The dead horse of the decade is the target customer. You’re asked to create personas. Put yourself in their shoes bras. Get inside their head. Imagine what’s keeping them up at 3 o’clock in the morning. (For the record, it’s that their ass is getting fat and they totally forgot to make coies for their kid’s bake sale.) So there you went, thinking about everything from the target customer’s perspective. What will they want? What will they think? What will
Look, We’ve All Got Our Faults. *Stomps Cigar*
Lo, we’ve all got our faults. I, for one, have a wrinkly ass neck. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know when it happened. But all the sudden there are s as deep as the Panama Canal cutting across my trachea. Fortunately, all the resveratrol I’ve consumed over the years seems to have spared my face…so far. Or, I don’t know, maybe I should be thanking Laura Mercier for that. Ever since I was twenty one, I’ve been
Please, Don’t Get Hard (Even When Life Is)
So, I’m standing there at this bakery in Costa Rica, trying not to order the things one orders at a bakery, because if I order bakery-like things from this bakery, I might as well give my stomach pooch full on permission to never, ever fucking go away. And then what will become of me? Forget the fear of becoming a cat lady; I’m far terrified of becoming an angry, bitter old wench who could never stand to lo at
Plan On Being Nervous, Brilliantly
Being nervous sucks. Your pulse races. Your brain blanks. Your hands shake like little assholes. You tell yourself to take deep breaths, but the minute you do, you then worry that the entire room can see the fact that your heart is, in fact, doing the electric slide up and down your rib cage. (God help your soul if you’re wearing Spanx.) We’ve all had these moments—we’re a nervous bunch, you know? (Yes, even the confident ones.) Whether it’s the
An HR Handbook for Dealing With Assholes
Here’s a pessimistic point of view: People are assholes. The older I get, the I seem to notice them—which is either because the time I’m alive the I increase my odds, or because that god damn Certain Dri deodorant is actually some kind of dick magnet. Or, you know, maybe it’s the internet. As a tool that’s given a population of people one big, fat pink slip to run around screaming, “Me! Me! Me!” all the live
The 140 Character Email: An Experiment in Sanity
You know the e. The one you’re dreading responding to—not because of what it says, but because the second you open it, all you see is lurching at your face as if the sender had taken the entire Sunday edition of The New York Times, reformatted it into one column, ed it off onto a roll of 1992 perforated computer paper, and then laughed as they lit it on fire and dropped it off at your digital doorstep—aka, your inbox—before
Email Is a Disease (And Why My New Email Policy Is Going to Piss the World Off)
The most dangerous threat you’ll ever face in business is yourself. You’ll be too nice when you should be firm. You’ll be too lax when you should be discipd. You’ll drink too much wine when you should drink water. *los around room innocently* Andddddd, not to bring it up (ay, fine, I’M BRINGING IT UP) you will answer every last e that does a cannonball into your inbox…when you should be answering to yourself. A few years ago when I
When You’re Running Around Like a Frizzy-Haired, Obessive-Compulsive Psychopath
Nobody gets between me and my business. Nobody. Not even that shit bottle of wine from the night before. It could be Saturday. It could be Easter morning. It could be raining REALLY BIG MUSCLY MEN for all I care, but one thing is certain: I will be the most discipd person in the room, and I will get it done. I’m like a military sergeant when it comes to execution. (Not that kind of execution.) I don’t tolerate excuses from
To Have a Routine or Not to Have a Routine: That is the (Worst, Most Annoying, Head-Pounding) Business Question
At 5am, I write. Around 11am I go for a jog. I never eat the skin on a chicken. And on Sundays, after a morning fuck, I do my accounting. I used to think that habit & routine were for the birds. I used to think that doing certain things a certain way all the time was the equivalent of jail. I used to think that predictable was for boring people, and methodical for the scared. Scared of life. Scared
When You’re Scrappy, You Don’t Give a Sh*t
I like the term scrappy. I’ve always pictured some femme fatale bobbing and weaving and diving and into any number of ways to get the one and only job done that she’s there to do: Win. It reminds me of my favorite Will Smith quote (oh, you don’t have a favorite Will Smith quote?) “The only thing that I see distinctly different about me is I’m not afraid to die on a treadmill. I will not be out worked, period. You might
How to Make a Hard Decision (Without Convulsing, Crying or Going Crazy)
A lot of disgusting things happen when you’re a human. (And I’m not talking about chin hairs, though they definitely qualify.) And some of those things will require you, at some point, to make some really hard decisions. The kind of decisions that feel impossible to make. The kind that drag race through your large intestine. The kind that cause you to reconsider your position on Xanax. (Right after you learned it was sneakily spelled with an X.) A lot
Ass-Scratching Business Conundrum: Is It Worth It to Go Out of Your Way…Or Not?
