Monthly Archives: April 2012

My Enterpreneur Obsession: SARA BLAKELY

by The Totefish Blog

Sara Blakely, Founder of Spanx

Every week or so, I obsess over someone doing something.  They’re often famous, but not necessarily.   Now, I’m not into stalking and although I harbor male-size ambition, I’m not interested in “keeping-up-with-the-Jones” competition.  I’m too ego-centric for that.  This is about me learning to do whatever I’m doing… better.

This week’s obsession?  Sara Blakely

Why I’m obsessed?  I’ve got a thing for strong, female entrepreneurs.  In particular, I’m drawn to the ones who appear grounded, who give humble accounts of the struggle & climb and who are actively encouraging us newbies to follow in their footsteps.  (And, there’s the fact that her business is about girdles and pantyhose.  It leads me to believe that no idea is a bad idea if you believe in it…)

What my obsessed is doing:  Sara Blakely’s success is evident (who doesn’t own a pair of Spanx?) and recently, she was named to Forbes Billionaire list & invited to Time’s Top 100 Influential People Party.  But what I find most compelling is her use of the microphone to talk about her early years of boot-strapping and relentless rejection.    She’s motivating the kids.  Sure, she’s the first one to credit the luck of the Oprah’s magic but as far as I can read, she’s the one who’s been working non-stop since then to turn that opportunity into success.

What am I learning from my obsession:  Keep showing up to work every day.  The slow slog forward ultimately turns into a very good story about your success.  Embrace failure and rejection.  You’ve got to sell, sell, sell.  Ignore anyone who says your idea is dumb.  Hear their “No, No, No” — then keep on pushing forward.  Be nice to other women.  And wear your girdle to the meeting.

Here’s to a motivated Monday!

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Fueling the Fire:

Here’s her 28-minute speech at the Edge Connection (September, 2011) via YouTube.

And an article in The NewYorker (March, 2011)

And an interview for Entrepreneur (March, 2011)

And an article in Vogue (March, 2012)

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Just another “Wish I was a Mermaid” Monday

by The Totefish Blog

Artist: Waterhouse John William

On Mondays like these, I think I’d do the trade.  I’d go Mermaid.  No wait, hear me out.  I’ve thought it through:

1.)  NO TALKING

Mer-people don’t talk.  Neither do fish.  That means no phones calls, no sales pitches, no DNC calling for donations, no apologies for forgetting friends’ birthdays, no “how many times have I told you” rhetorical questions to kids under 9, and no inane grocery-line small talk.  I’m a mermaid.  I just nod and smile.  I can’t hear you under water.

2.)  NO ELECTRONICS

Anything with a cord would be suicidal.  I live in water, for god’s sake.  That means no bedside light to wake me at 6 am.  No computer.  No cell-phone.  No printer that keeps on jamming.  No rice maker that overcooks the rice.  No Facebook photos.  No Linked In resume lies.  No tweats from Ashton Kutcher.  I’m a mermaid.  I use a hairdryer to bat off sharks.

3.)  NO COOKING 

Sushi every night, right?  No food shopping.  No recipe books.  No standing in front of the refrigerator.  No washing, chopping, sautéing, stir-frying or steaming.  No ham sandwiches to make.  No crock pots to figure out.   No loading dishwashers in a symmetrical pattern.  No coffee beans to grind.  I’m a mermaid.  I make coffee out of seaweed and sand.  I have a trained seal deliver it to me.

4.) NO DIETING

No beauty magazines.  No 24-hour gyms.  No feeling bad about that power-walk that I didn’t take.  The only liposuction happening is with that kinky octopus from the Gulf.  Have you ever seen a fat mermaid?  How ’bout one with loopy breasts?  No more sucking in my stomach because I did eat all the bread in the basket and now, my jeans don’t fit.   My scales are flexible.  I’m a mermaid.  I’m the most beautiful creature a drunk sailer has ever seen.

