Oh Jeez...

I’ve been at work all day, with legit shit that needs to get done, and so far I have: 

• Exhausted all my social media accounts multiple times
• Read up on the latest celeb gossip and fashion 
• Watched every single Ellen DeGeneres Show clip on YouTube (WHY?)
• Looked at, fawned over, and re-pinned about a 1,000 things on Pinterest 
• Eaten, as a form of entertainment  
• Listened to the masterful, always-on-key Blame it on Rio soundtrack
• Moisturized my damn dry hands 75 times

I don’t know why I can’t seem to buckle down and do work. Could it be because I have to revise a PR Plan for the 700th time? Or that I have to write a new one? Or maybe because I have to decipher hand-written notes on a document and make corrections, because, you know, there’s no such thing as TRACK CHANGES. 

Or, maybe, MAYBE - because all the above is SO MIND-NUMBINGLY BORING that I cannot be bothered to even glance at it until 5:30 p.m., when I try to hastily write a few coherent sentences before 6 p.m. when I can leave this freezing, polar ice cap purgatory.

So, as the resident period piece lover of my office, I was made to write the below post for the company blog, because believe-you-me, I don’t really blog about PR in my spare time. 

But since it is Downtonian and since I did take all that time to Photoshop the beautiful image accompanying this post, I shall put it up here. 

P.S. My boss thought that Downton was misspelled and tried to catch me out. “You have a typo in this. Isn’t it supposed to be Downtown?” me: -___- AMATEUR. 

P.P.S. Don’t feel bad if your Photoshop skills are not up to par with mine. Not everyone is blessed with such amazing talent.

________________________________________________________________________

It has been well-documented that I am obsessed quite fond of British period drama, “Downton Abbey.” As much at it provides me an escape, a glimpse back at the Edwardian Era and costume envy material for life, “Downton” is also must-see TV for PR pros out there. Here’s why (WARNING - SPOILER ALERT):

Get your facts straight: So much of the action in Downton is set into motion by the downstairs staff, who gleans information by eavesdropping or overhearing private conversations. Because they work in such close proximity to the aristocratic family they serve, it’s understandable that there would be occasions when staff would be in the middle of a family scuffle or interaction. However, in the case of Lady Grantham’s maid Sarah O’Brien, missing a few key sentences of a conversation not only led to a pre-meditated plot to injure her employer, but also the unforeseen repercussion of killing the Lady’s unborn baby and heir to the Grantham estate!

This could have all been avoided if O’Brien had a PR-minded confidant among the downstairs staff to vent to. What self-respecting publicist would ever suggest distributing a press release or sending a pitch without confirming facts?

Don’t burn bridges: As members of the PR industry, we all know that dissing a writer from www.ibloginmymom’sbasement.com for a bad review is a huge no-no. Why? Because nine times out of ten, that same writer will be on your media list as reviews editor at the Los Angeles Times in three years and will want nothing to do with you. Wish some wise publicist would have shared that anecdote with eldest daughter Lady Mary Crawley when she turned down an offer of marriage from Matthew Crawley, the love of her life, when it looked like he’d no longer be rolling in the dough as heir of Downton Abbey. Inevitably, things do work out in Matthew’s favor and he does remain the heir, but guess what? He doesn’t want anything to do with Mary anymore.

Exclusives, first-breaks and world premiers: Mega-powerful journalist tycoons are second only to the CIA or FBI in terms of knowing top secret information and having a chokehold on the pulse of politics. When the sinister Vera Bates - wife of well-meaning valet to Lord Grantham – threatened to engulf the Crawley family in some serious handsome-dead-dignitary-in-eldest-daughter’s-bed scandal, there was only one person who could set things right. In exchange for her salacious story, newspaper magnate Sir Richard Carlisle offers Vera a great sum of money, but not without making her sign an ironclad agreement that she will not go to any other outlet with the news. Of course, what Vera doesn’t know is that Sir Richard is engaged to Lady Mary, and has absolutely no intention of running the story, as it will do some severe damage to his fiancé’s honor. Believe you me, I would never want to cold call a journalist like Sir Richard, but you’ve got to admit, the man knows how to lock in an exclusive. 

