Interviewing is a Full Time Job

Here's what I've really been up to. My paid vacation is coming to an end, so I have been spending the last few weeks on the interview train, going 100 miles an hour. I've made it a point to choose wisely the companies I want to spend my energy on. At this point in my career, cultural fit and a passion for the company's product is important. No more chips for me. I want to work for something that really "matters".

Now being on the opposite side of the table, I started out a little bit out of practice (Hey - I was the interviewer for the past 7 years..). It's a full time job - not just spending time at the actual interviews, but the mental preparation for each one is time consuming, but very valuable. In the past months, I've learned a few things.

1. Be yourself. Yes, prep and make sure you know your stuff, but don't sound too canned or too prepared. Relax. Watch your body language.

2. Research the people you're interviewing, not just the company. A good source, other than google, is linkedin. You'll catch a a quick glimpse of people's profiles. You'll also impress the interviewer when you talk about their past successes, or their interests. Also - ask the recruiter or other people you know for some background. Recently, a recruiter gave me an excellent tip: one of the people I was interviewing with was actually trying out for the same job. Knowing that allowed me to stay away from sensitive topics.

3. Be early. Wait in the parking lot if you have to. Yesterday, I arrived at one company 15 minutes early. As soon as I parked, they called to ask if I was in the area because they wanted to start earlier. I was there. They were impressed. And I got a full hour with a very important person. Otherwise, it would have been 45 minutes. Would have been my loss because he was a valuable person to meet and learn from.

4. Very few interviewers respond to the post-interview thank you notes. Those are the ones I have a tremendous amount of respect for, and who I will seek out my first day on the job. So, if you are ever the interviewer, please respond to the candidate. A simple "It was great to meet you, too. I wish you lots of luck" will suffice.

5. Do not go to an interview right after a heavy meal. Your energy will be low and you'll probably smell like food :) And God forbid you actually burp during an interview. Yikes!!!

5. Go to the bathroom before the interview. Check yourself out in the mirror and do what you have to do. I"m glad that's a habit of mine, because the other day, I looked in the mirror and my jacket wasn't buttoned right. Buttoned lopsided. I looked like a complete idiot, which I know I'm not. Little things like that make an impression.

So much for the interview tips. I'm now soliciting petitions from everyone so I get the new, exciting job I've been praying for. Sign your virtual petition for me and send it to the man above.

I'm back and I'm Pissed! (Blame it on Passwords and Cables)

Someone reminded me today that it's been 7 weeks since I last blogged. I have no excuse other than I've been busier than a bee....and to think I'm actually on a paid vacation. But this is a good venue to vent about two things that royally piss me off.

1. Passwords. I've just spent the last 2 hours trying to figure out how to get into this blog so I can post. Forgot my password. Sometime ago this site told me that the same password I use for most other things is "weak". So today, I have a password for my bank, my credit card bills, my healthcare, wsj.com and nytimes.com, my investment banker's site, my multiple email addresses, my car's online payment site, and this blog site, etc etc etc......and all of which are different. Not my fault. Some want 6 characters..some want 8, some want text and numbers, some want that with a symbol, blah..blah...blah. Jesus H. Christ, when will someone figure out that this is a problem for those of us with age-accelerated-attention-deficit disorder!!!!!???

2. Cables. If I removed all the cables in my bag, my left shoulder would be even with my right. In my bag, as I'm sure is in yours, are cables for my mobile phone, laptop, ipod, etc, etc. Then, I have to bring plug converters for Europe, the UK (not part of Europe, of course) and Asia. That's on top of the already-entangled wires for my iPod earphones, mobile phone headset, webcam and a slew of others. My laptop weighs a mere 3 pounds. But wouldn't you know it.....the list above weights 5. I will kiss the hands of the person who invents a one-plug/one-cable fits all.

Ok. Enough venting. It's a beautiful sunny day. I'm sorry it's snowing in Munich and raining in London. I love California in the spring.

