Zaboravila sam da mrzim trčati. Možemo li hodati?

My boyfriend is from Croatia. He's slowly but surely teaching me his language so that I can eaves drop on the conversations he has with his parents.  He doesn't know that's why I want to know. He probably thinks it's sweet. I'm really not very sweet.

So the Croatian title, "Zaboravila sam da mrzim trčati. Možemo li hodati?", means this in English:

"I forgot I hate running. Can we please walk?"

Click the speaker icons on this link to the Google Translator [I had to check to be sure Z wasn't tricking me into writing something embarrassing on my blog. I'm easily embarrassed.] to hear how each sounds. Just for fun, I encourage my English-speaking audience [all 4 of you] [thanks, mom] [never mind, my mom doesn't know how to use her flip phone, much less the interwebs-o-bloggerama] to listen to the English version. That lady's voice is strangely soothing to me. 


Here's my attempt to phonetically write out what Željko says, as I trust his Croatian dialect more than that Google Translator's. But don't trust my phonetic spelling. Get your own Croatian boyfriend.

"Zuborrrhhraveelah som dah merrruhzeem torrchaihttee. Mojhemoh lee hodaatee."

Anyway, this title was inspired by Željko and I's attempt to go jogging in the beautiful Forest Park today. This isn't the first time I've almost ruined a relationship [with nature, myself, my health, and the boy I'm dating] because of something running- or not running-related. 

My Top 4 R^4s: [Running-Related Relationship Ruiners]

[Note: I ruin relationships in many other non running-related ways, too.]

1. My dad spent all his extra time coaching my 5th grade boyfriend to win the MONROE ELEMENTARY 5TH GRADE TRACK & FIELD DAY 4 X 4 race for his team. They won. I don't even remember being there. I don't think my dad even knew I was racing. Thanks, a lot, running, for ruining what was probably the most pure love I'd ever know. [Seriously pure ... I wouldn't even hug that kid. My guess is that I dated him for purely political reasons. I was running for Class President the next year, and he was in the cool crowd.]

2. Before Track & Field practice began, the boys & girls teams would always stretch together in the gym. The love of my life at the time was a Track & Field and everything else star. My freshman year of high school, his junior year, the stars aligned and brought he and I together. Before I had the chance to spit my mad game on this teen angel, my coach forced all the girls to stop stretching and start running. Running! You've done it again!

3. 4 years later, I thought I was ready. Ready to stop letting running ruin my love life! My boyfriend and I both ran Cross Country & Track in high school, so I was sure we'd be fine taking the occasional jog together through campus. I also apparently saw myself as a tiny and cute and playfully flirty lady who could jump on people without injuring them. Neither perception held true on this sad day. I jumped onto this particular boyfriend's back, in attempt to FLIRT with him. He fell to the ground, nearly breaking a few bones and bleeding himself to death. OK, wasn't that bad. He did bleed a bit. Scratched his hands to catch himself from the impact of the fall and my weight. He's fine now. Just ran a 10K this morning, actually. But we were never the same after that. Are you happy, running?

4. A couple years after that I started dating a former marine. We went for a hike one day, and I nearly died of exhaustion every time he whispered the word, 'run'. He finally convinced me to jog a mile [he promised delicious chocolate chip cookie dough icecream as my reward], and I surprisingly didn't die. He, however, vomited shortly after the mile jog ceased, which ruined my interest in ever kissing him again. Granted, he had run 10 miles that morning with some of his marine buddies, and they all had giant heavy things on their backs to make the run even more "invigorating." But my stomach just wasn't made to handle things like that. I'm not a doctor! Thanks, again, RUNNING.

P.S. Happy 25th Anniversary, Forest Park. I had no idea. Sorry no gift. How 'bout this, I'll wear your wheat in public, if you promise not to forget my 25th Anniversary. Of being alive. Deal? 

     

TITLE JUMBLE! :: Warriors Bones, 90s Glass Project & Dog FB

AGENCY SPY provides some of my daily-readin'-&-watchin'-content. Today's blog post [not to be confused with the blog post from earlier that was supposed to go up yesterday] is basically stolen from their "Best Ad-Related Videos of the Week" article and I think another, then with my short opinions on each vid. Enjoy, and have a great weekend. You warrior, you.


