perfect fabric. The perfect design. Could I create a dress that would make me look 40 pounds thinner? Four whole dress sizes? Like the bathing suit? It wouldn’t be easy.

But check this out.

But I’m not charging any $9.95 for this bad boy. If you want one of these, it’s going to cost you…

Boys will be boys.

Yesterday, Andrew went out to play with his little friends from Semites on Bikes. He’s been hanging around me so long that he’s even thought to take some pictures with his phone. I’m going to make a blogger out of him yet.

I wanna talk about me.

I got to hang with a friend today and chat for hours. Nice. I couldn’t for the life of me remember who sang this song (Toby Keith) but here it is. Enjoy. (It’s not the best recording, but…)