"Letter" Rip!

I have to admit it. One of my favorite parts about my career in public relations is: The Parties. More aptly, it is the act of responding to invitations that I enjoy with hearty look-forward-to-it-ness. I was out of the office for the larger portion of this week, and thus, had quite a few invites on my desk. Despite the pile of deadlines and looming unfinished business, I had a smile on my face because of the possibilities that awaited me. I finished all my deadlines, (well except for the press release – it is still awaiting edits)…and attacked the pile of invitations like a piece of candy just waiting to be unwrapped. Invitations are like crack for a publicist.

They come in all shapes and sizes, all heralding different events with new people, at interesting venues. Unfortunately, they are not always held different dates or times, and sometimes overlap with each other, which makes scheduling a bit hectic. However, the best part is imagining the coming weeks unfold with the paper itself. A bright colored large format glossy stock indicating an art opening; a purple, matted heavy stock with a fundraiser; a handwritten invitation sharing a private reception with the Mayor (my favorite of them all!) and a gorgeous post card whispering about a fine jewelry collection launch.

The best part is they want me there, little me, non-art expert, campaign supporter who may buy a bauble or two at Macy’s but not the maximum, premium pendants so elusive and exclusive. Me. Just me, and my new shoes, and crisp business cards, and bright smile… Now, all I have to figure out is what to wear, what to do, how to fit it all in to the SCHEDGGGE... Back to work people. The pressure is on again.

Awaiting the wire

I am waiting to post the latest press release to the wire at midnight after a long day at the office. Stressing over commas and other punctuation marks in the middle of the night makes a once sensible gal wonder. What has happened to me and why cannot I go to the gardens in Napa and learn to plant tomatoes by the moon? For it is late, the moon is full and there must be something else than electonic transmissions to look forward to in this life?. Immediately. I am venting, I understand that, but blog be blog, this is my venue, and I shall vent...and...wait for businesswire to call me back with edits. Welcome to the glamour of the PR world. Don't be too jealous. Send resumes with ease and realization of what is in store for you, my friends.

e-etiquette

Gentlemen (more aptly, boys):

Call me an etiquette expert with voracious verbosity, a sassy spell checker with an A-type AP aptitude. A grammatical gal. But call me, DO NOT resort to email, when you get back together with your ex-girlfriend and must cancel our plans in the pursuit of undying love. Especially, when you deliver such news to my work email. I am an executive after all, and that behavior is simply lacking e-etiquette - even if we met online.

After shaking off such shocking methods of disappointing digitalized dribble, I stumbled upon another un-potential in my match.com box headlined "Hot Date?" The message from this e-suitor lacked etiquette in more ways than one. Inside the message said "You interested?"

I replied in kind. "Nah, thanks tho." Thanks for playing. (Player). I am taking myself on the road this weekend to relax poolside of my soon to be client and staying at the adjoining romantic inn, in wine country. Alone.

I am going to date myself for a while, so the dance card is full and frankly, that suits me just fine, suitors or not. I've got a new bikini and I'm gonna wear it. Paparazzi, please, do yourself a favor and catch it before the seven course, wine paired-meal I will consume with guilt free gusto.

Happy labor day, laborious ones! Four days off and a good book is all PR gal needs...and a long massage, mani-pedi, great new pair of shoes to show off sparkly toes and highlights. I have six events next week, and need to prepare mind, body, soul, spirit, self, hair, shoes, outfits...watch out September!

PR Gal Seeks Love Between Meetings

Recent developments in technology have succeeded in making dating even more complicated than in the days before Match.com went live.

The act of winking is now a form of electronic foreplay. The site suggests that it helps people find love with a just a click of their mouse. And, if it fails to deliver that special someone into your inbox within six months, you will receive a full refund from the monthly fee you’ve thrown into cyberspace. What’s not to lose?

Even so, it took at least two months of prompts, in real form, from my best friend who had found such e-love with a real man, and a few real-life dating disasters to convince me this may be worthwhile betweeen phone calls and press release drafts.