Over this past weekend, I had to work. I know, weekend/work - does not compute. As much as I didn’t want to spend my long weekend talking shop (in this case shop talk is video games), what added insult to injury was that I had to staff a trade show, but not just your average, run-of-the-mill convention…oh no, no. I had to staff THE ANIME EXPO. If there is one place where all, and I do mean ALL nerds gather for a weekend of debauchery and cosplay (for those not in the know, cosplay is a compound word formed from costume and play, i.e. people dressed up in Anime inspired costumes, playacting as if they live in these cartoon worlds), this is the place.

Regardless of the thousands of people in costume and the many many men dressed as lady cartoons, I was there to help out my client and staff press interviews, the whole shebang. So, in addition to getting the furniture and the A/V for the booth set up, I was instructed by my client to get a couple of models, aka, booth babes for the show, to entice the fanboys. These models were to be Asian and under 5’4”. Odd request, I thought, but whatever, I’ll do as I’m told.

The Expo starts, the models show up, everything’s going well. My two male clients seem exceptionally pleased with the models…one model in particular. On day one my client comes over to me, puts his arm around me and says:

client: “Uhh, I just wanted to thank you A LOT for hiring these models.”

me: “Oh, great! I’m so glad you like them, they’re doing a good job, right?!”

client: “Yea, yea…GREAT job.”

me: :D

After feeling sufficiently satisfied with my model selection and planning skills, I move on and the rest of the show goes by without a hitch. On the last day, my client invites me and the entire crew to dinner. A dinner that will from now on live in infamy. As my client’s boss excuses himself because he has to leave a bit early, my client leans in, and this the dialogue we exchange:

client: “So uh, you know that you hired a porn star as one of our models, right?”

me: “WHAT?! NO?! PORN STAR?! WHAT?! NO!!”

client: “Yea, her porn name is ‘blah blah’”

me: “No way, not even!! Hold on, let me look this up (30 second iPhone search reveals blah blah is in fact a hardcore porn star). OMG, I’m so sorry, I had NO IDEA.”

client: “No no, don’t worry about it! She did a great job…was very enthusiastic about the game, got the message out there and definitely attracted people to the booth.”

me: “Well, okay, that’s good to hear. So, how did you find out?!?! Did she tell you? Did it come up in conversation?!”

client: … -_-

me: “Oh. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. You recognized her…”

client: “Yea. Yea, yea… I did.”

me: “Well, why did you wait until now to tell me?!”

client: “Uh… you know on the first day, when I put my arm around your shoulder and thanked you for hiring the models…’

me: “Uh, yea, but you didn’t specify why you were so thankful!”

client: “Well yea, my boss didn’t want me to tell you for some reason.”

me: “Your boss also knew?! From the start?!”

client: “Yea, he also recognized her, we gave each other a silent nod.”

Here’s the thing: Did I really ever want to know that my client and his boss (both married men, by the by) recognize Asian porn stars on sight? No, not really. But I will say that in an odd way, I feel like we really connected in a non-work related, human way. Because really, after you’ve discussed porn at length there’s nothing left to feel uncomfortable about.

P.S. I got a gift basket at work today from the modeling agency. “Thank you for thinking of us a giving our talent this great opportunity…” Talent indeed.

My unfortunate absence from Tumblr is now officially over (thank God). Really, I was starting to feel not only withdrawals from my dashboard of Jane Austen and Bollywood gifs, but I also felt like I had so much to say these past weeks and had no time to say them. OH I HATE WHEN I HAVE NO TIME BECAUSE I HAVE TO WORK AT WORK.

• My life was taken over by the most beautiful of video gaming trade shows, E3. OH HOW I LOVE THAT SHOW. Without going on about it at length, because BELIEVE YOU ME, I could write a book to rival Proust, let me simply say that I am so glad it’s over.
• Well, just one thing - start to finish it was a comedy of errors. It was Murphy’s Law come to life and I was on the receiving end. 
• I hate it when coworkers send me documents to edit/read that are in full magnification mode. Dude, set that shit back to 100% before sending to me. I cannot deal with your 250% zoomed documents.
• I love all Apple products, but seriously who are those headphones that come with iPhones/iPods meant for? I must have smaller than average ear holes, because they will not stay in for anything. Those buds are always plotting a suicide mission out of my ears.
• Just when you think that you’ve wrongly judged a smug and domineering co-worker and start being nice to them, they will unleash their most passive-aggressive and mean email on you, so beware and always keep them at arms length. If you can’t talk shit about the boss, then you can’t be friends.

