Coffee...I Just Don't Get It

I have a Tim Hortons card. I have a Starbucks gold card. We have a Tassimo, a Keurig and now a Nespresso machine, all three lined up on the counter. I likely spend more on coffee in a year than on any other 'Indulgence'. But I haven't had a cup of coffee in 20 years. I hate the stuff. I don't even like coffee flavoured ice cream or dessert. Sorry, Tiramisu, I want to love you, I really do. But I don't. 

We have more coffee capsules in my kitchen than we know what to do with

I get the 'let's go for coffee' thing. I enjoy plunking myself down in a comfortable chair at Starbucks for half an hour as much as the next guy. I love the vibe. But I don't like the coffee. I get mocked for ordering a bottle of water, but I do. I have a tremendous amount of respect for those Baristas. It's not a job I could do or ever want. I think I'd probably punch someone in the face if I had to stand there and listen to the 'Venti skinny half caf extra hot triple shot' crap all day long. If I was a barista I'd triple up the caffeine in the decaf orders just to see some dude go wiggy when all that high test coffee hits his delicate system. 

Just imagine how much I love ordering for my lovely wife. At least when she liked Tim's it was just a 'large coffee, triple milk'. On our last visit to Starbucks I asked her what she wanted and she actually said, 'Oh, just a grande creme brûlée latte, skinny, half sweet, extra hot, hold the whip, but make sure they put the creme brûlée topping on it, k?'  Are you freaking kidding me?  First, I need to remember that all the way from the car to the store, and then I have to actually say it out loud. Argh. The great news is that my kids are now totally into Starbucks too. So now instead of having to remember one crazy-ass bizarre coffee order, I need to remember four. Thank God those Baristas are lovely, patient people. And polite. And forgiving. 

Now that McDonalds is big into the coffee game, I find myself at the drive thru there quite often. The real challenge with all of these coffee places is remembering their unique ordering lingo. Laura's order there is a Non-fat vanilla latte made with sugar free vanilla. They don't use words like skinny or half sweet, so when you drop those words into the order you really mess up the fifteen year old at the other end of the speaker. I've muddled up Mommy's coffee order more than once.  Result?  Three delightful daughters mocking me from the backseat.  Good times.  

The kid at the drive thru mocks me, the kids in the car mock me.

Some places are pretty anal about their java.  Tim Horton's is such a place.  I guess after all these years, they've earned the right to be a little bossy about their coffee, but on the other hand, with all their new competition, they may need to think about giving their customer what they want.  I have had more than one argument with the Tim's lady about Laura's preference for triple milk.  They have often fought me on the three milk thing, suggesting that it will dilute and cool the coffee too much.  My question is why the hell do they care what you do with their coffee once you've split with the buck fifty to own it. I always win the battle with the Tim's lady, but she looks down her nose at me in a very disapproving way.

So I sit here surveying three fancy coffee makers, just having arrived home from a visit to Starbucks, looking at my 11 year old kid enjoying a frothy espresso she just made herself wondering what's wrong with me...how can I not like it? I've tried to like it.  I've tried to simply tolerate it.  I used to try to drink it when I needed to look grown up. Now I've just given it all up, and I stick to diet coke.  But that's another story completely.

You have coffee for breakfast, I have diet coke.  

Happy Holidays, It's Poem Time!

The Christmas poem has been going since 1997.  Christmas just isn't Christmas for me anymore without the poem.  From the Slater house to your house, Best Wishes for an amazing holiday season and for a new year filled with only happy surprises.  

Sean, Laura, Haley, Ainsley & Madeline

Poem v. 2014

‘Twas the week before Christmas

And all through my house,

Every creature was stirring

Even that mouse.

The pest man came twice

To deal with that mouse,

But it keeps coming back

It must love our warm house.

The presents aren’t wrapped

The shopping’s not even done,

Our guests get here soon

Isn’t Christmastime fun?

Not a moment of quiet

No time to just sit,

We’re all going crazy

Even the cat’s in a fit.

On the 21^st of December

We took a trip to the mall,

A choice I regret

Not a smart one at all.

The lots were just crazy

As one would expect,

The drivers all angry

Not a smile to detect.

Each year at our house

We do it much the same way,

The same lights and same tree

For each Christmas day.

So Laura had an idea

To shake things up just right,

To change how we do it

A bold new Christmas sight.

So we’re trying it her way

A whole new holiday take,

She went out and she bought

A brand new tree that is fake.

And it’s not just fake green

It’s as fake as they come,

It’s so brash and so white

The kids think it’s just dumb.

For the first time in years

The tree just isn’t real,

Who knew for the kids

It would be such a big deal.