The experience of entering into the virtual world to find a real life partner turned out to be more complex that trying to do my taxes online. And, I am terrible at math. First, I entered into the “uploading” process, which entailed selecting the least scary photo of myself, digitalizing it, adding it to a photo CD, and downloading it to the computer. Already I was exhausted, and it was only the beginning, but I was promised by the pop-ups that it was all going to be okay. So, I proceeded. After all, this is dating, and nobody, not even Match.com said it was going to be easy.

Then, I began entering a series of checkmarks into boxes about whether I was seeking a man “Between 5.2 and 5.8” or “Between 5.9 and 6.11”. That was an easy one at least. If nothing else, this step was a good indicator of how well I knew my own preferences. It made me question some of them, and fearlessly move forward with the more obvious choices. Then, a game of choice roulette surrounded entering my words such as Protestant and Vegetarian as they immediately promised minimize my electronic dating pool. Certain boxes took special consideration about what my future e-partner may find offensive or intriguing.

Finally, I made it to the 150 word “About Me” introductory note where match.com-ers are invited to provide a brief description of themselves. The empty, white box, and blinging line demanded that I write something witty yet meaningful to appeal to my virtual boyfriend. It is no wonder that many people start this particular diatribe with the words “Where do I start?”

Once everything is up and running, it is time to begin the “search”. I immediately ruled out all the “where do I start” people as I felt they should have done their homework enough to find out that at least 5,000 other profiles start with the same four words, and that in fact, it does not come across as humble or carefree as they wish.

Photos are another huge indicator of careful choices that should be made on this dating realm. It is incredible to see all the poorly selected pictures that have been altered, yet still include tell-tale strands of hair on the shoulder of virtual suitors from former real-life girlfriends. Photoshop may work wonders, but gentle e-men, beware of your left shoulders. We can still see your old girlfriend, and so can she, because she is on match.com too. Another word of advice: Invest in an actual photoshoot. Especially for those who think it is acceptable to take a photo of yourself at arms length, or even worse, in the mirror! It makes your chin look large and reminds one of a porno shoot, which I hope, is not the message that you are sending.

After being on match for at least 24 hours, the fun really began. I received e-mails and a few "winks". My favorite responses were somewhat far and few between, as I provided explicit and easy to follow directions in my profile that I felt were fairly to respond to with some form of clarity:

1) Say something funny and something true
2) Tell me your favorite meal and time of day, and
3) Tell me what about me gets your fingers moving across the keyboard

It is hardly the Mensa exam, but became the perfect test weed out those who either:

1) Have no attention span
2) Are only interested in the strategically selected photo of me in the red dress, or
3) Are rebellious and will prove to only drive me crazy in reality, and should stay in e-zone, a.k.a no-zone

Nonetheless, I received the following common responses from common e-men that were so poorly formed or formatted, they brought pause.

1) You seem like a straight shooter, who shoots straight from the hip
2) Hi! Would you like to meet for a drink sometime – I think we have a lot in common.
3) I have to say, not only are you extremely gorgeous but you seem to have a great heas on your shoulders. I love your no non-sense attitude. I think we would have a blast hanging out. I apologize ahead of time for my pictures being a little small . I have others in case you are wondering if I'm missing any teeth.
4) Hey sexxxy. Got wine?
5) I am actually bran new to match, this whole thing seems kind of hilarious to me, but I guess it can work. Checkout my profile, if you think we might be a match be in touch.

Has Clint Eastwood inspired this straight shooting terminology as appropriate dating lingo? Dare these people expand upon commonalities? Do they ever use the already installed spell check on the site? Do some realize that they sound like an axe murderer or have failed to benefit from a primary education? An orthodontist? How about “Shoobs” who emailed me the same exact note twice? I questioned the screen names. Was “LatinGuy68” the 68th Latin man on the planet? Or just the 68th on Match? Maybe I could ask “CubanCharisma” or “DreamguySF”. What did “Handmodel” do for a living? Should I even bother asking “Business_Class”?