5.) NO HARD THINKING

You never see a mermaid with a book.  Or wearing glasses.  They swim.  They brush their hair.  They eat some fish.  They play with some porpoises. They occasionally help save a cute man from a sunken ship.  They probably sleep 12 – 14 hours a night.   No teaching myself new technologies.  No trying to figure out digital marketing.  No wondering how I could be a better parent.  No teaching my kid pre-algebra or helping map out Tanzania on her multi-cultural poster.   I’m a mermaid.  I just sit on a rock and try not to cringe when the surf sprays in my face.

6.)  NO HARD LIVING

If I’m a mermaid, I don’t own a vacuum, Windex, tweezers or band aids.  My house is a shell so I know nothing about dust mites, mold and allergies.  There’s no traffic (other than the occasional feeding frenzy) so I never have to check Mapquest or SIG alert or Mulholland Drive before I leave the house.  There are no watches so I’m never late.  No poorly situated keyboards so my right shoulder never hurts.  Schools of fish don’t require large donations or creative Auction baskets.  Mer-children never bicker with each other.  Mer-babies never cry.  Actually, mer-infants, mer-toddlers and mer-elementary school kids don’t require a responsible adult.  It’s parenting by osmosis and new crops of perfect, well-behaved, well-trained mer-people arrive generation-after-generation in full-form.  There are no mer-careers, mer-feminists, mer-Tea Partiers, mer-stay-at-home-Moms, mer-Celebrities (well, except for that red-headed one but she went Liz Taylor so no one sees her anymore).  There’s nothing to think about when everyone is the same (except for your choice in hair color).  I have no worries.  I’m a mermaid.  People like to paint pictures of me.  And I’m friends with Peter Pan.

See what I’m talking about?    It’s not a bad trade when you have one of those kind of Mondays.

Birthday Bras & Blogs

by The Totefish Blog

This Baby’s Got Bundt!

Yesterday was my 40th Birthday and besides shoving 4 crazy-delicious slices of butter-laden “these-are-going-right-to-my-bundts” Bundt Birthday cake into my mouth, I spent the afternoon letting a very nice stranger plump up my breasts and pick out a slew of overpriced “no-need-for-silicone-here” bras.

Yes, it was my decadenal “Nordstrom Bra-Fitting Department Day.”

And it was Awesome.

Did I just say bras?  YES.  Bras!

Who needs a private party at The French Laundry when you have Nordstrom’s cadre of “we’ve seen it all, honey and your breasts, if you don’t mind us saying, look amazing” saleswomen waiting to make you feel fabulous even though you know they’re lying through their recently-bleached teeth.  My 34-year old professional bra-sizer even hugged me when she found out my mission was to treat my 40-year old “we-fed-two-children-for-a-year” breasts to their just due.

But such birthday extravaganza doesn’t come cheap.  But no fear.  It’s easy to rationalize.  What’s $400 for a week’s supply of bras when a.) you spend the same amount for a phone and you’re less likely to leave your bras on the restaurant table, b.) surgical solutions cost $5000, c.) that $375 brass-button, military-fashion-blazer you got talked into buying four years ago went out of fashion quicker than the Iraq war and d.) $400 doesn’t cover the bread-tab at The French Laundry.  My undergarment happiness:  PRICELESS.   Unfortunately, I can’t post a photo.  ’Cause this ain’t that kind of blog.

TO BLOG or NOT TO BLOG

Now, you’re wondering about the Birthday Blog part of the title.  No, this post isn’t it.  Late last night, after the family Birthday Sushi Dinner and two more “no-one-is-watching-so-I-might-as-well-have-another” slices of the Birthday Bundt, I started designing my start-up company Blog.  Yeah, that’s right.  Working on my Birthday.  And you know what?!  I LOVED it.  That’s how 40 I am.  It only took 5 hours to set-up.

By 2 am, I had 12 new followers.

Seriously.  12 new followers.  And 3 Likes.  From total strangers.

Happy Birthday to Me!

I’ve got great friends.  I’ve got budding Totefish fans.  I’ve got new bras.  I’ve got a family that I love.  And I’ve finally finished off that whole damn bundt cake.  That’s my kind of 40!