Finding the Time to Do Nothing is Harder than You Think

I've spent the last few weeks doing errands I usually do on the weekends when I'm working. Now, all of a sudden I'm doing them (and more) during the week and can't seem to find time the time to sit down and do nothing. And still on weekends, I'm going-going-going. In between errands, I've been writing for a friend's website, and corresponding with colleagues and doing my usual reading and research. This morning, I woke up with a thought: I need a vacation from my vacation. I need time to sit and do nothing. Problem is, I'm not sure I know how to do that. Maybe it's because when my sisters and I were young and made the mistake of telling our mother that we were "bored", she made us sit for hours embroidering pillowcases with our initials. Boy, did we learn our lesson.

What about the next generation? Do they know how to do nothing? Kids today are overscheduled year round. I don't think we taught them how to sit and be comfortable doing nothing. And, since old habits die hard, when my kids tell me they are bored (because they have nothing to do), I threaten them with "don't tell me that or I'll make you embroider pillowcases".

Doing nothing is crucial to brain-cell regeneration. And stress relief. Maybe it's not too late for me to learn.

Radical Election Thought

Yay! We've finally gotten to a point where we have both a woman AND an African American candidate. Bravo! It's about time. But, I am left perplexed about the perspective of some African Americans, sparked by an episode of "The View" I watched a couple weeks ago. Discussion centered on Barak Obama and his choice of an African American wife. (Little discussion on her intelligence and qualities as a good woman). Question was, "If he had married a white woman, would this irk African American women?" Whoopi and the other African American host (don't know her name - don't watch often enough) said yes -the thought being "Why isn't an African American woman good enough for him?"

Now, isn't Mr. Obama half white? Did white women everywhere get offended that he didn't marry one of them? Did they think they weren't good enough? I doubt they even thought about it. If African Americans everywhere want equality, then what makes a half African American -half white person, more of one and less of the other?

I don't get it. Or maybe I do and I'm just blind to it all. I'm of mixed heritage Being part Spanish and part Filipina (which is a lot of Spanish, considering the Philippines was under Spain for 300 years) and I'm more confused about my race, and my children are, as well. One of them had to fill up a school form the other day and asked me, "Mom, what do I check - Hispanic/Latino or Pacific Islander?" I looked at her and said "Gee, I don't know! How about you check both and write 50 percent in each box?" She pushed on and kept at it "Yeah, but what am I!?" I left it at, "You're equal parts and that makes up a whole," I said. If she married a Spaniard, would all the Filipino women rise up in anger? Or vice versa? Is it the one with the persecution complex that gets the louder voice? I brought up my children to be proud Americans, bloodline notwithstanding.

Not daring to define a true "American" today, we in California are probably a little more color blind because we are a true melting pot. At least that's my perspective. But I'd like to believe that the next generation will think differently (or not at all) about racial issues than the prior generation- and hopefully gender issues as well.

This election is an inflection point. I think we should celebrate the progress we've made and work hard to move it forward.

Why the Nickname "Queenie"

Short story #1.
2001. Head to New York to brief some analysts. Two marketing guys and me. Board a plane. Seated together. Arrive at our row. I leave my roll-on suitcase on the ground and look at marketing guy #1 (also a good friend) and don't say anything. But my look says "Will you please pick my heavy bag up and put it in the overhead bin?" His response is "You expect me to pick up your heavy bag and put it in the overhead bin?" I don't reply. I just sit down.

Short story #2.
Arrive at destination. Rent a car. Marketing guy#1 goes to the driver side. Marketing guy #2 gets in the passenger front seat. I stand there, outside his window. Rolls window down and says "You actually expect me to open the door for you?" I just glare. He gets out and opens the door. I get in but I don't close the door. He says "Jesus H Christ! You even expect me to close the #$!@! door!!? Who do you think you are, the princessa?" Marketing guy #1 replies, "No, the Queen."

Short story #3
6 months later. Downtown San Francisco. With same group of guys plus more. Hole in the wall restaurant, apparently good, local, Asian food, only counter seating. Food is served in one plate: chicken, veggies, rice, salad, fruit, sauce-you name it, it's in there. I ask if I can have everything in small, separate plates. Explain I don't like my food touching each other. Chef/owner /tiny Asian grandma looks at me and says "You like dowager empress. No like food touching."

