Another 28 Days, or, please forgive me.

Ever since I started the Get Clients Now system, I've been spending less and less time blogging and more and more time movin' and shakin'. The last month has whipped past me like a billboard on a Montana highway. (you know, 'cus they have no speed limit)

For this I sincerely apologize to you, my dear six readers, 10 lurkers and one stalker.

Let me explain. This magical system revolves around the concept that one can do anything for 28 days. Much like detox, I set out to see if it really works. Unlike detox, it actually does. The good news is that I've nearly doubled my number of clients in the past 28 days. A troubling side effect is less time to spend with you, dear readers, lurkers and stalker.

To be honest, there are days when there is nothing to report from Daphne HQ. Nothing. Not a peep. Then there are days like today. Today I signed two new clients and I want to sing it to the world! But I can't sing. A failed attempt to karaoke Cindy Lauper's Girls Just Want to Have Fun in grade school was proof positive my talents lie in the written word.

No matter. On to another 28 days! This time I'm getting a little more gutsy. I'm talking speakin' engagements... gettin' published... hittin' the big time. Denver's a hard town to get noticed in, so this isn't going to be easy. But it just might be fun.

Writing Friday: Road Trip

A lil' poem for Writing Friday. Give a try, people. It's fun and waterproof up to 100 meters.

Highway Two Eighty Five
Flying down highway two eighty five
Pitch black is the night sky
No street lights
No traffic
No matter
Cars meet on their way to somewhere else
Blinding spotlights leading the way

Flying down highway two eighty five
Red lights greet the rear-view mirror
No excuses
No apologies
No matter
Orion watches over us on the way through South Park
An amiable lawman sends us on our way

Life on the Outside

In the old time prison movies, there's always a guy who's a lifer. He's been in Cell Block C for 30-nigh years and knows no other life. Usually he's named Buck, or Red or Lucky. He's got a pet roach, a private library and is a wiz at whittling. Then, suddenly, magically, the parole board springs him. He doesn't know how to survive on the outside. He stumbles, resists temptation, and, ultimately, goes back to prison.

I'm still trying to function in the outside world. It really is another world. Those of you who have made the leap know what I'm talking about. Gone are the donuts in the lunch room, meetings about meaningless things, turf wars and coffee cup carrying veeps. Gone are regular paychecks, the nine-to-five desks and gray fabric walls. In their place are morning walks with the wild beasts, customers that don't return phone calls, and mid-afternoon meltdowns.

Mid-afternoon meltdowns? Yes. Even an aspiring superhero has a hard time staying happy and perky every day. Sometimes she has a bad day. Like when a client turns down a big proposal, no one returns phone calls, or she realizes she has a long way to go building her skills. Some days she feels like such a loser, a fake, a fraud. Some days she just wants to drive to the grocery store, buy a cake, and eat it all by herself, alone, in her bed. Some days she actually does.

Then, like hangovers follow tequila shots, a bright light shines upon her. The next day she wakes up to new emails and phone calls, meetings and fresh compliments. Some days she gets emails like these:

"I have been hearing about you. Somebody was commenting that they need to hire you as a sales person because the people they had on staff were not nearly as tenacious as you were in getting an appointment."

And, poof!, that seems to make it all better. But damn, that cake was good.

taking a half-day (plus Writing Friday!)

Edited to add in my contribution to Writing Friday (2:53pm):
Writing Friday: Food

Diary of a Left Over

Day 1: Moved into my new space. Kind of big, but it leaves me room to grow.
Day 2: Met a great bunch of guys in the crisper. They seem to be quite popular.
Day 3: Jug head moved in. Keeps talking about how she’s the “most popular gal in here.” Gaa.
Day 6: Feeling a little weird. Seems like everyone has a social life but me.
Day 10: The bunch of guys I told you about are gone and have subleased their space to the pink ladies. I think I’ll ferment something and take it to them to say, ‘hi.’
Day 15: The gals are gone. They didn’t want to talk to me. Said something about smelling funny.
Day 17: A Chinese guy moved in next door. He sure can tell a joke!
Day 20: It’s amazing how quick you can fill up a space!
Day 25: Really need to get out more... wait, what’s that? Me? You want me to go somewhere with you?

