How Metalina was removed from the "important blog list for women and editor considerations."

I'm mindful of how lucky I've been to have avoided receiving much in the way of negative email in the 3+ years I've been blogging. And truly, what I'm about to share with you isn't MEAN, so much as it is...hilarious? Tragic? You be the judge.

A few weeks ago, I received a PR email addressed to "Metalina," and telling -- not asking -- me to post some pictures from some fashion show. I promptly ignored it due to...well, basically every single word in the previous sentence. I then received a follow-up email a few days later, telling me they'd "really appreciate a response on this! Are you able to post?!"

So, I replied. I opened my email by addressing their request, pointing out that my name is not Metalina, and saying that I thought it was a bit ballsy to send those emails, but I then TRIED TO BE KIND OF HELPFUL, and give some guidance on the sender's tone/approach with pitch emails in the future:

For future reference -- and truly, I'm not saying this to be mean, I'm saying this so you can do your job better when you reach out to bloggers -- I'm going to give you some advice.  Get the person's name right. Do your research, and only approach people whose blogs actually comport with what you're looking for (and that is, in this case, free advertising). Realize that you're asking them for something, and as such, at least avoid sending follow-up emails saying that "you'd really appreciate a response." It doesn't come across well.


Good luck,


Metalia

I then got a response, which, I'm sorry, J and I have been QUOTING TO EACH OTHER, such is its hilarity. Here's an excerpt (and it's still pretty long) (and no, I have literally no idea why she is mentioning my "years of English."):

Metalia!

I have been deciding how to respond to your email below. I received it after doing a shoot with a celebrity...NO WHERE did we state that YOU NEEDED to post, use pictures, advertise...... simply all we were giving you was information, and I can not believe that you have the nerve to use "ballsy" in regards to follow up pitching.... Is that not what publicists do?? Don't they promote, brand, and help make others aware of content?? I mean publicists follow up with phone calls, desk sides, door visits, and you are annoyed that I simply reached out to you twice. Well... you are correct I do have balls, enough balls to take time out of my busy day to write this email to you to simply tell you that... I am one to take constructive criticism, and learn/ grow from experiences. But no way shape or form did I find your words of years of English helpful or even nice. I am sorry that you think that these amazing designer's fashion is not CONTENT in your regard, I am sorry for the typo of your name, and I am sorry that you had to assume that we had never been to your blog, but I am more sorry that I felt that you would have enjoyed the fun fashion that we wanted to provide you and your viewers.  


I will remove you from our important blog list for women and editor considerations...your email was OFFENSIVE!!!!

And...SCENE. If you'll excuse me, I must go mourn my removal from the important blog list for women. (OMFG.)

UPDATE

Yvonne is amazing for many, many reasons, but right now, reason #1 is this, which she made for me. The important blog list: let me show you it:

"Fruuuuuunkkkkkk," or: One of the many ways in which I am old.

Last Thursday night, I went out for after-work drinks with a friend. It's ridiculous that we haven't gotten together to do this sooner, considering that we live mere blocks away from each other, and our offices are literally across the street. Lately, though, I've been trying to be better about being more social, and making the effort to actually see friends, rather than just their status updates on Facebook. Thursday turned out to be a hectic day for me, and so I didn't really have a chance to eat, other than a big salad and iced coffee. "No problem," I told myself, "I'll just make sure to eat something substantial once we go out!"

But, you know, the drink menu showed up, and I was instantly taken with the intriguing Pimenton Cucumber Gimlet. (Hendrick's Gin! Muddled cucumbers! Dusting of pimenton! GIMLET. How can you lose?) I grant you that it was likely not the best choice on essentially an empty stomach, but I stand by it, by which I mean, it was delicious. If incredibly tipsy-making. (Did I mention I don't drink so often? And my tolerance is incredibly low, as a result?)

