Baby, It’s Cold Outside…

Good Morning.  I heard that song Baby It’s Cold Outside on the radio this morning.  I thought to myself, “yes it is and it feels like snow,” so I added snow to the blog.  It’s December.  I grew up in Connecticut.  I live in Atlanta (a.k.a Hotlanta) so it’s a safe bet we’re not going to have a White Christmas.  Snow on the blog makes me feel happy and warm and all full of Yuletide (whatever the heck that is, but it sounds good).  Plus snow on the blog is better than snow on the driveway and sidewalk.  It’s not going to impede my Christmas shopping the way the real stuff does.  Another change:  faithful followers will notice that, since it’s over…it’s finally over, I removed  the “To the People at Good Morning America and ABC News:  Make Antoinette Datoc Your New 21st Century Advice Guru” Poll.  94 of you voted, 93 of whom agreed I should be the GMA advice guru.  Only one vote to the contrary.  Not bad.  I was going to write a really funny piece via the results of this poll.  You see I’d plan to assume Robin Roberts was the person who had the nerve to NOT agree that I should be the next advice guru.  I was going to procreate my joke about Robin Roberts being threatened by me, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  However, as funny and entertaining as that would have been, I changed my mind.  See, as I was deleting the poll from the home page I discovered that the person who voted “OTHER” also left a comment which, thankfully was filtered into the spam folder.  I never noticed it before today.  So while that other post would have been really funny and entertaining, I decided to take a different route today.  Please indulge me, just this once, if I get a little preachy sounding.

Ahem.  Here’s what I discovered.  Like I said, 94 of you voted.  I’d like to thank the 93 of you who agreed that I should indeed be the next GMA Advice Guru.  To the one of you who voted “OTHER,” and left the comment, ” f*ck you,” please read my post dated September 23, 2010 titled If You Can’t Say Something Nice, Don’t Say Anything At All* (or IYCSSN Rule) .  You can access it via the archives. Furthermore, you need to get some manners and I don’t care how old you are, but if I was your mother, I’d wash out your mouth with soap.  I’m glad you visit and read the blog.  I believe in freedom of speech so please feel free to leave comments.  You don’t need to agree with me.  It would make the world a better place, but you don’t even need to follow the IYCSSN or Golden Rules.  However, let me give you a piece of advice.   DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT LEAVE PROFANE COMMENTS EVER AGAIN.  Oh, and if you do leave a profanity-containing comment, please have the courage to leave your name.  Let me tell you something, I am the administrator of this website. That’s right, Smarty Pants.  You think you’re clever.  You think you can say whatever you want and hide behind the veil of anonymity, but guess what.  When you leave a comment on my blog at, you leave an electronic trail.  Are you beginning to put two and two together?  That’s right.  I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!  If you ever try to use profanity on my blog again (and I say “try” because I filter profanity into a spam, or as I like to call it, naughty folder) , I will indeed track you down and wash out your mouth with soap.  Okay so maybe I won’t wash out your mouth with soap.  I mean I could probably get arrested for assault if I did that.  I will however, hunt you down and give you a face to face tongue-lashing that you will never forget.  I can be pretty brutal with the words.  Oh and remember this, while the rest of my readers don’t know who you are,  I DO.  I’m guessing, and actually savoring the thought that you feel pretty stupid.  And by the way, if you don’t feel stupid, you should.  Anyway, if you do, don’t.  I know. I know.  I sound like a lunatic.  We all make thoughtless mistakes, yours truly included.  You don’t even have to apologize.  I forgive you.  Just don’t do it again.  If it helps, think soap, not literally, but figuratively which from me is worse.  I promise.

Till tomorrow… Good night.  Sleep tight.


