The Urban Cowgirl has moved!

Check out the new digs at: http://urbancowgirlvancouver.wordpress.com/

This site will remain active...sort of an archive of the early days.

Much love possums,

UC xx

Strategize this

So it turns out I have a day job. I appreciate this may come as a shock for the 2% of you reading this that aren’t either my friend, colleague or family member. Yes, sadly I do not attract enough readers to sustain my lifestyle while I publish one single blog per week. Go figure. Good news is I have a gig that covers my cowgirl lifestyle whilst I blog it up.

Now, we all have those weeks where we feel like we’re faking an orgasm 8 hours a day, Monday through Friday. It doesn’t matter what industry you work in, the redundant corporate buzz words and coffee comparable to a mild form of jet fuel can really wear on a gal. How many times do we have to hear the phrase ‘moving forward’ or ‘let’s uncover the nuances’ before we pull an Office Space and smash the shit out of the fax machine? Not too many, I suspect.

I work in PR and aside from badgering the media, I strategize. That’s right possums, one of my many functions is to strategize the badgering of media. So, during a recent strategy session I was pleased to discover an unexpected, and unlikely, visitor. While my boss and I sit in our massive, freezing-like-the-artic, board room one of our counterparts joined us via video conference. We were about to wrap things up when my coworker’s projection turned puzzled, as he muttered a quiet ‘well I’ll be damned.’ There stood Pamela Anderson, in our parking lot, about to climb into an SUV and drive off. I quickly sprang to action and asked that my coworker remove the video cam from it’s perch and point the thing out the window so I could take a peek. Within seconds the Playmate turned Peta activist was part of my PR strategy session. This certainly perked up my work week. What’s next, the Hoff? Germans love him and frankly, so do I.

So next time you have the urge to staple things to your boss’ forehead, remember you never know when a center fold will find their way into your board room.

Be cool possums
x

Don’t call me baby

Last week while lunching with some lady friends, our conversation shifted towards the subject of dating – shocking, I know. We quickly realized that we all shared a similar opinion on the subject of pet names. You know, terms of endearment. Those sickening sweetie names we use when we’re smitten with the opposite sex.

I’m not poo-pooing pet names possums. In fact, I’m happy to engage in some love language with my bf, but there’s a reason why this is acceptable. So listen up all you single studs, because I have yet another piece of unsolicited advice for you.

One of my lunching ladies mentioned that she had met a pilot during a layover in Toronto. Following an impromptu 2 hour get-to-know-you-over-coffee first date, the pilot seemed promising. Let’s face it, the uniform gets you a second date regardless. Given our pilot is based back east, a budding exchange of text messages ensued. Talk of a second date on this side of the country seemed inevitable until our leading man made the mistake of typing something that we all agreed was a tad pervy. In the text he referred to our gal as ‘sexy’. Not, ‘wow you looked really sexy sitting at your gate that day’. No...no, no. Sexy as in ‘hope you had a good flight home, sexy’. Yuck.

We glanced at each other with a simultaneous look of disgust. Why was it so horrible that a guy referred to our friend as sexy? I’ll tell you why possums, because you just don’t go there until you’re in a relationship. I compare this to the first time you do a #2 at a guys place (which is another blog in itself). We don’t do this unless we’re committed, because for one reason or another, it’s considered offside. Same goes for ‘sexy’. Or shnookum bear, sugar tits, or any other bizarre-o pet name. It implies one of two things:

1. Your manner with women is comparable to that of an 80 year old.
2. You’re a sleazy chauvinist.

I’m certain I do not speak for the every one, but I’m confident I speak for most when I say - sexy is not okay unless, at the very least, you’ve had a roll in the hay.

Case in point:

Man Up

Lately I’ve noticed my fellow ladies laying down some pretty tough talk when it comes to their men. As such, this post is positioned more towards the gals, although there is some insightful bits – I think – for the boys as well. Consider it a public service announcement just for you, possums.

Aside from my own personal learnings over the years concerning the opposite sex, I’ve noticed some unnerving behavior while observing complete strangers and peers alike. So ladies...

