Enough with other people, here's what to buy me for Christmas

Growing up in the warm territories and buying people things like slippers, socks, or anything fluffy or warm such as a robe or sweater (aka jumper) was asinine. For those two weeks that show up sometime in March, maybe, it's great. For even when you whip out your outerwear in triumph and recall what a deal you got at JC Penny's with joy in your heart, the other 50 weeks you bemoan the space that damn coat is taking up in your closet.

Not here, though. That peacoat and those boots I purchased on whim a few years ago have been nearly worn to the nub. Slipper socks have suddenly become a perfectly valid Christmas purchase.

But what really excites and thrills me is the sparkle items. Or, as they sometimes refer, the spangly items. And these shiny bits are also valid, because there are Christmas parties and concerts and various random get togethers that state that if you are covered in sequins, this is perfectly acceptable. (So long as you bring bubbly, of course. And that is a small price to pay.)

Right now the stores are covered in glitter. I can purchase a full glitter dress with glitter stocks and glitter shoes at the classiest store in the universe - Primark - for £20 total. If I wanted I could also deck my neck in neon rhinestones, that's how classy the place is. (Let's not talk pants... underpants. I could go on a blog revolution on Primark pants.)

But for all the silly I just wrote, if it showed up tomorrow in a box with a bow, I'd be all over it. It's something that cold countries take for granted, while they moon over our beaches and blazing sun. For try as we might, we cannot match the Christmas spirit nor need for massive spangly like the places in lack of daylight.

So I will revel in dazzle. I will twist and spin in sparkly. Because it's valid here. And thus, I will enjoy.

What to get people for Christmas from England.

I'm less than a week and a half away from returning to The States.

The States. In my kingdom we'd call that Florida or Texas. Here, it is generically referred to as "The States."

Do you know, lots of British people go to "The States" to buy shoes? I bet you didn't. I can name three people who have. But I digress...

One of the key problems I am running up against currently is what to purchase for Christmas. Now seeing as I am going home I figure I should complete Christmas well before Christmas. No mad dash Christmas Eve run for me... if that were possible here... but that's another story. My goal is to be done with all shopping for people in, as I have so placed quotes around, "The States."

Sitting at the pub this evening I discussed at length what to purchase. I've been referred to Harrods (http://www.harrods.com/HarrodsStore/Default.aspx?CID=ppc). But, I will say this and so will countless others... no person in their right British mind shops at Harrods. You buy tourist gifts from Harrods and that is what you do. Unless you are wealthy and therefore can afford the other items at Harrods which include... no joke... £1,000 Christmas crackers. They are there... seriously. But they do have an excellent card shop, which I recommend. (and all the posh people shop at Harvey Nichols) I have also been directed to Fortnum and Mason ( http://www.fortnumandmason.com/). They have been in business longer than the United States has existed. And they have tea and various English things that no one ever purchases each other if you are in England. Except, again, for Christmas crackers. Which, based on my state of wine, is currently the most awesome thing in England ever. How paper crowns and bad jokes and cheap gifts qualify as awesome is beyond me, but alas I am American... therefore they are awesome.

What we decided, in our incredibly inebriated state, was that I should create an authentic English experience. Thereby consisting of dragging them out to the closest bar/restaurant, plowing them with beer, making them sing and or scream rants at various sporting events, and eat chips (which in my kingdom are referred to as French Fries) as a means to soak alcohol between pints. We will then go on a 3 mile march in the rain to a random outdoor food vendor and eat kabob - or sandwich made of who knows what. At about 2 AM we will stumble home and either drink whisky or collapse, based on alcohol tolerance. Sometime about 3PM the next day a person will yell, "Oi! Get up you lazy bastards" and thus the experience will end with a nice cuppa and a warm bath followed by nibbles.

And that will be my Christmas gift. Though I doubt my grandmother would be into it. But it would be real. I could do a hybrid and serve whisky in lovely china, but it's not quite the same.

Fall.

