Guess My Algorithm

Blair and I were out to dinner with friends on Saturday and the conversation turned (as it will when two of the four people present are wanna-be-well-known-billionaire-authors) to book sales on Amazon. I asked my friend how a book he'd edited and contributed to was doing which launched a conversation about how, only days earlier, Amazon had changed their algorithms with the unfortunate effect of making sales appear less then they would have otherwise. 

This led to a brief discussion of how Amazon periodically changes its algorithms so that people (probably wanna-be-well-known-billionaire-authors) can't learn how to game the system. 

Later in the night, the two men were whining complaining moaning discussing how every time a man thinks he has a particular woman figured out, the woman changes her mind and messes with him. 

"That's called 'changing our algorithms,'" I volunteered. "Fear it."

"I change my algorithm every 30 days," offered my friend, sipping her drink. "It's marked on my calendar." 

The guys were all, "That's not fair, blah, blah, blah," so I pretty much stopped listening. If anything, shouldn't all the men out there be thanking us ladies for keeping the world interesting? If any of you guys are looking for gift ideas to express your gratitude, here are a few hints: We like fine wine, dark chocolate, flowers just because, and you'll never go wrong surprising us by cleaning the house. 

At least, that's what all women want THIS week. I can't speak for next week when we're all due for an algorithm change. 

Cheers,

Dena 

Smug Marrieds: Eggs & Wine

Blair and I went grocery shopping today (pause to give a "Wass up!" shout-out to the Super Wal-Mart that is the hub of our little town) and as we walked outside I smiled and said, "Did you see what the older woman behind us had in her cart?"

The woman in question looked to be in her late 60's/early 70's, with the carefully curled hair of those who visit the beauty parlor every Saturday to have it set and do not take comb nor brush to it in between visits. A rouged and powdered face, dowdy clothes, and the withered puckering of the lips indicated a lifelong smoker. 

"She had a sixteen-pack egg carton and two bottles of wine," I said, answering my own question. I winked at Blair. "Looks like a sleep over to me." 

"Funny," said Blair. "I was thinking she reminded me of you."

I burst out laughing. I've been doing the Tim Ferriss Slow Carb Diet on and off for months now. Eggs and red wine are staples of the diet and I buy each in copious amounts. 

"Oh my God, that was cruel," I said, wiping tears from my eyes. "I feel like I should run back in there, find her, and say, 'Are you doing the Tim Ferriss diet too!? Oh my God! We should be diet buddies!'"

"I keep telling you that diet doesn't look pretty from this end but you won't listen," said Blair. 

Maybe she is on the diet. Or maybe she really likes eggs and was restocking on wine. Or maybe, just maybe--and let's all send her some positive thoughts in this direction--she was gettin' her some. ;)

Cheers,

Dena