At some point, one of J's and my friends (Is that grammatically sound? IS THAT EVEN ENGLISH? It does not sound right, I tell you what) emailed me, J, and another friend to ask a question (about Twitter, of all things), and as the replies started rolling in, I attempted to email J directly, saying "Whoa. I am going to have to discuss this later; I'm a bit uncharacteristically overserved at the moment, and my input to this conversation will probably be more effective once I'm home and the effects of these here spirits have worn off. We shall be hailing a cab anon, my love!" Well, at least I thought I had conveyed that general message. This is what I actually sent him. And the rest of the (mercifully small!) group:

J was still laughing about this when I arrived home, and while I acknowledged the humor, I couldn't help but notice how...COMPARATIVELY LAME this particular event was, in light of the alcohol-fueled idiocy of my youth. Granted, the peak of such idiocy was nearly 10 years ago, but still. Let's take a look:

Metalia: The College Years

• Weepy and poor quality rendition of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" during open mike night at dive bar.
• "I can do it! I CAN DO IT!"-intensive, stubborn insistence that I could reenact the Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade "leap of faith" from three stairs above a concrete floor. (I chose...poorly.)
• Anything directly or indirectly involving amaretto, and me.
• Crazed excitement upon spotting Liev Schrieber walking his dog in the village, subsequently screaming to him from cab...only to realize I didn't remember anything he was in at the time.
• "Mechanical bull? Why NOT?"
• With help from friends, absconding with large decorative potted plant from college apartment hallway; followed by crisis of conscience, and returning of said plant five minutes later with note reading "I am sorry to all those who missed me. Love, Plant."

Metalia: Today

• Sending a dumb email.
• Hmmm. Yep, that's basically it.

I know, this is a good thing, but still. I'm..old. And lame. The extent of my alcohol consumption these days is pretty much limited to the occasional beer, and as such, the likelihood of me drunkenly anthropomorphizing stolen greenery (I...I think it was a cactus?) ever again is pretty slim. HOWEVER. I know I can't be the only person who engaged in dumb, drunken -- albeit generally harmless -- shenanigans earlier in life. Right? I'll be over here, waiting to laugh. With you. WITH YOU, I swear.

On the bright side, he already knows his left from his right. That's a thing, right?

T came home from school today with an adorable "passport" project. Then I looked inside:

"OVER THERE." Note to self: DO NOT LET HIM GET LOST.

How to Navigate New York City Without Fear, Panic or Subway Stabbing: A Field Guide.

Yesterday I saw a sad panda dejectedly galumphing (oxymoronic phrase?) down Wall Street.



A few months back, there was the streetcoffin incident. (Spoiler Alert: It involved a coffin in the street. Like so:)

Earlier today, a seemingly-normal man in the coffee line behind me at Dunkin' Donuts called out, "Live by the sword, DIE BY THE SWORD!" and then just...continued standing in line, patiently waiting for his turn.

Don't even get me started (AGAIN) on the neighbors. Or, for that matter, my many hobo friends.

I've been living in and around NYC for over 10 years, and as much as I often feel like I'm living in a Fellini film, I love this place. I bring this up because a large portion of the email I get is from people who are planning trips here, and want travel tips/ideas for places to eat/reassurance that no one will shank them on the subway. I love answering these questions, and I've noticed that as BlogHer (taking place in NYC this summer) grows closer, there's been an uptick in the NY-centric emails. I decided to do two things, that (I hope?) might be of some use to people:

(A), I've put together a brief, basic five-point field guide. We'll get to item (B) in a minute.

HOW TO NAVIGATE NEW YORK CITY WITHOUT FEAR, PANIC, OR SUBWAY STABBING BUT I MAKE NO GUARANTEES ON THAT LAST ONE.

1. Have a general idea of where you're going, and how best to get there.
Hopstop is a great resource (and they have an iPhone app!) for people traveling via public transportation in a number of cities (including New York City). Simply plug in your starting point and your destination address, and, boom, it provides you with clear, concise directions through your selected, ah, method of conveyance (i.e., subway, bus, car, walking). I use it myself all the time for subway trips to new places.