If there is one thing I've had to get used to, quickly, it's Fall. Where I come from Fall is a nonevent. But so is Winter. And Spring. Here, Fall actually happens. The leaves turn, it gets windy and crisp, and you actually want hot drinks. The problem is, it comes with something that I'm not too fond of: DARKNESS.

Pitch black, can't see, 4PM - DARKNESS.

Now, if you talk to my dog (and he could talk back) he would tell you that this is the coolest most awesome thing ever. This is because we get to take our ball out to the pitch black park with a flashlight and play with it. After one attempt my dog now wears a bike light so I can find him, and I don't throw the ball very far at all. Not that it matters. Instead, if you ever happen to wander into our park you'll see this blinking red light bouncing all over the field and a flashlight frantically looking for wherever I may have tossed the ball.

I can't complain, though. Because for the first time in a really long time I actually feel the holidays coming. I actually get the whole candles and cider and twinkling lights deal. I also am looking forward to the English version of 4th of July - Guy Fawkes. By December I'll have marked my first entire year of living abroad, and I couldn't be happier.

Unless, of course, someone can tell me where to find a dog friendly light up squeaky ball.

Envy.

I wish all joy in life were attached to a little rattling toy which I could slide all over the floor and chew on.

Seriously.

Contemplations and a Flat Fellow Named Stanley.

I got the red jacket of rejection.

About a week ago my London Marathon ballot came in as bust. As a person just coming off a half part of me was gloriously relived, and the other part of me felt like poo.

But, I got a red jacket. It's really nice and not bright yellow (which is my normal biking jacket). All the pockets have zippers and there is a big, white, London Marathon hello-I-got-rejected logo on the front.

Now I have to consider charity. My dilemma is this: fundraising. Okay, yes, for three years I did fundraising for a living. I know how to fundraise. But:

1. I have to believe in the cause.
2. I have no real fundraising base here.

Trust me, when the red jacket of rejection arrived I immediately started looking up the charities I know I would support. Result? Almost every single one of them had already given out their places or their closing date was in a day or two. It was like being beaten charity bats while zipped up tight into the red jacket of rejection. Seriously.

So now I'm in a mental block about it. Knowing I HAVE to decide something, but worried to pieces I won't make the fundraising goal. This is on top of all the training I know I need to do to succeed.

Thank goodness I have Flat Stanley.

For anyone who ever gets the opportunity to be a Flat Stanley host, take it. Not because people will think you are strange carrying around a little paper person colored by you hometown third grader. . . or that you have to explain to the museum docents that sticking it next to the case of shrunken heads at the Pitts Rivers is educational for said third grader. . . or even because you spend up to thirty minutes positioning said paper person in such a way that he looks 'natural' in a shrub. . . do so because it's way cool.

My Flat Stanley is into wearing earth tones and has a pocket on his shirt. I've taken him all over town today and spent a lot of time adjusting him. The teacher, in her wisdom, laminated him for safe travel. Problem is that means glare if the sun catches him. Thankfully England is a cloudy place, but nonetheless there are some pictures I will need to redo on some of our more common gray days. And with it being zero week (yay Oxford speak - go look that up) we have people climbing the walls. There was a line to get into Christ Church! I've never seen that before, ever.

So mercifully all the walking and photos with Stan got some of the rejection off my mind. . . yet makes me think that if I put as much passion into the fundraising as I am into Stanley, then perhaps I should just choose a charity and make the leap.

On the eve of another running thingy.

It's been awhile I realized, so I deeply apologize to the two of you who so avidly subscribe to my blog.

I'm running a half marathon tomorrow. I think this will be my tenth. It's my second overseas, and my very first in the city of London.

When I started running 6 years ago I really didn't think that I would complete one, let alone ten half marathons. People look at me like I'm a crazy person since I willingly run commute to work and willingly placed myself for consideration to run London's marathon.

I will tell you this now: I suck at running.