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And If You’re Interested

Check out the new corporate blog at (http://totefish.wordpress.com).  Wadda ya think?  Remember… I’m just making up all this blog and internet and entrepreneurial stuff as I go.  Feedback and comments and uncensored criticism are good for my ego — and Totefish’s development.

Two Weeks of Movies: I’m a good parent, right?

by The Totefish Blog

Confession Coffee Hour.  During their two week Spring Break, my children did not visit one museum, complete any big art project or experience one educational or cultural event.   Our babysitter went to Hawaii to swim with sharks and I had to work.  So what did I do with two children, aged 8 & 6, that was interesting, time-consuming and could be done without substantive (or meaningful) adult interaction?

Easy.

I introduced them to the world of 1970s Television and Movies.

And they loved it.

Just like I did, when I was their age.

And here’s the crazy thing.  Family television shows and movies, circa 1976, are amazing!

Now don’t get me wrong.  I am one of those crazy militant moms who doesn’t let her children watch television during the week.  And I dole out weekend tv & movie privileges like a prison guard – stingy & strictly good-behavior-based.

I used to work in the Television & Film industry and I think a lot of current television & films are incredible works of creativity (I’m a religious follower of Jon Stewart & don’t talk to me while I’m watching “The Good Wife.”  And I’ve seen “The English Patient,” “Moulin Rouge,” and “Casino Royale” more times than I’ll admit.)  But modern-day children’s tv & film fare?  Other than the occasional inspired film (gems such as “Nanny McPhee” & most anything by Pixar), most are uninspiring & lackluster at best (or dysfunctional & gratuitously violent at worst).  ”Snarky,” “idiotic,” “one-dimensional” and “that’s no way to talk to adults” come to mind.  Oh, yeah.  I pride myself on my staunchly liberal social & political views but when it comes to parenting & media… I’m RSVPing “yes” to that Tea Party invitation.

But don’t cry for my children.  Because I’ve re-discovered the glorious decade of the ’70s.

So when you need a good 90-minute, guilt-free break from hands-on parenting, check out this list of my kids Spring Break ’12 favorites.  (Note: My 8 1/2 year old was able to follow the stories & “get” the humor but my 6 year old needed a pre-summary on most of these):

MOVIES

  • Chitty-Chitty, Bang-Bang (Two of the songs went on a bit long but the whole kids-locked-up-in-dungeon mayhem scene made up for it, big-time.)
  • The Apple Dumpling Gang (They laughed aloud thru this whole movie; they are still talking about the firehouse & the bank explosion scenes.)
  • The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again (They thought this was not as funny but they gotta learn about sequels at some point.)
  • The Incredible Mr. Limpet (Once they discovered Don Knotts, there was no going back.)
  • Bedknobs & Broomsticks (Angela Landsbury rules.)
  • Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (The Gene Wilder version — While I love Johnny Depp, this Willy is much more normal-kid-friendly.)
  • Charlotte’s Web (The original.  Both kids teared up twice… and my daughter asked if we could go to the Library to get the book as soon as the movie was over.)
  • The Rescuers (They asked if they could watch it again, immediately.)

TELEVISION 

  • The Brady Bunch (Season 1 & 2.  Mike & Carol demand respect, damn it.)
  • Little House on the Prairie (My 6-year-old son didn’t like these but my daughter has discovered the love of Laura.)
  • The Looney Tunes (Spotlight Collection volume 1 & 2.  Every kid should know that the Coyote & Sylvester never win and that TNT always explodes in your face.)
Happy Watching!

Easter ArmagEGGeddon

by The Totefish Blog

Easter, westside Los Angeles-style, isn’t for the casual “fly-by-your-fuzzy-bunny-tail” planner.  Hardcore Holiday-ers need only apply.

By 5 pm last night, CVS was sold out of pastel M&Ms, the grocery stores (two of them!) had only local BROWN eggs left and no one (not two pharmacies, not two over-priced coffee shops and not one gas station) could spare $2 worth of quarters, dimes or nickels.   And although inflation is real, I’m not in the business of stuffing plastic eggs with ATM $20s (I made that mistake when my daughter lost her first tooth and all the fairy had her wallet was a $20 bill).