Speaking of the subway: You pay for it with a MetroCard, which can be purchased at kiosks all over the city, and in the actual train stations. It's $2.25 a ride to anywhere on that line, and some transfers, depending on the station. If you believe you'll be taking the subway a lot on a specific day or throughout your time here, you can look into a 1-Day Fun Pass (unlimited subway and local bus rides from first use until 3 a.m. the following day) or a 7-Day Unlimited Ride MetroCard (unlimited subway and local bus rides until midnight, 7 days from day of first use), respectively. (Here's more detailed fare information.)

And a word about cabs-- although no one expects you to know the precise distance from point A-Z in a cab, have a general idea of the time that should be involved, so you know if you're getting jerked around. You have specific rights as a taxi rider, and if you feel they've been violated, by all means, report the driver. If you're flying into any of the area airports, I highly, HIGHLY recommend taking a cab into the city, rather than public transportation. I did the bus/train/walking thing once, and it's NOT WORTH THE MENTAL AND PHYSICAL TOLL, I SWEAR TO YOU. A cab from the airports into Manhattan should run you around $35.

2. Dress the part.
I am by no means advocating dressing like SJP in the opening credits of Sex & the City, but rather, getting rid of anything that screams, "I am a tourist! Please, take my money and also possibly my kidneys! They are quite plump and healthy!" Such items include money belts purchased at Brookstone, fanny packs, shirts proclaiming affinity for Empire State in any way, shape, or form, and the ubiquitous green foam Statue of Liberty visors. It also means not wearing your camera around your neck.

3. Be savvy.
By this I mean, take cues from the environment. Talk quietly on the subway. Or if you get on an escalator at 9 AM in Grand Central Terminal, for instance, standing is fine, but do so on the right side of the escalator, so crazed, rushing commuters can pass you on the left.  It's also important to bear in mind that although crime has dropped considerably in recent years, be aware of what's going on around you. Keep your wallet in a place where you can keep close tabs on it. Stay away from the unwashed man clad only in a torn basketball jersey and dirty shorts claiming to be Jim Morrison. By the same token, don't listen to the well-coiffed guy who's all sheepish, going "oh, I forgot my wallet and oh this is so crazy but can you accompany me to an ATM so I can get some cash? I'LL TOTALLY PAY YOU BACK." Because he won't. And most importantly, know that if a guy is trying to sell you a Chanel bag from the back of a truck, the likelihood is great that the bag is actually a Chanell, and likely made by a 12-year-old kid in Chinatown.

4. Keep your eyes on the road.
Far and away, the most common complaint New Yorkers mutter amongst themselves about visitors is a tendency to kind of...stop in the middle of the sidewalk and check a map or gaze up in wonder at the skyline. New Yorkers have many fine attributes, but patience is not one of them. I will admit that I'm personally guilty of getting a little eyeroll-y at even the sweetest-looking family, all because they were blocking the sidewalk and taking pictures as we -- a full-on wall of people -- tried to maneuver around them to get to work. (Look, I'm not saying it's NICE, I'm just telling you how we can be.)  If you need to consult a map, do your best to move out of the main path of the sidewalk. If you'd like to take a picture, take a quick look around, and make sure no one's going to bump into you/you're not stopping the flow of foot traffic first

5. If all else fails, don't be afraid to ask for help.
Asking for help can also mean "looking around plaintively." Contrary to legend, most New Yorkers will not try to steal your organs, and are generally pretty knowledgeable. I can't speak for all of us, but I always, ALWAYS stop when I see lost-looking people making That Face. You know, this one:

We want to help. We like to help. It makes us feel useful. (Plus, it makes us feel less guilty about giving that nice-sounding but slow-moving family the evil eye  in the middle of the sidewalk that time.) So, by all means, feel free to ask us for directions to the "R" train, Bloomingdale's, or a place to explore that's off the beaten tourist track. Our favorite bar, the best pizza, the most amazing cupcake in all of New York…chances are, we have an answer, and we'd love to share it with you. Truly.