-----------------

My dad, a small business owner and grumpy old man, always jokes about taking half days. He says things like, this Saturday I'll take a half day, you know, only work 12 hours. Har har. Now I understand the humor.

Today I signed up my third client with a realtor (cartwheel)! I also made an agreement to become the official public relations representative for my networking group. This means I'll be volunteering my PR expertise in exchange for free membership, beaucoup exposure on their website and publications, and instant credibility.

All the books, articles, advice out there says that you should pursue a career in what you would do for free. I firmly believe in my networking group; goodness knows, they have helped me in ways I can't repay. I am so excited for this part of my adventure. They have big plans and a great program. Their president is such a wonderful lady that I am honored to work with her to help them succeed.

On that note, I'm taking a half-day. Only 12 hours.

Debits, credits and ledgers, oh my!

Have I ever mentioned how math-tarded I am? I purposely avoided math, business, accounting, or any other related subject in school. I often snickered at the business students. I even thought economics was something to avoid. It's only years later that I've discovered that economics, macro and micro, are not just exciting, but really fun. I've always had a phobia, no, more like a mind-numbing, full melt-down of catastrophic terror, when it comes to math. And finances? Whoa... Are you trying to put me in a padded room?

When hubby became my CFO and VP of All Things Math, I thought, yippee! I don't have to know or think about this stuff! (cartwheel)

Don't flip too quickly, sista, because as soon as "we" bought and started using QuickBooks, hubby kept asking me questions. Questions like, where should we put this expense? How should we code this printing cost? How do we file our taxes? Good dog man, can't you see I'm creative!? I don't do "numbers."

Frustrated, we both decided to sign up for a QuickBooks class for entrepreneurs. Best 200 bones we've spent this year. Last night was our first class. I had this vision that we'd be sitting at computers, pretending to create the next Enron. Not so. I have to say that our instructor is gifted. Gif-Ted.

She explained things in a way that finally, finally, finally made sense to my OCD mind. Now I can't wait to create my P&L Statement for 2004. I'm itching to look at my Balance Sheet for January.

What was her magic? She equated accounting to organizing the garage. Oh ma ga. Now this is my specialty. She weaved a magical spell on us, first depicting a garage with tools and crap all over the floor. (shiver) Then she started talking about the best part... organizing it all into bins, with labels... and drawers, that are alphabetized! Oooooh! I'm getting goose-bumps just thinking about alphabetized drawers.

Now I understand why it's important and what each part means. Do I know how to balance a checkbook? Can I multiply 9x17 in my head? Do I have a career at the IRS? Nope. Nah-ah. Notsomuch. But there is hope for me yet. Our exciting homework is to organize our Chart of Accounts into numbered codes then into alphabetical order.

Why didn't anyone tell me that accounting had nothing to do with math?! Where was this memo?

People Helping People

(or yet another sign that I need to get out of the house more)

Remember how I said one of my 2005 goals was to help people? Oh, okay, I was a little more vague than that. You gunna hold me to it? Never mind the details...

I was watching the dog show last night and a commercial for the Billy Bag came on. What? Yes, I watch the dog shows. Please focus here, people! It reminded me of SAJ's downstairs neighbor with the punching bag. Wouldn't this make a lovely gift?

Billy Bag
Tone and sculpt your muscles while you burn fat and calories with Billy's revolutionary inflatable punching bag! With the Billy Bag, you'll add control and accuracy to every move, for a more effective workout.

The best part!? It's on the floor! At only $19.95, it's a must have for every punching bag neighbor.

On another note of people helping people... my stalker/friend JD sent me some of his yummy spices. Made 'em himself! We used the "original" in a marinade for a big honkin' piece of beef. Nice. Hubby asked if we needed to have poison control on the horn, just in case. He's funny that way. Sometimes we have an arguement on who is more OCD than the other, which is why we are so good together. (Think Monk with a Mrs. Monk.) Nonetheless, I survived to tell you about it. Them's yummy spices JD. Thanks a bunch.

One more! Oh! Oh! I volunteered to write a press release for my networking group, and, as a result, got a huge media contact list as a "thanks!" It's in a spreasheet, nicely organized into categories, just the way we like it. I secretly volunteered to write it because I am an overachiever/bi-polar/OCD and want my new group to be The. Best. Ever.

