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

Thank god for Wednesday

Have you ever dreamt that you won the lottery? Perhaps you’ve already accounted for the cash, should you possess a winning ticket one day. I for one buy a lottery ticket every chance I get. I wasn’t always a lotto lover, but the recession inspired me to try my luck. Granted, I have never been in a better financial position since this so-called recession hit. I still like having an excuse to fantasize about my possible fortune. Why is it that spending $2 (no Extra because my Gram says that’s a sham) makes me feel like I have the right to dream of all these things? Somehow having this ticket makes it seem more reasonable to indulge in the fantasy. It singlehandedly shifts my energy into a warm and fuzzy frenzy! No, this is not a plug for The Secret people.

On the way home from work today, I mentioned to my bf that we - once again - did not win the lottery. To which he responded “thank god for Wednesday”. Thank god indeed. It’s the next chance to buy a lottery ticket and slip back into fantasyland. Perhaps what I need to do is train myself to dream these things, with or without said ticket?

Here’s the thing possums...I’ve had a number of mysterious cash windfalls myself. Luck you say? Maybe. For example, way back when I was a wee possum, I purchased a $1 scratch’n’win the night before flying to Europe. I won $500, which in those days, translated to paying for my flight. Fast forward a few years, when I won another chunk of change, this time $5000 on a popular Vancouver radio show. In all my cowgirl cavorting, the benjamins always seem to appear when least expected.

The best bit about winning a little cashola is dreaming up all the fabulous things you plan to do with it. For example, I’d rescue and adopt a couple of dogs, name them Horhay and Madonna and dress them in Ed Hardy. I would buy organic, locally produced foods exclusively and volunteer for a good cause. I’d be on a flight to the South of France so fast, ma tête se tourner. While in France I would determine how to spend and invest my millions, beginning with an initial investment in Cole Haan and Jimmy Choo. All while my personal assistant Franc (pronounced Fronk) fluffs my pillows, fixes me a bowl of bouillabaisse and fetches me a glass of rosé. Oui, sil vous plait.

What would you do??

In other news, I now have three - count ‘em - THREE tomatoes on my tomato plant. Maybe this represents my windfall for now.

Here’s an oldie but a goodie. Bon soir possums. x

Bollywood, brides and butter chicken...

...a delicious combination.

Geetan possums! First you have your blushing bride, sparkly and sacred. Next you have dancing and a celebration not unlike something you’d see at the Raja. Then the food....oh GOD the food. In all it’s spicy splendor, a celebration in itself.

I experienced my first Sikh wedding over the weekend, which as I suspected, did not disappoint. Being an avid Bollywood fan and a member of my local Indo Jazz troupe, I was eager to channel my inner bhungra - full stop.

I have to admit, a commentator would have been helpful as I was a little unclear about some of the customary traditions. Case in point, the ‘man exchange’ before entering the temple. Picture a scene in Hawaii; the brides family in silver turbans on one side of the parking lot, the groom’s on the other in dark red, decorating each other with pseudo-flower lays while carrying a family representative over to the other side. Seemingly a combining of families...at least that was my interpretation. Next up, into the temple you go to a smorgasbord of Indo delights. After stuffing my face with a dozen pekoras, I was whisked away to wash up and position my pashmina accordingly, covering my head and shoulders for the ceremony.

Shoes off. Gals on one side, guys on the other, perched on a carpeted floor. Quite comfy really. The boys were given bandanas in coordination with our friends side of the family. Women in colorful suits surrounded our chick crew, head-to-toe in bling. I felt a tad ordinary and under dressed to be honest. The groom’s ensemble was reminiscent of an emperor while the bride was in red and gold. No idea what the Guru was saying, but he was singing each prayer and there was a backup band so it was entertaining nonetheless. Our friend walked his new bride around the Guru 4 times and bada-bing the ceremony was over. Afterwards, the various Gurus dispersed and distributed an oily piece of doe that tasted much like a squishy pancake. Not bad really. I guessed this could be compared to a Catholic communion?

Several hours later it was time to head to the reception. Picture the party of the year, 700 people deep. These people know how to party. Immediately I was made aware of some significant differences in comparison to your typical western wedding. For example, while lining up for a drinks one of our female friends was tapped on the shoulder and asked to sit down. Okie doke, so apparently it’s not appropriate for women to drink. It is, however, more than appropriate for our dates to bring us drinks all night long which suited us just fine.

