want to know what the 'h' stands for? hard. fuck my life, hard. 

don't worry. there won't be any nsfw photos in this entry to illustrate that point. because i'm on a loaner computer that i can't save anything to. not even a screenshot. how exactly am i supposed to do work? i had to email a pdf from my work account to my personal account just to view it. i'm not even gonna TRY to print anything.

so, that's one of the reasons the fmlh — computer woes. apparently, my hard drive is wonky. and i could have him back maybe today. maybe tomorrow. maybe have to order me a new one. 

and this loaner? it's trackpad doesn't even work. so if i ever take it somewhere, i have to drag along an external mouse. but why would i take it anywhere when the only thing i can do on it is email? basically, i can do more with my phone than this computer.

why else fmlh? i'm sick. i'm coming down with a cold. and i've been fighting it tooth and nail since day one. (i'm not sure why a cold would be afraid of teeth and claws, but it's an expression none-the-less.) and it seems that the harder i fight it, the longer i stay in this "almost-sick" place. maybe i should just let it happen.

but the weather's not helping. it's cold. and rainy. and i forgot my umbrella. and no cabs are ever available in the rain. (well, until you're a block away from home and a cabby actually pulls over and asks if you need a ride even though your arm isn't out.)

and we're busy. "work towards this meeting that we'll cancel," and all that.

i dunno, there's a lot to complain about. it's february and i feel like that's a blue month. like an indigo, dark blue. not like a spring day blue. i can't wait for a spring day blue kind of month. 

so yeah. this was more fun than ideating on that high-impact print i'm supposed to be doing.

of course, i also used paying my bills to procrastinate. and doing an impossible image search. and started by state tax return(s).

so the bar was set pretty low. and luckily it's lunch time. so i can procrastinate on that print ideation a little longer. score.

so, yeah, i've been gone for a bit. see, what had happened was: i have a job. i'm a responsible adult with a j.o.b. when in the hell did that happen? i mean, i've been in the work force for a long time now. and i've been out of my twenties for more years than i care to admit.

but sometimes i still feel like i'm sitting around waiting for life to start. but, i guess it's what's happening around me while i wait. i have a career, i'm in an adult relationship, i've kept 2 cats alive for 15 and 12 years, i pay rent and bills, hell i even have a 401k and i've done my taxes already.  isn't that life?

on the inside, though, i still feel 17 — and some days i still feel 12. there are 24 year olds who feel older than i do. i remember being 17, though. and i'd have argued tooth and nail with you back then that i was, in fact, an adult. but here i am, twice that age, saying i feel unsettled, unsure and just unadult.

(yeah, i made up a word, deal with it.)

to be specific
:though i've grown into my height, i feel gawky and clumsy.
:i get cocky, thinking i have the right answer and fall into people's insidious traps.
:i don't speak up for myself enough, even though i've got 10 million people giving me the advice and tactics i need to do it.
:i cry at stupid shit. and i'm not just talking about this commercial. i cry when i have to stand up for myself, when people pay me a compliment, or when i have to have the dreaded yearly review.
:i get frustrated and i snap. and i often am too stubborn to apologize. or admit i was wrong.
:i'm a gossip, i know i've shared things with people i shouldn't have. things that could maybe hurt feelings.
:i facebook stalk. and linkedin stalk. and google stalk. who? all of you. everyone i meet. some people i haven't. if you wanna play a fun game, name drop around me and then see how much i know about that person the next time you see me.
:i pollyanna all the time, thinking everything will turn out rosey even though there are storm clouds on the horizon.
:i say things for shock value. (and yet nothing i ever say is really that shocking) just to be the one to get a laugh. i wasn't the class clown. but i'm for sure the meeting clown.
:i procrastinate. in fact, i'm probably procrastinating right now.

there's part of me that thinks that my inner-age helps me in the industry i'm in. it's a young man's game. the young men who know what all the hip, young cool kids do. where they hang out. the shit they say. but then i remember that i have no idea what they do, where they go or what the hell they're talking about. i couldn't even make it past two episodes of "girls" and thought every single episode of "newsroom" was excellent. who AM i?

it could be that i'm unfinished. it could be that i never will be. it could be that i didn't have the dawson's creek, 90210, or saved by the bell high school experience. not even my so called life.

but, you know what? whatevs. if i still feel 17 when i'm 68 — maybe i've been doing something right. and then i'll be glad.

plus, this young/old dog is still teaching new tricks.

this pic would have made my top 12 of 12 list had i had the time to make it.

i taught alexa cohen and lindsay coomes how to smoke cigars at hudson bar and books.

imahaveto go back there soon ;{D

this is where rachelwriteson "started." as an idea:

and i actually started using an acne face wash. i took one photo, the "before." then i never really followed through. that should have signaled doom for my one-off blog idea. i have no follow through. but here i am writing a one-off blog entry, and here you are reading a one-off blog entry.