We all have our reasons. Mine is to get out of the house. I may be OCD, but I still like the sunshine.

Writing Friday

Support Katrina's Writing Friday.

Standing at the edge, it's easy to imagine what the view looked like 100 years ago. Before the people came. Before the non-indigenous trees took root. Before the freeways sprayed the skyline with exhaust.

Standing at the edge on a clear day, after the storm clouds clean the sky, your eyes travel the Divide from Pikes Peak to Mount Evans. You can see the tree tops kiss a wide blue heaven all the way across the city until they both give deference to the Rocky Mountains.

Standing at the edge, it's easy to remember your time here. Strolling through the gardens on the way to class. Debating with classmates the Meaning of Very Important Things. Waiting for your friends before a bar-b-que. Taking pictures with your mom on graduation day.

Standing at the edge, you can see the dormant garden, with its snaking water feature drained for the winter. Its hallow valleys sit silent, waiting for spring and the happy sound of water dancing its way toward Evans Chapel where you got married.

Standing on the edge of your past and the rest of your life. You can always visit this place, but you can never go back.

Tending towards loser status, get help soon

The sad thing is that I scored lower on the Nerd Scale. I'm just a Nerd Wanna Be. Hmm. I always thought of myself more of a Geek, actually. Thanks G for pointing this quiz out.

This was a hard week for me. I've always been a bit of an introvert, but I've realized through this adventure that I need to be around people. They inspire me to write snarky things about them. I had two "outside" events cancelled this week. The one lunch with a vendor was fine, but then the second cancelled, a networking group, that put me over the top. Today I have a lunch and a dinner with a client/friend. If these people cancel on me I'm taking my toys and going home.

I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I really want to get back into writing again. I used to write all the time. I was a journalism major, an editor, a copywriter. I'm not sure how or where, but now that Dave Barry has retired (or has he?), perhaps there's an open market for sarcastic commentary on the mundane and peculiar.

Just how do I get into the world of columnists? I hear it's a tight club. Then there's the fear that I carry around inside my belly... that I'm not good enough, I can't spell or write a complete sentence. My entire life I've received compliments on my writing ability. But sometimes, when I'm alone with a can of Young's Double Chocolate Stout, I think my professors and friends were blowing smoke up my arse this whole time.

How do I get back on that horse?

A day in the life of an aspiring superhero

A dear friend and client told me yesterday that I was her hero for leaving Cubeville for the land of the unknown. Hmm? Me? A hero? Nah. But I am working on it. If you're wondering what an aspiring superhero does all day, read on:

• 7:30 am: walk wild beasts, avoiding brown land mines left in the park. Note to self: we should have a neighborhood summit on this health hazard. I could organize it. We could have coffee cake and chai. There could be handouts. In color.
  
• 8:00 am: fire up Lucy (yes, I name my computers, doesn't everyone?), learn Apple has done it again with the mini Mac. Damn you Apple, I want.
• 8:01-10:00 am: make calls, read business publications (code word for blogs), email some contacts, create business forms & research RSS for website. Note: does anyone understand RSS? Can you make it happen for me without any more brain leakage?
• 10:30 am: get ready for lunch with vendor. Yippee! Pants that don't expand at the waist.
• 11:00 am: vendor calls to cancel, all hell has broken loose at their shop. Experience brief moment of volunteerism... I've got nothing else to do today.
• 11:01 am: moment passes
• 11:15 am: open fridge, look Young's Double Chocolate Stout in the eye and scream "you're not pulling me down with you!"
• 1:00 pm: assemble samples to send to potential client.
• 1:30 pm: send resume and writing sample to freelance gig found on craigslist.
• 1:45 pm: send estimate to my Sugar Daddy client for more work. I love you Sugar Daddy.
  
• 2:00 pm: open fridge, look Young's Double Chocolate Stout in the eye and plead "stop talking to me, pleeeease!"
• 2:01 pm: leave message with potential client.
• 2:02 pm: leave message with potential client.
• 2:03 pm: leave message with potential client.
• 2:04 pm: leave message with potential client.
• 2:05 pm: call restaurants near Park Meadows for networking group.*
• 3:00 pm: organize Rolodex. Question: do you file people under their company or last name?
• 4:00 pm: for the last time, open fridge, look Young's Double Chocolate Stout in the eye and say "aw hell, I work from home."
• 4:30 pm: read blogs, ponder if addiction has gotten this bad.

