No matter where I am or what I’m doing right now, there is cat hair on me somewhere.
I gave up an $80,000 career editor job to write this blog. Ha. Ha-ha-ha. Ha-haha-haha-haha. <maniacal laugh>
My middle name is “Integrity.” Well, no, actually it’s Coleen. (Yes, with one “L.” What can I say? My mom’s an Irish rebel.) Seriously, though. My 15 years in magazine publishing taught me that editorial integrity and reader trust are sacred. I would never, ever profile or promote anything on my blog that I don’t believe has real value to my readers. And if I should receive any kind of compensation—a free product sample from the company, or a small percentage of sales from what’s known in Bloggerland as an “affiliate link”—I will disclose that in my post.
I sometimes drink milk out of the carton. Yes, I know it’s gross.
The misuse of apostrophes on grocery store signs makes me want to cry. “Tomato’s 79 cents.” <sob>
A year in Montreal at age 22 introduced this country girl to funky Quebecois fashion, poutine with real cheese curds, and, at the legendary Cleopatra Cafe on boulevard Saint-Laurent, an appreciation for transvestite make-up techniques.
I believe in love. Go ahead, laugh at my naiveté. But in 2004 I married the love of my life: hereafter known as “Honey.”
Sheepishly, I acknowledge the presence of certain ’80s soft rock tunes on my iPod. (You mean Trooper isn’t cool anymore?)
Honey lovingly calls me “The Terrier” for my determination to succeed against all odds.
I love gardening but hate getting dirt under my fingernails. How the heck does it keep getting inside my gloves?
I am hopelessly unable to shut up my busy brain long enough to say the word “meditate” three times, much less achieve any kind of zen tranquillity.
On YouTube, you can hear me calling out “Mommy!” in this rollercoaster video I shot of Honey and me riding the 50-year-old giant wooden Coaster at Vancouver’s PNE summer fair.
All the best,
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