It’s actually a minute 7 seconds, but this was shot for Mutual of Omaha’s aha moments.  You can view my fabulous interview here.  I love how they edited it so I sound less like a bumbling idiot.  I was nervous.  Very nervous.  And there was a fly in the trailer, and it kept getting in my shot.  The nerve. 

PS.  It was extremely difficult to let anyone film me, even down 30 pounds.  I still look like a middle-aged mom, which I guess is exactly what I am. 

Nothing lights a fire under your butt like a signed lease on an apartment you can’t afford unless you are gainfully employed. 

I’ve been job searching earnestly for about a month now. Me and 400,000 other people.  Marketing jobs are notoriously hard to come by.  Add this crap economy into the mix and it is nearly impossible.  Still, chin up, campers - something will come through.  With my shining positive attitude, razor wit and intrepid personality, who WOULDN’T want to hire me?  Really.

I got my first rejection letter. A friend told me about the position.  She knows the CEO well; she wrote a letter of recommendation that made me blush.  I’ve known one of the business development people for years; she also went to bat for me. The interview went well, I thought - the job was nothing particularly difficult and everything they wanted were things I’ve done a million times over the past 12 years.  I was flexible on salary - I know the base I need to make - and was willing to take less in exchange for flexibility with days/hours.  I did not tell them that - I know you wait until you are offered the job to start negotiating.  Apparently there was someone better than me (I know, unbelievable), and it’s entirely possible they had experience in this industry whereas mine was in a parallel industry.  I have to keep going - I have no choice.

Thankfully I had another headhunter call me today for another position that pays WAY more than I actually need to make to survive, but will probably require way more out of me as well.  It’s hard to let go of being a part-time mom and part-time business person.  However, I must.  Unless the ideal part-time job that pays me well falls from the sky, I’ve got to be prepared to slog into work between 8 and 5 daily and be grateful I even HAVE a job.

I signed a lease on a 1 bedroom apartment about 1/3 mile from our house.  Actually, WE signed a lease.  Since I’m completely dependent on Mike for money, I couldn’t qualify for a lease even if I wanted to.  Oh wait, I do want to.  The apartment is directly across the street from Lily’s school.  In my worst case scenario, if I do not have a job by January, I will pull Arden out of daycare which will free up about half the cost of the apartment per month.  The other half will have to be squeezed (blood from a stone, really) from my business or from thin air.  I looked at our budget; it’s already cut to the bare bones minus some little things that don’t add much to the bottom line. 

Mike and I will share it.  Each of us will do one week and weekend on, living at the house.  The other will be in the apartment.  At the end of 7 days, we’ll switch.  Although it’s about $100 more than some places per month, its location makes up for it.  We haven’t told the kids yet.  I don’t think we’ll have to until right before it happens - preferably after Christmas.  While looking at apartments, the leasing agent kept trying to steer me to the more expensive “upgraded” apartments.  They had granite countertops, polished nickle track lighting and black appliances.  The “unrenovated” apartments are exactly the same, except they have Formica, no microwave and *gasp* WHITE appliances.  I laughed out loud and said, “I’ve had enough granite countertops to last me the rest of eternity.  Formica is FINE.  White is fine.  It’s all fine.” 

It will take approximately 15 minutes to clean the apartment, and that’s being generous on time.  It’s tiny and I’d be even more excited if I didn’t have to keep cleaning the monstrosity, which takes more than a day.  Mike and I are of one mind on the house - we both know it’s a huge anchor pulling us down and we need to cut the chain.  Unfortunately, until the market turns around or we stop paying the mortgage long enough for the bank to take us seriously (and therefore consider doing a short sale), we are stuck with it, and I have a very large bonfire under my butt crackling and spitting and saying, “GET A DAMN JOB, YOU!”