I think that’s gonna do it for now and hopefully posts will become more frequent. At least I can always count on work to provide ranting material.

• I fastened my hair with a paperclip today
• I spent about two hours of my life that I will never get back deliriously reading the difference between active and passive voice to send a three sentence email
• I did almost nothing yesterday but watch every episode of Be Good Johnny Weir (at work)
• I’ve been dreading “editing” this press release because it’s not so much an edit as a complete 100% rewrite. Thanks for the effort person who originally wrote it, but…
• Realized that I hate PCs more than I know how to express (second takeover in as many months of work computer by Trojan virus was leading cause)
• True Blood was filming right outside my choir rehearsal yesterday and despite my best rogue efforts, I was unable to get a picture
• As if a gesture of kindness and understanding from the heavens above I found, bought and consumed the ever-elusive Tortuga rum cake (banana)
• I have a 9 a.m. meeting on Friday. 9 a.m. And a calendar invite that reads: DO NOT BE LATE
• I didn’t realize that Easter was this weekend until yesterday

You know how on TV and in movies they always show the characters gather around the table in the morning and have a leisurely breakfast or maybe go to a diner with friends to eat before work/school, like they have all the time in the world? And they are all dressed, with hair done and makeup on and ready to tackle the day? I have always had major issues with this, and here is why. This is what my morning usually looks like:

1) Wake up in a panic feeling like I’m in a WWII air raid because of the three alarms I have to set for myself (and still I’m late).

2) Stumble to the bathroom to take care of only the most basic human necessities (Taking a shower in the morning is not an option, are you kidding me? All showers take place at night before bed).

3) Shuffle back to my bedroom and put on the closest top and bottom that are somewhat matching and grab a scarf and jewelry that will tie everything together and look like some thought was put into my appearance (however, jewelry is stuffed into pocket of pants or purse until the appropriate time, read on).

4) Hobble into car balancing purse, water bottle/thermos (if I can find one, ha!)/MUG FULL OF SCOLDING HOT TEA, jacket, makeup bag and lunch in hand. Scarf is dangerously dangling over one shoulder on the brink of falling at any moment. Cookie/fruit/granola bar/piece of toast is stuffed whole into my mouth as if I were a pig ready for roasting.

5) Turn car on to discover there is no gas. Take 30 seconds to seriously contemplate how far I can get on an empty tank. Thank the heavens that I am going downhill all the way to the gas station and pray that I will make it without a call to AAA in my immediate future.

6) Get to gas station. Already running late and this absolutely necessary yet time consuming task is made even more irritating because there are no free pumps. Queue up for the next pump and silently fume in car while biting lips and developing a case of lock jaw.

7) Finally get on the backed up onramp of the freeway. Breeze through one mile stretch of road before coming to a complete halt. Switch to the completely empty and rapidly moving carpool lane even though there is clearly no one in the car with me and the ticket fee for such a traffic infraction is astronomical. Conjure up lie/excuse to tell officer in case I get pulled over. My inner monologue goes something like this:

Cop: I pulled you over because you were in the carpool lane without another person in the car.

Me: Oh but officer, there is someone here. In my belly. My growing child. (I’m not in any way pregnant).

Cop: -_- Ma’am that’s not a real reason to breach….

Me: I’m sorry officer, but in my religion, the moment of conception is when a new human life is formed. If you cannot respect that then I will simply have to conclude that you are a bigot and report this religious discrimination to your superiors! (I am not religious, at all)

8) Drive and drive and drive until I reach the dreaded 101/405 exchange. Avoid the 50 car deep queue by driving past them as if I will be continuing on the 101 only to switch to the 405 at the last possible second.

9) Once my car is in the absolute stillness of the 405 where an open heart surgery could be easily conducted in my back seat because that’s how little movement there is, I whip out my makeup bag and start the arduous process of putting on my face.

10) Repeat Step 7, except now on the 405.

11) Finally exit freeway and race through the building parking lot at 50 mph to park as near to the door/elevator as possible. Collect all aforementioned belongings and start putting on scarf and stashed jewelry while running down the hallway to the office.

