I just came back from a week at the cottage. I had looked forward to relaxing, sitting on the porch looking out onto the river, sleeping in, canoeing, and even exercising. Running along tree-lined gravel roads is different than running on the treadmill in the office gym or along city streets. It borders on pleasant. The morning air is fresh, the smell of pine is in the air, and there’s only an occasional car to stir up dust. What could possibly ruin that? Dogs. Unchained dogs.

The first time a dog came racing toward me across a lawn, the owner was in plain sight the entire time. Not once did I hear, “Heel, Killer!” or “Down, Rover!” The owner allowed his unchained dog to race to the road and jump up on me, scratching my leg in the process. No apology, no acknowledgement of any kind. I was flabbergasted, until it happened again. Now I realize that it’s common, and I resent it. I don’t know your dog, and I don’t care if you’re sure it’s friendly. You should be aware that no dog seems friendly as it barks or growls while circling a runner and nipping at his or her ankles. And I never know what to do. Should I slow down, stop, accelerate, or continue at a steady pace?

I can understand the desire to let one’s faithful friend enjoy the fresh air and freedom of Muskoka. And sure, your dog has the “right” to run free. But my dad always used to say, “Your right to swing your fist ends where the other guy’s nose begins.” Translation: Your dog’s right to roam the land ends when he reaches the public road I’m running on.

I got a parking ticket the other day, and I’m still annoyed about it.

Granted, it’s my own fault. I was helping friends move and I parked in front of their house. I’ve parked there before, and I knew there were some restrictions, but I didn’t see the sign that said “no parking between 8 and 10 a.m.”

Which leads me to the first thing that annoys me: Why can’t all the information be on one sign? There were three on this street.

And why is there this parking rule anyway? What harm is there in people parking on a residential street between 8 and 10 a.m.? Seems like a cash grab by the city. If they don’t let us park on the street, maybe we’ll park in the city lots.

More annoying was that, out of all the cars parked in front of my friends’ place, I was the only one who got a ticket. When the parking “enforcer” (his proper job title escapes me at the moment) was writing my ticket, I told him a bunch of us were helping friends and he didn’t ticket anyone else. I don’t begrudge them that, but it did leave a bitter taste in my mouth. If issuing a ticket is optional, why don’t they have the option to tear up a ticket?

The most annoying part, however, was that the enforcer parked illegally while he was ticketing me. Why is this okay?

I’ve been at my current day job for ten years, and I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to try something new. After a decade at the same desk, I’m not feeling particularly challenged anymore.

Some of my co-workers have worked for the same company for their entire careers, which seems risky in this economy. If, by chance, something should happen and they find themselves unemployed, an HR department screening resumes might see such longevity as a negative, labeling such employees as unmotivated, in a rut, set in their ways, or hard to train at a new job. At the other extreme, I wonder if serial job jumpers are viewed as flighty or unreliable?

I have friends who change jobs every couple of years, but that’s never been my style. The idea of giving up a stable job where I know what I’m doing makes me nervous (perhaps because I’ve been laid off before), but it also excites me: a new challenge, new people, new opportunities.

A co-worker once told me that if you wake up five days in a row and dread going to the office, it’s time to move on. But there are other reasons, too. I feel it’s time to move on when I’m not learning anything new, when I’m not feeling challenged, or when I can’t stand my boss.

So tell me, what do you think is the optimum length of time to stay at a job? And what pushes you to polish up your resume?

When Tammy Wynette sang “Stand By Your Man,” I doubt she was imagining situations such as the one in which Eliot Spitzer’s wife found herself this week.

Silda Spitzer’s world must have been rocked by the revelation that her husband had cheated on her with prostitutes. Before she had a chance to deal with this very personal and private betrayal, she found herself standing stoically at his side as he confessed his wrongdoings in a most public setting.

Maybe I’m naïve, given that I’m not married and I don’t have children. I see black and white, and very few shades of grey. Though I’m a big believer in marriage and forgiveness, I don’t know if I could do it in this situation.