So I’m looking.  If I can cobble enough small projects together, and writing gigs, I can scrape by without selling my soul to The Man again.  My business friends have banded together and are trying to throw me enough scraps to keep me in Ramen noodles (or just a tiny apartment), and I’ve been applying for a ton of freelance project work through a couple of legitimate sites.  I wish I could channel Julie’s old neighbor in the Fan, who was always doing things with Chakras and clicking her fingers together.  Her favorite saying?  “The universe will provide, my friends.  The universe will provide.”

Hey, Universe?  Pay up. I need you now, buddy. 

I just had a meeting.  A business meeting with people that loaned me money.  It was the kind of meeting that requires heels, showering, and an attempt at makeup.  It is the kind of meeting that happens once a year, without fail, and where you discuss the kinds of things like, oh, when you are going to finish paying off that pesky line of credit you have. 

I was pretty stressed out about it, to be honest.  The original guy who wrote the line had quit and moved on somewhere (hopefully for him, somewhere with less compliance and a better location).  I was now meeting with the Head Honcho - Honcho for short.  My business banker was there as well as a guy who handles all the paperwork for the loans.  I was stressed because a number of the manufacturers I work with had commented about not being able to get any credit this year, or having their credit lines revoked.  On a separate note, but sort of related:  all of those slimming credit lines have caused them to not be able to get me the inventory I need to keep up with demand - Reason #15,368 why the economy is sucking right now.  I have lots of people who want to buy stuff, but hardly any to sell them.  Fun times. 

But back to business - literally.  We sat down, Honcho across from me while I sipped my iced water and waited for the proverbial baby poo to hit the fan.  I knew it was going to be bad when I told him the names of the online businesses and he looked like he had just smelled a particularly rank fart.  It was around that time that he mentioned how BAD of a fit my company is for his bank.  He mentioned this no less than 5 times in the span of 30 minutes. 

What made me giggle was how great of a fit we were three years ago.  Oh, but that was a different era, says the banker.  Things were different.  Really?  I hadn’t noticed.  Seems that because I don’t do marketing consulting anymore, the entire loan is making them “uncomfortable”.  Funny how their definition of “uncomfortable” doesn’t keep them up at night.  When I pointed out very plainly that we had always been straight up with them, and even told them when applying for the line that it was to finance the start-up of our online businesses, I was enlightened by this little nugget: “Well, we originally wanted to do business with you because of who your consulting clients were.  There was synergy between who you worked with and who we wanted to work with, and it was mutually beneficial.” 

Oh. 

Insert me, giggling again.  I must have missed that point in our original meetings where you said, “We want to work with you only because of who you know, and what business we might gain from you.”  The thing is, both Jennifer and I were very well networked.  Apparently they knew this, and took on our shitty little business because they thought we could get them big fat legal clients.  Now that, in their perception, we can’t, well, our worth is back to nothing. 

First time I’ve ever been told flat out that I was used for connections. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but I’ve never had anyone be so unapologetically direct about it. 

Honcho mentioned the “bad fit” again and said they only like to write credit lines with 7 figures, not 5 like my crappy little line.  Honcho wanted to know how soon I could pay it off. Honcho also wanted me to put the line in my name, not the company’s, because, well, the company doesn’t really exist.  They used words like “assets” and “collateral” and “receivables” a lot, but thankfully my accounting 101 class paid off and I was able to keep up.  I said, “Hmmm, it’s interesting because with Right Angle, the only collateral we had were two laptops and a couple of office chairs.  Now I have thousands of dollars of inventory and that isn’t worth more than a laptop?”  Call me stupid, because I’m not a Head Honcho, but it doesn’t make much sense to me.  Fine, I said, put the line in my name. I’m already the personal guarantor on it so really, what difference does it make?  Apparently, it makes a lot of difference to them. 

They suggested a payment plan, and I agreed.  I asked if I should be looking for a new bank, but apparently my daily deposits from those lame internet businesses I run are enough to make me valuable.  They just aren’t in the business of writing lines of credit for small fry such as myself.  It’s kind of funny because their entire marketing message is about catering to the small business.  I’m below the floor of small business, I guess. 