It’s Over. It’s Finally Over

It’s over.  It’s finally over and I am cranky.  I knew this day would come.  Good Morning America announced the 20 advice guru finalists and (sniff, sniff) I AM NOT ONE OF THEM.  Wait.  Let me catch my breath.  I am a little embarrassed because for a while there, I actually thought I might have a teeny tiny bit of a chance.  There I said it.  I really put a lot of thought into my application.  Honestly, I tried to strike the perfect balance between humor and serious content in my advice responses and composed, what I thought was, a pretty compelling personal essay.  I even felt confident in the photo I submitted of myself.  No, I was more than confident, I thought I actually looked downright cute and not the least bit awkward in that photo.  In the end (shoulder shrug) I guess I just didn’t cut the mustard.  I can’t help but wonder if Robin Roberts might have had something to do with my not making the cut.  You know she’s turning 50 this year, and she’s probably insecure as it is.  Imagine how threatened she would be if a firecracker like me were added to the GMA roster.  I’m sure Sam and George passing my headshot back and forth between themselves, giving each other the old’ elbow-elbow, nudge-nudge, wink-wink the way guys do, got Robin thinking she wanted me OUT.  I mean it could have happened that way.  Right?  Either way, I suppose, no news really was bad news.  I went to the GMA website to check out the finalists.  All that business about plucking some regular person from an ordinary humdrum life and plopping him/her into the glitz and glamour of advice gurudome was a bunch of MALARKY.  There is not a single person in the final 20 who has not either  or cultivated an advice/counseling related professional career or earned an advanced degree. I’m not talking about a masters degree.  I am talking about highly educated people with PhD’s in one thing or another, as well as several medical doctors.  I’m not talking mom bloggers and spare time writers.  I’m talking a prolific author of something like a dozen advice and self-help books, and get this, a couple of local television advice type personalities.  THESE PEOPLE ARE ALREADY ADVICE GURUS FOR GOODNESS SAKE!  Why go for this job?  Greedy.  That’s why.  Greedy.

Anyway, it got me thinking about my life again.  What was I doing while all these people were going around pursuing their advanced degrees and high powered careers?  Oh yeah, that’s right.  Let’s see.  First I worked whatever job paid the most money so my husband and I could afford rent and food while he was in medical school.  Then I became a stay-at-home-mom, housewife and queen of the carpool for the better part of twenty years.  The slap-in-the-face-harsh-reality is that I am not qualified for the advice guru job.  Period.  It got me feeling a little sorry for myself.  However, after a solid 30 minutes of self-pity and a healthy full-out nose blowing, I decided I wouldn’t trade my life, or the path that got me here for all the tea in China.  I have a loving husband (even on my worst days), two sons who are becoming fine young men, and the best dog in the entire universe.  The cherry on top is that I am full of potential and still convinced that I am every bit as capable (maybe not as qualified, but definitely as capable) of being Good Morning America’s 21st Century Advice Guru as any one of those 20 finalists.  I’m going to find a job.  Just wait.  I’v got a plan.

Do you want to hear the best part of all of this?  Believe it or not, it ended up that due to my googleisciousness and  because I applied for the advice guru job, somebody happened upon my blog, found it interesting and got in touch with me.  It wasn’t Mr. ABC Television Executive as I had predicted, and no I have not been invited  to join the cast of Dancing with the Stars (don’t worry I’m not giving up on that fantasy just yet).  This is even better.  One of the other 15,000 advice guru applicants found me.  Can you believe it?  She is a blogger too ( and as you would imagine since we both were inspired to apply for the same job, it seems we have a lot in common.  We are planning to keep in touch which reminds me that if you give things a chance they tend to work out for the best.  I have a new friend, and as far as I’m concerned, you can never have too many friends.  So I’m not cranky and depressed anymore.   I am, however, ever so slightly, yet unabashedly bitter.  I never watched Good Morning America before this whole advice guru search took place and you certainly won’t catch me watching it now.  So there. Humph.  No sir.  Not me.  I’ll be watching the TODAY SHOW and I expect all of YOU will be doing the same.  Thank you, in advance, for your support.

Till tomorrow…  Good night.  Sleep tight.

Going Incognito

If the people at ABC cannot figure out that I was born to be the Good Morning America 21st Century Advice Guru, I will need to find another job.  I recently discussed the perils of shopping for blue jeans and posed this question.  Who is responsible for taking a perfectly good, brand-new pair of blue jeans and ripping them to shreds?  Every single time I see one of these $100-a-pop, ripped pairs of blue jeans displayed at some upscale department store, I am intrigued by the notion that getting them to look that way is a conscious and deliberate undertaking.  I can’t let go of the absurdity of the idea that it is some person’s job to do this.  It baffles me.  I mean seriously, are there really people whose career objectives are to fashionably shred blue jeans?   Is there some nationwide talent search being mounted expressly to find the 21st Century Blue Jeans Shredding Guru?  If so, hopefully it isn’t taking as long as GMA’s advice guru search, but hey, it’s not likely they’re going to get 15,000 applicants for that job.  Even though my odds are better, clearly, I’m just not “cut out” (snicker, snicker) for slicing up perfectly good, brand-new blue jeans.  Anyway the shredding probably takes place in some sweat factory where little boys with Swiss army knives are let loose to run wild in a room full of blue jeans.  They probably work for free.  I guess I’ll keep looking.

