Super busy day ahead of me here. After my short stint to Boston, I’m quite
tired, and have to develop a backbone to play catch-up. To let you all know how
it went… After getting up at 5:20 on Thursday morning, throwing everything in
a suitcase and hopping in Kelly’s car at 5:45, we were on our way. Two plane
rides later, we arrived in Springfield, Massacusetts and drove the hour and a
half to Boston. Dinner reservations were for 5:30 at Legal
Seafoods–fabulous–had a seaweed salad that was divine. Then we walked to the
theatre where Van Morrison was supposed to go on at 7. The portly fellow left
something to be desired, but the theatre architecture was fascinating. If there
is anything I love about cities, it is the architecture. Anyway, the theatre had
been built in around the 1920′s, I guess, and not been touched since then. The
paint and plaster were peeling, the murals on the ceilings were faded from lack
up upkeep, the colors were bizarre, the place was trashed, and everything that
wasn’t ornate Adam-style plaster was white marble. It was incredible. Van got on
stage and proceeded to be every bit the jerk we heard he was. They told us at
the door that he was liable to walk off stage if we used any flash photography.
His band was fabulous, and they played for an hour and half, all the classics,
great sax and jazz sound. Rocked. Friday morning we took a duck tour (you know,
those car/truck things that are boats, too?) that was hysterical–our 300 pound
tour guide was dressed as a viking in a SHORT brown fur skirt. He was great,
though. We went shopping after that–I got to go into a Kate Spade store for the
first time, and fell into heaven. I splurged on a new purse, and a set of three
books written by Kate Spade for a coffee table I don’t own. We walked all over
the place, and finally headed back to the hotel to freshen up, then grabbed a
cab down to the Italian district. If there is anything I love about big cities,
it’s the Italian districts. Cram-packed with restaurants, bakeries, wine stores,
and little grocers, it’s unlike any place in the world. We walked until we got
to a restaurant called Limoncella’s, where I ordered plain spaghetti, and for
dessert we sipped a sweet/sour drink called Limoncella. It was some stout stuff.
Before we left the district, we stopped at Mike’s Pastries, which was packed
corner to corner, shoulder to shoulder. By the time I finally got to the front
of the “line”, I couldn’t see all the goodies in the cases, so I just told the
girl to give me “three of all small things”, for which Kelly will never let me
down. $60 worth of pastries later, we caught a cab and drove to the Prudential
building, went to the top floor and had drinks. Saturday morning we got up and
walked through Boston common, went to Cheers and purchased the obligatory shot
glasses, and then drove back to Springfield through North Hampton, which had
some cute little shops we stopped and prowled through. Dinner that night was at
a local little restaurant called Sonoma, and then to the baseball hall of fame
bar for drinks, and then crash. [deep breath] On another note entirely, I had
this fabulous dream last night that I found a hidden staircase in my weasley
little bathroom that led to an amazing attic filled with all sorts of incredible
furniture and antiques that were left there when the lady moved.

Where do you start when you don’t know what you want to finish? I’ve been
running around CRAZY since 8:30 this morning. Checked the fax machine, no
orders, which I can live with, since there are 6 boxes here I’ve still got to
finish before 5:30 tomorrow morning. I managed to design and burn onto CD all
the graphics necessary to complete projects before I leave, and drop them off at
all their appropriate printing locations. I ordered all the paper, envelopes,
and office supplies to keep Lindsey going when she gets here to help on Friday.
Still on the to-do list is drop off one last calligraphied invite, email Linds
her to-do list, call Brandi, mail printed samples, credit two credit cards for
small returns, pay the bills for my house, which I swear must be six weeks
overdue, finish my laudry, plan a wardrobe for Boston, order the materials to
make my booth for NY, crop pictures for Jody, who is showing up in 45 minutes,
take Aimee a catalog to pick a scrapbook from, place her order, and drop off
some final info at my parents. I think the problem with this to do list is that
it just flat out involves too many people.

as I lunch…I reflect, thanks to Dave Ray, who asked us to remember. Last
night, I dropped off some stuff at my bookkeeper’s and found myself engrossed in
a conversation with her husband, Kenny, blog owner of The Syndicate. We talked
politics and blogs, mostly, a little business. He told me a story about a local
softball player–friend of a friend type thing–who off-handedly mentioned he
read this blog called AshlyBrooke. It kinda reminds me the first time Ash and I
were at the WD and ran into Kevin and Ragan. I remember nudging her and going,
“Hey, those are the guys with the websites.” It’s like I was starstruck simply
because I’d found them online and pointed them out in a bar. But it all leads me
to believe that this world is really a way smaller world than it leads on
sometimes.