It lights up the room

And most of our house,

We can’t hide from its glow

Nor can our mouse.

The kids hate that white tree

Which makes it even more fun,

If you’re keeping the score it's

Girls zero, Mom one!

If I was to bet

All this angst fades away,

When morning arrives

On this Christmas day.

When they circle around

This glowing festive delight,

To open their presents

Under that tree oh so white.

The tree they despise

But the season they cherish,

The memories won’t fade,

And that tree just won’t perish.

If it's real or it's fake

It doesn’t matter at all,

We spend great time together

And we all have a ball.

So this is our chance

From all in our house,

To send our holiday wishes

To you and your mouse.

The much maligned Slater 2015 Christmas Tree

Admitting Your Problem is Half the Battle

I've denied it for years. My lovely wife tells me I have a problem. Even the kids know it. My problem has landed me in trouble with the people I know and love, and with total strangers. It's even landed me in hot water with the law. Multiple times. I guess I may as well admit it... I'm a crappy driver. 

There. I said it. I've been known to speed. I have occasionally viewed a stop light or a stop sign as a mere suggestion, and I have frequently seen a yellow light as nothing more than a challenge. I've banged into other cars, and they've banged into me. I've been described as a  menace by the people I love. Even my dad feels like he has to comment when we're driving together..."What, you don't stop at stop signs anymore?" as I roll on through. Before she passed away, I was driving with my Mom one day and I did a patented Sean Slater dip-stop at an intersection. She said, "Oh, Sean, your dad wouldn't like that too much."

I've even been stopped by these guys.  For driving in the wrong lane.  Who knew?

To be certain, I know how to drive. I've even taken lessons. I've had my license since I was sixteen and I got it on the first try. I totally get the fundamentals of driving but I'm a multi-tasker and I'm always in a hurry.  Before the angry mob arrives at my door, let me just say that I've never had an accident or a ticket while talking on the phone or texting. I've often gone for years without a ticket, and then I've had a flurry of bad activity that results in a renewed relationship with law enforcement. 

A couple of years ago, I had such a flurry.  Within the span of about 18 months, I got 3 speeding tickets, a red light ticket and a stop sign ticket.  It's bad enough that this flurry cost me a bundle, but worse, it attracted the attention of both my insurance company and our government overlords.  I arrived home from a Christmas vacation to find a letter from the Ministry of Transportation compelling me to attend a bad driver counselling session, and to prove that they meant business, they advised that if I didn't show up exactly when they wanted me to, my license would be suspended, toute de suite.

A view that I'm unfortunately accustomed to.

So I arrived on the appointed day at the appointed time to meet Dave, my counsellor. Dave was clearly bullied in high school and was now using his important role in the public service to exact revenge whenver he could.  Dave spent our time together judging me, being as condescending as possible, and at one point, he even threatened to cut up my license. Heavy on the lecturing, light on the counselling. After an hour of berating me, he slapped a year of probation on me and warned me that he had better not see me back again, because if he did, he'd be compelled to use those scissors. I bolted, never looking back, but unable to shake the sound of Van Halen's Jump that was wafting from the ghetto blaster in Dave's office.

I knew I was in trouble when I saw Dave's ghetto blaster.

So I left there feeling appropriately slapped around, and hell-bent on not getting another ticket.  My hands returned to the 10 and 2 position on the steering wheel, my phone stayed in my pocket, and I became a fan of my cruise-control.  All good and on the road to recovery.  Just as I was feeling like my rehabilitation was taking hold, and I was getting over the shot to my confidence and yes, even manhood following my visit with Dave, I arrived home a few weeks later to find that my insurance company had decided that  as a result of all of this, I was just too big a risk.  Cancelled.  Awesome. Finding another insurer in a short period of time to take on all that risk...was not easy and was definitely not cheap.  

So now, I'm insured again, and when the bill comes in it's like a monthly reminder of my emasculating visit with Dave.  I'm trying to be better, and I have been (although definitely not perfect).  Until recently, that is.  I was out with my daughter Madeline, and I managed to slide into the back of another car in a rainstorm. The cars were fine, and so were all the drivers and passengers, but Maddie was furious.  Even the other driver commented about her death-stare as he drove away unscathed, "Looks like you're in real trouble with her," he said. And I was.  Now she flinches every time she hears that I have to drive her somewhere. Good times.  In related news, my lovely wife will never, ever let me buy a new car,  "...cuz you're just gonna smash it up anyway."

Good drivers don't have the tow truck on speed dial, right?

Hi, my name is Sean, and I'm a bad driver.  There, I said it.  Admitting it is half the battle, right?

Welcome to the Club...

