Wednesday, April 28, 2010

This Post Is About The Post

The Quinn family paper of record is the NY Post. Trashy, entertaining and somewhat accurate. I consider it a challenge to find the Where's Waldo of mistakes. They once listed the Declaration of Independence as being written in 1778. Close, but no cigar. I just read it for the gist.

Except for the horoscope. Sally Brompton has got a read on me like no other because the Taurus horoscope always resonates with what is going on in my life.

Take this one: "Is money really so important? Could you survive on less? These are the kind of questions you will be asking today, but deep down you know the answers. It's not about money, it's about passion -- and you've got plenty."

This was on the day that I was debating whether to roll with the freelance gig.

The day after I accepted the freelance gig, the Post told me this: "The facts may point you in one direction but your instincts are telling you a very different story. You know from long experience how painful it can be when you ignore your inner voice, so don't ignore it today."

Well, the freelance gig is accomplishing one thing, and one thing only: financial gain. I ignored my instinct and I am being proven right. Because it feels so wrong. I am no longer the good advertising client services soldier. I've seen the light.

But I am buoying myself with the notion that it is short-term. I've always been Machiavellian--the end justifies the means.

But I will fight to live my life as with the funemployment joie de vivre. Until I am free to be funemployed again. Stay tuned because the saga continues!

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Patience Patients

Absurdity is drawn to me like Courtney Love to a pharmacy. Take my experience with Dr. Jacques, the chiropractor.

Since I'm paying for COBRA (thank you Obama subsidy!) I figured I'd get some doctor's appointments out of the way. Neurologist for migraines that I've had since I was 3? Check. Physical therapist, Unfortunately yes. Acupuncture? Check. Dr. Jacques? Oh. My. God.

The net-net, my neurologist thinks some of my migraines are attributed to neck tightness and strain. Physical therapy was recommended but the therapist screwed up my neck. To fix chronic pain that I've had for a few months, I went to acupuncture and eventually ended up going to Dr. Jacques.

A mini French man with a yarmulke, Dr. Jacques immediately told me that I'm tense. Stressed. My chi is blocked. He told me to take 10 deep breaths a day. To meditate. To get a mini trampouline and jump on it for 4 minutes a day. In my apartment. Wait, what?

Then he twisted, stretched and adjusted me. He showed me an exercise which entails gripping a door threshold and stretching my chest through. But to illustrate it properly, he had to open his jacket exposing his chest hair?!? With stereotypical French flair, he did the exercise and proclaimed, "Voila." I wondered, French or hitting on me?

For 2 hours, I'm certain my face had a pained look of uncertainty. But I have to say, for 4 days I have had the least pain that I've had for quite a long time. A little patience, a lot of absurdity and chest hair could just be the recipe for success. Developing...

Monday, April 19, 2010


Ring! Ring! I look at my cell phone and I vaguely recognize the phone number. I usually never answer if it isn't from a friend, but I figured it may be my doctor's office confirming an appointment.

Nope. It's an HR person from an agency that I interviewed with last summer. And last fall. I basically interviewed with 12 people for 2 different positions and then heard nothing. Until now.

They want me to consider a freelance client services assignment while a woman is on maternity leave. It would be a 4-month assignment. 4 months of direct mail. 4 months of managing a team. 4 months of working with clients. 4 months of everything I thought that I'd left behind. And 4 months of really good money.

So, do I take the money and run?

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Serial Date Killer

In the spirit of having a more balanced life, I decided that I'm gonna be a serial dater. At least until I find the right guy. I never really thought it'd be more like a serial date killer.

Let's just say I've had more Carrie Bradshaw moments than I'd like. The south african jewish forty-something that said he didn't care that I was a shiksa because he was "spiritual." He didn't celebrate Passover. Until he slipped and told me about how he had the best Seder ever this year. And that he loved baseball but couldn't understand why a Yankee fan wouldn't find Fenway exciting. I explained that going to Fenway for me would be like fucking another woman's husband. Yet another date wrapped up with smiles.

Or the Canadian gentleman who is the inventor of a hat made of socks (no I'm not making this up. He even gifted me with one.) He is a mad texter, which is a fun distraction. Until he started s'exting me about encounters that he really enjoyed. Just not with me. Although he was really sure that it was me. Just own up to mistake, eh? Another one bites the dust.

Well, that's just the last 3 weeks. It's pretty representative of the past few years. So, if you have any fine gentlemen to set me up with, let me know! I swear I'll be on my best behavior, as long as he a) doesn't lie, b) understands that Yankee fans hate the BoSox and c) remembers who I am. Too much to ask?

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Saved by George Clooney

God, I love George Clooney. And thanks to him, I'm back in the right frame of mind.

It has been a tough week for a lot of reasons but this beggest of all is that I'm at a crossroads. Do I go back to the corporate world that makes me miserable or take a leap of faith and risk it all to go on my own? There are pros and cons to both. I've made my list. Ultimately, I want to enjoy life like I am now. I've been in the game long enough to know that I'll never have quality of life if I go back to my former world.

Feeling down and confused, I figured I'd get lost in a movie. Netflix sent me Up in The Air. At first I wasn't so sure that it was a good choice. But after about 15 minutes in, I found myself again.

When Gorgeous George fires people, he tells them that it's their shot to follow their passion. While he seems to think it's a line, I don't. This is my shot. If all else fails, I can always fall back on my old life. But I have the chance to be happy.

So, I'm going to empty my backpack of all it's baggage. And fill it with what counts: hope.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Stress Fracture

Time does heal all wounds. I had so many...Perhaps it is because my old job is 4th on the list of the 10 most stressfuljobs (per

Nope, I’m not a surgeon (#1) or a pilot (#2). Having someone’s life in your hands is understandably stressful. #3 is a photojournalist. Taking pictures in war zones with bullets flying by your head would get my adrenaline pumping.

So, what could #4 possibly be? Ambulance driver? Cop in aninner city? Fireman? Try again. It’s Advertising Account Executive. Now, I’ve risen in the ranks and am at a Director level but the point is the same. Burn and churn. Run as fast as you can. Work really late hours. Ad people generally look pale and have dark circles under their eyes. It is because they are utterly and completely stressed out for no reason. We’re not curing cancer. We’re not documenting war crimes. We’re selling you crap you don’t need on inhuman deadlines. And its only gotten worse since the economy has tanked.

Every new project felt like another 10 lb weight on my shoulders. I was a joyless ember on the verge of extinguishing.

So funemployment came at the right time. After taking careof myself and having some fun, I’m on my way back. I finally feel inspired. Not about working at an agency but about anything OTHER than working at an agency. I’m thinking about the next step. What I could do that would make me money but would allow me to have a life, some flexibility, time to live. Time to myself. Time to exercise. Time to do what I feel like I'm alive, not on a treadmill running back to back marathons. Even stress fractures heal. They just need time.