Tag Archives: Blogging

Where have I been?

26 Apr

Image Source: 2014 Pithypants

Short answer: Right here.

In this history of this blog – which I think is going on five years – I’ve never before gone so long without posting something. It’s almost been a month. I’m only mildly offended that no one reported me missing.

In case it happens again, let me explain why I’ve been MIA. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to write about. On the contrary, I have a list of topics (updates on my 40 x 40 list, a visit from my sister and nephews, bad fashion choices worn by women in my neighborhood, etc.) that nags me every time I sit in front of my laptop, practically begging for expression.

Alas, the challenge here has been TIME. Yup. I don’t think I’ve posted about it, but I started back to school earlier this year. I’m attending Georgetown’s Leadership Coaching program, and – when combined with my job – it’s a full load. The time that once went to blogging is now spent reading books, writing papers and – gasp! – coaching real clients as part of the pro bono practicum.

I know, it’s kind of crazy to think that people are trusting someone with an adolescent sense of humor to help them navigate the challenges of leadership. But there you have it. (Seriously though, I think humor is a much-needed aspect of coaching executives, because it helps remind them that authenticity is a key part of leading. It’s much more persuasive than being “boss-like.”)

Speaking of being boss-like or faking being boss-like… I’m off to NYC this week to present at the Social Learning Bootcamp. It’s being held at Microsoft’s new technology center in Times Square, so I’m excited to check it out. However, I’ll be toting my presentation on a MacBook Air, so I’m hoping they actually let me past security. I think I can guess how they feel about bringing enemy gear across the threshold.

Oh – and don’t worry that I’m going to pull a Jack Torrance over here. My motto is NOT, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy…” I’ve found time to squeeze in some of the good stuff over the last few months. To wit, I’ve:

  • Crossed the 30 mile mark on my quest to swim 50 miles before my birthday
  • Searched for the doors at the Mansion on O Street and finally visited the Phillips Collection
  • Been issued a library card for the Library of Congress
  • Hosted my West Coast bestie (aka Magston) for a visit
  • Helped Alan celebrate Aidan’s birthday with a Nationals Game
  • Read 20 books since January

So you were right not to worry. Silence isn’t a bad thing. It’s just a busy thing.


If third graders worked in offices, this wouldn’t be funny.

5 Aug

First a bit of back story… I’m a pretty easy going person, so my knee jerk reaction if someone can’t do something or doesn’t have what I need is, “No worries.” And I almost always mean it.

Last week at work I was typing that exact phrase into a chat window in response to a co-worker, when it struck me as funny if — instead of saying “no worries” — I actually wrote back: “I HATE YOU.” Don’t ask me why, but that completely tickled my funny bone.

I was still giggling at the thought when a work buddy chatted me, so I had to explain why I was laughing. The great thing? He completely cracked up too. We immediately both adopted the phrase (but only in response to each other), but used it infrequently enough that each time it popped up it caught me off-guard and struck me as hilarious all over again.

I encourage you to try it, but only with a work buddy. If you do it to a non-buddy, they will think you are an asshole.

Anyway. So last night, I thought I would share this tip with the world (by which I mean the small handful of people who follow my twitter feed out of sympathy). Except, instead of posting it where you’re supposed to tweet, I sent a direct message to one of my followers. This is what I wrote:

Work tip: the next time you’re about to type “No worries” in response to someone who can’t help you, instead type “I HATE YOU.”

That triple cracked me up. First, because it’s just a hilarious tip to share. Second, because it looked like I had personally sought them out for these words of wisdom. Third, this person had reached out to me about six months ago, asking if a restaurant they represent could quote my review on their website.

Steal my content? I will cut you.

I had given them permission, and thought I was pretty cool about it. Instead of bartering for a credit at the restaurant, I simply asked that they link to my blog to drive traffic back to the source of the original article. The tweeter said she’d check and see if it was possible.

Did they link? No. Did they post the entire content of my review on the company’s website? They did. Did I get a kick that it was in the “media” section, between two legitimate restaurant reviews written by real people, while mine had to be attributed to someone named Pithy Pants? I did.

[Note: they’ve apparently since wised up and realized I’m in no way an official restaurant critic or journalist, because when I just checked the site, that entire section was under construction. Maybe they’re running background checks on all the content they repurposed from strangers?]

In any case, I like that after six months of not communicating, the way I reached out to this person was via a direct message giving her tips on how to be awkwardly aggressive. And even sweeter? That our previous exchange had ended with her promising to look into linking to my blog, and my writing back three simple words:

Cool. No worries. 

Well, so much for maintaining an aura of mystery.

7 Jul

For someone who contemplated writing about almost crapping her pants at yoga earlier this week (note: I said ALMOST), I’m a surprisingly private person. I have virtually no boundaries when it comes to things that other people may classify as “TMI,” but I’m fiercely guarded about others. Weird, right?

As a child, I would disappear into our basement for hours on end and refuse to tell my parents what I was working on. (It generally involved a craft book and some contraband. True story: I once tried to sew a leather purse out of multiple gloves I’d stolen from lost-and-found boxes. That’s kind of like trying to build an Ark out of popsicle sticks. Except when your mom finds a dozen mismatched leather gloves in your sewing kit, she’s probably a bit more suspicious.)

So imagine my surprise at being featured on WordPress’s Freshly Pressed yesterday morning: Holy shit.

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Mailbag: Because I couldn’t resist. (Sorry, Alan!)

28 Jun

Spam? Definitely Item "C" on this graphic, courtesy of ThisIsIndexed.com

So Alan routinely posts a “mail bag” column, in which he responds to the spam he receives. It’s clever, he’s witty, and while I generally would concede he’s pissed a circle around this turf, tonight I found a multiple comments from one person in my spam filter that I simply can’t ignore.

Public Service Announcement: While I am about to mock spam, lest you think I’m discouraging the rest of you from commenting, let me assure you: when you post a comment on my blog — even if it’s just “LOL!” — it is categorized as “B – Rewarding” for me. So in case I haven’t blatantly asked you to comment (in which case you might think you’re Junk Mail) let me plead: please COMMENT. It’s the only way I know anyone is actually reading this! And it IS very rewarding. 🙂

Now please continue, for the mocking…

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Self-Censorship: A Slippery Slope

5 Jan

I’ve tried – unsuccessfully – to commit to blogging in the past. I would start something on Blogger (at one point I had three separate blogs open, each on a different topic), but found that I wasn’t willing to share them publicly AND struggled to write in them with any regularity.

Yesterday, on my way to the bathroom at work, I think I realized why I’ve found it such a difficult habit to establish (publicly). The bottom-line: the things I find funny aren’t really appropriate for a professional woman to write about, and given how connected my company is online, it’s not only possible – but actually very likely – that whatever I write will be read by co-workers, my direct reports or even senior leadership at my company.

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