Part of the problem would undoubtedly be my ego. I don’t like public humiliation or disloyalty. Nor do I intend to be seen or treated as a doormat. Once you learn that lesson, it’s a tough one to unlearn. So, if I found myself in Silda Spitzer’s situation, rather than standing by my man, I’d be at home, packing his suitcases and setting them on the curb or, at the very least, moving his belongings into the guest room, the basement, or the garage.

I know things get more complicated when there are children involved, and most people’s first instinct would be to keep the family together. A noble goal, but I’d be worried about the lesson the children would learn. Would they learn the true meaning of forgiveness or would they learn that a spouse is free to engage in selfish and destructive behaviour as long as the behaviour is followed by an apology and crocodile tears?

’Tis the season for taking down the Christmas lights and making resolutions. Problem is, I’ve never had much success with resolutions. I begin the year with big plans and high hopes, and somewhere around the middle of February, I lose steam. I’m starting to understand why a friend announced her intent to make resolutions she could keep: work more, date less, and eat more chocolate.

The key, at least for me, is to set a goal that I really want to achieve, and plan for it, rather than impulsively setting a goal during the countdown to midnight. I had more luck with my running goal, set last October, than I did with my goal to learn Spanish, which was more of a New Year’s goal. Why? For one reason, I ran with a friend. It’s a lot harder to hit the snooze button when you know a friend is going to be waiting for you. Also, another friend (a runner and running coach) gave me a schedule that helped me to improve, and I could actually see my progress.

With the goal to learn Spanish, I had good intentions, but no plan. I bought some books and CDs, but didn’t schedule specific time to study. That always leads to the “I’ll do it tomorrow” excuse. And, if you’re anything like me, tomorrow never comes.

How about you? Have you made any resolutions this year? How do you keep motivated to accomplish them?

“Weren’t we going to talk about BOTOX?”

And with that, Tina, the aesthetician at my dermatologist’s office launched into an explanation about the procedure. And yet, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember asking about it.

I don’t have crow’s-feet and I don’t have horizontal wrinkles on my forehead. I do, however, have the beginnings of a vertical furrow line just to the left of my right eyebrow. I’ve noticed this line when I apply my makeup but, given that I have the visual acuity of a naked mole rat without my glasses, and apply makeup at a distance of no more than three inches from the mirror, I assumed I was the only one who saw it.

I was wrong. Tina pointed it out right away. But let’s not kid ourselves. That is her job. During a previous visit, we talked about electrolysis. I was thinking it would be nice if I didn’t have to pluck my eyebrows anymore. Tina suggested it would also be useful for my moustache. I was understandably traumatized, since I didn’t know I had one.

I was further traumatized during a later appointment with the dermatologist. He wheeled his chair close to me, studied my face intently for a few moments, then gestured to the area of the aforementioned line and said, “Did Tina talk to you about this?”

The idea of intentionally injecting a toxin into my body makes me squeamish (though the popularity of the procedure suggests I’m in the minority). And let’s not forget about the needle element.

When I told my friend Melissa, who lives in California, that my aesthetician had suggested BOTOX, she said, “In L.A., it’s as common as grocery shopping, but I’d still be insulted.” I wasn’t so much insulted as I was resigned to the fact that I’m getting visibly older.

Evidently, if I decide to pursue this, I need to do it soon. There’s a window of opportunity for the procedure. Once the damage has been done, not even the magic of BOTOX can undo it. There’s nothing like making a snap decision when it involves needles and small quantities of poison.

Funny how, in this age when we won’t drink water from the tap, read labels to determine the safety of what we eat and drink, and monitor the air for pollutants, we’ll still drop hundreds of dollars at a time to have poison injected into our faces.

BOTOX is not something that had ever crossed my mind until my conversation with Tina, but since then, I’ve started to panic. I know that there’s only so much that the wonders of science and modern medicine can do for this face. I regret that I haven’t made a more consistent effort to take care of myself. I don’t eat as well as I should, I don’t exercise as frequently as I should, and I only moisturize when I think of it. To go the BOTOX route now seems like cheating.