Some people make bones. Some people make boners. 


Finally Friday! I can expose my beard!


Warby Barker - you inspire me to want a dog. Just so I can buy him/her doggy glasses.



In theory, I dig this. But what if I want to change the font? 
Also, this feels like someone expanded on my dream [and, yes, the dream I share with everyone else in the world] to have voiceovers and background music for all of my life's events. Narcissism? Nah, just really passionate about archiving ....



2012 Facebook should really call this girl about coordinating their webinars.


P.S. I couldn't think of a title for this blog post. So I just jumbled some of the pieces of the 5 vid titles I've included. I may or may not use this approach again. And I may or may not make a game out of it.

Leap Day? Good Friday? Christmas Eve?

I forgot to write a blog post yesterday. I'm blaming it on Leap Day. I know yesterday wasn't Leap Day, but this is what I call CreativeAvoidance. A term similar to the agency my dear friend Whitney and I created yesterday - "Quantifiable Creativity" ... 


We were planning our dear friend Rita's Bachelorette Party. So I guess I blame both Leap Day and Whitney and Rita for my missed blog post. I certainly won't be taking the blame.


In honor of my scapegoats, I've written a knock-off of the 'Night Before Christmas' poem and turned it into a Rita/Dylan/wedding poem. Kind of. I also created a creepy photo montage. 

Happy Good Friday, friends!

'Tis the day before the day before Easter, and all through my house

Arts & crafts from RBPPN [Rita's Bachelorette Party Planning Night] are still scattered, and I think I just saw a mouse.

We're not coordinating our GFT [Good Friday Tradition] of eggs and tasks this year.

Let's promise to pick it back up in 2013. For now, have a  beer.

I bet the children at Rita's work are nestled all snug in their hospital beds,

While visions of Rita's traditional family wedding dance music can't get out of their heads.

Soon Rita will be a mamma in a 'kerchief, and Dylan will look like he's wearing a balding cap,

All the while Whitney will still be Asian, and I'll probably be in the middle of a narcoleptic nap.

In the city we don't really have lawns, but there's always a great deal of clatter.

I'm calling the police so they can see what is the matter.

 I just looked out the window and saw a bright flash.

Hey, remember that game we played as kids.... I think it was called "MASH"?

Wouldn't it be weird if it started to snow?

I guess it'd need to be freezing, or below.

I lost my favorite pair of sunglasses; I sure hope they appear,

If not, I'll check with both the Easter Bunny and one of Santa's Reindeer.

I hope our limo driver is lively and quick,

I wish it wasn't too late to book 'ole St. Nick.

He'd be rapid like eagles and he's totes fame,

And he'll whistle and shout and call us all by name!

"Now Rita! now, Whitney! now, Dylan and Billy!

On, Jenna! On Holly! You all stop being silly!

To the top of the church! to the top of the steeple!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away people!"

How sweet would it be to have a wedding party bus/limo that can fly?

When we get annoyed with traffic, we'll just mount to the sky!

Up to the house-tops, it'd be so much fun with our crew,

With Santa's sleigh full of bridesmaids, and groomsmen too.

We can dress all in fur, from head to foot.

And our clothes can be tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of flowers, Rita will fling from her back.

And she'll look like a peddler, just opening her pack.

Dylan's eyes, how they'll twinkle. His dimples, how merry!

His cheeks cut from roses thorns, his nose sniffing that cherry!

His droll little mouth will be pinned with a bow,

And the beard of his chin will be as white as snow.

The stump of a pipe he'll hold tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it will encircle his head like a wreath.

He'll have a broad face and a little round belly,

That'll shake when he laughs, like a bowlful of jelly!

Someday, Rita, he'll be chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I'll laugh when I see him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Will remind you that you have nothing to dread.

He'll speak not a word, but go straight to his work,

And he'll work on never again being a jerk.

He'll use his finger to pick his nose,

And every Valentine's Day, he'll give you a rose!

In the springtime, he'll walk around with you and whistle,

And he'll fly away like the down of a thistle.

You'll hear him exclaim, 'ere he drives out of sight,

"Happy Wedding Day to Rita, and to all a good-night!"