I think I earned the nickname.

For the Boys: What's In, What's Out

Okay, all you boys out there. Especially you there in Silicon Valley. ("Boys" includes you, if you're somewhere between the ages of puberty and age-defying.) There’s no reason to look like Ed Grimly, or Inspector Gadget. No reason to smell like you've been locked up in a closet with old gym clothes either. So, as a favor to us women, take heed to these fashion and man-scaping tips.

PANTS:
In: Flat front pants.
Out: Pleated pants.
(Do you really think pleats make you look thin? No. They make you look fat everywhere.)

In: Pants long enough to touch the very top of your heel.
Out: I can see your socks when you’re standing still.

SOCKS:
In: Mid-calf. Matches your pants or shoes.
Out: I can see your pasty, white, hairy legs when you cross your legs. Eeww!!!

SHIRTS:
In: Nicely pressed (by the cleaners) shirts, or no-iron, all cotton tailored or close-fitted shirts. (Check out Nordstrom or Brooks Brothers).
Out: Loose, billowy shirts with the straight out of bed-I don’t have a wife-I do my own laundry look.
Very Out: Shirts with a company logo. Any shirt with any logo. Out.

(Tip: If you must slip a pen into your shirt pocket, please make sure it’s a nice pen, and not one with some company’s logo, or worse, a Bic Pen.)

JACKETS:
In: Whether it’s a suit jacket or sports jacket, shoulders should fit perfectly and jacket should be fitted.
Out: Oversized shoulders and wide armholes. You’re not planning to wear football shoulder pads in there, are you?

SHOES:
In: Prada-like slip on loafers, or shoes with a strap and a side buckle.
Out: Tassles- so 80’s. Sneakers- gross. Crocs- unless you're gardening.

Now for some man-scaping tips. (Man-scaping: taken from the word "landscaping", it is the art of grooming men's hair and other body parts.)

In: Unscented deodorant (Clinique makes the best).
Out: Deodorant that matches your cologne. I don’t care how much you sweat, you shouldn’t pile stink on stink. I’ll run the other way.
Way, Way Out: No deodorant at all.

In: Cologne that I can’t smell. Or no cologne at all.
Out: The kind I can smell all the way down the hall and know you’re somewhere in the vicinity. And by the way, I don’t want to smell like you after a meeting in a hermetically sealed conference room.

(Tip: If you insist on wearing cologne, ask a fashion-forward female friend to help you choose one, and teach you how much to wear. Make sure she’s the type to tell you the truth. To play safe, stay away from it all together. There’s nothing sexier than smelling like soap and water.)

In: A close shave. Or a 3-5 day old growth, nicely trimmed.
Out: Shaving everywhere but leaving that furry growth under your chin. What is that!!

In: Clean, hair-free ears.
Out: Hairy, fuzzy ears. Not only do I want to have to look at your ears closely, but I certainly don't want to see little bits of hair sticking out here, there and everywhere. Take 5 more minutes, turn your head a little more and shave those puppies.

In: Neatly trimmed finger nails.
Out: Long nails; or long on one hand or short on another; or a long pinky or thumb nail. If you plan to use these as a screwdriver, here’s $2 bucks. Buy a real one. It looks AWFUL.
Oh – and dirty nails. There is NO excuse for dirty nails. I’d hate to find out what else is dirty.

In: Nicely groomed feet.
Out: Long nails, dead nails, calluses. I don’t even want to think about it.

In: A nice haircut. Or if you’re losing it, a buzz cut. The long hair isn’t fooling anyone.
Out: Slicked back hair or a comb over. (Tip:Your hair should compel women (or men, whichever way you swing) to run their fingers through it)

Extra tips:
In: A nice, well toned body.
Out: A beer gut.

In: A good gay friend to help you get a good girl friend.
Out: A good guy friend to keep you from getting the good girl friend.

Visual: For the Boys. What's In- What's Out

"Mad Men" (series on AMC about Madison Avenue advertising world in the 60's) well tailored look - VERY in.

Ed Grimly - out.