The groom, in this case, is the star of the show. In the western culture, it’s all about the bride. Whatever she wants, whatever she says...we are trained to bow down and respect the bride-to-be; no questions asked. Not so in the Sikh culture. It’s all about the groom as he delivers the speeches, he is hoisted above the crowd several times as they chant his name, he’s the one who is honored and cheered on. Kind of refreshing really. Why not let the groom have his day in the sun?
The party was produced to P Diddy-like proportions, with big screens streaming live video coverage and a plethora of papparazzi photo documenting the entire event. Quite the spectacle. Many traditions were similar to what I’m used to, for example, the first dance, the ceremonial cutting of the cake, yada yada. A personal highlight was the bride and groom’s grand entrance to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing. Priceless.

The only difference was that dinner was served at midnight. Ouch. The sultry smell of butter chicken lingered from the kitchen for hours only to be held hostage until all the wedding rituals had taken place. Needless to say, by the time the food was served I attacked the closest buffet table in a not-so-lady-like manor. Charming.

After tearing up the dance floor with my very best bollywood moves, we called it a night. I’ve been dreaming in bhungra ever since.

Jai ho.
xx

Can’t buy me bubbly

I love champagne. Love it. My gal pals and I enjoy nothing more than a glorious bottle o’ bubbly, preferably on a patio or at a cozy lounge over gossip and such. I also enjoy when complimentary cocktails are sent to our table care of an admirer. Who wouldn’t? I’m lucky to roll with a fairly foxy crew, so a grand gesture of this sort is not exactly unheard of. However, it’s a rarity that we receive a bottle of fine champagne upwards of $150. This does not happen every day possums.

After knocking off work on Friday I raced to an oceanfront patio to meet one of my besties for a beverage in the sun. Bliss. As we caught up over a few pints, we noticed a fine bottle of bubbles headed our way to which we redirected the server advising him that unfortunately he had the wrong table. Moments later our waiter made his way back to our table assuring us that the bottle was in fact for us, care of another guest is the restaurant. Hmmmm. Normally, we would be happy to accept this little bottle of goodness but we both had dates with our respective boys and needed to be cool (somewhat of a feat when this particular bestie and I get together). So we decided to have just one glass and settle our bill.

As we enjoyed the fabulous fizz, we couldn’t help but wonder who might have sent the champagne? My friend’s ex-boyfriend was the bar manager for a time, maybe he sent it? Nope. We called him. I work 2 blocks from this establishment and have produced some fine work as of late, perhaps one of my superiors was having drinks and sent it over? Nope. I walked the perimeter.

Moments later we were rudely accosted by an angry little man who decided to ‘school’ us in front of everyone on the patio. He questioned why we couldn’t have just enjoyed the bottle he and his friend sent over and how blatantly ridiculous he thought we were. After the old boy was finished scolding us, my faithful companion thanked him (and I quote) for his ‘feedback’. Ha.

What this man didn’t realize was that a) we both can afford to buy our own champs and b) it’s not that unlikely that someone we knew could have sent it. As we were wrapping up, we decided to have the bottle re-corked before booking it out of there. As we made our exit, the same geriatric gent shouted across the patio advising us that we shouldn’t take the champs corked, he’d like to buy us a new one. Well that was the cork that broke the camels back. My friend boldly walked over and placed the corked bottle of bubbles on his plate. “There you go Gramps!” Well, that’s not exactly what she said..but it went down something like that.

Grand gestures are great, whether they come from a grandaddy or a pimp daddy. However, the rules in which we are to accept these gestures can be simply outrageous. Sometimes boys should just keep their bubbles to themselves.

Holla for a Dolla

Without harping on the usual economic hoo-ha, i have a few light-hearted stories to share with you possums. Yes, money is tight, the stock market is in the toilet and even Starbucks is losing money. Yet, over the past few days I’ve witnessed a few acts of complete and utter desperation. Pour example...

Exhibit A

All you can eat Thai - nixed. Upon receiving my Thai take out last night, I was appalled to find that the regular all you can eat deal had been canceled. Not available. No goo deal fah yoo folks. Note big nasty red X...

Exhibit B

Handmade poster plastered on a street light across from my apartment, pleading for the safe return of a lost Louis Vuitton bag. Are you facking kidding me? Who in their right mind is going to return a faboosh bag like that? Frankly, I bet that bad boy is listed for sale on craigslist as we speak. Dito for the digi-cam that was left inside. Some homeless dude is eating well for the next few weeks.