“YOU’RE FIRED!”"

You see, for the first time in my long & industrious career as CEO of Family-Traditions, Memory-Making & Holiday-Preparedness, I dropped the ball.  I forgot to plan for Easter.  And on the westside of Los Angeles, that’s akin to being locked in the bathroom stall while the lifejackets are handed out on the top-deck of the Titanic.

Somewhere between our Spring Break vacation, the endless To Do lists for Totefish (my start-up), some grandparent health concerns and my general responsibilities of running a household & supporting the career of a busy husband, the third holiday of the season arrived without notice.  Sure, Easter is always around my Birthday so you’d think I’d remember it.  But a woman gets tired, you know?  Keeping up with the barage of post-Christmas holidays and their specific card-making, cookie-decorating, small-trinket-buying, special Brunch reservation-making, and taking-time-to-reflect-on-the-real-meaning-of-the-day is enough to make a woman pour herself a glass of wine and eat the heads off a whole double-box of green peeps.  Vinter’s note:  A crisp Sauvignon Blanc works best.

A GREEN EASTER

I didn’t dye eggs this year.  I bought the dye kit (I found a discarded box in the Children’s Cold Remedies & Tylenol aisle) but I couldn’t find the eggs.  Oh, these picture, you ask?  They’re Easter, circa 2011.  I’m going to reuse them in our 2012 Family Photo Album, for sure.  The eggs always turn out the same and nobody eats them anyway.  How hard can it be to convince the kids that they dyed them this year?   They think Spring Break has lasted “for, like a month.”  Time perspective isn’t their strong suit.

As for the annual crack-of-dawn egg hunt?  Luckily, I set the Easter Rules early in the game.  Our Easter Bunny long ago requested that we set out  a grocery bag full of empty plastic eggs (the same ones from last year) on the back porch so he can easily fill them with coins and candy and hide them around the garden.   The kids’ baskets sit outside the their bedroom door and the Easter Bunny quietly hops into the house and fills them with books & markers & leftover toys that didn’t fit in the Christmas stockings.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED (with a little bit of stealing)

I scoured the candy closet and found an unopened pack of jelly beans from last year & a handful of mini Halloween snickers with a bit of “give” in their hardened shells.  Candy: check!  I searched under both my and my husband’s car seats and found a fair amount of change (although not so much between the cushions of the sofa) and “bought” $10 worth of change from the kids’ piggy-banks (I’ll return it in morning, I swear).  Coins: check!   I ransacked the “Gift Closet” and pieced together two collections of “regifted” and Christmas surplus presents.  Tchotckies: check!  

Not bad for a lady who forgot to show up at the Bunny Office on time, eh?

Yes, I know what you’re thinking.  And you’re right.  There’s alot of “I” in this Easter tale.  My husband, while supportive of the efforts, is truly subordinate in these events.  Maybe it’s a westside LA thing.  Last night, the stores were filled with women — not men — politely grabbing the last remants of Easter gear.  My husband did help me hide the 106 eggs in the backyard although dumping the eggs in a small pile on the grass ”because it’s fun when the kids can scoop them up quickly” isn’t my idea top-tier execution.  I spent twenty minutes or so hiding his unhidden eggs so that the hunt would take long enough for me to pour myself a cup of coffee and remember that I should be video-taping the whole event.  Yes, I am that crazy.  And I have no idea why.

I finished the job and went to sleep.   I just wanted the holiday to be over.

DAWN OF A NEW DAY

The kids woke at 5:50 am and tore into their baskets.

“Look Mom!   A Star Wars Book!”

“A Whoopie Cushion!”

“New markers!”

“Hey, the Easter Bunny left the same chocolates as Santa!”

