What can I say? I’m a lazy bitch. 4 pitches in 3 weeks and traveling can kill a girl. Tomorrow’s my last big pitch with a global bank - and then I’ll have my sense of humor back along with all kinds of juicy agency gossip. For example…why does one of my account managers need penicillin and mouthwash after her last trip to visit a client? I hope that whore at least got a good sale out of it.
I have an account manager who breaks out in hives when he has to talk budgets with his clients. He starts stammering and making excuses for why he can’t call the client. Forget it if something’s out of scope and we need a change order…that may as well be the end of the world. So we had to have a little Come To Jesus meeting this morning, explaining that we’re don’t operate on a pro bono basis around here. But after I put the financial smackdown on him, I made him feel like all my suggestions were his idea. He walked out of there like he had an epiphany. Sometimes, it’s like taking candy from a baby. Playlist for my frustrating morning with him below. Maybe I would have been nicer if I had gone to bed before 4am. Nah. Enjoy.
I’m on the phone with one of my colleagues who was traveling yesterday to a big client meeting in Denver. Her flight was delayed so she spent 4 hours an airport bar and then missed her next flight by 5 minutes.
Marissa: Hold on a sec. I have to talk to the gate attendant.
Me: Sure.
Marissa (to attendant): You are a fucking idiot! You didn’t even announce you were closing the doors!
Attendant: I’m sorry ma’am.
Marissa: What’s your last name? Who’s your supervisor?
Attendant: I’m sorry, we don’t give out our last names.
Marissa: I bet not because I would kill your entire genealogical line, you fuck.
I haven’t heard from her since. Airport security probably took her away and now we’re going to lose a 20 million dollar client. Oh well.
Well, I said I’d have a decision tonight. Guinness, Jameson back, Guinness, Jameson back. Ugh. Unfortunately was sober by midnight, when I was getting an unwanted lap dance by some pre-law student named Summer who insisted she knew me from her pilates class. Anyway, I’ve decided to keep it up - what the fuck all else do I have to do except make snarky remarks about the fake boob chick down the hall and our megalomaniac ecd (who I suspect has secret plans to poison one of my account managers - more on that later). Maybe I just need a new layout like Jetpacks suggested. And I mean layout in the loosest of terms. Back later today after I pass out for a couple of hours and wash the strip club grime off me. I feel so dirty! I feel so dirty!
I love blogging about advertising. I also love exploiting the idiosyncrasies and downright stupidity of my coworkers here at the agency. But I’m out of steam and considering giving up Agency Tart. Haven’t quite decided, but I’m sure after getting liquored up tonight, I’ll have made some kind of decision. Will keep you posted. Will also try not to drunk post, which is almost as bad as drunk texting.
This is a broadcast reel for Digital Kitchen’s 2007 work, but you can easily see this translated to the web. At least that’s what our agency is striving towards. Sofa king amazing. I’ve watched it twice already this morning.
Seriously. There’s not enough mile high action in my life. Invariably, I end up sitting next to someone who just got released from prison or rehab. One might assume I would go for someone like that, but ever since I got my chola tear removed I seem to be able to date men who’ve never lived in a halfway house. Creative by BBDO New York.
There’s so much going on here today - sites launching, SOWs due, coffee to drink, people to harass, that I’m not sure where to start. I’m always fascinated by other interactive agencies’ sites. Ours is so boring and corporate I want to throw up every time I see it. But this one for Deadline Advertising is so very nice - love the way they incorporated video. I can see why they have an impressive list of film/tv studios on their client list. Take a look.
You know when you drink excessively at an incredibly boring Sunday night party and then take a sleeping pill (or 2 - you have a big meeting in the morning!), you pass out in approximately 2.3 minutes but then wake up at 4 am with the mother of all headaches and a tongue that feels like a marmoset with your clothes still on and two mascara rings on your pillow? No? Me either.
There’s a girl in our shop who just got back from a client visit in Miami. She’s never traveled for work apparently because all she can do this morning is talk about taking her client out to dinner (probably to Red Lobster) and the hotel in which she stayed (the ultra-luxe Courtyard). Now I hear her down the hall telling everyone about the turbulent flight she had this morning. I don’t think it was turbulent. I think the person next to her probably made her uncomfortable by requesting a seat change because a) she told them her entire life story before take off and b) her extra voluptuous ass spilled over onto their seat while she explained, “I’m big boned.”
Like this site for the Swedish Armed Forces officer recruitment. Not sure who did the creative. It’s deceptively simple, but you can tell a lot went into the dev. Some v. nice papervision in there. And the sound design is fabulous - make sure you wear headphones or you’ll wonder what the hell I’m talking about. I took the test and the guy at the end said I’m below average. I’ll never be an officer in the Swedish Armed Forces. Dammit all to hell.
Single White Female, the AE from hell who’s completely delusional, is killing me.
SWF: It’s my birthday in 2 weeks, so can we go out for drinks tonight to celebrate?
Me: How many times are we going to have to do this before your actual birthday?
SWF: Four or five. {giggles like a 6 year old slow child}
Me: I have plans tonight. Going out with some friends to that new gastropub around the corner.
SWF: Ooooh. I want to come!
Me: No.
SWF: {says across the hall to my colleague} You know, I once thought my boss cared about me. Now it’s clear she’s just mean. I don’t think I want to be friends with her anymore.
Colleague: Were you friends to start with? How ’bout you grab me a donut from the break room?
SWF: {tears welling up} No one cares about meeeeee! It’s my birthdayyyyyyyy!
Time for me to find her a job in the media department where she’s far away. There she can wear her baby blue pashmina with matching sweater and pearls all she wants without making me vomit.