Exhibit C - I’m a child hater

Local charities are coming up with sneakier tactics to guilt you into giving up your doe. I’m all about donating to the causes that are most meaningful to you, however being hounded at the check out is not cool. I was hit hard, TWICE in one night en route home after work Friday.

All i was after was some vino accompanied by tasty tofulati, fat free ice cream sandwiches. Dee-lish. However, I was accosted by the cashier at my local Liquor Store asking if I’d like to donate $1 to dry grad. Dry grad? Why, so they can upgrade to a nicer limo? We all know the kids are going to get their drank on anyway. In other words, that $1 goes to the teens who then want to rip it up on prom night, eventually spending my dollar back at the Liquor Store, resulting in more profits for BCLQ. Genius really.

Feeling rather jaded, I popped over to pick up my ice cream sandwiches only to be under attack, once again. This time by a pre-teen pubescent wanting to know if I’d like to make a donation to Children’s Hospital. Well yes, ofcourse I do theoretically. I suppose if I can afford $7 ice cream sandwiches, I should donate to the kids. Fine. Fack, you got me.

If I find that purse, I’m posting it here...starting bid $500. I’ll even donate 10% to charity. Ha.

Donna Summer said it best possums...




Sugar Daddy's Need Not Apply

While sipping some prosecco at a local lounge over the weekend, my gal pal and I were subject to some surprising male advances. Not surprising as in ‘oh my, that boy who resembles Jake Gyllenhaal wants my number’, but surprising as in ‘oh my, you’re old enough to be my granddad’. There are some anxious geriatric gents on the loose in this town ladies and they’re hittin’ the Vancouver scene - hard.

Although my friend and I are both involved with boys of our own, that’s not to say we’re not open to some friendly banter with boys at the bar now and then. However, when the “boy” in question is that of a 70 plus pensioner from North Carolina, it begs the question - what on earth makes these men think they stand a chance?

At what point do men acquire the manjigglys to approach gals roughly 40 years their junior thinking they may have a shot? Two words - dolla bills. These said old boys will often cruise for younger ladies under the assumption that their money will win us over. Here’s my point possums - not all women are money hungry. Most women these days earn they’re own income and need not resort to a roll in the hay with a Hugh Hefner type to taste the good life.

So there we are, enjoying our cocktails and tapas, when I see our subject about to make his approach. A somewhat solid swagger, I’ll admit. However, he makes it immediately clear that he has some serious cash, as he lists the various properties he owns around town, even inviting my friend to take a ride on his float plane. Meanwhile I’m thinking to myself, ‘you’re barking up the wrong tree Daddy Warbucks’.

To top it off, this man was simply oozing with style...if it were 1975. Sort of a Tom Jones meets Mr. Kotter facade. So naturally I let him have it. Yes, possums, in my very best southern drawl (to speak at his level ofcourse), I inform our old chap that my friend will not be taking a ride on his float plane and perhaps he should approach someone more age appropriate. He did not take kindly to my comments nor did he enjoy my impression of his Ross Perot-esque accent. Hmph, tough crowd.

After making a swift and somewhat awkward exit (avoiding Mr. Jones at all cost) I continued on my rant for a few blocks, educating innocent bystanders along the way - pervy middle aged ballers should simply behave or buggar off.

Done with doom and gloom

Yes possums, it’s true, we’re in a recession...as if I had to remind you. Thanks to a plethora of economic wizards around the world, we are reminded each and every day that the world’s financial climate is officially in the shitter. I don’t know about you, but I'm a smidgen sick of the statistics, the daily layoff tallies, and staring at a somber Pamela Martin regurgitate the same news night after night. She should seriously reconsider her hair style by the way, but I digress. Two thumbs down I say!

Instead of monitoring your financial statements, might i suggest you step out of reality for a moment to engage in some fiscally responsible activities sure to help you break free from budgeting while having a well-deserved belly laugh. With that, allow me to share with you the...

Urban Cowgirl’s Top Economic Exertions

1) A dear friend of mine passed along this little jewel - completely bizarre, but something about it makes me want to crank it on my ipod and beat someone with my ‘rhythm stick’.

2) Apologies go out to my cat-loving loyalists, but I find this rather amusing. Silly kitty.

3) Go straight to your nearest skytrain station and wait for a busy train to unload. When the passengers make their dash to the exit, stop someone and pretend that you know them. Make a scene! Accost them with an enthusiastic embrace if you will, then sit back and watch in delight while they walk away bewildered by your brazen attack of affection. Call it economic love.