I am a sucker for status.  If you’ve been following along, I’ve talked about how much I love being Super Elite with Air Canada, and Platinum with Hyatt, and Gold with Marriott.  I enjoy the things that come along with all of this status, and I take full advantage of all of the perks. Ask anyone who’s ever traveled with me.  I use the priority line, I go to the airport lounge, and most importantly, I board the plane first. First.

I worked hard for this card.  I'm damn sure gonna use it. 

My passion for status extends beyond travel programs to regular old customer loyalty programs.  Shop here, get points, earn perks. Shop, get, earn, repeat-you know the deal.  It should be no surprise to learn that when I heard of the gold card program at Starbucks I immediately signed up.  I even downloaded the app and loaded up my account so I can pay with my phone.  I used to think that was poncy and flaky.  Now I just think it’s convenient. Yes, I'm shallow. About as deep as a backyard kiddie pool.

As soon as I signed up, I started getting offers from my new buddies at Starbucks.  When you get 5 stars, you earn Green status.  When you hit 30 stars, you become Gold.  The Holy Grail.  When you’re Green, you get free refills on your regular coffee in the store.  When you’re gold, you get those free coffee refills and a free drink with every 12 stars. You also get a fancy coffee beverage on your birthday.

Smart people over there at Starbucks

For the uninitiated, you get one star for every purchase in the store.  For some strange reason, I was getting 2 stars for every purchase.  My lovely wife was furious to find out that I was getting double stars.  I was also earning free drinks at a crazy speed.  Every time the people at Starbucks sent me an offer, I, like Pavlov’s dog, responded exactly the way they wanted me to.  Dear Sean, Go to the store and buy a drink and we’ll give you a free star.  Done.  Dear Sean, Go to the store and buy some take home coffee and we’ll give you 5 stars.  Done.  Twice.  Dear Sean, do naked cartwheels into the store…

The long and the short of this is that I am a marketer’s dream. Everything they wanted me to do, I did.  I probably became Gold at Starbucks faster than anyone on record.  I now have the gold logo on my app, and I’m expecting my special Gold Card to arrive in the mail any day now.  I’m their target customer. I’m sure they’re writing a case study about me.  I’m the proof of concept. Starbucks is brilliant.

They got me.  

The reality is that I really love status.  The kicker is that I really, really hate coffee.

My New Life At the Gym

In 2004 I joined a gym. I signed up because my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and my wife all signed up for an amazing monthly rate of ten bucks, so of course I signed up too. I didn’t sign up because I wanted to get fit, or lose weight-I signed up because it was cheap. And for years I paid that ten bucks a month, mostly because I didn’t want to lose that rate if I ever did decide that I wanted to get fit or lose weight. I tried going a few times, and even got on a roll for a while. I even got a trainer about 6 years ago. Obviously, none of that took hold.

Fast forward a decade. Not any fitter, and not any lighter, except in the wallet. I’m down approximately 1200 bucks (plus the trainer) and up probably 20 pounds. I sleep well knowing that I’ve got that cheap rate though. My lovely wife, however, has taken full advantage of that 10 bucks a month. In the last decade (actually in the last two years) she’s transformed herself, her attitude towards food and her body. My god she’s rocking a hot body now. She looks better now 25 years into our relationship than she ever has. She’s slim, she’s fit, and she’s got abs of steel. She’ll tell you that she’s still got a ways to go, but holy man, she’s one sexy ‘after-picture’.

They've had my money for years.  Now they have me.

So that’s my motivation. I’ve always been married to a beautiful woman, but now she’s taken control of her health and her fitness and it’s time for me to do the same. So, for the last couple of months I’ve been to the gym more times than in the last decade combined. I go about 5 days a week for an hour, and my lovely wife is my coach. In the old days when I went to the gym I would ride the bike and as soon as one bead of sweat arrived on the scene, that was the signal to head for home. That no longer works. Laura is kicking my ass. No slacking. When I’m done I’m drenched. I hate it. And I love it.

So now I use the stepper. I’m kind of addicted to it. I also use a couple of different elliptical machines, and while I also like them, I’m less addicted. Occasionally I change it up and use this thing called an Arc Trainer. What a hellish torture device this thing is. The only good thing about it is that it has a built-in fan to keep you cool as you’re striding your way to hell. It’s awkward and clunky, and like the other machines at the gym, when I catch a glimpse of myself on this thing, I don’t look near as cool as everybody else doing it. If you remember the Friends episode with Phoebe running in the park, you’ll get the picture.  

The Arc Trainer...Who could have thought of this?