I will guarantee this:  when and if I ever do need a 7-figure credit line, they certainly will not be writing it. 

When I left the building, I didn’t know whether to bust out laughing or throw up.  It was just so bizarre to sit across from someone like Honch while he in no uncertain terms told me how much my business model didn’t fit, how the only reason I was lucky enough to become a customer of theirs was because of what I could do for them, and because now that I can’t, they don’t want me - while smiling and shaking my hand.  I felt like my ultra-comfy swivel chair in the conference room had become a portal to another universe.  It’s a universe I don’t particularly care for. 

I must look on the bright side:  I’m still very much in business years after starting, they didn’t terminate my line of credit, and one day when it’s paid off I can sign the check and put a “FU” in the memo field.  That will be very immature, and very gratifying. 

Lily’s Kindergarten Chorus Concert (say it, five times fast) was today.  First, I have to say that I am completely impressed with her music teacher, Mr. Brady. How he can corral 120+ 5/6 year olds, teach them 6-7 songs complete with movements and SIGN LANGUAGE and get them to perform it without going to pieces is beyond me.  He’s the MAN. 

Lily’s been stressing about the concert for awhile, threatening to stand there without singing, freaking out about everyone “looking” at her, and generally being spastic about not being perfect. She is so much like Mike in that way.  It was interesting to watch the mixture of kids, and how they dealt with the public - some were total hams, like her friend Leah.  Some looked like deer in the headlights.  Some just sang and acted like it was no big deal.  Lily mostly mouthed the words, scratched her neck and arms, and looked like she was in exquisite pain.  She told me this afternoon that she had fun, and toward the end, she probably was.  We gave her lots of praise and told her next time to just roll with it and have fun.  I definitely don’t think she’s the next Britney Spears, thank god. 

I’m going to bore all of you with lots of videos from today.  It was very difficult to hold the camera still while leaning against a wall, so excuse the shakiness. 

Walk With Me:

Yodelling!!!

Frere Rocka:

Guacamole!

Lucky Little Shamrock:

Twang That Thang:

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now that you’ve seen some highlights, I can say that I got letter #3 from Big Bad Lawyer.  The letter contained a typo and overuse of the word “sympathetic”.  Having the word “sympathetic” right next to “strongly enforce” doesn’t work too well.  Anyway, they *suggested* I remove a particular product from the site.  I’d like to suggest something back to them, but I will behave.  As far as I’m concerned, I’ve spent a miminum of 30 hours in the last week calling people, worrying, writing letters, working on the site, doing obsessive checks for the “o” word, and feeling angry and bullied.  So I’m kind of done with it.  I’ve done what I’m going to do.  Anything else they want, like my head on a platter with a radicchio garnish, will require a court summons.  So there.  Pfffttt. 

Oh and by the way?  My number two irritation of the week is people who assume that because Mike is a lawyer, he is an expert in every kind of law there is, including laws from other states.  He’s an insurance defense attorney dealing with Workers Comp in the STATE OF VIRGINIA.  He knows as much about IP law as I do.  Perhaps less now after the research component of my last week.  If you’re interested in keeping your throat intact, please don’t tell me how I should totally counter-sue (for what???) because I have “free legal representation”. 

Now that I got that out of my system, happy Tuesday! 

I’m facing the reality that the last year of my business life has not been, well, fabulous.  I’ve dealt with the reality that my beloved business partner now works for someone else, and the days of giggling and plotting and scheming and making money together are over.  I’ve also dealt with the humungo (yes, I know it’s not a word) impact that CPSIA is having and will have going forward.  I’ve dealt with the reality of our shite economy, but just barely.  I’m certainly not sitting on a pile of cash, cackling maniacally over my world domination of the onesie snapsuit world. 