I’ve decided that the only way to stay sane is to not work on the weekends.
Friday nights at 7, I leave this office, not to return again until Monday
morning. I can’t deal with all these people, all this stuff, unless I do. This
weekend was therefore, FABULOUS. I had a garage sale and got sunburned on
Saturday, but it was good laughs with great friends and I can’t think of a
better reason to be sunburned. Funny, I just called Irma’s Burger Shack and all
their electricity is out so they can’t make my Bacon Cheeseburger and their
ohsofphenomenal French fries I adore. Smack. That sucks.

I know this can’t be good. The crazy rep called again today, this time bitching
about territory. I explained that those difference should be settled by her, not
me. I’m not going to be responsible for dividing territories. I’m a small, pee
on company, not some huge higher paper power. She replied that I was solely
responsible, settle it immediately, goodbye. The thing about this woman is that
she literally strikes fear into the very core of my being. I’m a strong person,
and if anybody is doing any manipulating, it’s usually me. For me to feel so
strung out and controlled by her is surreal. It’s not me. I don’t know if I’m
stressed, or just over anxious, or both, but I’m afraid of her! I don’t want to
deal with all her questions, her insistance on what I should do with my line and
how I should do it, and most of all, her attitude. Her “I rule this part of the
country and if you don’t have me, you die.” I would normally say FO, but I’m
afraid she’d badmouth me all over the industry. She seems powerful, over me at
least, and therefore, everyone. But before you go commenting all your band-aid,
quick fix solutions, or smart alec remarks, understand that this is the first
time in my life I’ve ever felt so helpless and hateful towards another person.
Merely her threatening undertones are enough to undo me. I guess I could call
her and have a grade school apology session and say “I haven’t met you, but I
would like to say that your attitude over the phone is most offensive. I run a
small company, and while I would appreciate your suggestions, will not run it
according to your regulations. If you would like to make money on my line, feel
free to show it. Please remember that I have 49 other reps also telling me their
opinions and the energy I put into my day cannot solely be directed towards your
concerns. I will do my best to design a good line that sells easily, pay you on
time, and strive towards a positive relationship with all people. If you would
like to continue to work with me, I hope we can agree to these terms.” I can
almost imagine the silence on the other end of the phone. Most people aren’t
used to being confronted on their faults. It’s something that dies away as we
learn to deal with other people. Bullies, in my opinion, need to be called out.
The only way to keep them from being bullies is to play their game. And I think
that calling her out, although embarassing, might be the only way to play her
game. We’ll see what happens. If the phone calls and insanity continue,
guarantee I will say something. I have a very sensitive breaking point, and step
on me the wrong way and I swear snapage on all around me.

Today has just been flat out weird. Phone calls from whoknowswhere asking
whoknowshwhat. Just bizarre. Take my word for it. But it’s gorgeous outside. I
want to go sit in the breezeway outside the front of the office and pack boxes
and talk to all the crazy smokey hairdressers that supposedly work across the
plaza, but are outside smoking all day. Friendly folk. I had lunch with a friend
who’s kids I used to babysit for. She thinks her son, now 14, would be
interested in helping around the office this summer. That’s practically
ingeneous, since I could pay him fairly, but cheap, and he’s a really hard work.
And a funny kid, at that.

The crazy rep called at 7:30 last night and again at 9:30 this morning. This
morning I didn’t answer. Instead, she left a message and I had my mom call her
back. I’m not being a pansy, she’s just a terrible bully and I can’t squeeze a
word in edgewise. But bring on celebrity boxing, round one: Crazy Rep vs. My
Mom. Anyone who knows my mom knows you don’t screw around, pull one over her, or
get anything by her. By the time they got off the phone, I was quite sure there
would be no more crazy questions for awhile.