Besides, I fear that taking that step would blur the line I’ve drawn between appropriate upkeep and obsession with appearance (granted, I may have erred slightly in the location where I chose to draw that line). If I cross it, will I be able to come back?

And, if that weren’t enough, there’s the expense. $400 for an area smaller than my thumbnail. And it’s not even a one-shot deal! I’d have to do it every few months. I’m not prepared to make that kind of financial commitment to my appearance. (Just ask my hairdresser, who drops not-so-subtle hints about my graying hair every time I go in for a trim.) It took me 10 years to make a financial commitment to a sofa.

If I’m honest about my appearance, I don’t really need to turn back the hands of time, but I’d be happy if I could get it to stand still for a decade or two. Perhaps that’s why, even though I can list a string of “reasonable” arguments against BOTOX, every time I look too intently in the mirror, I waver.

I just returned from a week taking care of my three nieces while my brother and sister-in-law were out of town. My brief stint in the suburbs just confirmed what I already knew. Parenting is hard. Being a working parent is harder. Being a working single parent is completely overwhelming. Frankly, I don’t know how anyone does it.

My nieces are twelve, nine and seven, so they’re somewhat self-sufficient. I didn’t have to deal with diapers or midnight feedings (though the dog did wake me up quite a few times). And yet, I’m exhausted.

I love spending time with my nieces, so when I was asked to watch them, I said yes with no hesitation. And don’t get me wrong; I’d do it again in a heartbeat. But I didn’t have any concept of what I was getting into. The only thing I considered was that the commute between work and their house would add almost two hours to my workday.

I didn’t consider that my youngest niece would get sick over the weekend and need to stay home on Monday. Fortunately I had the day off. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to do any of the work I had planned to do.

I didn’t consider how difficult it would be to decide to send my niece to school the next day when she said she felt “a little better.” Nor did I consider how guilty I’d feel when I called from my night school class and discovered that she was feeling worse. I didn’t consider things like late-night visits to the doctor and prescriptions for antibiotics.

I didn’t consider how stressful it would be to try to negotiate a peace treaty between my fighting nieces over the phone, or how challenging it would be to persuade them to do their homework while I was stuck in rush hour traffic on the 401.

I didn’t consider how nerve-wracking it would be to ask my boss for some flexibility in my work schedule for the week, or that the addition of two hours commuting time would make it almost impossible for me to do the corresponding amount of work at home in the evenings.

I didn’t consider that, between work, the commute, the laundry, the dishes, and the homework, there would be very little time to just enjoy being together.

There were some stolen moments, such as Movie Night, when we put on our pajamas and ate dinner together in front of the TV. An afterschool trip to the mall when a niece opened up and shared some of the things that were troubling her, without me asking. A giant smile when a niece saw me wearing the bead necklace and bracelet she’d made. Hugs and kisses at bedtime - even from the 12-year-old!

Those moments helped me understand why parents do it. But I still don’t know how.

I have curly hair. Really curly hair. And it’s been a challenge - a frustration, even - for years.

Earlier this evening, I attended Curl Freedom 2007, and chatted with several hairstylists who are curly hair specialists. I got some tips, and am intrigued by the possibility of truly taming these heretofore only occasionally tameable locks.

But with hope comes a dilemma: How do I tell my current hairdresser that I want to see other stylists? I feel guilty just thinking about it. (I may have a heightened sense of guilt, though. I almost apologized to her once after dyeing my hair at home.) Some people would probably say it’s no big deal. Just stop going. But it seems more complicated than that. We have personal relationships with our hairdressers. It’s not like changing drugstores or accountants (note to my accountant, Phil: Don’t worry - I’m not planning to replace you).

My hairdresser and I have been together for more than 15 years and for more than a few tress traumas. Frankly, you develop a bond with someone when you sit in their chair for extended periods of time. But my dream of having “head-turning” hair (not to be confused with the head-turning/gasping in horror hair) is a compelling one, and I’m curious to know if any of these curly hair experts can do what I thought was impossible. If they can, I’ll have no choice but to switch stylists (fortunately, a guilty conscience doesn’t take up much space). If they can’t, I’ll go back to my original hairdresser. She’ll be able to tell that I let someone else’s scissors touch this head; I’m sure of it. But will she understand?

