Motherhood Uncensored

How Neiman Marcus screwed me in the ass

After getting the hairbrained idea that I'd run the Disney Princess Half Marathon with a few other Shredheads last Fall, I decided I'd schedule a book event on the same weekend.

Two Birds. Stones. You get the idea.

So back in November I called up my friend Barbara from Divine Tampa, a very cool mom events group in, you guessed it, Tampa, and asked what she thought might work.

She suggested doing something with Neiman Marcus, who often did fun evening mom-friendly parties, some of which her group had participated in, and with their Spring Fling coming up in March, maybe this was something cool.

So she reached out, sent her PR contact there my links, book, and all my info (read: I'm a mom who writes about SEX) and we waited.

And waited.

December, January, and oh, February rolls around and no word.

We both kindly nudge the PR person, asking only to be told "yes" or "no" in a timely manner so we can make our plans accordingly.

And so, with great enthusiasm, she finally called me back to discuss the event, which had shaped up into something very cool - Ben from Project Runway, a live band, and booze - what else could you ask for?

She asked me to tell her what my book was about (oy) and what I thought I'd do. I suppose I should have known that she apparently hadn't looked at my book or my sites when she asked if I should be in the kid's section of the store.

I suggested we do sexy mom makeovers in lingerie, keeping it tame and family friendly. They'd give away my book with a purchase, Divine Tampa would spread the word to their group, and all would be well.

But then the lovely and quite frankly awesome piece about the Mominatrix Book came out in the St. Petersburg Times, which did not necessarily cover the event (though it did mention I was appearing) but discussed post partum sex, the book itself, and some sexy tips from me.

The PR person emails me "please call me" on the Monday before the event, which is hilarious since neither I or Barbara couldn't get her to email or call me back for FOUR FREAKING MONTHS.

And so I do and she says "So.... bloggers."

"I'm sorry, what?" I said.

And thus came this long complaint about "bloggers" and how they "twist words" around and how "this is not the direction that we want to go with this event."

I asked here "What bloggers?" and she said she didn't know but was waiting for "the reports."

Nice.

Meanwhile, the only blog post that showed up with Google was mine though I later discovered a fun blog post from the above mentioned article's author which was, again, promoting my appearance. And I didn't see exactly how she or I twisted words or made it seem like I was going to be waving sex toys around Neiman Marcus.

And really, what PR person gets upset about really great press for an author coming to their store? But, she gave out the wrong RSVP email address for the event (that got published in the newspaper) so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.

Needless to say, I offered her the chance to cancel, but said I needed to know as soon as possible so I could make other plans. I didn't hear from her, and went about my business, though packed books in my suitcase just in case because I had a sinking feeling something was going to go wrong, arriving in Tampa on Thursday and getting a mall makeover (nails and hair) before my event.

And that's when it all sort of fell apart.

I was moved to make-up to discuss my 5-minute face, and as I was reminded three or so times, I would not be talking about sex or my book. At all.

At an event to promote my book.

"Do not discuss lube, or sex pillows, or anything like that."

(Those were answers I gave to the reporter asking me questions; those had nothing to do with what I was going to be discussing at the event - all of which was clearly marked in the article).

They did not order my books. They did not have any signage to promote me.

I was basically there to sell their make-up.

The thought of leaving crossed my mind, and quite frankly, I would have left and headed straight to the Cheesecake Factory if it hadn't been that Barbara had helped organize this, and I didn't want it to reflect badly on her.

So, I wandered around the store in my very short sexy dress and no underwear, hoping to find people that I knew had taken the time to come out and see me. Unfortunately, there would have been no way for anyone who didn't know me but had come.

I did get to enjoy the company of my cousin (who I hadn't seen in 14 years), as well as Maria - Mommy Melee, Beth - Adjunct Mom, and Janet - The Caffienatrix - all of whom were super nice to come out and chill. I also got to enjoy the hospitality of the lovely Cecilia from Itty Bitty Lady Bug.

My apologies to others of you that might have been there and couldn't find me.

The weekend was not a complete bust, thanks to my whirlwind weekend tour of Disney World with my family (sans Margot, who got some quality time with my mom) and the race on Sunday.

It was amazing to connect with bloggers I read and admire, both at the event in Tampa as well as in Orlando.

And it was great to finally meet Bill from Daddy is Tired, who has been pushing me along in my weight loss journey since he started writing the Shredheads with me a year ago.

And as for Neiman Marcus - no hard feelings. I realize that the Mominatrix and her content isn't always for everyone. 

But I did learn a very good lesson. Apparently the same rules for PR professionals doing online outreach apply to ones who are working in the corporate setting.

Do your research. And don't be an idiot.

I had a bad day

No, not one of those "I broke my fake nail, one of my nannies was out sick, and my personal chef was a half hour late" days.

Try the day that you should have declared "redo" at 8am;

The day that could have been an episode of "The Super Nanny" or maybe is and you should go check on YouTube like right now;

The day when you can't understand why exactly you've been entrusted with not one, or two, but three children's lives when you're pretty sure you'd have trouble adopting a puppy from the pound;

The day your son said "You're being mean, Mommy" and you really were because when your son won't open up his eye so you can look in it it's clearly cause to lose all control that you barely had a semblance of anyway and you apologized and he said "I'm sorry too" and you said "What for, son?" and he said "Because I didn't listen" and you nearly died inside;

The day you realized that any and all child health issues at bedtime other than those involving vomit, blood, or explosive poop that were not present when you left them in the room two minutes prior are most likely not actual issues and rather a very smart way of getting out a bedtime;

The day that your son will no doubt remind you of with such amazing clarity later in life that you will understand why he got a full ride to medical school at which point you may finally not feel guilty about being such a douchebag, except then he'll be all "doctor"-like and tell you that there actually was something wrong with his eye so not only were you a douchebag for yelling at him, but you were a douchebag for trying to put water in his completely closed eye and call it "medicine."

And then he'll say "I'm just joking, Mom" because he got your sense of humor. But he'll still show up at every freaking family holiday gathering wearing an eye patch.

And then you'll realize that maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

Terrible day

I found her sobbing outside the elevators on the 1st floor of the medical building, dressed in purple scrubs and fake crocs clutching her lunch bag as tears rolled down her face.

The people waiting for the elevator stared somberly at the up and down lights as if to move them more quickly in their direction.

They all knew. An entire floor of OB offices.

A mom with a little girl in her stroller looked at me as I walked closer. Our eyes met and we connected in our own helplessness. "She said she'll be okay" she whispered. You could tell she didn't believe her.

Either did I.

The woman was unmoved by the crowds exiting and entering the elevators as I sat down next to her. I offered her water and help, and told her my name. I tried to engage her in conversation to see what was wrong.

I could barely understand what she said, but I just sat there anyway until she assured me that she didn't need anything. That she'd be fine.

The mom returned, telling me that she had alerted the doctor's office. I sat for a little longer, hoping someone would come out to offer her tissues or at least walk her to her car.

And then I put my hand on her shoulder and walked away, trying hard not to remember sitting in the hallway of my own OB's office, watching staff and patients pass me by as I not so quietly sobbed on my own terrible day.