Lady Things

My younger years were spent mostly in discomfort when anyone would mention anything about lady things. Well, not just lady things, anything involving "number two" or "sexual baby-makin' intercourse" also got me a bit antsy. 


I don't know what changed. You'd think that three younger and quite disgusting brothers and a father who owns and often uses fake poop to prank folks we meet on vacation [by 'vacation' I mean Branson and by fake poop I mean .... seriously ... fake poop. It's so realistic!] ... you'd think a family like that would have trained me to be much more comfortable with these somewhat immature and tabu subjects at a much earlier age.


But it wasn't until recently that I've embraced the parts of being a human I used to try to ignore. I'll spare you the timeline, but in honor of my transition, a few hilarious videos that highlight some of the elements of being a woman I can now embrace. Ok, maybe not embrace. Laugh at. That's a start, right?


LADY [well, human] THINGS I'm Now A Bit More Comfortable Talking About


1. Camel Toe :: I can remember a time when I'd wear a fanny pack over my lady area because I thought for sure fanny packs were cooler than anyone knowing I had lady parts down there. Bess, don't worry, I still think fanny packs are cooler  - thanks to you! But thanks to Kristin Wiig and a few other hilarious SNL Cast Members [I have so much to thank that woman and those people for],  I'm more comfortable making jokes.




2. Peeing Outside ::  I ran Cross Country in high school [by 'ran' I mean only ran until Coach P (sorry, Coach P) wasn't looking any more or until the nearest icecream place was within reach] and every other girl but me seemed to be just fine peeing outside. Sometimes even number twoing [see #3] outside! Not until I learned about the GoGirl™ did I think it was something I could do gracefully. I've yet to try it, but mark my words, I will own one of these mess-free, uniquely-designed-tipped, medical grade silicone-filled, compact gifts from heaven above before I ever run again! This or the competing brand, SHEWEE®. I'm just not as impressed with the SHEWEE® logo as I am with the GoGirl™. But, then, how can any brand appropriately compete with a darling image of a bathroom girl image doing the potty dance?!

3. Pooping :: This deserves two stories:
a.  I was young. 10 or something. We had family over. I was using the downstairs restroom [mistake #1l to go number two. My younger cousin [one of like 90 I have] knocked a few times. She had to go number two, and she was mature enough to admit it. I lied. Told her and everyone who knocked thereafter that I was ... WASHING MY FEET ... the knocking and questions didn't subside for quite a while. I grew more and more nervous, and thus less and less likely to get the job done in a timely fashion. Instead of just admitting that I, too, there for number two, I fake washed my feet. I left the water running so that everyone would be convinced that I was just doing a really thorough job. When I finally finished the real work I was doing in there, I quickly wet my feet and walked out as if everyone waiting on me were the weirdos. 


Hmmmph. Feels good to admit that.


b. I convinced a boy in my high school that girls never pooped. That we take a pill [I don't think I knew about birth control yet, so I was probably referencing this mystery pill I had heard girls talk about] that prevents us from ever pooping. Ever. He believed me. I hope he doesn't believe me any more. Rough first year of marriage. 


Personal stories about poop aside [Yes, I do have more. No, I am not starting a poop blog.] ...this TARGET:  WOMEN chick cracks me up. Thanks, Jo Mohan, for the intro. Also, I still have your water bottle in my car. Well, enjoy Sarah Haskins talk about pooping. She's super funny.

Privacy in the Deodorant Aisle

This attack ad is funny, includes a catchy jingle I find myself humming when I send emails, is relatively on-point with how Google does things and has me thinking ... [watch the vid first; then feel free to read my tangential opinions]





I have a decent understanding of the digital world. I know as much as Google will let me know about their paid and organic search algorithms. I've got first-hand experience working to see to it that my client's ad shows up before the coupon site that advertises the same product we do on Yahoo! and Bing. I know how Lead Nurturing Campaigns and various tracking tools will literally document every move I make online so that I can be demographically categorized and re-marketed and cookie'd and targeted. 


I know how creepy it all is. Yet, I love it! Almost like that cheesy quote about true friends knowing all there is to know about you, the good and the bad, and liking you anyway. I mean, I don't like the internet or digital advertising as much as I like my best friend and Facebook wife, Jenna. Or even as much as I dig some college acquaintances I've kept in loose touch with. But I like it. I do.