4) Catch a comedy show featuring some homegrown talent, like lovable local comic Darcy Micheal. I use the term ‘lovable’ loosely as he will affectionately abuse you should you situate yourself in the front row, however this politically-charged pot head is a must-see.

5) Pop down to Denman Street for Beard Papa’s fresh ‘n natural cream puffs. They are neither a beard, nor a papa. Just a cream puff. Puzzling yet pretty tasty.

I felt a little Jerry Maguire-esque with this post. Like I had to come up a mission statement to save my possums from full-on financial misery. Instead, I choose Youtube...and Beard Papas.

Cin Cin possums
UC xx

Merry Frickin Christmas

With only 9 days left before Santa suits up for his worldwide jaunt, one would think people would be in a somewhat merry mood. Feeling rather merry myself, I stepped out for a stroll along our seawall this afternoon to frolic in the snow and soak up some sunshine. Before embarking on my walk, I popped some trash into a neighbors dumpster, only to be viciously accosted...by an 80 year old woman. She had a thick accent (maybe German?) so it was hard to make out what she was shouting, but clearly she was not happy that I put garbage in her dumpster. She continued to holler at me for about a block as I ignored her, trying to shake off this blatant attack.

Now, I dare not diss the elderly (a little shout out to my Gram here), however this is not the first time I have had a run in with the local retired folks. My neighborhood has a high population of pensioners, with a median age of what feels like 70. It just so happens that I’m relocating to another area of the city in the new year, so I’m hoping they don’t follow me.

After a lovely winter stroll, I decided to brave the mall (aka the den of holiday hell) to get my shopping done, in one valiant sweep. Take my advice possums, Christmas shopping doesn’t have to cause you a merry meltdown, you just need to make a list. Get your game plan together and get in and out, like you’re going into Christmas combat. So in manner of G.I. Jane, I hit the shops only to be accosted once more by the cosmetic girls peddling perfume packages, crazed shoppers shoving their way past me, hordes of hoochies exiting Holt Renfrew, and so on. Slowly, I could feel my festive spirit sucked from within me.

Feeling rather defeated, I drug my weary ass home for a well deserved candy cane martini (see recipe below). I turned on my Christmas tree and quite fittingly discovered the movie Scrooged is on TV tonight. Yes! I hope the German granny across the street is watching...

Candy Cane Martini

1.5 ounces of grey goose vodka
1/2 ounce peppermint schnapps
splash of soda
garnish with small candy cane

BREAKING NEWS: Get me some lipstick

It’s official possums; the news we’ve all been dreading to hear. The Bank of Canada has officially announced that we are, in fact, in a recession. Thank you to all the financial tipsters for bringing this to light. God bless you.

Come the fuck on ya’ll, I’m confident most of us knew that already. However, one statistic that stands interesting during all of this corporate turmoil, is the fact that lipstick sales are up. That’s right folks, one key indicator that your economy is in the toilet is when women are buying lipstick in excess and the cosmetic companies are loving it. Thank goodness someone is enjoying the fruits of this fiscal meltdown.

The reason us gals are looking to lipstick is simply because many of us can’t afford the usual retail therapies, i.e. a hot new dress from Holt’s or a Cole Haan holiday clutch. Thus, to make us feel like we’re sporting something new, we turn to la bouche.

So ladies, here’s a few shades you might like to consider:

• Welfare cheque cherry
• I can’t pay my rent raspberry
• Pucker up payday loan
• Berry bad economy
• Shortfall shimmer

...and my personal favorite...

• Fiscally responsible red

Happy shopping girls! It’s off to the MAC store I go.

Bitten by the Christmas Bug

During the holidays, more than any other time of year, we are somehow inspired to be a bit more compassionate towards others. Generosity comes in many forms, whether that be a donation to a local charity or simply holding the door for a frazzled shopper.

It never ceases to amaze me when I hear a great story on the news about someone’s random act of kindness during the holidays. What truly amazes me however, is that there are grinches out there who try to spoil the season for the less fortunate in our community. When I read that the Salvation Army was robbed at a cost of $25,000 and the Surrey Food Bank had been hit 5 times by thieves, I was inspired to share with you...