You know what’s really messed up? Internet connections. Here we are building these creepy little awesome robots that get injected INSIDE YOUR BODY to cure cancer….making camouflage suits inspired by the octopus that automatically read their environment and adapt to mimic their surroundings, and coming out with wireless electricity, for the of Edison…but you think I can get G to load? Forget it. I’m pretty sure I have an internet curse. No matter where I go in the world,
The Internet Has Boundary Issues, and People Are Assholes. So What?
So I block this girl on the other day. Actually, it wasn’t so much a block as it was a ban (if only I could do this to people in real life?) because Little Miss Hot Pants thought she would be cute and tell me how much of a shithead I am on the TMF page. Granted, I am a shithead – especially if there’s no cream for the coffee – but that doesn’t mean I need to
Two Gorgeous Ways of Saying NO in Business…Without Throwing Cheeseburgers at People’s Heads
Boundaries in business are important. I’m obsessed with them. I talk about boundaries a lot. Probably because when I was young, I was very, very horrible at setting them. Girlfriends would nag me into doing whatever dumb thing they wanted me to do that weekend, like crochet. Or sneak out bedroom windows at 1 o’clock in the morning to go meet cute boys next door who wanted us to take off our shirts. I actually have a diary entry where
How to Stop Hating Your Email (Before You Slice Your Own Wrists)
I get a lot of e. In fact, I probably have es in my inbox every day than I have hairs on my head – and since I’m not going bald, this means that I have a lot of people who are requesting my time…all the time. You’d think it was because I was important or something. I wish that were the case. I’m no important than you are. But since I have a public persona, I probably
Cowardly Business Owners: An Epidemic?
Yesterday, I got stood up. As you may know, I have my hands in a boating company, and yesterday, a brain surgeon from the Carolinas simply didn’t show up for a charter—despite having submitted a sizeable deposit, and despite the manager waiting for him at the marina, calling, eing, iMessaging. One might be worried, if we hadn’t seen him later on that very afternoon at the local grill, at which point, hot-to-trot-fancy-free proceeds to completely ignore the manager—and our shouts
Business Lacking Direction? Start With the Money.
Imagine you’re seven years old, and you’ve never coed anything before, so help your Fisher Price kitchenette. But suddenly you’re home alone, and you’re tasked with making yourself a meal. So naturally, you do what any seven year old would do: You get a big pot, and you start putting your favorite things into it. Pepperoni pizza—fucking icious. Chips Ahoy? Goin’ IN. Strawberry Pop Tarts—who’s your daddy. What’s up, meatballs! Dash of chocolate syrup… Some leftover mashed potatoes… Three frozen onion rings
Million Things To Do? Prioritize by ROI. (And Then Get a Life.)
