R.I.P. Apostrophe

I admit--I'm one of those nerds who reads things EXACTLY as they're written. If you leave out a comma or misconjugate a verb or, heaven forbid, omit an apostrophe, I will stare blankly at the page. Lost. It will sound like total gibberish in my head. I can't help it. Punctuation is intuitive to me (unlike spelling, unfortunately), and those tiny writing road signs guide me to what you're trying to say. Pull out a sign or stick it in the wrong place and you're setting me up for a mental crash.

But I'm in the minority. And a tiny minority at that.

How do you argue with "I just don't like how it looks"? I mean, I can pull out my style guide and point to the paragraph that clearly states, nice and simply, how a dash is needed between two adjectives that describe a noun, or an apostrophe comes after a collective possessive s--and not to pluralize. It's right there, in black and white. But no, you insist, it just doesn't look nice.

So, after my 3rd email attempt to explain the rules and how they're important and how they help people understand what you're trying to say and that clear communication is important, I finally give up. The AE is giving me her understanding-but-exasperated look. The client is slowly losing patience with the muddled look that is my poor dash, my battle-wary apostrophe. And so I grunt. And I sniff. And I cave.

Goodbye "8 months' free service". Hello, unintelligible.

Stuff I Like

So I've added a couple of my favourite blogs over there on the right. For now, it's the stuff I check every day--great ad posts, rants with class, ER adventures (you should READ the stuff that goes on in there!), plus a great site devoted to the worst in frosted goodness.

I mean, these cakes don't just go wrong--they go terribly, explosively wrong. What's not to like about the horror that is this bit of confection? Or this chocolately perversion?

Dang. I just triggered a craving.

Speaking of photographers...

ours was incredible. Yes, the last payment has set us back a bit much right when we need the extra money, but good Lord is our wedding album lovely. And, honestly, what photographer these days throws in the whole shebang on CD--for FREE? Found a gem in that one, I did.

And sitting here in my size kazillion pants and nursing the return of the nausea monster (for a truly good cause, I know, I know--I'm just being indulgent), it sure is nice to look back and reminisce. Boy, did we have a great time.

Can't get away from it

I'm taking a break from packing to enjoy (yet another) lovely snack. Sincerely, no one warned me just how food-coo-coo you get when you're preggers. Gimme a snack or I will rip off your arm and get the plum sauce. Sincerely.

But yes--I'm packing boxes. It's like making a puzzle, where every piece should intertwine with the next without a gap. No empty corners, just tight little boxes and lots of packing tape and a neat stack in the corner. And, marker in hand, I pop the cap and pause. Nic nacks? Knick knacks? Nik-naks?

So I load up the laptop and look it up.

Ay-ay-ay.

Er... $5?

I have no idea how much a photoshoot costs. I'm a copywriter. I know it's going to cost you a chunk of cash and I know you're going to do that sucking-in-your-spit noise when you finally find out the estimate, but I'm sincerely not the one who can provide you with anything remotely useful. $10,000 and $50,000 both seem like a lifetime of savings to me, but it's the difference between a good photographer and a great one.

So, please, let me transfer you to the Art Director. Or call production. You're the AE--you WORK here. You should know better. Tsk.

And no, I don't know how much the company charges for my time. If I made that in real life, I wouldn't be taking the bus.

Funny you should ask...

I don't know. Really--I'm not entirely sure what this blog should be. I'm still in the empty room flagging down passersby, but it's quite nice to have the stage. 

So, where does this leave my collection of teenie thoughts? One day a preggo ah-ha moment, the next a rant on clients and tomorrow, if all goes well, maybe an exasperated commentary about the long-awaited wedding album that will eat up half of next month's mortgage. 

So to set everyone (or simply me, I suppose) straight: It's a blog about a girl in advertising with a monstrously expanding belly and a whole lot to go on and on about. 

I'll keep you posted. 

Like bubbles running up the sides of a glass of Coke

That's exactly what it feels like. Baby bump surprised me in the middle of lunch with an odd tickle of a position shift. And it felt just like you'd filled your stomach up with Coke and the bubbles rolled together up the sides of the glass. I was wondering what the first movement would feel like.

Nice.