Please, oh please, will you stop emasculating your men. If you’re puzzled as to what I’m talking about you may be an oblivious offender. Let me brake it down for you. When you openly and publicly express your distaste for something your guy has said, perhaps in front of close friends, family or colleagues, this does not fair well for a fellas masculinity. For example, “Boo boo bear, can you please eat your short ribs with utensils?” Or, “Lover bunny, don’t speak with your mouth full.” Especially when delivered in a condescending, ‘I’m trying to be nice but really I’m about to unleash the bitch’ tone. Humiliation tactics tend to back fire, so best wait until you’re alone to share your thoughts on the subject. There is nothing worse then watching a woman publicly shame her man for something completely trivial. How often do you hear a guy say, ‘Hey hun, you might like to rethink the way you’re holding your fork.’ It just doesn’t happen.

Doting. Don’t do it. Men aren’t helpless infants who require non-stop tending to. Don’t fiddle with their hair, correct their grammar, or ask if they need things incessantly. Here’s an example scenario that you should avoid...

Woman - “Hun, are you hungry?”
Man - “No, I’m good.”
Woman - “But you haven’t had a proper meal all day, you should eat something.”
Man - “I’m good, thanks.”
Woman - “Ok, I’ll just whip you up a snack, your electrolytes must need a little boost.”
Man - “No, really I’m fine.”
Woman - “Here you go honey, I fixed you a glass of soy milk and some lentil soup.”
Man - *Sigh accompanied by head shake*

Guys are pretty straight forward. The words ‘I’m fine’ is not guy talk for ‘I'm dying for a health shake baby, please make me one!’ It’s means their fine. Really.

Nagging. Now this is something I’ve struggled with, as let’s face it, we woman are in our own time zone. The ‘feminine time zone’ (FTZ). Meaning, we simply like things done promptly. Case in point, my bf and I have just returned from a weekend away and my things are already put away and in the wash while his are still in shambles. It’s ok, because I know he’ll get to it. Yet, it’s taking every piece of composure I have to not step away from the blog and begin cleaning up his shit. That’s just how we women roll, we like to getter done. There is no sense trying to reason this point with men, and that’s ok because they too have their own time zone. The ‘I’ll get to it when I get to it’ time zone (IGTIWIGTITZ).

In closing, I’d just like to say that men are perhaps equally at fault if they feel like less of a man as a result of the aforementioned. Don’t stand for this passive aggressive behavior boys! Instead, eat your food like an adult, don’t leave your shit lying around and eat regular healthy meals throughout the day. And you thought I’d sell my ladies out completely...

Peace and love possums. x

Ankle Biters Be Gone

You’re hosting a dinner party comprised of couples mostly, and have quite the spread prepared. Upon shopping for ingredients and selecting a couple smooth vintages, you’re set to entertain. Never does it dawn on you, however, that there may be some babies in attendance. That’s right, babies. Bambino's, offspring, the fruit of someone’s loins, lounging about your adults-only dinner party. With a smug little look on their baby face, no less. You know, that smug ‘I can drool all over your furnishings and stank up a room with my poopie pants’ look?

You might ask yourself, ‘how does this happen?’ Do people actually bring said babies to dinner parties when it has been clearly defined that the guest list is for grown ups? Apparently some parental types pull this kind of shit. What’s worse is these people don’t see it as a problem. I’ll be the first to say if someone brought over their postnatal paposse to my place during dinner - unannounced - I’d be in a state of shock.

Dining over diaper-clad guests simply doesn’t appeal to most non-parents, which is why baby is often dismissed. One of my gal pals was preparing to host a gathering recently, when one of her friends asked if it would be ok if she brought her toddler along. In this case, it absolutely was not ok, yet my friend was left to feel like a bitch for sticking to her guns. Not that this mattered because her friend brought the urchin along anyway, after she had been asked not to. Has she no shame? Does the part of our brain that determines our manners get wiped clean with motherhood?

When I was a wee whippersnapper, my mom had no problem booking a babysitter when she and dad decided to hit the town, and rightly so. What’s wrong with parents these days? It’s ok people, your baby will survive without you for a few hours. I’m not saying you should source your sitter on Craigslist or anything, but surely someone can look after the tike for one night.

A few weeks later I found myself lunching with a good friend who had a similar story. Dinner party, a small gathering of friends, good food, a typical adult affair. A few days prior, one of his friends rang to see if it was ok to bring her 13 year old daughter along. Come the fuck on people, bringing a baby was bad enough, but at least you don’t have to censor your conversation. No cursing, no profanity, no adult content at all really. It’s earmuffs for everyone!

On that note, I’ll leave you with an appropriate clip demonstrating this very point.

Night night possums. x