We made them wait until the sky was light before heading out to the hunt.  I gave the orders, horizontally, from my bed.  At 7:15, my husband could hold them off no longer.  They had finished their negotiations on the split (50/50 since there was only two of them and neither of them wanted to the loser) and wanted to apply the principle.  As I slipped on my robe, I mumbled bitterly about the state of holidays and our capitalist culture.  Easter couldn’t last much longer.  And then, I’d be home-free until Halloween.

My kids ran around gathering up eggs, giggling and encouraging each other on.

“There are eggs on top of the swing set!”

“They’re up in the tree!”

“How high can that Bunny jump?!”

An hour later, my son was sitting hunched over the kitchen table coloring with his new crayon set.

“Whadda ya doing?” I asked.

He waited a moment, then sat back, putting his hands behind his head.

“I’m making the Easter Bunny a card.  I bet no one thanks him.  But I love him.  He’s really nice.  And he makes kids happy.”

Makes the whole damn thing worth it, doesn’t it?

Happy Easter Everyone!

Games with My 8-year Old: Name that Lady!

by The Totefish Blog

  

       My Daughter:  “Mom, of all the famous ladies alive now, who do you like the most?

       Me:  “Oh, that’s hard to say.”

       My Daughter:  “But if you had to choose.  Who do you love?”

      Me:   “Does she have to be famous?”

      My Daughter:  “Yes.  Or else you’ll say ‘Me.’ ”

      Me:  “Famous to me or famous to everyone?”

      My Daughter:  “Famous on those magazines the babysitter brings over.”

      Me:   “Can I choose different parts from different ladies?”

      My Daughter:  “That’s not the game.  But.  Okay, fine.  But you have to write it down.  And you have to choose ONLY ONE who you want to be when you get older.  Those are the rules.”

_____________________________________________________

Some Famous Alive Ladies & Their Part(s) I Really Like

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Tina Fey

Her perfect funny and perfect nose.  Both are sharp and pointed.

*

J. K. Rowling

Her copious, creative writing skills.  870 pages in one volume?  And kids read all of them?  The first twenty pages of my “great American love story” have taken me four years to write.  And no one wants to read them.  Trust me on this.

*

Michelle Obama

Her seriously awesome “Don’t Fuck with me” thing.  In a gorgeous State Dinner gown or a “growing your own organics” stained sweatshirt, I wish I could exude that kind of scary.   Oops.  I meant to say, ‘Her “Don’t Fool with me” thing.’  My bad.

*

 Arianna Huffington

Her accent, perfectly-coiffed hair and reasonable “Left-Right-And-Center” comments.  But mainly, for her accent.  And her blog business.

*

Julie Andrews

Her cross-generational If-that’s-singing-then-I-want-to-do-singing inspiration.   There’s nothing sweeter than hearing my son lull himself to sleep with “those songs that the pretty lady sings in that mountain movie.”  It’s one of my favorite things.

*

Meryl Streep

Her grace at being the most talented woman in the room.  No one wants to see her trip up (or down) the steps.  Not even other women.

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Hilary Clinton

Her enigmatic ambition.  Clearly she’s smart and driven but otherwise, impossible to define.  Actually, I don’t think I want to be like her but what I wouldn’t do to be a fly on her wall!

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Oprah Winfrey

Her wealth.  Billions.  Self-made.   She wields the same kind of influence as a dozen male Forbes billionaires.  What woman doesn’t want that?

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Ellen DeGeneres

Her next-door neighborliness.  Self-deprecating but not insecure.  Up-on-gossip but not catty.  Smart but not arrogant.   She makes you want to bake a bundt cake.   That’s good for America.

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Madonna

Her deep, unrelenting love of herself.  Every woman should love herself this much.  Just think about the problems we could solve if all women around the world felt as good about themselves as she does.

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One Alive Lady Who I’d Like To Be When I Get Older

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Betty White

Because of her charmed octogenarian life.  When I’m 80, I want to be that involved in the world around me, even if it’s just doing fun stuff.  Wait.  She’s 90?!   Well then, it’s settled.  I SO want to be Betty White when I grow up.

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And that’s a list that People magazine could stand behind