And then, a note whatagreatguy.com* (not his real screen name, of course) appeared in my matchbox. A nice, thoughtful note followed, with references to my favorite city in the whole world, which is Rome, and fond memories of his studies there, where he also had the chance to:
1) Speak Italian, adding to his multi-language capacity which also included French and Spanish
2) Travel to interesting places in Europe, including art galleries
3) Learn to cook with the Italian housekeeper at his work creating wire cages for champagne bottles

Too good to be true? I clicked on the picture to find out. His virtual self squinted back, behind thick, black eyeglasses held together with a piece of white tape on the nosepiece. A nanosecond of shocked disbelief later, I burst into laughter after the telling grin, brown tie and red suspenders completed what was an obvious costume, and provided a gleeful parody on first e-impressions. Wavy, dark locks, and additional photos showing e-guy cooking, camping, and reading completed this perfectly selected photo montage.

I was immediately in e-infatuation, reading through his profile and all he had to say. From his appreciation of dining to laughter and dancing, and search for the dichotic marathoner/couch potato who could laugh at herself and him, he came across as well-rounded, intelligent, and certainly worth emailing back. I was about to lose my e-virginity.

Before whatagreatguy.com, I realized that my e-dating strategy closely mirrored my real life habits. Rarely did I conduct my own cyberspace searches, using eye color and income as indicators of potential real-life suitors. Rather, I calmly received abundant winks and emails, secretly reveling in the kind comments, deleting the misspellings, and choosing not to respond to any of them, all in the guise of research. Match.com provided an immediate pick-up in the mornings before work, or an e-pick-up at that. I would log in as my coffee brewed, read the sentimental soliloquies or clumsy one-liners, and smile or raise an eyebrow emphatically, before leaving the computer with an additional e-energy in my step. After 2,000 views and 100 winks, I have to admit, I was garnering quite an e-ego, and the monthly fee was definitely paying off.

In real life, kind gestures, nods on the bus, and open doors to the salad store felt even more meaningful. Eye contact with a complete stranger was a gift when compared to mesmerized stares from the computer. However, this was my chance to break free of my responding ways, and be choosy in an endlessly option filled e-universe.

I did not delay in my response to whatagreatguy.com, nor brood for too long over the verbiage included in the e-mail. When I did return to reflect on the overly excited post two days later after no word from whatagreatguy.com, I questioned this strategy. But, he had been “active” on the site within the last 24 hours. And, he had not written to me. I found this function to be a helpful indicator that maybe he was just not that into me.

The next day, four new messages awaited me in my inbox. One was from whatagreatguy.com. I was e-lated. Half of the message was in perfect Italian, and I was forced to translate it on babelfish.com, because I had lost much of what I had learned during my year abroad in Italy. I found out that he now lived outside of the city, owned his own home and still maintained his friends from high school. I wrote back again.

We took our e-affair to the real Internet soon after, transcending the divide and using our real names on our personal email accounts, which broke down the barrier and immediately resulted in a simultaneous googling session, to unearth any real life information or proof of obvious insanity that may appear in articles, photos, or criminal records. We did meet on the Internet after all. It was much like meeting someone at the Dollar Store, and feeling the immediate need to explain that the items in your hands are for your little cousin’s birthday party, and then kicking yourself for being such a cheap-o cousin.

Our now, more relaxed banter peppered phone numbers into this mix, and after a series of trepidations voicemails were exchanged that both of us screened, we finally had an honest to goodness phone conversation, live. Then two more. Lasting more than thirty minutes each. I liked the sound of his voice, and his stories, and he liked mine so much, he invited me on a drinks date the following Sunday.

Seeing him in person was a welcome surprise. He was in fact real. He had teeth. He seemed happy to see me too. Perfectly poised on the couch of the jazzy restaurant with live music in the background, definite attraction and easy conversation led us to the dance floor. And, he really could dance. I felt comfortably connected to my e-stranger turned human. He was not an axe murderer, he was not fifty and he was fun. We returned to my apartment and he gave me a quick, casual kiss before his departure. It didn’t feel like the first kiss. It was much more natural than that. I didn’t expect it. It was like we were starting from the middle of the book.