* I have gone and done something so deliciously evvvil... I volunteered to coordinate the startup of a new networking group near Park Meadows. Bwaaa-haaaa-bwaaa-haaaaa! Future board president, anyone? Oh, why sure, if you insist.

An Open Letter to Mike Shanahan

from the Wives Who Want Their Sundays Back (WWWTSB)

Dear Mr. Shanahan,

We had a deal.

Our deal was to provide cheering fans all day Sunday and in return we could do what we wanted without interruption. We find you in violation of this deal. Due to your losing season, we have found ourselves on any given Sunday having to entertain, or talk to, our grumpy husbands.

You see Mr. Shanahan, when the Broncos play well, and by this we mean "win," we have our Sundays to ourselves. Once they watch your game, they keep watching the other games on tv. When the Broncos play poorly, and by this we mean "lose," they turn off the tv midway through the third quarter, turn to us for entertainment, or worse, want to spend time with us.

Mr. Shanahan, the WWWTSB make plans on Sunday. We have things we like to do during those four to six hours of blissful distraction. Some of us shop, spend time with our friends, or organize our 1986 NHL All-Star trading cards. It's our choice. But now, they come looking for us, like a dog with a broken toy, whining for attention. This will not do.

You have some time, and by this we mean "the off season," to come up with a way to keep your part of the bargain. Some tough decisions will have to be made. Some cuts will have to happen. Perhaps someone should think about shaving. Should you fail one more season to keep your part of the deal, we will be forced to take action. And by this we mean "become Raiders fans."

Sincerely,

Helen P. McGookin
President, Wives Who Want Their Sundays Back
(not affiliated with Football Widows Who Want Their Sundays Back)

Tickle Me, Elmo, It's Here!

I'm a feedback giving kind of gal... I like going on company websites and giving kudos, suggestions, and ideas for improvement. It's my gift them and some poor monkey working in a marketing department somewhere. (Hey, look, Harriet, someone visits our website, and they like our new ad campaign!) Spreading joy to dour cubicles everywhere, that's me!

Where was I? Oh, yes, Sunday night, while enjoying a Ketel One Sour Apple Martini (yum), I went to the Ketel One site to give some feedback on a wonderful product. Wouldn't you know it, the very next day, a rather lovely woman emailed me thanking me for my comments. She offered to send a recipe booklet and, if that wasn't enough, a copy of their award-winning video!, Generations, the story of the 315-year old vodka makin' family. (Some free vodka would be nice, that stuff ain't cheap.) I appreciated the gesture and took her up on it.

What before my wondering eyes did appear today in my mailbox? That's right, the sweet video and receive booklet - just in time for my Friday liquor store run, I might add. I'm most intrigued by their method of customer relations. (note to self, figure out how you can copy that one)

In honor of Margarita Fridays, I give you the drink of the week:

The Ultimate Dutch Margarita, compliments of Ketel One vodka
1 1/2 oz Ketel One Citroen
2 oz margarita mix
1/4 oz Cointreau
1/2 oz fresh lime juice

Shake with ice in a cocktail shaker. Serve over ice in a rocks glass. Garnish with a lime wedge.

Have a wondrous weekend!

Sing with me now!

"Everybody hates me, nobody likes me, I'm gunna eat some worms!"

Did anyone else hear that as a child? I feel it's completely appropriate for my first week "at work." My dad used to tease me with it when I was a kid, whenever I'd start whining about something. He's mean like that. Actually, he's the best dad a sarcastic gal could hope for.

Yesterday was about 3 degrees outside, snowing, overcast, icky. My favorite kind of day, next to rainy spring days. I didn't leave the house all day. All day. No one called me back. No one. "...I'm gunna eat some worms..."

I went to Harbucks this morning just to get out of the house, be around humans, interact. Their whole milk was funky, which I found out after I poured it in my tea... but, being the customer service driven chain they are, they made me another "medium" and gave me fresh milk, no questions, no charge, no complaints. Nice.