The Urban Cowgirl’s Top 10 Ways to Spark your Christmas Spirit

10) Donate to Vancouver’s Covenant House
9) Drop off some nonperishable food items, unwrapped toys or a cash donation to your local food bank
8) Adopt a family through the Salvation Army
7) Adopt a nest from the Stanley Park Ecology Society
6) Sponsor a family through the Vancouver YWCA
5) Give to the Union Gospel Mission by purchasing a gift of comfort or peace from their online catalogue
4) Donate or volunteer for the BC Persons with AIDS Society (BCPWA)
3) Head to the downtown Costco this Friday to contribute to The Beat Cares Holiday Toy and Food Drive
2) Make a donation when casting a vote for your favorite tree at the Sutton Place Hotel, benefiting Canuck Place
1) Stretch your generosity around the world by donating to the Red Cross

Allow me to share with you possums a short video (produced by yours truly) documenting the 14th floor of my building. This lovely gal decorates her entire floor for Christmas every year, complete with goodies for visitors to help themselves to. She’s clearly been bitten by the Christmas bug.

Be Frugally Festive

Well hellooooo possums! It’s December (in case you lost track) and the countdown to the big day is on. Tickity tick tick, time to get a move on with your holiday shopping. I know what you’re thinking...gag me with a yule log, but don’t fret just yet. I’ve compiled a list of tips to stay frugal but festive over the holiday season. Fa la la la la...

Do pre-drinks. Has the economic downturn put a damper on your happy hour? Nonsense. No need to blow a wad on a beefy bar bill, invite friends over to have a few pre-drinks before heading to your local lounge.

Stuff your socks. Instead of indulging in big gifts this year, why not buy a few stocking stuffers for each of your loved ones instead? We’re all adults here possums and let’s face it - Santa’s not comin’. Ditch the over priced gifts under the tree, stocking stuffers are so avant-garde.

Spread some Christmas spirit. True, most of us will accumulate more hangovers in this one month then we do in a year but there is more to the holidays than hanging your head in the toilet. Volunteer at a local shelter or soup kitchen, or host a dinner where all your guests bring a cash donation, nonperishable food item or an unwrapped toy.

Don’t stuff Santa in the mailbox. Instead of spending hours churning out Christmas cards, send a little holiday love online. Conduct your own digital photo shoot, create your own e-card and send it via email to your friends and family. Cost = nothing. Carbon footprint = nada.

Trade spending for sparkle. Looking for a festive activity to share with your ankle biters or significant other? Take a walking tour through some of the city’s most spectacular light displays, with the Urban Cowgirl’s favorite festive places to frolic:

1) The big tree at English Bay (Beach Ave @ Bidwell St)
2) St. Paul’s Hospital Lights of Hope display
3) The courtyard of the Sheraton Wall Centre
4) The green and red sails at Canada Place
5) Harbour Centre Christmas tree
6) The sparkly floating tree in Lost Lagoon

Tis the season to save some dolla bills ya’ll.

Channeling my inner bride…smaid.

Invites and centre pieces and wedding vows – oh my. And so it was my turn to take on the task of bridesmaid-of-honor for a gal pals recent nuptials. A hefty undertaking for someone like myself who has never fully understood the ritual that is the wedding. It’s always seemed so 18th century to me. Nonetheless, I was honored to take on the role and learned a lot along the way. Which brings me to…

The Urban Cowgirl’s Wedding Party Survival Tips:

1) First and foremost, the bride is always right. Don’t offer suggestions or throw out ideas as your bride will no doubt have her vision in place and it’s non-negotiable. I equate this to dealing with high level executives – don’t offer too much detail, just grin and nod and getter done.

2) More details = more f*ck-ups. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself packaging cupcakes and arguing with the wedding planner the night before the shindig takes place. In other words, keep it real. Are place cards and party favors necessary? Nice touch but not worth the meltdown.

3) Be organized. Stuff your bosom full o’ tissue in the event that the bride breaks down at the altar. Practice deep breathing exercises so you are prepared to lead your bride through a series of meditation tactics, if necessary.

4) The blending of two families is an interesting dynamic to witness. I would strongly encourage a pre-wedding bonding session to avoid any awkward energy on the big day. Why not get both clans together for a rowdy piss up? Go to a karaoke bar, guzzle some vodka redbulls and have a laugh. Nothing like getting a little sloshy with your in-laws-to-be.

5) Speaking of sloshy, try to avoid consuming too many cocktails prior to delivering a toast to the bride and groom. If you forget what you’ve just said mere moments after putting down the mic, the results could go either way. I haven’t heard from my bride since the wedding…here’s hoping.