So if you’re anything like me (which obviously you are or else you wouldn’t be reading this blog and/or wishing for those last 10 pounds to magically fall off), you’ve constantly got a never-ending stream of STUFF TO DO. When you run a business, that never-ending stream in size, and you begin to feel like everybody in the whole wide world needs something from you at all times of day, at all times of the month (especially *that* time of
How to Say No To Your Clients Without Being a Bitch
I want to talk about managing clients today, because everybody seems to have a /hate relationship with theirs, and my theory is that the hate part comes from one of two sources: Tightwads. (Don’t work with them.) Not knowing how to tell them to BACK OFF, HOMIE. Begin a slow clap if you’ve experienced this popular scenario: Client pays you. Client feels entitled to your soul. Whether they’re being stage-five-clinger needy, asking for ( & ), showing up in your inbox like a bad
Hurling Macbooks, Clubbing Pet Hamsters & Other Sunday Pleasantries
I used to tell my mom everything—from my (entirely uneventful) thoughts on men, to my idealistic views on the world (ignorant conservatives should have their bibles switched out for a Spanish-only edition as punishment for being cruel to immigrants), to the many “what do I do?!” moments one has while attempting to be an adult. Or…something. Then, of course, she had to go and die, which meant a lot of things, but also this: My friends were doomed. I have
WANTED: Your Jerkiest, Most Unprofessional, Inappropriate Business Emails. (You Can Keep The Sender.)
You ever get an e that just pisses you off? All you’re trying to do is go about your day, maybe fire off a few invoices, maybe do a little creative work, maybe try to avoid having a mid-day myocardial infarction. And then it arrives. You can’t tell if it’s an e or maybe somebody laid their elbow on the wing ding button. You scan it and see a wall of exclamation points, capital letters, and percent signs and asterisks
You Can Always Make More Money, But You Can Never Make More Principle.
I can’t help but wonder if the man seated in 22D has witnessed me biting my lip over and over and over and over again for the past 4 hours. There’s a cycle, you know. Bite, peel, move left. Bite, peel, move left. Bite, peel, command myself to stop. And then bite again. He must think I’m one of those people who gets anxious when they fly. I laugh at the thought. Somehow, being torpedoed through thin air in a
I Believe in Stomach Ulcers The Way Most People Believe in God
I believe in stomach ulcers the way most people believe in God. I can’t see them, nor do I have proof they’ve ever existed in my body, but somehow, I BELIEVE THEY MUST BE THERE. I mean, how could you do the kind of things we do and not have some sort of evil acid eating away at your small intestine? You know the kinds of things I’m talking about: Forcing ourselves to answer every e in every inbox before we
When You’re Having Buckets of Sh*t Dumped On You Left & Right
Once upon a time, you were young and inspired, and you knew things about the world. Things like peanut butter tastes better without jelly (fact), the height of a girl’s ponytail likely matches her socio-economic class, and best friends forever means forever, because anything that’s engraved into a half heart necklace is a SERIOUS COMMITMENT. And then? It all hit the fan. You discovered peanut butter no one will take you seriously wearing a ponytail, and stainless steel half-hearts give
36 Signs You’re an Internet Dick
1. You buy stuff on and then automatically file a chargeback with your credit card company. The internet is onto you, Kim Chow. 2. You play coy with the customer service rep you’re live chatting with. “Well I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me *your* e address?” 3. You send professional es in all caps—and even throw in some, “!!!#%@%@” for good measure. Surely I’ll be taking you seriously now. 4. You buy an on course and use it to barter with people for
Dear Friends: I Work From Home. (And Yes, It’s a Real Job.)
Dear Friends, I work from home. You know this, because you regularly: Ask me to get Little Billy off the bus. (Little Billy needs some god damn Ritalin.) Exclaim, “must be nice!” at least once a week. Roll your eyes when I tell you I’m tired. (How dare I have the right to be tired when all I do is stay home and watch TV and nap?) Ask me over and over what I do for a living, because you’re either never
Just The Tip: What To Do When You Hire Them And…They Suck.
So you started a business and before you knew it you were regularly lip syncing to Gaga while kicking ass, taking orders, AND taking names—which, for the record, I hear is a mafia term. Isn’t that ightful? Suddenly, you found yourself with an extra $5 and immediately shouted to no one in particular, “I’m going to reinvest in my business!” before promptly hiring a charming cadre of web designers, copywriters, app developers, business coaches, and anyone else you could think of to