Success Isn’t More Deserved When It’s Hard . . . BRAH

IN: Hard Stuff, Life, Success

Can we talk about the fact that today is February 2nd? How is it February the 2nd already? Am I eighty hundred years old yet? Because time seems not to be going my way. (Though a friend did recently compliment me on my skin, however that was only because she didn’t see my neck. Is this the decade in which we slowly descend upon a dysfunctional, passive-aggressive relationship with turtlenecks?) Speaking of time, you ever notice that when you’re away

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Lack of Sleep Turning You Into a Pissed Off 2-Year Old? I HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS.

IN: Creating, Hard Stuff, Lady Balls, Productivity, Success

  Get a load of this insider information: Did you know your brain actually needs SLEEP? I’m pretty sure that none of us are ACTUALLY SLEEPING, and you know who I blame this entirely on? Wine. Holy mother of dragons, discovery of the decade: If I have wine at night, I will not be able to sleep. And by “not be able to sleep,” what I mean to say is that I’ll be laying there in bed like a pissed

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So This One Time I Thought I Had Breast Cancer—And The Doctor Was a Huge D*ck

IN: Finding Your Voice, Hard Stuff, Lady Balls, Life

So today I placed my boobs into a giant, hospital-grade George Foreman grill and held my breath as the nurse to the X-ray. Let me tell you what, there is nothing quite like hoisting the flesh of your nipple onto a cold metal surface while a stranger watches. I mean, they’re definitely judging you. If not the size of your areolas, your dexterity. They’re there tapping their foot while you’re fuddling along with some necklace that never effing clasps when you want

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Personal Sovereignty + Giving Yourself Options + Who Needs a Vodka?

IN: Business 101, Creating, Hard Stuff, Success

So that happened this week. There’s a lot that could be said, and a lot I’ll refrain from saying, but I did want to send a courtesy note to say, first of all, that my new on business mentorship program is still moving forward—and starts tomorrow—and second, that holy moly, it’s about so much than your career. You know, I’d never thought too much about on business as something that could save the world—at least, not in much

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Self-Hatred, Low Self-Esteem & Firing Those Lying Pricks From Your Payroll

IN: Communication, Confidence, Hard Stuff, Success

  Alright, real talk: It’s 4:27am and there should be laws against writing at these hours. Is this what drunk driving feels like? Because I’m pretty sure my eyes are doing cartwheels and my brain is like, “What the ****?” and all the while my stomach is all, LISTEN LADY IF WE’RE DOING THIS I’M GONNA NEED SOME ASSISTANCE DOWN HERE. I mean, I normally wouldn’t mind dragging a bag of Doritos into bed with me at this hour (it’s

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Your Opinion About Yourself Doesn’t Matter

IN: Confidence, Creating, Hard Stuff

Real talk: I think you’re a liar. A very, very convenient liar. I can call you that because we’re all in the same club. Because the thing is, when you’re out there doing creative work, and new work, and work that has no manager, no support team, no pat on the back, there are days when you will wake up and be convinced that you’re a total fuck up; that you’re not any good; that you’re in over your head; that

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“Never Lose Your Sunny Disposition. It’ll Be the Most Important Asset You’ll Ever Have.”

IN: Confidence, Hard Stuff, Success

Her name began with an H. I brought the card down to the hotel lobby with a little swing in my pulse—not because I was nervous to give it to her, although in retrospect, maybe I was. I didn’t want it to seem like I was bribing her. (Or, you know, ASKING FOR SEX.) “My first Kate Spade!” she exclaimed, swinging the lid off the round pink and orange box with the same overflowing enthusiasm that had been the very

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If you’re terrified you’ll be judged online, then you need to slow down, have a vodka & read this immediately.

IN: Branding, Creating, Hard Stuff

  Ohhhhh, fucking shit. Those are kind of the words I want to say all the time, except if I did say them all the time, I’m pretty sure I’d start to get sick of them, like one does after eating tuna fish every day (not like I’d know anything about that) and that’s really my greatest fear, really: Lackluster profanities. I mean, talk about losing the will to live. And then there are other reasons, of course, like the

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You cannot be a sane person all the time. But you *do* get to choose where you spend your sanity.