The Royal Scoop on NOT Catching the Travel Bug

OK, so it’s obvious I spend a lot of time in airplanes. Being a person who hates being sick, or being bogged down by some contagious illness that could've been prevented in the first place, I’ve discovered a few tricks of my own for NOT catching the travel bug. By that, I mean the cold or cough one usually gets from recycled airplane air contaminated by fellow travelers who think nothing of hacking and hachooing their way at 35,000 feet. Yuck. You can take Airborne all you want, but one never knows whether those dressed-like-Martians-or-mechanics that come and clean the interior of an airplane really do a job worthy of my inspection, clean-freak, germaphobe that I am. So, to you jet-setters and world travelers, here’s my secret recipe on staying healthy and bug-free while travelling.

Ingredients:
2 sarongs (the beach kind that wraps around your bathing suit)
1 pair lightweight, black yoga or workout pants
1 black long sleeve t-shirt
1 pair earphones, noise cancelling headset, or equiv - whatever you can afford.
1 pair socks (unless travelling business or first class and you get these for free)
1 pair earplugs (unless ditto above)
Small package anti-bacterial wipes
1 pkg disposal pillow covers (available at Edwards Luggage or any travel store)
1 travel size moisturizer
1 travel size toothpaste
1 toothbrush

Procedure:
1. Upon settling to cruising altitude, proceed directly to "empty" lavatory.
2. Peel off your nice, presentable, travel clothes (one most always look decent when travelling – no shorts, sandals, sneakers or tank tops allowed). Change to long sleeve black shirt and workout pants. Fold and put away nice travel clothes for later use.
3. Return to your seat.
4. Remove shoes and put on socks.
5. Cover seat entirely with one sarong. You don't want your head touching that headrest.
6. Wipe down entire seating area with anti-bacterial wipes. Don’t forget the touchpad for the radio, video, armrest, fold-away table. God knows the Martians didn’t wipe these down and who knows whose fingers have been there. And where those fingers have been.
7. Recline seat.
8. Cover airline-issued pillow with disposal pillowcase.
9. Place 2nd sarong over you, and the airline issued blanket over that. Make sure nothing airline-issued touches you
10. Buckle your seatbelt.
11. Plug headset in, choose a channel. Have a good time listening to music or watching a movie.
12. Have a glass of wine before dinner. Skip the nuts unless they’ve been warmed in the microwave.
13. Place seat upright when real food arrives and have two glasses of wine with dinner and one after.
14. After meal, unbuckle yourself and untangle yourself from the comfortable and germ-free environment that you just spent hours setting up.
15. Proceed again to the "empty" lavatory. Do your business, then wash your hands, brush your teeth with your own travel toothbrush and toothpaste. Airline issued ones don’t do the trick well enough.
16. Moisturize hands, because you know darn well that dehydration started hours ago and your static-y hair will soon be standing and sticking to everything and the skin on your face will start to flake off. The 4 drinks you had should start to take effect now.
17. Repeat steps 6 to 10.
18. Have another glass of wine. Plus, maybe a melatonin as insurance for the 6 hours of sleep you need before you land and head into a meeting.
19. Remove headset and replace with earplugs.
20. Recline seat again and doze off. Sweet dreams…and all that.
21. Awake an hour before landing.
22. Unbuckle and proceed to lavatory and reverse steps 2-4.
23. Skip breakfast of whatever meal they serve before landing. The calories just aren’t worth it.
24. Repeat step 14 and 15
25. Reverse steps 4-9. Make sure to dispose of the "disposable" pillow case.
26. Make yourself presentable for arrival. Whether you're seeing the officer at passport control, your boss, a co-worker or your loved one who's dying to see you after a long absence, there's nothing worse than coming off an airplane looking and smelling like something the cat dragged in. Even if it was a 24 hour trip. There is just no excuse.

The above surely will generate looks of disbelief from strangers all around you and comments like “I don’t know you” from your travelling companions. Ignore them all. Trust me when I say, this will ensure a healthy, bug-free and pleasant trip to whatever destination you are headed to.

Bon Voyage!!