All of which leads me to Item (B): If you have any NYC trip-related questions that I can assist you with in advance of your next trip here (for BlogHer, or otherwise!), I'd be happy to help out. Food? Logistics? Clothes? Absurdity? Fire away! I'll put together a follow-up Q & A to address 'em.

Something New: Kids Club Thirteen

(Note: this post does discuss a new affiliation/brand ambassadorship into which I've recently entered. Since I rarely ever use this space for that type of post, I just wanted to let you know in advance, as I don't want you to feel "ambushed" into reading it. I am excited about this, though, and wanted to share it, so...well, here we are.) 

As the weather gets nicer, I  grow increasingly excited about All The Stuff We Shall Do As A Family On The Weekend. Since we’re Sabbath-observant, however, “the weekend” is really reduced to “Sunday,” and PANIC! had already begun to set in, in terms of, you know, finding age-appropriate stuff for us to do on the ONE DAY WE HAVE. I work full-time, and I’m admittedly terrible about being in the loop on events and fun activities to do in and around the city by the time the weekend actually rolls around. Ad a result, J and I had resolved to make a concerted effort to visit new places with the kids; we put in some research this past week, and our efforts paid off with a fantastic time together at a nearby nature preserve on Sunday (pictures here).


 



 

I love this kind of stuff, and I love checking out new places with the kids. It's just that I generally suck at figuring out what it is that we should do. As you might therefore imagine, I was over the moon when PBS recently got in touch with me and asked if I wanted to be a PBS Kids Blogger Ambassador for their newly-launched Kids Club Thirteen (the “Thirteen” being our local PBS station). Kids Club Thirteen Members get discounts to great places for kids in and around NYC, ideas for fun new places for kids, and get to attend free VIP events each month (where kids get to meet their favorite characters).

The first event is Sunday, May 9 at the Prospect Park Zoo (Fleece Weekend, which will involve sheep shearing, crafts, Ruff Ruffman, and giveaways); J, the kids and I will definitely be there.

We’re huge fans of PBS -- both for us and the kids -- and I’m thrilled about this new project. I’m excited to be working with a station whose programming that so positively impacted my childhood (and is now doing the same for my own kids), and I’m OVERJOYED that we’ll have a bunch of new places/fun events to check out with the kids on the weekends. Sign up here, if you're local, and, like me, are downright gleeful at the prospect of taking the guesswork out of entertaining your kids on the weekend, and doing so in a quality way.

I’ve received a free membership for the year (other than that, I’m receiving no compensation). Membership is $75, covers two adults, and up to three kids, and is ideal for ages 3-11. If you join before May 9, you get two years for the price of one (or $3 a month for two years). Plus, you're supporting public television (so...good deed, right there) and have fantastic events squared away for your kids each month. Kids Club Thirteen is also on Facebook (check out the programs under the "Events" tab), and Twitter.

I Cannot Be Trusted Near Telephones (...On Account of the Pigfrog Distraction. Obviously.)

Earlier today, I had to make a long, complicated call to figure out a question related to a medical bill. A key purpose of my placing this call, naturally, was to patiently listen to instructions, and figure out what the hell I was supposed to do in order to resolve the question. Once again, the question that I had. During the call that I, personally, placed. And after 20 minutes of transferring/holding during the call I made to get an answer to my query, I reached an (ostensibly) helpful agent. I stress all of this because the manner in which I meandered from this task is ridiculous, by any and all standards of responsible adulthood. Observe:

Customer Service Agent: Hello! Can I help you?

Me: Yes, I'm trying to figure out [blah].

CSA: Well, what you have to do is...

Me:  [thinking] Oh my god! She sounds exactly like Kermit the Frog! Exactly!


Well, a lady Kermit.