IN: Hard Stuff, Humor, Success

You know what’s a real mind fuck? The whole “getting taken seriously” thing. Let’s be honest: How much do you just wish you could just hammer down some Doritos and blog about your mother-in-law? Or talk about the fact that, yes, you definitely swore under your breath at tourists last night, who, in their “Pura Vida Costa Rica!” childlike optimism, declared that the city-wide blackout—the one that happened RIGHT BEFORE YOU WERE ABOUT TO MAKE CHICKEN QUESADILLAS—was “charming.” Charming? Did

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“Ding, Ding, Ding! You Can Have Fun Now!” <—The Universe Is Never Going to Send You This Email, Yo

IN: Hard Stuff, Life, Success

I’m going to England tomorrow. By which I mean I’m stepping inside a long metal torpedo and sitting my fat ass down on some murky blue pleather for an exact distance of 5,429 miles across a cold, dreary ocean that always makes me wonder things I shouldn’t ever wonder. Like: Would I actually remain calm in case of THE BIG EVENT, like I think I would? Would I place my oxygen mask a top my bouncy little cheeks, knowing exactly

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Stop Peeing Apologies Down Your Leg: Instead of Saying “I’m Sorry,” Say “THANK YOU”

IN: Communication, Confidence, Hard Stuff, Just The Tip

I used to be a really nice person. I was the kind of person who would nod sweetly and enthusiastically, as if I had a permanent coating of cotton candy on my lips—even when I was seething inside. (Whether this made me nice or a moron is still up for debate.) I would never question anyone else’s opinions, assuming that if they thought it, that made it true; that they saw something I didn’t. I would never tell anyone “no,”

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We Desperately Need to Learn How to Be Mothers to Ourselves

IN: Creating, Hard Stuff, Life

New life rule: If your mother is dead, DO NOT GET ON FACEBOOK ON MOTHER’S DAY. Not that it’s not pleasant to see the resemblance between every friend I’ve ever made and the woman that birthed her (THOSE EYES! THEY LOOK LIKE SISTERS!), but when you don’t have anyone to celebrate, and you’re not a mother yourself, you can end up feeling like everyone is having Christmas without you. In other words: Where the f*ck are my banana pancakes? Which is

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The CEO might be her own boss, but she does not have to be her own bitch.

IN: Confidence, Creating, Hard Stuff

Being in business for yourself requires three things. A sense of discip. A sense of self. And a motherfucking tube of lipstick. When you run a business, NOTHING about your workday los like anybody else’s, and soon it follows that nothing about your life los very much like anybody else’s, either. Late nights. Unusual schedules. Working than everybody you know. Feast and famine. Elation and despair. Freedom on a Monday. Shackles on a Sunday. And your hilarious diet, which probably consists of

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The Key to Fooling Everyone Into Thinking You’re a Natural at Public Speaking (Bye Bye, Stiff & Stuttery!)

IN: Communication, Confidence, Hard Stuff

“How many pisco sours have you had?!?!?!” The words galloped out of my mouth when my best friend, M, asked me—the girl who spells god with a lowercase g and who has openly questioned the institution of marriage—to officiate her wedding. The first image that came to mind was me standing on an altar wearing a maroon-colored robe, flicking water onto their foreheads and cueing Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act. The fact that my fingers wanted to type “alter” instead

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There’s So Much Drama Around EVERYTHING.

IN: Hard Stuff, Success

There is so much drama. Around. Everything. I hear it everywhere. In es. In tweets. In friend’s secrets. In whispers across the internet. Should I launch this? But what about that? What if I fail? What if nobody buys? What if I wasted my time? What if my heart breaks in the process? Should I name my business something traditional or creative? But what if I hate it later? What if I decide to go in a different direction? Should

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On Getting Old, Having No Idea How to Make a Soufflé & Consciously Choosing to Do What You WANT.

IN: Hard Stuff, Life

It’s 2:42 in the morning and the reason I’m awake is called CHARDONNAY. People talk about getting old—buying crock pots, nonchalantly cutting your spouse’s armpit hairs, relating to The Golden Girls than The Gil Girls—but they do not prepare you for the one thing that will change your life even than tiny packets of GrillMates: Insommeliernia. Which is obviously an evil-adult-spelling-bee hybrid of “insomnia” and “sommelier,” which if I’m being honest I still really don’t know how to pronounce. (Note to

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Sometimes in Business, You Need to Do YOU.