Beijing Primer Part I: First Stop - Wang Fu Jin

There are many good reasons to visit China and learn all there is to know about the country. 1) Beijing Olympics next year. 2) “Made in China” now means more than it ever did. 3)Communism is out. Free enterprise is in. 4) Real Chinese food comes from China. Not Chinatown.

Lucky me – I’ve been to China many, many times in the past few years. Made it my primary shopping venue, buying everything from thick, luscious oversized cashmere scarves (“seven dallah only”); imitation Juicy Couture everything for the budding teenagers that invade my home (“twenty dallah”); Dior, Hermes, Prada handbags (of the leather kind for “thirty dallah). I mastered the art of haggling, after learning that “you my best friend I give you best friend price” meant “Honey, my margins are 1000 percent, so even if you haggle, I’m still up”. At the markets, everyone was my best friend. They say to me “you American you haggle good”, I look at them in bewilderment and my outside voice tells them “I’m not American”. My inside voice says “In my not so distant heritage is Chinese blood. I’m one of you!!! So don’t think you can fool me, best friend! ”

I think Shanghai is beautiful and wild. The city's evolving skyline makes me think that the architects must be on drugs. But it’s on the verge of becoming almost too westernized.
Beijing, however, offers a multi-dimensional experience of tradition, culture and capitalism, old and new—and everything in between. Elsewhere on the web, you’ll learn about the usual must-see venues like the Great Wall, Tianamen Square, the Summer Palace, the Golden Temple, etc. But, hidden beneath all those well-worn tourist spots are little gems of entertainment --restaurants, streets, and other venues that are less often captured.

First stop: Wang Fu Jin – a cute pedestrian-only-at night part of town where you’ll find the popular and historic Beijing Hotel and other high end hotels; designer boutiques, Peking Duck restaurants and a KFC right in front, for those that aren’t quite as adventurous. There’s even a restaurant whose name is “Even the Dog Won’t Eat It” (see photo of sign and photos of why). For those that want to take the adventure all the way, turn right on that side street that is lined with food vendors. See the delicacies for yourselves in the pictures I’ve captured. It’s good to know that while Starbucks, KFCs and McDonalds have taken over the Forbidden City, here at Wang Fu Jin, traditional, local cuisine lives on. So, should you find yourself stretched out on United Airlines Flight No. 889 nonstop SFO - PEK, remember that Beijing is where East REALLY meets West. In more ways than one. (PS - Photos are a true testament to "Real Chinese Food Comes from China". )

Beijing Primer Photos. First Stop: Wang Fu Jin

I Don't Do Dead People

I happened to be in Miami last week….originally to visit an old and dear friend who had a double mastectomy last November, but the trip coincided with the funeral services of the husband of another old and dear friend. (Yes, I have lots of those…all from grade school and high school who remain my best friends to this day). I had never met the deceased – they lived too far away from me (and kept moving) and we all just got too busy with our lives. He was a faith healer of sorts, hence his services were attended by family, friends and followers.

I told my friend, Kim, that I would attend the wake of her husband. 'But", I warned her, “I don’t do dead people”. And here’s why.

All my life, I’ve had an active and very vivid memory. Both when I’m awake and asleep. I remember people exactly as I last saw them. If the last time I saw you was when we you were ten years old, that’s exactly how I’ll always think of you and how my mind will draw you. And when I dream of you and I probably will, I will think of you as that ten year old. So the last thing I want to do is see dead people, because that image will stay in my mind forever, never to be redeemed by another, more pleasant follow-up meeting. Not even the world's leading make-up-artist-to-the-living-and-dead will convince me you're just sleeping. I'll remember that image forever. I couldnt even look at my own father, or my sister when they passed. I want the memory of people I know and love to put a smile in my face. I don’t want to get the heebie-geebies.

So here’s a tip for those of you that dont like to look into the big brown box.