Here’s another job that has piqued my curiosity for years, or at least since I quit biting my fingernails.  I’m not sure what the exact job title is, probably, “Nail Polish Color Namer,” or something along those lines.  Anyhow, that has to be a real honest to goodness job.  Have you seen some of those names?  I was shopping online the other day for some clear nail polish.  I felt like I was being held captive in a 1960’s episode of The Twilight Zone.  I could not identify the color of a single polish by its name.  Take this one, for example.  Are you ready?  Masquerade Belle. What the heck color is Masquerade Belle?  Fortunately, I discovered that if I clicked on the color name, a photo of the bottle popped up along with a description of the product.  “Masquerade Belle: Fascinating, mysterious and seductive, this black ruby sparks the imagination and inspires intense devotion.” (  Well I’ll be darned.  I had no idea the simple act of having a manicure could “spark the imagination.”  I’ll have to keep that in mind next time I’m struggling with writer’s block.  By the way, what do you think black ruby is?  Would that be red or black, or perhaps blackish-red or reddish-black?  Sheesh.  One thing is for sure.  It ain’t clear.

Here’s another one:  Going Incognito.  Really?  “Going Incognito:  Your identity may be secret, but your style and panache are impossible to conceal with this deep emerald green.” ( AHA!  So it’s green. Huh.  Interesting.  If I were traipsing around town trying to be all incognito, the last thing I’d do would be to paint my fingernails green.  As a matter of fact, even if I was going around being conspicuous, I wouldn’t paint them green.  Green just doesn’t belong on a woman’s fingernails, unless she hails from the land of Oz.  That’s just my opinion.  All I wanted was some clear nail polish, for goodness sake.  The whole experience made me downright cranky.  Finally I found it: Good to Go.  That name actually makes sense for a quick drying, clear topcoat.  If I was a nail polish color namer, I’d come up with a creative, yet logical name like Good to Go.  Hmmm.  I could really sink my teeth into naming nail polish colors.  I could revolutionize the whole nail polish color naming industry.   Don’t get me started.

Anyway, while I think I could be a decent nail polish color namer, the blueness of my parachute (see yesterday’s post if this reference confuses you) indicates I’m destined to excel at something completely different:  counselor, teacher, social worker and journalist.  Hellooo…   We all agree that I was born to be the Good Morning America 21st Century Advice Guru.  You know it.  I know it.  Richard Bolles knows it.  The question is:  When is somebody from ABC going to figure it out and call me?  I wish I knew.  I wish I knew.  Until then, I guess I’ll stick with writing about the simple things that happen in the course of my ordinary life.  I suppose I shouldn’t allow myself to get swept up in this advice guru fantasy.  I can’t forget my real agenda.  Maybe, just maybe, some ABC executive will happen upon Just Another Ordinary Day, find it interesting, and think to himself, ‘Hmmm. Having an ordinary person on the show might be good for ratings.’  In which case, this ordinary (unemployed) woman just might be given the very extraordinary chance to dance among the stars.

Till tomorrow… Good night.  Sleep tight.

My Parachute Is Blue. What Color Is Yours?

Tuesday, November 4 was the last time I discussed the status of my Good Morning America Advice Guru application.  If you are a faithful Just Another Ordinary Day follower you will recall that based on GMA’s Robin Robert’s and George Stephanopoulos’ on-air update, I calculated Monday, November 8 to be the date by which I should have heard whether or not I was still in the running.  Obviously, Monday, November 8 came and went without the hint of a phone call attempt by ABC (sigh).  I know you’re all tiptoeing around thinking to yourselves, “Ooooh, we don’t want to come right out and ask, but it looks like no news really was bad news after all.”  Yep, I was thinking the very same thing for three days.  I was walking around feeling sorry for myself, wondering if it was time to go ahead and break down; you know, start reading What Color Is Your Parachute by Richard Bolles and map out my next career move.  Don’t pity me yet, because on Friday, November 12 during Good Morning America, Robin and George (here we go again) announced  that ABC executives hope to have completed the process of telephoning all candidates advancing to the next round over the next three weeks.  WHAT!  So, we’re back to no news is good news!  Hallelujah!  I’ve still got a foot in this race!  I AM SO EXCITED!