And to make matters worse, I sort of love it. I was a part of a Midrash, St. Louis Theology at the Bottleworks Discussion last March on "Information Ownership, Ethics & Issues" where I think I may have been the only one in the room with this take on things...


I'm the girl who spends 30 minutes in the deodorant aisle comparing packaging and pricing and trying to assess the past experiences I had with Brand A vs. Brand B but not remembering enough details or differentiating them enough for it to really matter. I wish some archivist-extraordinaire [to be referred to as "A.E" from here on out] could meet me in the deodorant aisle with a long list of my historical experience with various brands and the other factors that attributed to my opinion of that brand. 


My A.E. could remind me: 

"Well, five minutes after you put on BluePackageWithBlackDressOnFront deodorant brand for the first time, you went on a date with that handsome Croatian man. So you were probably a bit nervous. But the day you used the WhitePackageWithTheSalmonColoredFlowersOnFront deodorant brand, you went to two back-to-back classes at your gym even though you knew your body wasn't ready for that kind of workout after such a long hietas. You sweat a lot that time, and blamed your deodorant when really you should have been blaming your addiction to Parks and Recreation..." [I love you, Amy Poehler.]

She [I just want my A.E. to be a "she" because I feel awkward talking about deodorant with a dude] could have not only my personal history recorded and analyzed FOR me, but an aggregated version of all of the people who have or haven't used the various products I'm deciding between. 


Eventually, if I trusted her enough, I'd just let her pick out my deodorant for me. I wouldn't need to hear the reasons. Heck, I might even let her apply the deodorant to my glorious pits every morning if she wants. And if she were pre-programmed to make decisions based purely on my actions/reactions/opinions, I'd have to trust her, right? Assuming I trust myself. Thing is, she'd have access to my subconscious, the desires I'm not even totally aware of but am somehow indicating by the things I'm doing / buying / searching / sharing.


I realize it's naive to fail to mention the selfish intentions of the advertisers who are stalking me. I get it. They want to sell me THEIR product, not necessarily THE product that is best for me. That I want the most. Thing is, I probably don't really care that much about the difference between all of these deodorants. I just want to find a brand I can consistently rely on .... that more or less makes the decision for me [and gives me coupons to make the decision cheaper, of course] so I can spend my time loving life and the people I get to experience it with instead of picking out deodorant that helps me smell better while I'm life- & people-lovin'. 


[Because I realize I've gone over the word limit most blog-readers are willing to spend time reading, consolidated bulleted list below.] 
Online Advertising, to me:

• Is creepy, yet fascinating.
• Has potential to make brands more convenient to choose, cheaper to buy and a better fit to enjoy for consumers.
• Creates more work for advertisers [thus creating jobs ... but I won't go into a 'big business and capitalism are good for societies' speech ...] and saves time for consumers.

P.S. The deodorant brand I use now is Dove^®. 3 Reasons:

1. It smells so damn good.

2. Unilever [owner of  Dove^®] is a client of my ad agency, and one of my favorite Search Marketing guys of the bunch, Bhak Tanta-Nanta is the Search Director for Unilever. 

3. I will always be a sucker for the Dove^® Campaign For Real Beauty. Very inspiring! 

When The Dog Bites ... When The Bee Stings ...

[5 points for the first 5 ppl to get the title reference] [No, I have no system planned for keeping track of points or redeeming point values. Not a bad idea though, aye?]


My first blog post ought to be something both funny and ad-related. 
Why? [Don't worry, I won't ask that in every blog post just because I decided to put a "Why?" in my Blogger Name] ... 


ANSWER:  STUFF THAT MAKES ME LAUGH and ADVERTISING = two of my favorite things in the world. Well done, Honda, in providing both. Not as good as Toyota's SWAGGER WAGON commercial, but well done nonetheless. 



P.S. Toyota's "MOVING FORWARD" Slogan was my Student Government Ticket's slogan when I ran for Executive Vice President of the crew back in 2007. Great team. Great year. Nostalgia, how I love thee:


1.   Awkwardly over-excited victory pic and
2. Quite possibly even more awkward professional slash thumbs up [to prove we're JUST LIKE OTHER COLLEGE KIDS?] pic.