How To Un Fitch Yourself

Dear Mike Jeffries,

I miss PR and marketing. Especially crisis management, which is my favorite. (I am an adrenaline junkie with ADHD, it was perfect for me.) I’d like to help you fix this. Not because I like you or your brand – both of which are, if you ask me, pretty shitty – but because it’s a fun and easy puzzle. And because the thousands of people who work for you don’t deserve to lose their jobs just because you said some incredibly ridiculous and cruel shit. (Whether or not you actually think those things is irrelevant to the health of your brand right now.)  And because it’s a great case study for anyone doing brand management in any form.

With that said, here’s how to save your company, pronto:

The Kiss

March 23, 2013

I’m Not Creeping, But…

Dear insanely, oh-my-gawd-so-beautiful, man on the street corner in Seattle this morning, I wish I could tell you that it’s been a while since I was so dumb-struck by pure physical beauty as I was standing next to you, waiting for the light to change. Well, it’s not quite dumb-struck, I had a thousand things to say, most of which I could have condensed and gotten out in a few short seconds. But I am rule-struck. I know I’m not allowed to.

And that makes me sad.

Some Days Are Dark

Rain on Window by Flickr user ToastyKen

Some days are darker than others. And wet. Like when the light that usually shines from you, making everything seem possible is obscured with tears. You don’t know where they come from any more than where the sun is hiding or the rain came from. Just that it’s natural, and normal, and that on any other day you would make a fire and read by it, drinking tea. But on this day, you lay in bed crying, the storm as much from within, and as passionless as the endless drizzle. Dear god, just don’t let it last, let it be quickly passing.

Paleo Study Results

I tend to geek out on things. Probably because I’m a geek. I’ve been “mostly paleo-ish” for a while, with a very hardcore stint that was eye-opening. It was eye-opening because, although I really didn’t want to, I felt incredible. ( I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to believe that I shouldn’t be eating these things that I loved.) The extrication of grains, dairy, legumes and added sugar from my diet made intuitive sense, just not emotional sense.

I found enough “data-light” to feel good about it. But a doctor friend of mine, an MD, who is much more devoted paleo than I am, just sent me a link to this stat-dense paper looking at several longitudinal studies about the paleo diet. Paleolithic Nutrition – 25 Years Later by Melvin Konner PhD, MD & S. Boyd Eaton MD. (link: paleolithic-nutrition-25-years-later)  I’m sharing it, in case there are more data heads out there.

And in case it can talk you into getting rid of grains, dairy, legumes and added sugar. At least mostly.

I am not a doctor. I am not offering medical advice or opinions. I just know this is how I feel best. And that when I eat like this most of the time, I can treat myself, and not have it really fuck me up. Enjoy. Paleolithic Nutrition – 25 Years Later

Strong Sexy Sexuality

My dear friend, the amazingly talented photographer Tim Aguero, took some amazing photos of me last year, on my birthday. I was turning 42, and felt, really the sexiest I had ever felt in my life. I was truly single for the first time in ages – by choice, having decided to stop dating just for the sake of doing so, but rather wait for men who ignited me. (Though I had just started dating the man who I now know I will spend the rest of my life with, a relationship that worked because I refused to compromise.) I was strong as hell. I was comfortable in my body. I was clear about what I wanted out of life in all its facets. I felt truly fucking alive. And I called Tim and asked if he would be willing to photograph me as I see me.

So we talked about what that meant. And he listened. Really listened. He listened for the key words that then went on to inform the shoot, and probably explain why I love the photos so much. I said that I wanted them to be natural. I don’t wear make-up, generally, so I didn’t want to be made up. I didn’t want to be photo-shopped. If I have bags under my eyes, wrinkles, whatever, I want them in there so that I can see the beauty in me AS I AM. I wanted to be photographed as strong, because I take much pride in the things my body can do, and even in the fact that I value my body as much as I do.

Go Away With Your Bad Words

This is the best book I’ve read, since the last best book I read, and before the next best book I will read, eventually. With crappy books in between.

The fog outside is what a lazy writer would call a blanket. I’m not lazy, I just haven’t had enough coffee, and the blanket of fog is stopping the sun from coming in, so my pores don’t know it’s time to get up. 6 minutes past time, actually. We are on the second pot, from the coffee maker that is precisely 4 steps from his side of the bed. He is the kind of guy that makes coffee and brings it to me. We are both propped up in bed, reading, which is why, when we’re not in it, there are 14 pillows on our bed. And when we are in it, there are 10 pillows on the floor. Unless we’re reading. (Which, let’s be honest, as often as not means he’s reading and I’m fucking around on my computer.)

I put my book down and declare, as I often do, “I do not like this book. Not one bit.” And then I let out an exasperated, or more like deflated, sigh. The problem right now, however, is greater than usual, because I so ridiculously loved the last book that I read. 30 pages into it I was already dreading that it would come to an end. And that’s how I read. With the great passion of someone who loves to read so much that reading something I don’t love just tears me up, and I’d rather fuck around on the computer than risk tainting the high of a perfect book.

Sagging Beauty

I was just at Walgreens, picking up some sundries, which is never my favorite activity. I’ve been running around all day, and was still in the sweaty lycra that I had worn to CrossFit a few hours ago. It doesn’t hide much, at all, though it would never occur to me that I had much to hide. This thing that carries me around, with its arms and legs is just a body, we all have them. I am not blind to the fact, however, that it is a body that, for better or worse, society deems “hot.” It is, to me, just my body. I’ve had it for 43 years now. Done a lot of stuff with it. We go way back.

I Can Save At Least One Kid, Or Not…

Fall has arrived in Seattle in typical fashion. Overnight, it just happened. It’s cold outside, there are leaves on the ground, it looks like it might rain at any moment (and not stop for months.) So when I see a 3 year-old, standing on the street corner alone, in a t-shirt, it seems even more ominous than had it been a bright sunny day.

It was a major intersection in a sleepy residential area. I was about 4 cars back from the stop sign. Plenty of time to watch this child, shuffling a handful of cards of some sort, standing on the street corner, very much alone.  Cars take turns going through the intersection one at a time, and no one comes for the kid. No one is coming for this kid.  I pull through the intersection and park.

Save Your Buckyballs!

My oldest is sick, so, since I’m not getting much done today anyway, I feel the need to pen a quick defense of Buckyballs, maybe the world’s greatest toy for everybody who is ever bored, ever. They call themselves an “adult toy,” to make clear that it is not for children. I can’t use that term because I’m a sex-educator, so an “adult toy,” to me, is a sex toy. So let’s just say that Buckyballs, like most of the balls that I am fond of, are best suited for adult play. (Mmmmm, balls.)