-Dress appropriately. Don’t look happier than the widow(er).
-Stand or sit in the back. Strategically place yourself so flowers and people will block the view.
-Pray for the soul of the departed and that the survivors are blessed with the strength to withstand this pain.
-Then, wait for the widow or family to make their way to the back.
-Give the surviving loved ones a very tight hug and tell them you’re sorry.
-If you're just an acquantaince and you’re asked if you want to see “Ramon”, or “Jim” or “Mary”, say “I have lovely memories of him/her when he/she was alive. I’d like to keep that.” Assuming you’re just an acquaintance.
-If you’re a REALLY good friend of the surviving wife , husband or child, you can simply say “I don’t do dead people” and it will make them laugh. References will be made to the movie "Sixth Sense" and the quote "I see dead people", etc, etc. At that point, you sacrifice a little of your self esteem and become the butt of jokes for all the other friends gathered around. What you’ve just offered is some much needed comic relief in a time of deep sorrow.

When a Good Waiter Makes a Big Difference

Favorite dining spot in Palo Alto - Bistro Elan on California street. I like it both for lunch and dinner. Easy in and out from 101 off the Oregon Expwy and away from the madness and mediocrity of University Ave. In the summer, the backyard patio is beautiful, filled with wisteria and freesia, shrubs of big, bright lemons and the aroma of fresh lavender, whose pots are strategically located to send off whiffs of perfume. The dining room is comfortable, not too big, well lit (very important!) - and has a nice buzz. The restaurant has been there for years and the food is good-- simple but very consistent. A nice, tight, easy to read menu of Frenchified American fare. I've been going there for years, and recently, I was there for lunch and dinner, and was blessed to be served by the same server.

When announcing the day's specials, his body language, facial expression and mannerisms all sounded like he was about to devour every single morsel of food he was describing. He was so expressive, you could almost taste and smell everything, and this was before our drinks even arrived. I was prepared to eat lightly, because the food-elves were a little too good to me this past holiday season. But, he inspired me and my appetite, so not only did I have a starter and an entree, but I had dessert. Bad, bad girl. But oohh..so good!!

Some restaurants understand that the waiter is the salesman. Another good experience lately was at the Cafe Majestic a couple weeks back. Another fabulous dinner spot in SF. In both places, the waiters were as passionate about the food as the chef and helped you make a smart and delicious selection. And when you go home and realize you're in a stupor and on the brink of a food coma, the only thing you'll remember is the great experience you had because both the food AND the service were superb. And unless you're European and get an ulcer when you have to leave more than 10 percent, with service like this, you won't mind parting with the 20 percent (or more) tip.


Scoop du Jour: California Ave in Palo Alto has a great selection of quality, well priced restaurants. Across Bistro Elan is the very quaint Cafe Brioche - a great lunch and weekend brunch spot. Creative salads and sandwiches. Closer to El Camino is El Bodeguito del Medio, a Cuban restaurant and bar named after Ernest Hemmingway's favorite spot in Havana. Killer Mojitos. Good empanadas. Cafe Pro Bono on Birch street still survives, and is still the favorite of local, long time residents. The crowd that dines here is a little more discriminating than University Ave.

Lies I've Told My Children

I was going to outline some lies my mother told me, but instead I'm taking total responsibility for the lies that I, myself have told my children. They're not quite lies. Rather, they're little fables I've made up to entertain my children. Here are some of the more ludicrous ones.

- "The man in the moon's name is Mac. The moon in made of cheese. Mac eats cheese all the time, that's why there are so many holes. The space shuttle brings a change of clothes once a year for Mac."

- "The tooth fairy lives in a house made of teeth." (In answer to "Mom, what does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth?" BTW our tooth fairy was a little mouse called "Ratoncito Perez".)

- "If you dont sleep early, the goblins will come and eat your toes." (Mine still have all 10.)

- "When I was 17, the birthday fairy visited me to ask me what age I wanted to be forever. I said 32. " (So when I was 40, I was still 32. When my kids were older, they finally read my driver's license and I was busted. But, please dont ask me how old I am. I have the ready answer. I'm 32. )

- "If a cop catches Mom while driving, put your hands together and pray and they wont give me a ticket." (They actually did it when I was stopped by a policewoman, who asked what my kids were doing in the back seat. I said "praying you won't give me a ticket". She didn't.)