Contrast that with my visit to a large craft store chain afterwards, and it's textbook example of "good" vs. "bad" customer service. I won't go into details, but the sign on the door that says, "we reserve the right to search any customer's person or belongings at any time" pretty much sums it up. We've got your warm fuzzies right here, lady!

Some days I feel like I have nothing to post... because how many times can I say: got up, walked the beasts, made calls, sent cards, read, blogged, worked on website, worked on mailer....? So exciting. I was much more interesting when I worked at Big Co. At least I had snarkable subjects nearby.

What do I have to snark on now? The weird lady in the park this morning, pacing back and forth, waiting for her dog to do its biz? The Indian neighbors (no, not Native American) who's house always smells like curry (at any time of day)? How 'bout the arsehole who walks his dog past our house, off leash, everyday at 9:30 am... the little rat dog runs up to our door freaking out my dogs every time, every time!?!

I gotta get out of the house more. Don't worry, I'm working on it. One of my goals is to be more creative, so I'm trying to find freelance writing gigs, maybe teach a class on PR or copywriting at CFU, and take a watercolor class. All challenging, but do-able.

Thought for the day:
Fear is that little darkroom where negatives are developed.
Michael Pritchard

Gettin' Down to Bid'nes

I've been networking for about a year now, but always under a cloak of secrecy. It almost felt wrong, somehow, to try networking while on the clock somewhere else.

I'd usually hit the afterhours events, rushing away from the office early. This was easy when the boss man was away, more obvious when he was there. From time to time I'd try a lunch meeting. These were tough but so worth it. Most of my good contacts came from the lunches. Alas, I'd have to scurry off afterward to get back to my cube. No time to talk, gotta run!

Scheduling meetings with prospective clients was comical. "Can you meet at 10 am on Tuesday?" they'd ask. Um, no. "Wednesday at 2?" No. "Thursday at 9:30?" Sorry, I have a full time job... They were usually understanding, but I could tell a bit perplexed.

But no more! Since becoming deliberately unemployed, I can go anywhere, do anything, talk to anyone, for as long and as much as I like. The problem is, I have no where to go this week, no one to talk to, and no one returning my calls.

One of my weekly action items is to go to a networking event. I'm not a "leads group" type of person, they freak me out in ways I can't describe. Someday I may get there. I try to pick events where I'll actually learn something, or even nuttier, form a friendship with the participants. People like to do business with people they know and trust. My networking skills have a looooong way to go, but so far I've gotten past the awkward opening line, the 30 second commercial and the "graceful exit."

What are some of the ways you independent ladies and gents get around? I'm curious.

Thought of the day: Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say and not giving a damn. ~ Gore Vidal

Jesus in Spanish

Can someone tell me why I am popular with the Jesus-loving and Spanish-speaking crowds? Is it because I am so inspiring? Daring? Adventurous? They wish to live vicariously through me?

Perhaps they landed on my blog by accident, quickly realized they would go to hades with me if they kept reading and ran off screaming all the way to church? Yeah, I think that's it.

I've added the nifty tracking thingy to the blog (that's my GenX techno knowledge right there for ya) and it's turned up quite the odd list of "referrers":

:: several blogs "en espanol"
:: more than a few Jesus loving types namely, "ilovejesus.blogspot.com"
:: a visitor or two from the UK and Canada
:: a guy in Nebraska

I'm not knocking any of my fine visitors, I welcome you all. Spread the word, Daphne's is a place of inclusion. **arms circling to hug everyone** If you can accept me for who I am, I promise to do the same with a small amount of sarcasm.

Thought for the day: It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it? ~ L. M. Montgomery (1874 - 1942), Anne of Green Gables, 1908

Drunken Housewives, Part II

or Why we need a digital camera, with a movie mode!

I know you're on the edge of your seats to read the end of this train wreck...

When we left off Sousy Lou Who, Red and Vixen, plus their Gay Husbands and Boring White Husband were dancing inappropriately with an inanimate object.

Fast forward to the ladies room. The pub has a small bathroom, two stalls, not too much room for a line. Sousy and Red go off to the ladies hand in hand. Vixen joins them a few minutes later. Your crack reporter had to visit at the same time. This is the conversation overheard while waiting:

Red: (shrill) YOU LEFSTH ME BY MYSHELF!
Sousy: (shriller) SHORRY! I HAD TO DANCH!
Red: (shrillerer) IM SHO GLAD WE HAVE A BABYSHITTER!
Sousy: (shrillererer) IM SHO GLAD WE DON HAV TO DRIVE!
Vixen: (shrillerest) LETSH DO THE JIG!