Weddings seem to have couples by the balls these days. Hats off to all the folks who have survived their wedding and for those of you who have yet to walk down the aisle of marital bliss – bonne chance possums.

Here’s to love! To l’amour!

Business men have penises; business women have vaginas…and roles

It recently donned on me that the liberal country in which I live is not as liberal as I thought in terms of the roles men and women both play in the workplace. I myself have always felt that I was presented with professional opportunities just as equitable as that of my male counterparts. However, it has come to my attention that the subject of equality is still in question in today’s corporate environment.

A close gal pal of mine works in a relatively relaxed corporate office that boasts a playful culture with a more or less equal representation from both the male and female contingents. Sounds ideal, and seemingly it is in most cases, until just the other day our girl brought a rather stringent stereotype to the attention of some of her fellow co-workers. She, along with a select group of colleagues (all female), are often asked to cover reception for the regular receptionist while she takes a lunch break or in the event that she falls ill. Hmmm…why would this roster only include gals? Simply put, it would seem that sitting at a reception desk, greeting visitors and answering phones is not considered a male-esque role. Which begs the question…why the hell not? Why in today’s corporate culture are there roles that are more commonly considered female instead of male? You certainly don’t see many blokes in the HR department, or at least it’s an anomaly in my experience.

The best bit of the story is when our subject approaches her trusted male colleagues for a bit of support, only to be scoffed at in a patronizing manor.

Ok, so we won the women’s lib movement, we have the right to vote and we aren’t commissioned to wear skirts (only) to work anymore. Hoorah for the ladies! However, my friends experience only reminds us that there is still a long way to go in the quest for equality in the workplace.

Is it penis envy? No. Would it be refreshing to see a handsome fella sitting behind a reception desk for once? Abso-f*cking-lutely.

That’s all for this week possums, if you’ll excuse me…I have some bras in the oven.

Pandemonium prevails at Pemberton Festival

After months of anticipation, a pile of planning and a whole lotta’ hype, Pemberton Festival (affectionately known as Pembie Fest), is now a moment in music history. However, before the memories fade like Pharrell Williams hair-do, let’s cover off some highlights shall we?

Due to the inevitable (and demoralizing) traffic congestion that nearly pushed me to the brink of suicide – sounds dramatic I know – I unfortunately missed out on a few acts. I did manage to catch all of the heavy hitters which are, after all, the reason I and 39,999 others spent 3 days intoxicated and covered in dirt…just to catch a glimpse of some rock legends lighting it up in our very own backyard.

Serj Tankian, lead singer of political metal band System of a Down and now a soloist, was my first taste of the events that would continue to rock my world throughout the weekend. What a set of pipes on this man! Sporting a linen suit and top hat to match, one might not have expected Tankian to get the crowd chanting ‘Praise the lord, pass the ammunition’…but he surely did. This fella is clever and a far cry from your status quo artists shouting ‘Bush sucks’ just to get the crowd going. Nothing makes me hotter than a rock star who can authentically and accurately speak about politics.

Interpol…shall we call them Inter-snore? What a bunch of suit-clad zombies. I quite like their music, but as far as stage presence goes, they should enroll in Jack Black’s school of rock ‘cuz these boys just don’t have it in them. Or they absolutely despise one another? Either way, you have one member resembling Lyle Lovett, another who could pass for a Boy George look-a-like. And when they finally spoke, I was shocked to discover that these lads are actually American? I got a Brit vibe for sure, given their outfits. Perfect time for a trip to the beer garden I suppose.

Nine Inch Nails did not disappoint, which was no surprise - Trent Reznor is a force to be reckoned with. The man is intense…and hot. I was perhaps guilty of a few groupie-esque ‘woo-hoos’ during his set, but rightly so. The multi-talented/multi-instrumentalist closed the first day of the festival with a bang, sporting a massive light board behind him and his band, creating quite the spectacle. Now that’s a rock show.

The Tragically Hip brought out the biggest, and definitely the rowdiest, crowd of all the acts during the festival. I guess you have to be Canadian to truly get it (as an aussie friend of mine put it) but no matter where these boys play, the crowds will follow. Gord Downie threw down his usual bizarre stage antics pretending his mic stand was a car at one point whilst he thrust himself upon it. Right. Whatever floats your boat Gordie. At one point, Downie glimpsed over to the lead guitarist (you know, the one that looks like Alanis with a beard?), and flashed this smile that quite obviously meant ‘woe man, we’re still pulling this off after all these years…life is good’. This completed the patriotic portion of the show.