Am I the only one who’s faced this dilemma? Am I the only one who has been wracked with guilt? Please tell me I’m not! How did you handle it?

Bosses – love ’em or hate ’em, virtually everyone has had at least one. My time in the workplace has taught me that a great boss is sort of like a total eclipse, and may, if you’re extremely lucky, cross your career path once. The most the majority of us can hope for is a competent boss.

I have had many bosses – most bad, some competent, and very few good ones.

The good bosses share several characteristics:
• They recognize that their employees are their greatest resource, and treat them accordingly.
• They value the input of their subordinates.
• They don’t ask their staff to do anything they’re not willing to do themselves.

The bad bosses are bad for a multitude of reasons, some of which are: dishonesty, favouritism, laziness, disloyalty, and insecurity. I’ve even had a couple that were drunk with the power of middle management.

Why are so many bosses bad? The problem, as I see it, is that most people don’t gain management experience until they’re actually in a management position. They get promoted as a reward for being good at the job they have, not because they’ll necessarily be good at the job they’re being given. Rarely are they relieved of their new duties in a timely fashion if it turns out that they’re incompetent. Their bosses seem perfectly willing to let them learn on the job – even if it’s at the expense of their subordinates. I don’t know about you, but I have not enjoyed being a lab rat for this particular experiment in terror.

In my career, I have noticed that the majority of my bad bosses were women, and I don’t understand why. I would have thought they’d be the good bosses – that their natural instincts would help them to balance the needs of their employees with the needs of the corporation. I’ve also noticed that some of these bosses treated their male employees differently than their female ones. And by differently, I mean better. They talk to the men with deference and, when they give them assignments, they sound like they’re asking for favours, rather than telling their employees to do their jobs.

So tell me, what sort of bosses have you had? Are my experiences and observations anything like yours? Have you had the opposite experience? Maybe you’re the boss and can share your perspective.

Ageism – I’ve heard of it, but I figured I wouldn’t experience it until I was well into my 50s. That’s when it happens, right? When a lifetime employee is laid off in his or her mid-50s, and can’t get another job. Potential employers feel that the applicant is too old to learn new skills, or doesn’t have enough work years left to be worth the investment. Am I right?

Apparently not. I experienced ageism a few months ago, when a headhunter offered me some unsolicited advice about my resume. Because my resume lists a job I began in 1989, she suggested I remove it. Her rationale was that, since some people born in the 80s are making hiring decisions, I would appear old to them, and they’d be less likely to grant me an interview or hire me.

When exactly did this switch from wanting to appear older to wanting to appear younger occur? It wasn’t so many years ago that my peers wanted fake I.D. to get into bars and clubs. It seems ludicrous to me that they’d now want fake I.D. to get the good jobs!

If I were to remove this job from my resume, I’d feel like I bought in to the widely held misconception that youth is the only thing that matters. That youth trumps experience, trumps developed skills and talents, trumps maturity, trumps life lessons. And I learned quite a few life lessons at this job.

I learned that the customer isn’t always right, but you should treat him as if you believe he is. I learned how to deal with difficult people. I learned that the workplace is a little too much like high school. I learned that people you wouldn’t suspect are often power seekers. I learned problem-solving skills. I learned that diplomacy goes a long way. I learned that not every boss is fair, rational, or even competent. I learned to keep my emotions out of the workplace. I learned when to stand up for myself and when to simply shut up. And I got a really great recipe for cheese fondue.

To pretend that I didn’t learn all of these lessons seems dishonest. Besides, I don’t want to perpetuate this “youth is better” myth. It’s simply untrue, and I refuse to pretend that I believe otherwise. If age is the only criterion by which hiring managers are making decisions, these are not companies where I want to work. The sum of my work and life experiences makes me the employee that I am today. If I have to hide that to get hired, the company in question doesn’t deserve me.