12) Make a mad dash for the office door while checking email on phone. Try to creep in through most out of the way and inconvenient path to desk, all while trying not to make a single sound.

13) Finally at desk (albeit about 10-15 minutes late)!! Turn on computer, making sure either headphones are in or comp is on mute. Sign on to instant messenger as quickly and inconspicuously as possible and pretend you’ve been there the whole time.

So, now I ask you, people of the world: who’s got it right? Me or the TV?

Although it had the promise to be. My morning started out ok. Got some work done and then I hit a lull, which was perfect. So naturally, I found a link to watch “Revenge of the Bridesmaids” and got about 2 minutes in when work hit. UGH. With my movie viewing pleasure put on hold, I consoled myself by thinking of the advent of going to Anthro during lunch. I very seldom take a lunch that requires stepping out of the office and into my car, but today most all the senior staff would be out, so it wouldn’t really matter if I was late coming back.

At about 2:30, I made my way to Anthro and amazingly found a great parking spot. As I crossed the street to the promised land where only good things happen, I breathed in the beautiful aroma of scented candles and freshly unpacked garments and braced myself for the sale section. I had every intention of making it rain on that discount rack, when suddenly I saw a girl that I knew. A girl that I knew, that works at Anthro, that I never wanted to see again. She was an acquaintance from the time when I was in the singing group that shall not be named, and you better believe that trick saw me. So she saw me, and I saw her. Great.

I decided that nothing was going to slow down my perusal of the fine quality goods, not even a too-happy-all-the-time girl that I hardly knew. With that resolve in mind, I dove in when I got a call from a New York journalist, whom I had scheduled a game demo with. The man can’t find where to go, and he lives in NY. I live in L.A. I’ve never been to NY. How am I supposed to help this man? After a series of frantic and panicked calls, everything is settled and he’s where he needs to be. At this point, I just give up. There’s no use looking at beautifully crafted and significantly marked-down clothes anymore. My time has not only run out, but I’m going to be embarrassingly late. Though, not wanting to leave empty handed, I did pick up this little ditty.

Of course, I will be planning my entire outfit around this one accessory tomorrow.

I got back to work at 4:30.

In addition to the insane amount of questioning from Officemate, today he actually had the gall to come check up on what I was doing. Like, physically walk to my computer and see what I had on my screen.

It was after 6 and I was just sitting at my desk, doing my normal YouTube/Casual Gaming/Gossip Blog routine - waiting to meet friends for dinner - and this man (like clockwork) says: “So…whatcha workin’ on there?”

Me: -_- I made up some kind of lame task, like “Oh, I’m just organizing my inbox.”

Officemate: “Oh really? Can I come look and see? I really need to organize mine as well.”

Oh sure. I’m so sure.

Well, I’m nothing if not good under pressure, so I minimized the page I was looking at with the quickness and started discussing the pros and cons of color coded folders. After a minute, the conversation stopped and he went back to his area.

I just cannot believe this dumb fuck. Mind your own business or I’m shipping you back to Montana on the first poultry freighter. Oh jeeeeeeeeeeeeeez.

I think I’m going to kill my officemate one of these days. One of these days very soon.

Every time I get up, everytime I smile, or laugh, or sneeze, or swivel my chair or move in the slightest, this man has a comment.

“Whatcha doing there?”

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

“Whatcha laughin’ at?

And perhaps my least favorite of his 20 questions, “Whatcha workin’ on?”

I’ll tell you what I’m working on; I’m working on mustering up the will power to not walk over there and strangle you, THAT’S WHAT.

And, lest I forget, let me just mention this man’s love for scenarios. I’ll be working and out of the clear blue sky I get on of these:

“Heya, wouldn’t it be awesome if the guy I’m talking with on the phone somehow knew me? Like he was my brother and we never knew it? Man, wouldn’t that be something?”

It’s at this point when I have to breathe in slowly and calmly, and chant ancient mantras to myself to keep from killing him. All I can do is a quick “haha” or smile and return to my work. And despite my indiffernt apperance and the HEADPHONES IN MY EARS, this man continues to talk.

I just want to take him, and his balding head, and orthopedic brown shoes, and imitation Polo shirt and say: “I don’t care! I will never care! STOP TALKING TO ME!!”