Nov
29
A few months ago I met a woman for coffee. She’d contacted me by email, saying that she was a fan of my online writing and that she had a potential freelance opportunity to discuss. I looked up her company—a promising startup here in Seattle that’s received a truly impressive amount of funding to date—and said sure. Why not, right?
In person, she was friendly and engaging and seemed sincerely excited about her new high-level marketing gig with Promising Startup. The company had all sorts of plans for expansion, and they needed lots and lots and lots of copy. She was looking for an accessible, fun voice that would span the entirety of their communications, from product descriptions to error messages and automated emails. I liked the idea of contributing to such a project, and we left on great terms. She was fine with my hourly rate, I knew what she was looking for, I followed up with a detailed email confirming my interest and putting some estimates together. She’d told me she was hoping to get started as soon as possible, so I fully expected to hear back from her that evening.
I waited a week, then sent another email. You know, one of those awkward “Oh hiiiiii, just making sure this didn’t disappear into the ether” messages. Another week or so went by, and lacking her phone number, I reached out to her on Twitter. She was super apologetic, said she’d been swamped and was traveling, but I’d hear back from her that night for sure.
Needless to say, I never heard from her again.
So, you tell me: what was that all about? I mean, really, if you have any ideas I’d love to hear them, because it was one of those things that just about drove me crazy for a solid month. I went from feeling like Queen Shit of Turd Mountain—that this marketing exec would be so into my writing she was practically ready to hire me for a lucrative contract on the spot!—to being convinced I was utterly talentless, a low-rent hack not even worthy of an explanation email.
Obviously, I shouldn’t have taken it so personally, but it was just so weird. Like a blind date that I thought was going fantastically … while all the while, the guy was plotting how to ditch me in the bathroom. Why the meeting in the first place? Why the total lack of communication afterwards? What happened, and how much of it was my fault?
Nov
28
My verdict on taking a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old to The Muppets: I’m sorry to say they didn’t love it. I can’t even disown them like I threatened to, because really, for their personal attention spans, it went on a little too long and involved too many jokes they didn’t quite get. They stayed in their seats and weren’t obnoxious or anything, but there was kind of a LOT of squirming during the last half hour or so. Thank god for popcorn.
Also, what’s up with kids’ movies having, like, four thousand previews ahead of time? I mean, I know this is a prime opportunity to get children all slobbery with anticipation over the latest animated whatever, but jesus, way to shoot your wad sitting-still-wise before the movie even starts.
Also also, the trailer for Pixar’s new film Brave isn’t really turning me on, and I’m not sure why, because come on: PIXAR. Maybe because it looks like How to Train Your Dragon, But with Feminism and Also a Bear.
Today I had to write an article about Cyber Monday and I was very glad that I was only writing about Cyber Monday and not participating in Cyber Monday, because in past Cyber Mondays I’ve occasionally lost my damn mind over all the HOT DEALZ and ended up purchasing some awful gift simply because it was 40% off. Here, have a novelty USB drive! Or this pair of men’s gloves, upholstered in real Corinthian leather!
I am, in fact, basically done with Christmas shopping, and have been for a week or so. I know! I can hardly believe it myself, considering my rich holiday tradition of paying out the ass for expedited shipping on December 22nd. My last gift purchase was prompted by Amazon, whose deal-notification algorithm has greatly improved from the days of “As someone who once bought a set of nested mixing bowls, we thought you’d be interested in this new book, Raising Alpacas For Fun and Profit.” Instead, they sent me an email letting me know that something I’d looked at had gone on sale, and booyah. Click. All the adults on my list: DONE. All I have to do is wrap that shit and try not to screw up the nametags, like I did that one year when I accidentally gifted my grandfather with a fancy ladies’ robe.
I could maybe use one more gift idea for Dylan, if you feel like offering up some suggestions. I got him a stuffed kangaroo with a (removable! so cute!) baby kangaroo in its pocket, because he’s been obsessed with wallabies lately (I know, that sounds weird as hell: MY KID IS SUPER INTO WALLABIES AND HE’S NOT EVEN AUSTRALIAN), and really, he’s the easiest by far to shop for (Dylan, surveying an empty box: “Mommy! You gotted me a box! Thank you!”), but if you know of a particularly awesome toy/whatever for a 3-year-old that doesn’t involve a ton of tiny pieces or batteries, let me know.
Can you believe we’re talking about Christmas? It seems to me like this year has just blown by. Like every month was set to TiVo’s triple-boop speed.
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