you'll never see the "i ordered an acne wash that takes 3 weeks and here's my 'before' photo" photo-a-day blog. mainly because i have no idea what i did with that photo, but also because the entry would just be a pic of me with acne. 

you've seen plenty of "my boyfriend is a caveman and i cooked paleo once" food blogs. and i owe you some "shit i'm making TONIGHT" entries, because i've been cooking up a storm. but, i thought i'd address the "i had crazy sex adventures that one time" sex blog.

hence the mom-shutting-her-eyes part. except that, really, i'm gonna be pretty pg about this. 

so this one night, i was out with friends. one was a fellow copywriter. a DUDE writer. and we got to talking about "50 shades of gray," which neither of us has actually read, and decided we could do better. you know, a danielle-steele-esque sexcapade novel that both girls AND guys would want to read.

then we drank more and it turned into something else all together. see, both of us are in successful adult relationships. but there are still times when i'm like, "what in the hell does THAT mean?" or he's like, "what's the right answer in 'does this make me look fat?' situations?". 

so, we decided to write something else entirely. kind of a handbook for the opposite sex. or, at least that's how i remember it. there was wine. and a lot of it. 

the next day, he sent me some topics: foreplay, hooking up on first date, meeting the fam, what you look for in the opposite sex, signals, marriage, and cheating. i sent back more topics: porn, the morning after, pregnancy scare, sharing 'numbers', "we were on a break," one night stand, "i kissed a girl," work wives, the second kiss is actually the important kiss, the proper answer to "does this make me look fat?" is always sex, girls share everything with their friends (including that picture of your penis you sent to her phone), who has to sleep in the wet spot, and to snuggle or not to snuggle. (don't worry mom, i'm not an expert on all those topics. but i know enough people who are to do the research.)

and that's where it ended. except that i soft-lobbed the idea to a couple friends — a "would you read this?" sort of thing. and they got excited at the idea. i never told the dude. so, question for you: would you read it? 

what if it were one of those books that on one side is for "her" called "Walking on Mars" written by a dude and on the other is for "him" called "Vacationing on Venus" written by a girl like me? and they cover off on the same topics chapter-by-chapter. 

all under pseudonyms, of course. for honesty and privacy's sake. and now that the idea is out there on the interwebbings, really, it could be ANYONE writing it. even the mustachioed man :{0 

we've all heard it: women aren't funny. apparently, we don't laugh. nor do we write funny ads that make other women laugh – much less make guys laugh. in fact, it seems we're a walking punchline to a joke we don't get. case in point:

i know it's labeled "funny boob commercial," but i didn't laugh. "double-breasted sandwich?" get it? eh, eh? i can just see the elbow nudging going on during the creative presentation.

but, i still assert that some of the funniest people i've ever met are women. i, for one, like to laugh. hell, i even think i'm funny. (in a dark, self-deprecating way, but still funny.)

but i think women might be clever funny, or classy funny. like this:

(yes, i know this was done by male creatives. i'll make a point about that later.)

(yes, i know i'm friends with the smart, witty, creative folks who did this ad. that doesn't mean i can't like it.)

so, yeah, as a lady i can appreciate a good boob joke with the breast of 'em. (yes, that was a BAD boob joke.)

but there's also this other misconception: that guys don't get girls. that just because you have a vagina only you can write/art direct the kind of tear-jerking poignant ad that women cream over.

but i assert this: men have been appealing to women since they got their first erection. they understand the nuances of "selling" something to women. they do it in bars, on dating sites and every single day. and even if they're taking the shotgun approach, they score sometimes. some of them most of the times.

the inverse is also true: women can sell to guys. for all the same reasons. whether or not the ad is "funny," even.

yes, i know i made up the word "manalytics," but i think even that is kinda funny. :{D mustachioed man does too. and even though he's an emoticon, he's a man. man.

no, it's not another apartment post. though one will be coming. and soon (ish).

nope. this one's about advertising — you know that thing i do to make money? i saw a bus shelter ad for target the other day and am trying to figure out what it wants me to do.

if you can't see it, i was in a cab. sue me. i'm not gonna hop out and take a photo.

it says "falling for luscious locks." and there are three round brushes in the model's hair.

three unbranded brushes. target usually tries to sell me something they sell so i'll go into their store and give them my money. and they want me to come in for that one thing i saw and fill my cart with all the fun things i see there.

are they trying to sell me hair? i don't think they sell that. well, maybe jessica simpson clip-in extensions. and i'm not gonna buy those in a million years

i mean, i know they sell round brushes. but why isn't there a shampoo or hairspray or hair dryer or barrette in this ad?

why aren't they selling my anything?

oh, and we all get it: "falling" and it's fall. so do consumers. because everyone does it. stop it.

stop it now.