Gold bars – Abu Dhabi (just how many coins would you need to put in?)

Cupcakes – LA (sold!)

Nail Polish – Paris. Hmm.

Bras – Tokyo. Seriously.

Live Bait – Reading, Pennyslvania. (eek).

Marijuana – Boulder, Colorado.

What would you like to find in a vending machine that would make your day easier? Here’s mine:

• A  flask of uber-confidence, to be swigged before a big presentation, a job interview or when you’re about to meet your ex’s new partner.
• The perfect LBD (if it’s not an urban myth).
• The five food groups aka. actual tasty, healthy snacks not dating back to the Clinton administration.

Over to you.

The post At your fingertips … appeared first on Alicia Young.

A baby’s laughter is surely one of life’s intoxicating sounds. When little ones are amused, their joyous gurgles bubble up from within. They’re fully in the moment, sometimes unaware of anyone else, perhaps fully engaged in their own toes. And it’s always genuine. A baby doesn’t chortle dryly at some wry political joke, or at their own witty observation, and they certainly don’t laugh at someone else’s misfortune (that dreaded schadenfreude).

Today there’s serious competition to make us laugh, from “Funny or Die” videos, to pay-per-view comedy routines, to any amount of animal antics online to drive traffic to sites.

A sense of humor is a finely tuned instrument; what makes one of us dissolve into fits, could leave someone else bored or scratching their head. Years ago, there was aTV ad that made me laugh every time. It was a sausage. In psychotherapy. You had to be there…

What makes you laugh? And how much is laughter a part of your day, or your relationships with family, friends or colleagues?

The post Laughter appeared first on Alicia Young.

If you’re complimented on a dress, how do you respond? “Oh, this old thing?” We can make others feel silly for their seemingly questionable taste. Others think a compliment must be automatically volleyed back to the giver, something like a shuttlecock in badminton. “You look great!” gushes one girl. “You too!” squeals the other. It sounds like a scene in a slasher movie, right before the prom queen meets a grisly fate.

And a Savvy Girl takes a moment to compliment an older lady. These women often take such care before they step into the world, their hair coiffed just so, a carefully chosen brooch setting off a smart blouse. Yet often, no one really notices. Go ahead: tell them! I was once enjoying a lazy read in a London park, where I saw two people greet each other. The man presented the lady with a rose; that was interesting, as she had a suitcase and seemed to be jetting off somewhere. Soon after, they parted. After her friend left, the lady approached a well-dressed older woman at a nearby bench. “I noticed you looking so elegant,” she said. “It made me want to give you this.” The older lady beamed. The flower could easily have been discarded, but the first woman made it count for someone else.

How do you handle compliments?

The post Handling Compliments appeared first on Alicia Young.

But it begs the question: is there a graceful way to break up with someone, or tell a spouse you want a divorce? I recall the campus lore of a scorned girlfriend whose live-in partner kicked her out when he’d met someone new. Her response was both creative and creepy: she took days to sew shrimp into the lining of the living room curtains… each time a breeze blew, the apartment filled with the scent of rotting shellfish.

As hard (or just plain awkward) as it can be, a Savvy Girl has “the talk”, out of respect to her soon-to-ex. She doesn’t leave without explanation or freeze him out, (unless of course, we’re talking about the presence or possibility of physical abuse). Instead, she tries to honor whatever they shared, and wherever possible, to leave things in a calm and mutually respectful way. Okay, we’re talking emotions here, so that’s a challenge – but we should aim for it.

How have you left suitors off the hook? And have you been “released” gently—or not?

The post A graceful breakup: is it possible? appeared first on Alicia Young.

Public speaking is a fabulous life skill, and it needn’t be a daunting one to acquire. Whether we speak to agitate, educate or entertain, being able to speak in front of others helps across social and professional settings.

What’s a Savvy Girl to do? I can’t recommend Toastmasters enough (& to be clear, I don’t get a cent for endorsement.) I thought TM was a stuffy organization, full of men in tweed suits and women in twinsets and pearls, sipping sherry. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Check one out (www.toastmasters.org) – in fact, check out a few different clubs, as each group has a different vibe.

A brief rundown: each meeting has a few prepared speeches (usually 5-7 mins) and then anyone can get up for Table Topics™, impromptu talks of 1-3 mins. You might get anything from a favorite childhood memory, to a quote, to a color to prompt you. It’s relaxed and fun; you’ll feel supported, your nerves diminishing and your speech becoming more polished. Depending on your country, the first six months costs about $90, $70 thereafter – your first years’ dues are less than an hour with a coach.

Besides, you never know when you’ll need to purr your thanks at the Oscars™, graciously receive an award at the company dinner, or introduce someone at a conference.

How do you feel about public speaking? I’d love to hear your triumphs and your Savvy recoveries.

The post One Fabulous Tip on Public Speaking appeared first on Alicia Young.

First: not being able to talk at my usual 90mph.

At the hairdressers’, our dynamic changed. We normally chat nonstop about life, movies, and the headlines—in between solving the world’s problems (if he’d added the ten-minute hot oil treatment, we would have nailed the mid-east peace process.)