Basically, if Kermit and Miss Piggy ever had a pigfrog baby, and it was a girl, and that pigfrog girl grew up and worked in customer service, she would sound like this.


Does her FAMILY realize this?


If so, do they talk openly about it?


Maybe they're more sly. Maybe they just ask her how she feels about being green, and whatnot. And then try to pass it off as environmental consciousness if she gets suspicious about their snickering.


Wait. Why DIDN'T Miss Piggy and Kermit ever have babies? Is it that Society Is Not Ready for pigfrogs? 


We are so narrow-minded. For shame, Society! Embrace the pigfrog! EMBRACE THE PIGFROG.


I want to hear her sing now. How can I get her--


CSA: So, that's what you need to do. Anything else I can help you with today?


Me: Oh, uh...no?

CSA: Okay, then! Have a nice day! *click*

Me: Son of a bitch. PIGFROGGGGGGG!

(Per Avitable's suggestion, I've included an illustration of what I imagine the pigfrog would look like.) 

* * * * * *

In the event you wish to see my rant on camping, which includes, but is not limited to, a boy named Smelly Ralph, a bear, stray prosthetic limbs, and a shot of me in Mom Jeans, by all means, read my post at Aiming Low.


If you'd like some tips and color suggestions for the perfect red lipstick, I'm offering up the results of my EXHAUSTIVE search at BlogHer Style.

There is Not Enough Mouthwash in the World: A Super Gross Story in Five Brief Parts

I want to take a moment and thank you all for the interesting, thought-provoking and above all, civil discussion on my last post. I genuinely hope my points were properly conveyed, and I sincerely appreciate the thoughtful comments from all viewpoints.

I also want to let you know that I had every intention of, uh, actually PARTICIPATING in the discussion taking place in the comments myself, but you know, best-laid plans, blah blah, blah, someone throws up in your mouth instead.

I'm going to have to back up, I suppose.

My daughter was stricken with a combination ear infection/croup/barf disaster, which monopolized much of my time during the past few days, as well as my cleaning products. She's been miserable, and the doctor prescribed prednisone for the croup, a medication that a number of people have since warned me about. I had been thinking -- because it was a steroid -- she'd simply develop superhuman anvil-lifting strength, but no, apparently it just makes you irritable, wild, sleepless and perpetually hungry. Awesome, because it has always been my dream to wrangle with a teen werewolf trapped in a toddler's body.

Now, I had mentioned on Twitter that somewhere in all this, she actually barfed in my mouth. IN MY MOUTH, YOU GUYS.  I generally feel like there are few surprises left in the toddler-rearing milieu after two kids, but man alive, she proved me wrong. I...I had not expected that. A number of people have asked me to explain, how, exactly, this happened, and I realized that the only way -- barring an I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant-esque video reenactment -- was through an illustrated layout of events.

TA DA!

Part 1: Lo was curled in the crook of my arm we snuggled on the bed somewhere around 1 AM on Friday evening. It was then that I asked a fateful question:

Part 2: Still lying on my back, I lifted her up, and as I was attempting to transfer her to my shoulder, talking to her with my mouth open (as is, you know, my habit when talking) this happened:

 

Part 3: Then I died. By "died" I mean "laughed, because really, what are you supposed to do when there is someone else's barf in your hair, down your shirt, and oh yes, did I mention your mouth?"

Part 4: J laughed, because he saw that I was laughing, and so that opened the door for us to make numerous comments about this being:

(a) an unintentional partial reeneactment of, uhhhhh, Dos Chicas, Una Taza;
(b) probably (totally) an actual fetish.
(c) really, really super gross.

Part 5: I cleaned up myself and J cleaned up Lo, both of us still laughing, because the situation was just so very awful that it had actually turned the corner into becoming life-threateningly hilarious. And while it was icky, we knew right away that this will be one of those stories we'll still be sharing when she's 30, laughing our asses off as we tell it, and there has to be SOMEthing sweet about that. (Even if J will likely never kiss me ever again.)