Three weeks from last Friday brings us to Friday, December 4.  That seems so far away.  I CANNOT STAND THIS WAITING!  I take that back.  I’ll wait.  Last Tuesday when I thought for sure I was out of it, I would have traded my disappointment over not being contacted by GMA in a heartbeat for the chance to be waiting again, if only for the sheer hope of it.  The problem with waiting, though, is that I’m not hopeful all the time.  I know, it’s hard to believe, but I am having doubts.  There.  I said it.  I’m not always the “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm” that everyone thinks I am.  The longer this whole search process goes, the worse it gets. Take for example, the little miniature versions of Robin Roberts and George Stephanopoulos that sit on each of my shoulders and plant thoughts in my head.  Mini Robin sits pessimistically on my left shoulder and says things like, “1 in 15000.  HA!  You’re never going to get this job.  Drop it and move on.  You’re a housewife for Pete’s sake.  Stick with laundry.”  Itty-bitty George on the other hand (or rather shoulder) is the optimist.  From his perch on my right he whispers sweetly in my ear, “You have just as much of a chance as everyone else and I think you’re wonderful!  Have faith!  Keep hoping!”

Now,  I don’t know why Robin manifests as the pessimist and George as the optimist, but I have a theory.   I can only speculate, but I feel certain that mini Robin’s attempts to hold my thoughts captive emanate from her own insecurities.  I can’t blame her for feeling threatened by the prospect of my joining the GMA team.  I mean, in her shoes, who wouldn’t be?   She sees her matriarchal position in jeopardy once I’m onboard, and is trying to discourage me to the point of withdrawing my application all together.  Then there’s itty-bitty George, who is my morale booster, “Mr. Positive.”  Of course, his agenda for keeping me motivated enough to stay in the competition is as transparent as mini Robin’s is for knocking me out.  I’m guessing old George got a gander of my photo, you know, the miracle photo that I submitted with my application.  If I do say so myself, I look pretty good in that photo and itty-bitty George is probably figuring something like, “Well, if I’m going to stick in my two cents, I might as well lobby for some early morning eye-candy for me and Sam (Champion).”

Anyway, there is this incessant struggle between optimism and pessimism going on in my head about this whole advice guru thing.  One minute I see the glass half-full and the next I see it half-empty.  IT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY!  The bottom line is, I really want the job.  There, I admit it, and if I don’t get it, I’m going to want another one like it.   So, to prepare for the worst case scenario and help pass the time while I wait for my phone call from the ABC-Powers-That-Be, I decided to do some soul-searching.  Actually, soul-searching was a little daunting so instead  I took a free on-line quiz based on the book What Color Is Your Parachute by this guy, Richard Bolles.  Now, I don’t go in much for that pop-culture-psycho-babble stuff that first started sprouting up in the 70’s, but Dick might actually be onto something here.  You are never going to believe the results rendered by my taking this quiz.  This is absolutely true.  I promise I am not kidding.  Following are the honest to goodness results of my quiz answers.

  • “BLUE – To Love and Be Loved Your heart-felt communication style creates peace and harmony in the workplace. You know how to bring out the best in others. As a Blue personality you are gifted with tremendous people skills.
  • You’re a heart felt communicator who has a strong need to make a difference in the lives of other people. This strength is immediately noticeable in the way you make connections and bring out the best in those you encounter. People usually feel relaxed and comfortable in your presence. 

You love to build self-esteem and make others feel good about who they are. You can easily motivate and inspire people to make changes in their lives and reach their potential. This natural talent makes you excel a counselor, teacher, social worker and journalist, but the list is far greater in the book.”  (

OH MY GOSH!  Helloooooo.  I was born to be the Good Morning America Advice Guru and let me tell you something Mr. ABC Television Executive, if you can’t see it, you must be blind.  I AM A NATURAL BORN ADVICE GIVER.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the bookstore to buy myself the latest edition of What Color Is Your Parachute. You can leave a message if you call while I’m gone.