I say everyone should make up fantastical stories to tell their kids. Who knows...the next Harry Potter story may emerge.

Truths My Mother Told Me

You know when you do or say something that causes your mother to lecture you? And these words go round and round in your head, no matter how old you get? I'm sure my mom's passing them on only because she's trying to get exorcise what her mother's told her. Here's a sampling.

-Mejor sola que mal acompañada (better to be alone than to be with bad company)
-Keep your nose clean – literally and figuratively
-Your allowance is a privilege…not an entitlement
-Your inheritance is a privilege..not an entitlement
- Cada loco con su tema (Spanish verison of “every pot has its own cover”- ain't that right)
-If you buy a house with 45 steps to the front door and your mother has a heart condition, don’t expect her to visit you.
-When you have your own kids, you’ll know what I mean
-Several apples have fallen far from the tree.

Coming soon: Lies My Mother Told Me

The Village Idiot (or What Women Shouldn't Do When Single and Over 40)

A good friend of mine turned 50 last night, and she did so quite gracefully. Her day started with her boyfriend sending her to get her nails done and when she returned, there were 50 gifts waiting for her. (Men: take note. Women love this sort of stuff. It earns you points. Builds credit.) Well, let me back up a bit. Her birthday celebration started a week ago when JD, her boyfriend and an old childhood friend of mine, called me in a panic. "I need help! Nina is turning 50 and I'd like to throw her a party. About 40 people." My response was "you know 40 people well enough to invite to a party?" Well, ok - that was my third response. My first was "When is it?" His answer, "Next week", to which I replied (second response here) "Whaaaattt???! You want me to help you plan a party for 40 people in a week? Are you nuts???!!!" Needless to say, I went into concierge-service overdrive and the party was planned in 10 minutes. Two calls, and it was done.

Fast forward to the party. We closed down a friend's restaurant in Menlo Park and had a nice, very festive affair complete with old friends, good food, drinkable party wine and a funny birthday cake (a nude girl swinging a gold club and a message that said "Fifty is Nifty"). It was quite a success. The birthday girl and her man were happy, so I was happy. Most importantly, I came out with fodder for today's entry. And a very important message to pass on to single women of any age.

I'm single (well, sort of. My boyfriend lives abroad, so I attend what few parties I'm invited to mostly alone). My education in attending social functions alone started very early in my life with my parents absolutely forbidding the ghastly notion of me entering any social venue alone or unescorted (party, bar, disco - hey-I'm a child of the 70's). By the time I learned to do just that, I did it because I had to. I was older, divorced, a mother of two and a working woman. I had to shed the catholic guilt, the old world rules. So now when I enter a social scene alone, I always have a plan before I walk in. I know which friend(s) to target, make a beeline for them, start a conversation, which develops into conversations with others, then choose a group to plant myself with for the rest of the evening. A base, sort of. I always dress appropriately for the occassion (never outdo the celebrant - be it the bride, the birthday girl, the hostess) and I keep my conversations light and agreeable. Ok, so enough about me and let's move on to the scoop-du-jour.