Bring on Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers- all American boys and rock legends. This was perhaps one of the most diverse sing-a-long sessions I’ve seen in terms of ages, which ranged from 18 to a brave 60+ year old man surfing the crowd. Petty played all the hits while swaggering about the stage having most certainly enjoyed a dance with Mary Jane moments before the show. Atta boy. He couldn’t have played in BC without sampling some of our…ahem, local produce. I called my dad and sang when Petty belted out Free Fallin’. It was a fine moment.

Day 3 = still standing and stoked to see N.E.R.D. No sooner did my crew and I situate our selves for the show, when I was whisked away with a media pass in my hot little hand, to ogle the band from backstage. Yes! This is the stuff of dreams for an Urban Cowgirl such as moi. I’ve been a fan for years and couldn’t help but bust a move and scream like a teenager to hits such as ‘Lap dance’ and Everyone Nose’ until someone gave me the heads up to ‘tone it down’ as I was media…not a super fan. Right. I’ll have to work on that.

Next up are Bellingham boys Death Cab for Cutie, which was just what I needed to mellow myself after my star struck encounter with Pharrell Williams. The perfect band to snuggle up on a blanket to, whilst sipping some vino from your ultra-classy wine tetra pack which you smuggled in hours earlier. When lead singer Ben Gibbard belted out his romantical gem ‘Soul Meets Body’ my heart melted…a little.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get better, Jigga man himself hopped on stage, smokin’ a stogie, and brought down the house. I knew Jay Z was talented, but his street cred has been somewhat buried underneath the likes of Beyonce and Rihanna so I nearly fell to my knees when he started free styling. I was blown away and continued to shake my cracker ass (excuse the expression) throughout his entire set. Nigga what? Nigga please.

At this point I’ve reached a level of musical stimulation unmatched by any other concert I’ve attended, when Chris Martin and the boys hit the stage to close the festival. Having seen Coldplay live twice before, I knew what to expect but am always pleasantly surprised by the bands sense of humor, energy and downright talent. At one point, the 4 English lads jumped off the stage and booked it through the crowd, perching themselves on a platform approximately 20 feet away from my crew and I. Magic. The entire crowd joined in for ‘Yellow’ and ‘Fix You’…and then just like that, the festival was over. It’s like the feeling you get after Christmas. I wonder what bands Santa will bring for Pemberton Festival next year?

Photo credits - Urban Cowgirl

Craigslist just got creepy…unused condoms anyone?

I like to pop onto craigslist once and while, mostly to check out the job section for writing gigs…naturally. I was reading a sustainability article this morning about giving your ‘junk’ away for free on websites such as http://www.freesharing.org/ or the ‘free’ section of http://www.craigslist.com/. Next thing I know, I find myself perusing a long list of bizarre items that some sad souls have taken the time to photograph and post in the ‘free’ section of craigslist.

I get the environmental impact of simply tossing these treasures into the trash and I’m all for the re-use, reduce, recycle principle. However, a few items…well…crossed the line shall we say. Allow me to share…

The Urban Cowgirl’s Top 5 Inappropriate Items to Post on Craigslist:

5) A leather wine skin, resembling that of a bladder. Really, it’s a much spankier version of a water cantina. Throw this little bad boy into your handbag ladies – a perfect fit!

4) How ‘bout some dirt people? Yes, you heard that right ladies and gentlemen, soil is up for grabs. I did not know that we must otherwise pay for this? Hmph.

3) Just hear those sleigh bells jing-a-ling, ring ting ting-a-ling too. Christmas tree anyone? It’s miniature. ’Give it to your pet’ it reads…here ya go pooch, happy holidays.

2) Here’s a gem – ‘Garage emptied and in alley’. In other words, come pick up my bag of garbage please. Doesn’t the city take care of this?

1) Unused condoms. Yes possums, you heard that right. This, amongst a variety of toiletries left on ones doorstep for ‘pick up anytime before 10pm’ is simply not acceptable. And perhaps a little deranged.

And there you have it folks – the best things in life really are free! I’m thinking of posting an FYI notice in this section of craigslist that reads a little something like this…ahem…

Dear craigslist posters,

Although I commend your environmental efforts and offer you an ‘A’ for effort in terms of sharing your wealth with the world, might I remind you that there are some fabulous folks out there willing to help…and they are called homeless people. That’s right, leave your goodies by the closest dumpster and voila – they’re snatched up in a jiffy. No digital photos or catchy commentary required.