IN: Hard Stuff, Selling, Success

The dead horse of the decade is the target customer. You’re asked to create personas. Put yourself in their shoes bras. Get inside their head. Imagine what’s keeping them up at 3 o’clock in the morning. (For the record, it’s that their ass is getting fat and they totally forgot to make coies for their kid’s bake sale.) So there you went, thinking about everything from the target customer’s perspective. What will they want? What will they think? What will

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Look, We’ve All Got Our Faults. *Stomps Cigar*

IN: Confidence, Hard Stuff, Success

Lo, we’ve all got our faults. I, for one, have a wrinkly ass neck. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know when it happened. But all the sudden there are s as deep as the Panama Canal cutting across my trachea. Fortunately, all the resveratrol I’ve consumed over the years seems to have spared my face…so far. Or, I don’t know, maybe I should be thanking Laura Mercier for that. Ever since I was twenty one, I’ve been

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Please, Don’t Get Hard (Even When Life Is)

IN: Hard Stuff, Life

So, I’m standing there at this bakery in Costa Rica, trying not to order the things one orders at a bakery, because if I order bakery-like things from this bakery, I might as well give my stomach pooch full on permission to never, ever fucking go away. And then what will become of me? Forget the fear of becoming a cat lady; I’m far terrified of becoming an angry, bitter old wench who could never stand to lo at

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Plan On Being Nervous, Brilliantly

IN: Hard Stuff, Success

Being nervous sucks. Your pulse races. Your brain blanks. Your hands shake like little assholes. You tell yourself to take deep breaths, but the minute you do, you then worry that the entire room can see the fact that your heart is, in fact, doing the electric slide up and down your rib cage. (God help your soul if you’re wearing Spanx.) We’ve all had these moments—we’re a nervous bunch, you know? (Yes, even the confident ones.) Whether it’s the

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An HR Handbook for Dealing With Assholes

IN: Hard Stuff

Here’s a pessimistic point of view: People are assholes. The older I get, the I seem to notice them—which is either because the time I’m alive the I increase my odds, or because that god damn Certain Dri deodorant is actually some kind of dick magnet. Or, you know, maybe it’s the internet. As a tool that’s given a population of people one big, fat pink slip to run around screaming, “Me! Me! Me!” all the live

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The 140 Character Email: An Experiment in Sanity

IN: Hard Stuff

You know the e. The one you’re dreading responding to—not because of what it says, but because the second you open it, all you see is lurching at your face as if the sender had taken the entire Sunday edition of The New York Times, reformatted it into one column, ed it off onto a roll of 1992 perforated computer paper, and then laughed as they lit it on fire and dropped it off at your digital doorstep—aka, your inbox—before

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Email Is a Disease (And Why My New Email Policy Is Going to Piss the World Off)

IN: Hard Stuff

The most dangerous threat you’ll ever face in business is yourself. You’ll be too nice when you should be firm. You’ll be too lax when you should be discipd. You’ll drink too much wine when you should drink water. *los around room innocently* Andddddd, not to bring it up (ay, fine, I’M BRINGING IT UP) you will answer every last e that does a cannonball into your inbox…when you should be answering to yourself. A few years ago when I

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When You’re Running Around Like a Frizzy-Haired, Obessive-Compulsive Psychopath

IN: Hard Stuff

Nobody gets between me and my business. Nobody. Not even that shit bottle of wine from the night before. It could be Saturday. It could be Easter morning. It could be raining REALLY BIG MUSCLY MEN for all I care, but one thing is certain: I will be the most discipd person in the room, and I will get it done. I’m like a military sergeant when it comes to execution. (Not that kind of execution.) I don’t tolerate excuses from

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To Have a Routine or Not to Have a Routine: That is the (Worst, Most Annoying, Head-Pounding) Business Question

IN: Confidence, Hard Stuff

At 5am, I write. Around 11am I go for a jog. I never eat the skin on a chicken. And on Sundays, after a morning fuck, I do my accounting. I used to think that habit & routine were for the birds. I used to think that doing certain things a certain way all the time was the equivalent of jail. I used to think that predictable was for boring people, and methodical for the scared. Scared of life. Scared

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When You’re Scrappy, You Don’t Give a Sh*t

IN: Confidence, Hard Stuff, Life

I like the term scrappy. I’ve always pictured some femme fatale bobbing and weaving and diving and  into any number of ways to get the one and only job done that she’s there to do: Win. It reminds me of my favorite Will Smith quote (oh, you don’t have a favorite Will Smith quote?) “The only thing that I see distinctly different about me is I’m not afraid to die on a treadmill. I will not be out worked, period. You might

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How to Make a Hard Decision (Without Convulsing, Crying or Going Crazy)

IN: Hard Stuff

A lot of disgusting things happen when you’re a human. (And I’m not talking about chin hairs, though they definitely qualify.) And some of those things will require you, at some point, to make some really hard decisions. The kind of decisions that feel impossible to make. The kind that drag race through your large intestine. The kind that cause you to reconsider your position on Xanax. (Right after you learned it was sneakily spelled with an X.) A lot

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