After giving the birthday girl a big hug and kiss and making my way through a few "hellos", air kisses, and "havent seen you in ages-es", I sit down to dinner with my friend Sandy and her husband Jimmy. Behind me, I hear this very low, cackling, hoarse voice. Loud. Scratchy. Sounded like a woman who smoked too much pot and burned her throat. Sort of like fingernails on a blackboard in alto-voce. Made my ears hurt, and my hair stand. I ask Sandy who she was - she has no idea. Post dinner cocktails now and the music starts to blast, signalling the resurrection of the 70's disco. I can still hear her voice above the blaring music. Amazing. Then, Abba's "Dancing Queen" comes on. Typical, corny as hell, and yet somewhat appropriate to get the (mostly over 40, disco-era) crowd moving. Swaying. Feet tapping (men). Chair dancing (guilty). Fingers snapping. All of a sudden, the crowd around me starts to thin--people have moved to the little dance area. I join the group of spectators, wondering what's so entertaining. Sure enough, I see the woman-with-the-low-cackling-hoarse-voice dancing. All by herself, at first. Definitely close to 50, wearing the shortest mini skirt over tights and waaay too much make up. Then, she dances with one guy (someone's boyfriend), then another (someone's husband), then another (this time a woman- ran out of men, I guess). She tries to pull the friend I'm chatting with who politely refuses because we're busy comparing notes about our daughters. I give the girl-with-the-voice-and-too-short-skirt a dirty look and a smile, to which she sheepishly replies, "Oh, sorry". She goes off and pulls another victim from his conversation. Dances hand-holding, swing-disco-like with the men (who are clearly trying to keep some sort of distance), but she bumps and grinds and dirty dances with the women (there's some sense of security in that, I guess). Night wears on. I find out she's the sister of someone I know, blah-blah-blah and single (at this point, you don't even bother asking why) and not only is she still dancing at midnight (all alone) but she's fallen on the floor a few times and couldn't get up. Knees were too stiff? Bones too creaky? Too much to drink? Maybe smoked something? Probably all of the above. I think to myself...thank God for the tights she was wearing since she keeps bending over and falling with her legs wide open. Until someone comes to me and whispers "She said she's not wearing any underwear". Now, did I REALLY need to know that!!!?? No, but it adds some flavor to an already entertaining evening. I'm standing watching this spectacle and I whisper to my friend, "Does she even know what she's doing!?" To which she replies, "There's always one of those. They're either called the Village Idiot or the Village Whore. In this case, this is the Village Whore."

So, I should have titled this entry "The Village Whore" but that would have been a little too bold. My point is this. For those of you single women who havent learned the art of discretion, hear this: If you're single and especially if you're over 40, learn to be graceful. In private and in public. Don't attract attention - because what you'll get is THIS kind of attention (you'll be written about as the Village Whore or the Village Idiot). Women won't want to know you. Men won't want to touch you. When you talk and laugh, do it so people's reaction isn't "who the hell is that". When you dance, make sure you keep your balance and that your skirt will cover your ass if you trip and fall. And for God's sake, WEAR UNDERWEAR. And if you don't, please don't tell anyone, because I DON'T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT!! (And to the men that do and take advantage of it....well, you deserve what you get.)

The Royal Scoop is Born

Now I know what happens to people who take too much time off from work. They learn new skills. Or they hone their already sharpened skills. In my case, the month of December was the start of an extended vacation. In just 6 weeks, I've gotten REALLY good at eating, drinking and travelling. I'm now in a class all my own at spending time with family and friends just sitting and chatting..wine glass in hand, of course, and an opinion ready to fly, whether it's asked for or not. It's frightening how good one can get at this. Or...how much better one can get!

While strolling through the Christmas markets in Germany last December, taking tons of pictures and discovering all sorts of new things that I knew I wanted to share, I thought.... why not start a blog. Many friends and colleagues ask me for tips on hot spots in cities around the world, restaurants local and abroad....what's in, what's out (me, being a former fashionista), what's hot..whats not. And, sometimes they ask me for my opinion on people, politics, business (though never about stocks-I suck at that). Sometimes they dont ask, but I give it to them anyway.

So the Royal Scoop was born at 3am this morning, while I was half awake/half asleep (many co-workers -Hi, Suzanne!!- have suffered from my 3am musings all sent illegibly via blackberry). I figured....it was time to jot down all these thoughts and experiences I've been lucky to have and besides, my blackberry notes page can't handle many more mini-journals.

The best part, I think, is asking my friends to contribute and submit their opinions especially if they dont agree with me. Case in point: I love the restaurant Quince on Octavia street in SF. Their pastas make me want to sing. The restaurant doesn't do anything for my good friend John. But that's ok--he and I just don't eat there together. It's called agreeing to disagree...the foundation of all long term relationships.

So here goes. I've entered the blogosphere (thank you, Brian Fuller). Welcome to Queenie's world. Here, you'll find the scoop on everything from food, wine, fashion, movies, tv, books, gadgets, technology, business, travel, people (especially those we love or love to hate) and whatever else you think is fair game. :)