The same grin and quiet familiarity greeted me again in the weeks that followed. He invited me to his home in the country. It was nestled in a quaint neighborhood with nice neighbors who waved at him, who knew his name. With big roses in multiple colors spilling over the path. He made me dinner and we sat in his garden watching the flowers dim with the fading light. We danced in the living room and did the dishes in the morning. I considered taking my profile down, but I didn’t want him to think I was falling for him. His profile was still up after all, and I would log in to find him “Active in the past 24 hours”. He was still considering all the e-possibilities. I needed to do the same, for the potential that this would not work out. The double life continued.

Then he told me he was leaving for Africa. I sure know how to pick ‘em. He would be gone for two and a half weeks. I gave him a journal with an inspirational quote about climbing mountains and said goodbye. I went on a business trip and thought of him. I checked his profile. “Active over a week ago” “Active in over two weeks”. Around week three, it was time for his return. I did the math again and again, considering the possibilities of his return on a Wednesday or a Sunday. By Monday, I knew he should be back by now. Yet, he had not called.

I jumped online briefly before leaving the Las Vegas enroute to Los Angeles during my site visits for my gourmet clients. “Online Now” flashed across the screen for mygreatguy.com. A lightning bolt shot through my heart. How could he be searching match.com before contacting me? How could this be? He had not called, yet had time enough to e-seek. Hurt was immediately joined by a sinking feeling.
Why was he searching?
Had he found someone new?
Should I?
In the world of endless options...why not?

Dining Alone in Yountville

My ultra-luxe working weekend began with a drive in my convertible in the most perfect weather and ended the same way. Save the fact I was alone at the most romantic place in the United States, and had been verbally attacked by a crazed woman at Bouchon, it was pure perfection. I arrived to a room infused by jazz music and the most wonderful little chocolate cake placed in a crystal cheese dome – oh so Alice in Wonderland.

A Typical Day at the Office

It is a typical day, and there I pose; my formally detached posture pushing up, up, up against the entire 42-story building, balancing it as lightly as possible on the tips of my shoulders. Bound by the international reputation of the company and itchy nylons within closed-toed shoes. A photographer has just arrived from Germany to capture portraits of the most photogenic edible selections from our fresh, light Northern California cuisine, while the manager places floral centerpieces on tables set for an engagement party that a Gourmet Magazine executive is throwing in exactly 20 minutes.

I capture fan-like glimpses of Gwyneth Paltrow sauntering through the lobby with famed baby Apple in her hands, simultaneously trying desperately to focus on the conversation I am having with a prominent New York Times reporter who has finally decided to write about the hotel. All the while, in the back of my mind, I am playing out the scenario for my death, which I am sure my chef is plotting as she runs back and forth with artful dishes for the photographer to capture on film. Strands of hair arguing with themselves beneath her white hat, she glares halfway across the room, as I seemingly enjoy the $24 dollar glass of wine in front of me.

Perception is a funny thing. While it is an art to maintain a certain image of a brand or persona, the perception of others has the potential to be a powerfully destructive force. I have wanted to speak with this reporter from the New York Times for the past six months. However, at this very moment, nobody in the circus-like atmosphere surrounding me understands that I have excruciatingly good tickets to a Coldplay concert that is beginning in precisely 40 minutes, and that in-between feigning focus on the conversation at hand, all I can think about is the traffic I will face on the freeway during my frantic escape to the Shoreline Amphitheater.

Escape is the last option right now, as our editorial conversation is immediately interrupted by the abrupt appearance of the city’s top gallerist and his guest. I now am springing to welcome and must immediately settle them in front of the piano, quelling confusion with a quick cocktail offer. You see, that is what the PR maven does. While introducing them to the server with a wink and “please take good care of these special people,” I quietly smile with the realization that the suit I am wearing will soon be replaced with a pair of jeans and t-shirt, my tired toes free to enjoy the starry night on the peninsula so very far away from here, surrounded by bright lights, the roar of the crowd, and Gwyneth's crooning husband, singing to me.

Getting Started

As a pr gal in San Francisco, I am constantly telling other people's stories. It is a fascinating job mostly, and I am very lucky to have incredible clients who have stories worth telling. Even so, I figured it was time to give myself a voice and hopefully design an intriguing web of blog posts to amuse and inspire. So, stick around and let me know what you think! Thanks for visiting.