Is it Only Wednesday?

For real.  Is it only Wednesday?  I am about to gnaw my arm off just so I can flog myself unconscious with it.  Among other things, this week has brought some more mini-bloggables.  One involves PIC, one involves my bat-shit crazy boss.

A New Song

PIC has two dogs that I adore as my own.  I think they are my god-doggies.  These girls are always at our side, hanging with us on HGN and adding to the festive atmosphere.

One of the girls has, shall we say, a flatulence problem.  And by flatulence, I mean OMG, don’t breathe, I think it will melt your nose hair.

PIC says she’s not like that unless I’m there.  So….apparently I bring out the beast best in her.

One of the sweet dog’s more unruly toots knocked me stumbling backward in a fog, fanning wildly at my face.

Me: Oh…dear…oh… sweet baby Moses! What did she eat???

PIC: sung a la the tune I’m Sexy and I know It…… She’s brown and she’s stinky.

Me: fall in the floor braying like a donkey with laughter.

PIC: sweetly   Aw… I made you bray.

Note: PIC can indeed make me bray like a donkey.  People can make me wheez, but only my PIC makes me bray.


Grammar Nazi

There are a few skills I pride myself on.  Creative writing?  That’s one of them.  Writing about my hometown (where I have served as a town ambassador for a few years), that’s another.

I was given the assignment to write a pretty puff article on my city, inviting people here and dispelling a few rumors and stereotypes about my town.  This was to be sent via email to our list.

Knowing parameters on how much folks will actually READ in an email; knowing I can tease and lead to websites with TONS more info; knowing what the readers will actually give a crap about…. I wrote a masterpiece.  Seriously.  I’d post it so you could read it, but then I couldn’t stay anonymous.  And then my town would be over-wrought with tourists.  And then I would complain more because y’all can’t drive in our area.  Usually.  And then you’d move here and I couldn’t find a better job…… so I suppose you’ll just have to believe me when I say – my town is awesome, when I spin it as such.

My boss, bless her, thinks she is a writer.  Now, I am not here to debate MLA vs APA format.  I’m not here to talk about why in advertising you can get by with things that are improper grammar for the sake of the product.  Or why when you write creatively, well…. you get me right?  Also, not saying I write perfectly on this blog.  This is my outlet.  Best believe if this was for real and/or my name was attached, perfection WOULD ensue.

My boss is the self proclaimed “Grammar Nazi”.  I have news for her.  This title was taken by my PR teacher in school.  1/3 letter grade PER MISTAKE.  My first paper looked like I had slaughtered an entire gang of gangster squirrels.  I was valedictorian, I made a 4 on my AP exam….bloody red pens were NOT in my wheelhouse!!!  I didn’t take it well, but that’s another story…. If you made a C, you failed.  Once, I made a 99 on a paper.  It was a one page piece on a scandal involving aromatherapy (Why? I drew it out of a hat. She was twisted.)  I went over this piece, which incidentally had to be in 11 point Helvetica, single spaced with 1 inch margins all around, for almost 24 straight hours.   Anyway. I digress.  I got a 99 because, “All papers have mistakes.  Just because I can’t find one – I know it’s still there.”  BITCH.

So, when doing papers for the public forum, best be sure that I check it.  Multiple times. From every angle.  And I don’t ever use the font Helvetica. It causes PTSD.

I handed in the piece to my boss and she looked at it, glanced down and said, “OH no.  This is going to require work.”

Me: Oh my! What’s wrong?

Boss: All of it.  Go away and let me proof.  It’s what I do.

Me: seething Ok. That’s fine. (That means I’m about to shiv you.)

Three hours later, I get a covered in this-must-have-been-on-the-floor-during-the-prom-where-Carrie-was-dumped-pigs-blood-on- because-I-certainly-wasn’t-that-bad paper back from my way too smug boss.

I look at it.  Here are her issues:

  1. Wants me to add more fluff about crap that doesn’t matter OR pertain to the audience
  2. Wants me to use a lot of passive tense rather than present tense
  3. Wants me to allude that I personally know all the celebs in town so that we sound “credible” and “don’t you already know a couple anyway”
  4. Doesn’t believe one of my town’s actual claims to fame (I cited an article and she still doesn’t believe me.)
  5. Wants me to add “fun facts” that are neither fun, nor facts…. rather, just random shit she made up that is not corroborated.  “Hey, they won’t know.” FOR REALS.  She said that.

Me: I cannot, in good conscious, make these changes.

Boss: You better.  I KNOW what’s best for the business and audience.  THIS is what they will read.

Me: Well, at the very least, this is now three pages for an email.  That should be culled down.

Boss: No.  It’s THAT interesting now that I handled it.

Me: Um…. fine.  That’s fine. (where is my shiv???)

Boss: You’ll see.  I want stats on my desk end of day.

Me: Fine.

Now here’s the kicker y’all.  As of now, end of day, here are the stats:

  • 4,000 sent
  • 3,500 opens (because I write  kick ass title subject headers yo)
  • 2,000 new opt out requests.

This means my database is now cut in half because they think we send shitty fluff pieces.

Thankyouverymuch.  I quit.

Where’s my wine?



  1. The “brown and stinky” and braying – oh my gosh, I’m laughing so hard!!! You two are awesome! Enough said. 🙂
    And your boss sounds like an uber-moron… Gees, you do need wine and stat! Hope the rest of the week turns into a fab weekend for you!! And I’ll email you back, it’s been a crazy few weeks here… Hugs!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s