At which point they started their own version of the Lord of the Dance. In the 100 s.f. bathroom.

Sadly, because of zoning regulations, the pub had to close at midnight. At this time, Guitar Man started breaking down his equipment. Red and Sousy Lou Who stormed the stage to sing us a departing song.

Guitar Man tried to talk them down, but realized if left alone, they'd probably break his $1000s of equipment. So he gave in and let them sing. Mic back on, they started singing Pretty Woman for the third time. Off key. Drunk. Gay Husbands joined in to complete the experience. Sure enough, they had to get their groove on one last time.

The owner cranked up the lights, the universal cue of "get the hell out before I lose my liquor license." The Gaggle obviously didn't know this sign. Boring White Husband herded them out.

We spotted them getting into a sweet minivan. Boring White Husband in the driver's seat. Sousy Lou Who, Red and Vixen would be waking up the next day with strong reminders of NYE 2004/5.

Thought for the day: It is never too late to be what you might have been. ~ George Eliot (1819 - 1880)

Drunken Housewives, Part I

or, Why we really need a digital camera!

Oh ma ga. I forgot to tell you about NYE. Goodness. We went easy on the hooch, since we had a hockey game to go to the next day and didn't want to spend the early morning feeling like arse. But, there are three very special lassies in Aurora who didn't get the memo...

We headed to our favorite English-style pub since they are: 1) a non-smoking establishment, 2) close to home, 3) offering live acoustic music for NYE, 4) owned by real people, not a chain, 5) our favorite pub. Following me here?

Late in the evening, while I'm enjoying my third something-cherry-martini and hubby is nurturing his Carlsberg, in walks a gaggle of drunken idiots. Now, normally I wouldn't be so quick to judge, but they helped me arrive at this conclusion in mere minutes.

Guitar Man finishes his set and takes a break by the bar near the Gaggle. They start chatting him up, as drunk people do. We order another round. When he gets back up to start another set, declares the Gaggle has requested a song he never plays. He breaks into an acoustic rendition of Raspberry Beret. Yup. That Raspberry Beret.

At this point, the blond, who I'll call Sousy Lou Who, on account of the fact that she looks like a Who, gets up and starts, um, dancing? It's a frightening combination of the Elaine and a grand mal seizure. Somehow she pulls it off.

The red haired lass joins her. Red has much less rhythm than Sousy. But isn't she sweet to dance with her anyway? Two seemingly gay Italian men join them. A third woman, a plump dark haired vixen, gets her groove on as well. A third, nondescript white guy, presumably the DD, knows better and watches from the bar.

Did I mention that this pub has no dance floor? Non? Well, they couldn't let that detail stop them. Sometime between Raspberry Beret and a lovely cover of With Or Without You, Gay Husband #1 requests a song for "the ladies."

Guitar Man stars playing Pretty Woman. The Gaggle, including the white guy, start "dancing" and "singing" along. I put these words in quotes as singing normally sounds good, and one usually uses real words, follows along, keeps up with the beat... Gay Husband #2 thinks it's a fine idea to dirty dance with a nearby decorative suit of armor. Indeed.

Next time... Drunken Housewives, Part II, or Why we really need a digital camera, with a movie mode.

Thought for the day: You will never be completely ready. Start from wherever you are.

Another year over, a new one just begun...

Hope. Promise. Excitement. Change. The great unknown. As humans we all fear change, but deep down we crave it. Once a year we gather in taverns, homes, restaurants and the streets to celebrate the biggest change of all, a New Year.

This year I have so much hope. Not the misty-eyed hope of a child, but the steadfast, planned hope of growing my business to support my rather mundane habits: sleep and food.

So my goals are these:
* re-connect with my inner creative self, shaking free the corporate cube mindset
* make friends with change and experiment with attention
* shower my dogs and hubby with love
* give back to my friends and family who support me in this adventure
* pay it forward to the world in my own small way
* clean out the fridge once in a while

Vague? Yes.
Simple? Deceptively so.

Join me on this adventure, would you?