Showing posts with label yyc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yyc. Show all posts

Thursday, September 14, 2017

DEFINE your MISSION statement? That is your VISION statement that defines who you are

I've certainly uncorked some momentum by observation.  From a chattie-like chickie to an absorbed absorption of knowledge.  A twist on words intentionally.  I was thinking the other day and didn't want to forget to express the concept ::... to follow in principle that you don't compete by crass demand nor unfair practices, the plight of the underdog or woman, driven by transparency and honesty with the desire to expose the truth, spotlight the unfairness, help others be even more remarkable then they already are.

If you can imagine, ten years ago, I wouldn't have been blogging.  What an inspiring concept when you think about it now.  To have been at the extreme very bottom as a technology emerges.  Let history be written by the authentic witnesses that remain.  [ With the largest cluster belonging to my crew, we inBETWEENers::... the tip of GenXers and the tail point of Baby Boomers > the more "unfortunate ones who become brilliant" is our LABEL as we create our own version of YUPPYdom because we beat to the same drum.

Did you run away?
Or cast it aside as mere ramblings?  Caught by the crafty TITLE that is getting better by honing my craft.

I can go back and insert here {{ reminder to self or blessed Virtual Assistant I so desperately need -> I should ask Amanda? }} to the very first blog I ever posted on social media.  It is somewhat unraveling and mostly uninspiring.

Until now ....
I've clearly been attempting to go back into my roots.  To determine perhaps a few secret ingredients I possess, that could be shared to either a) inspire someone to become really GREAT at sales, or b) someone who already is, or lastly, not less importantly c) someone or some company who want to plunk in their data and pop out the best candidate profile for your company based on the specific data that you feed it.

Gail forces blowing in
That's what I learned was what our team in Calgary called The Publisher of our magazine family.  That was long AFTER I survived an interview with this very charismatic, smart, classy lady.

The wisdom of the story teller, Donna
Ironic in two very distinct different settings, I worked for, with, and under a Donna.  At the very infancy of my sales career [ she was still the smoothest question asker, that made people felt safe, their best interests were at her heart, and that rang with sincerity.

Defined mission statement
I don't remember the conversation or really how it goes.  I simply recollect or few minute preps by these remarkable women had impacted on my life.

My resume tossed aside
went flipping and flying off of the gun metal inspired desk with the chrome edging [ now I know why I can't part with my similar war era file cabinet in that distinct matte green ].

This lady leaned forward
and looked me straight in the eye [ not the kind that you could awkwardly shift eye contact as though something like a passing plane flying up above outside the window caught your eye.

You were eye trapped
The worst moment of torture that anyone can be in.  It is a secret code of very strong women who have so many stereotypical bias they have to overcome, never mind squished between dominate forces like Baby Boomers and Millennials, being squeaked out and stomped on.

I can teach anyone to sell
is almost what it sounded like she told me.  But in between the dimness of memory and the spark recollection of a big ah-HA moment.  It wasn't that.  She said she didn't want to look at my resume, she wanted to get to know me as a person, in those lightening bolt moments that stretch into more minutes, I had not prepared in that way.  Talk about me? HUH?

I guess I haven't shut up since.
Thankfully, having a blog allow me the freedom to share knowledge and the reward as I grow the numbers faithfully, fearlessly and steady.  Because Gail taught me the numbers and then Donna showed me a more emotional sell technique.

Where one more slower and more thoughtfully projected
the other took most with overwhelming enthusiasm that made them want to just be around, get a boost just from a positive vibe.

The birth child of Gail, Donna, Donna & Donna
If it were possible, it would be a really cool thing to envelope some of the warm and fuzzy qualities that all the Donna had.  One was the most intense successful powerful smart lady I was really VERY fortunate to be taught to.

Advertising is science and don't let anyone let you think differently.  The justapox of that is some people are paying other people some really extraordinary amount of money just to extrapolate numbers from.

If you just take a look at how sophisticated the online forms are becoming, it is alarming.  We, as any many of us online folks are at risk to.  Thankfully, as a late bloomer in a new bloomer world, I was finding the need to absorb only what is necessary at any given time, in a hurry to obtain information that this Glutony by a decease that necessitates more and more information and learning.

Gail exercised my brain and established the love of numbers in my soul.  So, in answer and simmering anger at such evil and harmful writing, I recognize women who have impacted me and mostly in the love of numbers.

To that a-hole who was exposed and exited from Google speedily after his tirade that women were not as smart as men, therefore, that is why they don't do as well in the technology field.

My answer to that is:
hug your mathematical formulaes and your sophisticated algorithms.  Because it will be the story tellers and the story makers who will emerge as the super hero of today.

Create all the numbers you want and pocket them in the cloud
which will get bigger and bigger filled with useless information that nobody has the heart or the courage to turf anything anymore.

The arrogance of the engineering youth destroyed his ability to continue to learn.  He forgot his roots, ever so obviously.  Everyone starts at the bottom.

Watch the Bruce Lee documentary to be inspired
which at the core of his beliefs and some discounted teachings were:  be true to your own true self.

Be your own true self whether by brand or title
I think that brands cannot have accounts on social media that are not highlighted, blinking or colored differently on all the platforms.  Then we'll all become more adept at averting spamish, self promoting egotists.  Not that SPAM has always been a bad thing.  I remember the squeamish, sickening feeling when my mom tried so very hard to dress up SPAM for dinner, a really economical means, I'm sure, for feeding herself and four children, five she always said if she counted her husband as a kid.


Monday, December 5, 2016

Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2g3Bvhs

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gwyFT2


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2g3Bvhs

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gK2hiO


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2g3Bvhs

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gwC9oQ


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2hbrUtS

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gK7DLa


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2hbrUtS

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gK7DLa