Instead, I listened. And without our rapid-fire volleys, we shifted gears. To the pain of seeing his elderly mother enter a home. To his worries that his son is struggling at school. Sure, we still laughed, but with more attention to other things.

I relied on hand signals, clumsy at first:  I looked as if I was landing a plane, arms flailing in all directions. Marcel Marceau would have been proud. Or not. Eventually, they became more nuanced.

With my newfound economy of speech, I weighed my utterances carefully. Like words on a news script, each had to earn its place. I tuned in more to the other person – their pitch (high and stressed?), pace (relaxed?) and their body language (betrayed or conveyed their dialogue?)

And listening to the car radio, I realized some long-misheard lyrics, like R.E.M’s Losing my Religion. Turns out, it doesn’t say: Let’s pee in the corner, Let’s pee in the spotlight…

Laryngitis, glad you hit the road. But maybe you weren’t all bad.

Do you feel listened to? And how good a listener are you?

The post The Perks of Laryngitis (really). appeared first on Alicia Young.

In it, I found a stack of old ID cards. As I spread them out, they evoked my journey so far. A sample:

LIBRARY CARD, circa high-school: fresh-faced, I gaze out, all straightened teeth and sparkly eyes. Pity about the perm. Yes. A perm. Shaped to my head (a moment’s silence, to reflect on just how bad that is). The card evokes water-stained taffeta dresses, an after-school job in menswear (no lovely men, just tubby grandpas needing underwear from their knees to their armpits) and holding Peter’s hand in Economics Camp.

STUDENT CARD: ca. first year college: getting lost the first day and asking directions—while standing under a sign post. Discovering that the Commerce boys on level five of the library were far cuter than the Philosophy students downstairs (and far less self-absorbed).

MEDIA PASS: ca.first job. Press pass. Hilarious job on real estate show. Saved by job in news. Terrified by news director, who taught me a lot once I stopped quaking and ducking into side rooms whenever I saw him thunder down the hallway.

EASTERN EUROPE NEWS AGENCY VISA: ca. mid-career.  Marched off for an HIV test on first day to a clinic with sticky floors. Insisted the sour old matron unpack a fresh needle in front of me. Everything in the cafeteria was suspended in aspic jelly. Wonderful adventure.

What do your ID cards say?

The post The women who live in my wallet appeared first on Alicia Young.

I call it The Case of the Curious Stats (as in statistics).  Like most sites, this website allows us to monitor general data—which countries are represented, which pages are most viewed etc. I was curious to see a recent spike in hits from Spain. Lovely, I thought…someone had picked up my blog in Barcelona or Madrid?  The numbers continued to grow. Within a few days I was tossing my hair in that slightly-self-satisfied way, worthy of a shampoo commercial (I drew the line at winking).

Then I discovered: there is another Alicia Young. In Spain. Known in rarefied circles as either the Boob Blogger or the Boob-A-Day Girl.

Yes, she posts a picture of her cleavage every day. Every. Single. Day.

Technically, then, it should be Boobs-A-Day, plural. At least they could get the grammar right. And depending on the source, she’s drawn  between 2.5 and 3.3 million hits in a just a few months… 170,000 in one day alone. She shows only the assets in question, not her face.

I laugh to think  my high school boyfriend will discover her site and think I suddenly became more liberal—and sprouted a generous cleavage. I was a late bloomer. The poor guy – when we made out, he’d search my barren landscape for any sign of peaks, and come up fruitless – despite a compass and a flashlight. Still, points for enthusiasm. And perseverance.

Have you ever been mistaken for someone else?

NB: My apologies if you have received this update more than once. My learning curve continues.

The post Mistaken Identity: I am *not* the Boob Blogger. appeared first on Alicia Young.

I had just returned from London and Jon wanted me to move into the boarding school where he worked and lived. The school principal agreed—on one condition. He was a tall man, and he spread his long arms out like wings to make his point as the verdict was delivered. “I’d love to have you here,” he told me, “but you can’t live in sin. I’ll give you four weeks to get married.”

“I think not”, I sniffed, not about to forfeit our wedding day for a quick, drive-by affair.
“Sure, see you in a month.” said the voice beside me.
“Is that a proposal?” I stammered, incredulous.
“Absolutely.” Jon declared.

We were married on a little clifftop overlooking the ocean. It was romantic, but this usually-Savvy Girl hadn’t considered the wind factor: my hair looked like Marge Simpson’s, a cylinder of locks billowing above me. Oh well. I wore something tight and black, at the groom’s request (should I have expected anything different from the Y chromosome?).

Never ones to do things the conventional way, the church wedding came a year later. And it went without a hitch. Mostly. More nervous than I realized, I looked lovingly into Jon’s eyes and declared, “I, Alicia, take you, Father Patrick…” Jon was stunned, but graciously laughed it off. The priest said it was the best offer he’d had in a while: I would hope so!

How did your proposal go? Or how would you like it to unfold?

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