So, the third time I used this contraption things were finally starting to come together. I felt like I was getting some rhythm, and that it wouldn’t be too long til I would be like the other cool kids. As an aside, I have no idea how people ride this thing and text at the same time. It takes every drop of my concentration to hold on for dear life. So I’m striding along, and things are going pretty well. I was picking up some speed and developing a bit of confidence and testing out my gym swagger. That’s when things fell apart.

At this gym, like most others I suspect, the machines are super close to each other. Like right on top of each other. Buddy beside me was showing off while trying look nonchalant. And I was trying to look swaggy, like I belonged there. As I was picking up speed, I decided to let go of the handles like the other cool guys and just stride, and at that very moment, a stinky cloud of buddy’s nasty body odour wafted by and burned my eyes and nose. Stench like I’ve never smelled before at the gym. As my mind was processing this horrific smell I lost complete concentration and before you know it, I was shot out this machine like a fast-ball at a batting cage.

My foot got caught in the pedal and I came down with such force that I was sure I busted my tailbone. I was laid out on the floor of the gym, my foot stuck in the pedal, thinking I broke my ass. I took a look around to see who was recording this embarrassing little manoeuvre, and the only person who saw me was my lovely wife. She was laughing so hard she could barely stay on the step machine. Buddy, the cause of all of this pain and suffering, didn’t even blink. He didn’t look down to see if I was alive, or even to make a joke. He just pretended like nothing happened. And it was his nasty stench that caused this thing in the first place.

As far as I can tell, nobody's posted it to You Tube. Yet. But I sure won't be surprised to see it there. I keep going to the gym, and I actually like it. I love spending the time with my uber-competitive wife who can’t leave the place until she’s blown the entire Fit-Bit universe out of the water with her daily step count and burned at least one more calorie than me. I like how I feel after the gym (well, at least after a shower, cuz I’m a hot, sweaty mess when it’s over), and I like that it’s starting to have some impact. I’ve lost about 25 lbs, which for me is a real victory. There’s a long way to go, and a lot to accomplish. My next challenge:  to get my lovely wife to laugh at my jokes, not at my workout. The other day I jumped up this machine that looks like a modern version of something from a medieval dungeon and Laura is still laughing at my pathetic Raggedy Andy-like core strength. Thanks Coach. 

Text from my freakishly-competitive wife showing me how many calories she's burned.

She Told Me So...And I Shoulda Believed Her...

The blog is back.  It’s been a wild six months.  As many of you know, I’ve started a new job that I love, and it’s been busy busy busy.  Thanks for your patience while I’ve been transitioning.  My job is not the only thing that’s in transition.  So is the blog.  Guess What Happened at Work Today? is evolving to Guess What Happened Today?   It’s not that I don’t like writing about work anymore, it’s just that there are so many other cool and weird things going on to write about.  So here we go...

Guess What Happened Today?

I just woke up from a pretty hellish night.  My lovely wife and I did something last night that long-married couples should never do.  My bride said it was a bad idea, but I convinced her to try something that we have never done before.  I think other couples have done it and survived, but I’m not sure of that.  It was dangerous and it was risky.  I was sure that it would improve things, but Laura was pretty sure it wouldn’t.  We were nervous, and I was intent on getting it right the first time. After almost 25 years of doing it the same way, we suddenly changed things up.  We switched sides of the bed.  And it was a freaking disaster.

Pick your side.  And stick with it.  Forever.

This is a true case of ‘…If it’s not broken, don’t fix it…’  There was no real reason to change sides of the bed.  We got new pillows yesterday, and I guess I got wrapped up in the excitement of that big change and decided to throw caution to the wind and shake it all up.  Let me tell you, this is not the kind of exciting change you should want to make in the bedroom.  It was horrible, with a capital Yuck!

First, we have a king-sized bed, and we’re both edge-huggers.  This creates a large gulf between us that previously was often filled with a kid, and that is now frequently filled by a dog.  The dog was in a total state of confusion all night, and that doggy angst translated into Laura angst.  She was skeptical from the get-go on this one, and I was excited and ready to view life from the other side of the bed. If truth be told, I hated it from the minute I got into bed, and it was only made worse when the dog came flying onto the bed and landed squarely on my junk.  I yelped, and Laura snickered.

We tossed and we turned all night long.  I was wildly relieved to hear that Laura hated every minute of it because I wanted my side back, but there was absolutely no way in hell that I could have woken up this morning and asked to move back to my side.  This experiment proves that change for the sake of change is a crappy idea.  So at 6:09 am, we switched back.  I’ve now seen life from the other side, and I didn’t like it. No sir. Not one bit.

The moral of this story is that if you need excitement in the bedroom, and you want to experiment, there are a whole lot less risky ways to get it than to ask your 25-year sleeping partner to switch sides of the bed.

Up next, my new life at the gym.