Seriously, I'm awful. My technique is crap. I keep a water belt fixed around my waist. I walk, most likely, 50% of it. I have yet to crack 2 hours 45 minutes.

But I will only give up on it if my legs are physically removed from my body. It's been the constant, and in this world you need constants. (Though I wish everyone's constants were as cool as Desmond and Penny constants.) I hope, before I turn in to fertilizer, to have run on every continent and gotten medals from a host of incredibly odd and far fetched races.

And I will do it poorly. I will do it knowing that I might have a chance to qualify to run the Boston Marathon when I'm 105 and they don't have time limits because no one that old has ever run it before.

I am the poster child for people doing things they aren't good at with joy and happiness.

So tomorrow, at 9:45 AM GMT I will trot off knowing that 80% of the people I started with will finish well before me, and I will be glad. Because even though those 80% went before me, there are lots of people who are going to be in their beds or sitting around thinking, "I could do that."... and don't.

But I do, even though I'm crap. And if you find something you're crap at and you love it, then I say to you go... go and be happy.

Because tomorrow is my day for happy.

Lessons from a Gatekeeper.

Gatekeeper.

If you go through any sort of training in cold calls, the person who answers the phone is called the Gatekeeper. They are the ones who decide whether or not a person will pass through to whomever it is you are trying to reach. The best way is to charm them. It works better if you are the opposite sex or have an interesting accent. But really, a good Gatekeeper is just that. A Gatekeeper - we keep people out.

Recently I have experienced some horrible sales calls. They had all the spunk and happy in the world, but completely fell flat. Here's what they did wrong:

1. Stated they were the Ambassador to France and know Britney Spears personally. Well, not exactly but they dropped so many names and countries and whatever else I had no feelings for them. Long introductions can mean you are literally forcing a sale on me. I know you want to be legit and all, but really.

2. When I ask if this is a sales call, you tell me it's an opportunity knocking. The fastest way to screen calls from a Gatekeeper's perspective is to ask if this is a sales call. Don't get offended, we're doing our jobs. On average I get five calls a day (and I'm small business people) asking to speak to the owner of the business, or better, a mispronunciation of one of my executives names. I have a protocol to deal with it, and it's evil. I'm not sharing it but let me tell you now - Gatekeeper's have evil protocol. You spin on us, we will potentially result to evil protocol. You continue to spin, we hang up on you.

3. Call us back and tell us we're rude and horrible people who have single-handily destroyed your life. I worked in grassroots politics for three years. It was the toughest job I have ever had, but the rewards were what kept me in it until there was no longer a place for me. I did phone banks, I did side-along calling. I experienced hang-ups - yelling - rejections galore. I empathise with you, seriously. But to take the Gatekeeper rejection personally is the largest no-no in the world. When you phone back one of us and decide to attack us as being horrible, it will get you no where. You do it enough, you will get nowhere in your business. Don't take your frustrations out on a voice on a phone line - it's referred to as abuse. Do it to the wrong sort, you won't be working in your chosen field for a long time.

So what should you do? This is so stupid simple it will make your head spin:

1. When we pick up state your name and your company. There. You have nothing to hide. And you're being professional while not letting us know your average sales intake. Oh yes, practice so you don't sound like you're reading off a sheet. And for the love of God, go somewhere quiet! Those two things shoot you down faster than you would believe.

2. Ask us if we can help you. Write your pitch to the effect of a problem you need solving. Ask if they know who can address your problem. I state this now - a good Gatekeeper will still know your end game, but may throw you a tiny bone. We hear it all day, all the time, and will sometimes reward the creative. Here's where you have to brush up on your charm and your ability to converse with people. This is more an art than science but at least you may be able to open doors 25% of the time.

3. If you get shot down, don't go shooting. Cold calling is a business. You have good days and bad days. But the last thing you want to do is attack a person for doing their job on the other end. Continue to strategize and work on a pitch that will benefit a company or individual. Look at new ways to communicate. And try, try again.

But not with me... I know your game. :P