Why is it OK for boys to want the white picket fence?

Over the past weekend I found myself enjoying a cocktail or several with some of my favorite singletons, which led to a refreshing yet shocking revelation. It’s no secret us gals tend to vocalize our readiness to settle down and procreate, perhaps more willingly than our masculine counterparts. However, I was pleasantly surprised - and perhaps shocked - to hear a similar sentiment coming from one of my single, male friends. Could this be? Are boys secretly interested in family and fidelity, or is it all a facade? Let’s investigate, shall we possums?...

I have come across, only but a hand full of men who have proudly professed their longing for matrimony and a baby mama. And when they do, the reaction (particularly from the female contingent) is quite positive for the most part. ‘He’s so open and honest and knows what he wants – how refreshing!” many a gal pal has noted. True true. However, if us gals dare to make similar statements we are immediately looked down upon as needy and codependent. The grasshopper who sang all summer. The cougar who couldn’t land a mate. Double standard you say? You bet your bottom dollar Daddy Warbucks.

Consequently, what happens next only makes matters worse as the communicational gap between men and women widens. Us gals begin to get our backs up as we feel the need to demonstrate just how independent we are, thus pretending like we don’t need boys…we just choose to have them around for shits and giggles. I’ll be the first to admit this is simply note true, but the stereotype can certainly back us into a corner. Ah!

When is it OK for gals to admit what they want in a relationship? At what point do we show our male opponents our cards? I’d say it rarely crosses my mind…but I’d be bluffing.

Beer, babies and diamond baubles

Over the weekend I found myself on safari in the suburbs, attending a backyard BBQ in celebration of a lovely couples recent nuptials. The relatively enjoyable gathering got rather interesting as I sat back to observe the countless couples interacting with one another. And then it dawned on me - do our conversations turn to child birth, home renos and interest rates the moment we walk down the aisle of marital bliss?

The highlight of the evening had to have been when all the gals gathered to compare engagement rings. Was this for real? A moment that can only be compared to men boasting the quality of their high definition TV’s. I know, how very stereotypical of me but case in point, we are just as bad as the boys are. If not worse really, given the sentimental nature of ones engagement ring. C’est dommage, it’s certainly not my intention to begrudge a gal her bling. However, I’m mildly tempted to rock up to the next fidelity fiesta sporting a 5 carat falsey just to taunt the marrieds. Too much?

It goes without saying, we are what we know. For example, if I spent the good part of my day changing poo poo diapers and minding the baby monitor, I too would find these topics enthralling. (When I say baby, you say poo poo…baby!…baby!…) But alas, I opted for a lawn chair and a wine buzz whilst soaking this all in. I’m sure I’ll eat my words one day…but until then, I’ll continue on with my cheeky rants.

Speaking of cheeky, did anyone catch Sue Johanson’s appearance on Letterman last week? This woman is my hero…check out the saucy minx here.

SATC: The Movie premieres nation wide in…4 MORE DAYS

Urban Cowgirl - Weekly Wire

Dear inaugural subscribers,

As some of you know, over the past several months, I have been in hot pursuit of a successful career in freelance writing. With a few pieces of published work under my belt, I’ve decided to create this group to help hone my craft and develop an organic approach to my writing. Not organic as in $20 avocado a la urban fare, but organic in the sense that I encourage your feedback and ideas.

The Urban Cowgirl being me – naturally - paying homage to my small town roots and big city lifestyle. The Weekly Wire being an article posted on my blog once a week. My topics will range from rants and random occurrences, to celebrity sightings and the next hipster hang out, from the perspective of a young, professional urbanite. If you are a member of the Vancouver, BC Network on Facebook, search for my group under 'Urban Cowgirl - Weekly Wire'.

No, I have not abandoned my day job as I am still ‘reveling’ in the world of corporate pr and communications. However, I felt it was time to broaden my literary horizon in hopes of establishing myself among the many fabulous columnists, bloggers and online gossips – shout out to Lainey Gossip who just happens to live across the street from me.

As I am trying to find my niche in this industry, I would like to stress that this is not a wine-induced tangent after overdosing on too many Sex in the City reruns. I’m not channeling Carrie Bradshaw, but instead trying to become a writer. So here goes…

Much love and many thanks,
Urban Cowgirl