I was having one of those great days, today, though.  I’ve been managing to pay cash for all of the nap mat inventory as I ramp up toward the infamous nap mat season.  I’ve been able to pay down our debt, even though I haven’t been able to pay me.  And all in all, things can only get better.  Or so I thought. 

About two years ago, we received a standard cease and desist letter from an agency on behalf of baby behemoth Gerber(tm).  It wasn’t even from a lawyer.  Neither Jennifer or I was too upset about it - we knew it was coming based on things we’d heard through the baby apparel grapevine.  Did you know that Gerber(tm) invented the onesie(tm)?  Yep, they did.  Some of our manufacturers are in the know and call them snappy terms like “snapsuit” or my personal unfavorite, “creeper”.  If you use the word onesie (TM!!! TM!!!) you must be sure that you are talking about a design on a genuine (TM) Gerber (TM) onesie (TMx140).  Unfortunately, when we started the company, we thought like marketers and not lawyers.  In other words, people searching online don’t usually search for “funny creepers” or “infant snapsuits”.  So, we named our company SassyOnesies.com. 

During the first round of worrying about the cease and desist letter, Jennifer called up an IP attorney she’d worked with at a local law firm.  He saw the letter and told us to remove the word “onesie (TM!!! this is getting old!)” from our site as a description.  We did.  We have over 500 products on there - it took QUITE a while.  His other advice, since all we were really worried about was them making us change the domain name, was to start stocking Gerber (TM) onesies (TM).  We did.  The theory being, if we actually carry GerberOnesiesTMTMTMTMTM we can theoretically call our site SassyOnesies.com.  Or so he thought. 

Fast forward to today, and my cease and desist letter from Gerber.  (You can read it here: Letter.pdf)

Now they are specifically stating we must change our domain name.  Good times!  The virtual cherry on my shit sundae!

I wrote back, but it won’t do anything.  I’m married to a lawyer; they laugh at emotion or pleading. 

My game plan is to call in a couple of favors to attorneys. I know I have a leg to stand on - you can make a case for terms that have become common vernacular language.  Most people don’t even know that there are other words for onesies (TM!) until you point it out to them.  And after years and years of owning the word, can we just all get along?  Can we share nicely?  Menacing Pickle (possibly the best name EVER) suggested that I’m possibly adding value to the onesie (TM) name by having high quality versions.  I’m not afraid to say that the majority of the SNAPSUITS we sell are thicker and softer than you-know-whos.  In that case, we’re giving them a GOOD name.  Fidget suggested one better - we change our logo, and name, to “Sass Yonesies”.  I’m pretty sure they would see through that one, but man did it make me giggle thinking about people trying to pronounce it!  My Michigan friend Christina suggested kicking Gerber’s butt.  My Minnesota friend Kristin suggested boycotting them, and snapsuit (no TM) manufacturer Mary Carter of Gifts of Wit suggested starting a “I hate Gerber” Facebook group.  She volunteered to be my first member.  I’m so glad I have all of their support because if nothing else, they made me laugh. 

If I cannot fight this, then the future is fairly clear.  I cannot afford to start up again under a new name and lose all of the search engine work we’ve done to this point. It’s cost us literally thousands (some of which we have yet to pay back) to get to the point we’re at.  I have a room full of inventory.  If we are forced to change domain names, SassyOnesies.com (TM!) will be closed.  I’ll be on the street, naked with a raincoat, whispering in a sultry voice, “Hey, WANNA BUY A CREEPER?” Don’t laugh.  It could happen. 

In the meantime, I am shaking my fist at the sky, at karma, at everything, and saying, “What the heck did I DO TO YOU???  COME ON!!!!” 

** Update:  Menacing Pickle, being a huge dork, found out that these phrases used to be TMd:  yo-yo, mimeograph, crockpot, kerosene, heroin, linoleum, trampoline, dry ice, pilates, cellophane nylon, thermos, escalator and aspirin.