Category: Online Marketing

Editor’s Note: Please do not throw eggs at my house for referencing so many vulgarities. I am allergic. So, I’m in JFK airport, having a massage before my 11 hour flight back to Chile. If you’re sitting there judging me for getting a massage in an airport, first of all, you can go fuck yourself. (Love you!) Second of all, you should know that airport massages are just as good as fancy schmancy spa massages–especially when performed by an Asian

I’m pretty sure that when Def Leppard wrote the lyrics to, “Love Bites,” he really meant to say “stress.” At least when you’re in love, you get all sorts of feel good chemical effects. When you’re stressed, all you get is a hearty dose of cortisol and an unsightly beer gut. Not cute. Unfortunately,as entrepreneurs and small business owners, stress sort of comes with the job description. Position available. Must be willing to work weekends and countless hours of overtime

Cut the fat. Give yourself the white space you need in order to grow. And… …pursue what you’re really here to pursue. Hint: It’s probably the one thing on your to-do list that doesn’t have any guidelines, instructions, paths to follow or tried and true ways of doing it. And that’s exactly why you’re procrastinating it.

So the other day there was a guy. Isn’t there always a guy? Anyway, the other day there was a guy, and I may or may not have been kissing said guy. Said guy is so attractive, that I’m almost nervous to be kissing him, because, as we all know, when you’re kissing really attractive people, you’re thinking to yourself: Enough tongue? Too much tongue? How can I spice this up? If I spice it up, he’ll think I’m a

So, I’ve got a proposition for you. Unfortunately, it does not involve fishnets, vodka, or smeared black eye makeup, and while we’re at it, I should mention it definitely doesn’t involve any of this bleepity bleep bleep bullshit either. Nor will it ever, unless, well…there’s pretty much no exceptions. Though I am rather fond of the idea of being called, “master,” or better yet, “mastress.” Which actually sounds a lot like mattress, so, nevermind. The proposition is as follows. Would

So, remember the last post, when I went on a lengthy spiel about fallen fathers and rainbow sprinkles and the reason why it’s madly, wildly essential to have a specific target audience in mind, so you can understand how to best market yourself (read: connect) to that target audience? (And experience all sorts of juicy outcomes, including mo’ money and mo’ glow?) Well in this post, we’re going to talk about figuring out who this so-called “target audience” of yours

When I was in 8th grade, my dad died of cancer. Growing up, he and I did everything together. My mom was always the nervous, worried one, but my dad? He was the strong, bold, carefree one. We were more pals than anything. Almost every night during the summertime, he’d take me up the road to Randall’s Ice Cream Ranch, where we’d order two medium twists, one plain, one with rainbow sprinkles. We’d then sit in our Jeep, methodically licking

If you haven’t noticed, or you were exiled to Mars, or held hostage by an army of Swedish monks, or hiding out in a love nest in Italy for the past couple of years (go team!), I talk about online business a lot. It’s what I do. It’s what lights me up inside. It’s how I’m making my big, splashy crimson mark on the world. But, I don’t do it all for the love of the game. I do it

I’m in an airport. Paris’ Orly airport, to be exact, and while I keep trying to write this post, I keep getting distracted by the giant baguette to my right – I can’t even finish a sentence without stopping to take a bite of this shit. It’s that good. A hoard of red-lipped French women look at me with disdain, probably calling me countless synonyms for the word “pig” in their heads, while I’m over here continually tempted to yank

So, I’m on a plane. I may or may not be drinking French wine from a miniature bottle that could really be bigger for seven dollars, but I mean, who’s really measuring? Don’t judge. I figure that between having never tried cigarettes, and having stuck up for the nerdy girl that one time in the 5th grade, I’ve earned it. I deserve this bottle of wine in all its little man syndrome glory. (I also propose that I deserve indulgent