Till tomorrow… Good night.  Sleep tight.

Kurt Warner Was Sacked

I was so excited last night when Tom Bergeron announced that this week viewers had voted Kurt Warner off Dancing with the Stars, that I nearly wet my pants.  Remember I’ve given birth twice so, quite literally, I really did almost wet my pants.  It’s not because I don’t like Kurt Warner that I was so excited about his exit from the competition.  On the contrary, I find him to be a very likeable guy, but come on.  Let’s be honest, it was just a matter of time before he got the ax.  The thing is, I’ve been waiting patiently since week one to be able to say, “Kurt Warner was sacked last night!”  Such a clever quip, with the football reference and all, but I can’t claim it.  I’m so mad I could spit.   Kurt Warner got sacked last night.  No matter where else you hear it, THAT WAS MY IDEA.  I promise.

This afternoon I was talking to my good friend (you know who you are); I’ll call her Jamie Lee Curtis (more on that later).  Anyway, I was talking to Jamie Lee Curtis on the phone about Dancing with the Stars. Our conversation went something like this.

“Antoinette, why aren’t you responding to my comments on your blog.”

“I am responding.  I call you, don’t I?.”

“Yes, but I like it when you reply on your blog.”


“And by the way, where’s my t shirt?  And are we still going to L.A.?”

Allow me to take a moment to explain the Jamie Lee Curtis thing.  So, this friend of mine and I are both hooked on Dancing with the Stars.  We are so hooked that we text each other back and forth incessantly throughout the evening on Mondays and Tuesdays while the show airs.  We’ve both noticed that during every single episode of DWTS so far this season, Jamie Lee Curtis has been in the studio audience.  Come to find out, Jamie Lee Curtis and Jennifer Gray are BFF’s.  So my friend, inspired by Jamie Lee and her support of Jennifer, has offered to come to L.A. with me if…no wait, I take that back.  WHEN I am a contestant on Dancing with the Stars.  That’s right, this friend of mine is going to be my Jamie Lee Curtis.

“I still have your t-shirt and yes we’re still going to L.A.”

“So what do you think about Kurt Warner?”

“Oh my gosh!  I’ve been waiting for this day all season.  I’m going to announce it on my blog.  Kurt Warner was sacked last night!  Get it?”

“Yes.  I get it.  Very clever.”

I was at the grocery store this evening at around 7:30, suppressing my urge to buy more canned pumpkin.  I mean I don’t want to be the root cause of another shortage.  I was looking for the organic nut section, which wasn’t where it was yesterday.  Suddenly my phone vibrated and it startled me.  I received a text.  Oh my goodness!   It’s from Jamie Lee.  Hmmm.  That’s odd.  It’s Wednesday and Dancing with the Stars isn’t on.  I fished through my purse for my reading glasses as I meandered my way through the produce section on the hunt for organic cashews.  I donned my readers and the following text jumped out at me, “ Uh oh…just said Kurt was sacked last night on Access Hollywood.”  YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!  I must have shouted it aloud because an elderly man replied,

“Yeah, I know.  I’ve been wandering all over the store too.  They must’ve moved the nuts over here.  They used to be over there by the deli.”

“Oh, yeah.  I know.”

I can’t believe it.  Access Hollywood beat me to it and I’ve been waiting since week one to use that Kurt Warner football double entendre.  I’m sure I thought of it first.  Ooooh!  That makes me so mad!  I texted back, “Plagiarism.”  KURT WARNER WAS SACKED LAST NIGHT.  That was my idea.

I paid for my cashews and the available-for-a-limited-time-only pumpkin ice cream that caught my attention (impulse purchase).  I couldn’t resist and had a bowl as soon as I got home.  Comfort food.  Anyway, I called my friend and thanked her for not letting me make a big deal about Kurt Warner getting sacked and all.  I’d wager a good number of my followers were making dinner and watching Access Hollywood.   I know it was my idea.  Jamie Lee knows it was my idea, but who would believe us?  The last thing I need is to be accused of plagiarism.  Phew.  Boy am I lucky I got that text when I did.  She’s got my back,  yes indeed she does.  Boy am I lucky.  She’s my Jamie Lee Curtis.  Everybody ought to have one, a Jamie Lee Curtis that is. Dancing with the Stars, here we come!

Till tomorrow… Good night.  Sleep tight.