That’s Stella

This week I’m lunching with one of the directors from my favourite ad agency! Arghh! Call me a tool if you wish, but I haven’t been able to wipe my smirky grin off my face since I got the big “YES, let’s do lunch” this morning! Well, actually I suggested coffee even though I don’t drink coffee and haven’t for 10 years, but when I spent an hour editing my four-liner email and wrote “are you free for tea?” not only did it sound rather girly but I thought he could’ve interpreted tea as dinner too which would’ve been awkward. Dinner between two just sounds a little too intimate, especially for two people who’ve never actually met before! Yes! That’s right, I’m going on a blind business lunch date!

When he suggested we do lunch over coffee, well… I gave myself a pat on the shoulder that I even had the balls to email him (I don’t really have the balls… as I’ve been taught before, confidence is a con). Then after a game of email ping pong, going back and forward with four-liners all day he told me to meet him at work so he could give me a tour. And well… now I’m quite tickled pink.

In other news, I have four advertisements I worked on coming out in the next two months! One TV commercial, a double page spread and two print ads (or in ad jargon that I’ve grown to love, I have one TVC, a DSP and two 12x2 coming soon!)

I have finally and officially graduated! Hooraa! Last Thursday was the big graduation ceremony. It went on for two long hours. I know, it doesn’t sound that long but for MONTHS I have been praying to the man above that it would be cool weather on the night so I wouldn’t be sweating like a pig on a grill underneath all our graduation robes and that my make up wouldn’t be dripping off my face for the big close up they do of our pretty smiley/nervous faces as we’re projected on two massive screens on either side of the stage.

Hell, it was a little daunting having to orchestrate walking on stage (at the correct time) whilst keeping our robes in tact whilst making sure our stupid mortarboard didn’t fall off, then continuing to “tip” our mortarboard to the audience as some sign of “I’ve finally graduated you suckers”, then shake with our correct right hand and collect the award, all the while smiling at the cameras so our deer caught in the headlight look isn’t permanantly and eternally captured on 1000+ DVD’s that were sold to the public.

Anyway it was a long two hours because turns out the man above did answer my prayers like he has so many other times when I have asked to be blessed with chilling weather. But I didn’t prepare for it. Not that I don’t have a lot of faith, but under those robes I just wore a short sleeve knit and a silk skirt, so when he decided to let lose the winds and 20C degree weather I was a little unprepared. Halfway through the ceremony I was busting to go to the toilet and the cold weather made my situation a lot worse. I was so close to having my turn on stage to collect my evidence that I had gotton through uni, when they stopped the ceremony for a “refreshing” four page, 20 minute speech by this monotonous pHD honourable something or other. Andrea and I made faces at each other during and I kept tapping my watch in hope that pHD man would somehow see through the darkness 30 metres away and realise he was causing me agony and that my bladder was about to explode. He didn’t. He went on… and on… and on…
To be honest, I wanted a speech that would make me feel better about employment in the future. I wanted someone to get up on stage and say “This piece of paper guarentees you employment with at least a $40,000+ salary.” Even something inspirational would’ve gone a long way. Instead, speech man was talking about the war and someone being dead and Europe and something or other. Seriously, if I wanted a lecture on that I would’ve gone to the old folks home down the road from me.

Anyway, it ended with a big bang - literally. No my bladder didn’t errupt, but they put on a fireworks display! It was pretty damn amazing. To be honest, I was a little teary. There I was slumped on my chair, watching these beautiful fireworks and reminiscing about my uni days. All those naughty things we did, all the stalking of cute boys, drunken lunches, cheekiness, late nights and early mornings spent at uni and especially all the gorgeous friends I grew to know. Uni life has treated me far too well.

Fitzgerald - Has the boss had a few words with you?
Stella - Yeah… we’ve talked…
Let me guess.. “hey”, “hello”, “how are ya?”?
Hahah yeah… he said “impressive” to me the other day.
IMPRESSIVE? I worked here for 3 months and he never said one word to me and you’ve been working here a week and get “Impressive”!?
Yeah… but he was talking about my salad.
Fitzgerald erupts into the biggest laugh.

I love work. I get up at 6am and actually look forward to what work has in store for me. One thing for sure, I know they’ll be laughter and gossip and plenty of inspiration. It’s fantastic. I’m sad that it ends this week, but we’ll see what happens. I’ve made some great contacts and good friends that will help me out. And this experience is going to look fab on my resume.

I have a crush on someone at work. It was bound to happen when males make up 3/4 of the office. When I’m on my lonesome and he’s not too busy he comes into my office to check up on me and joke around. After he leaves my office I’m off with the fairies. I stare at the carpet in front of me and imagine how hot our children would look.

The girl that was going to bed at 3am and waking up at noon is now the girl getting up at 6am and going to bed by 9:30pm. That girl, is ME. It’s only been my second day at work at the advertising agency and I am pooped! Work is amazing and I am loving every second of it. I’m currently getting rotated around the agency in different departments which is handy because as it turns out, what they teach at uni really doesn’t count too much in the real world! I keep getting asked which path of advertising I plan to take, and before I was dead set on account services (dealing with the clients), but after spending time in the creative department (and meeting amazing people and contacts whilst at it) I have this desire to work as a copywriter. Which is not all that weird because that’s what initially drew me to advertising all those 10 years ago. Copywriters are responsible for writing the ad and pretty much (with the aid of the whole creative team) come up with the underlying creative idea for a campaign/product/print ad, etc…

Initially I thought that it might be some bitchy environment (which I prepared myself for) but everyone is just warm and welcoming and full of advice and wisdom. But I’m not naive to think that this is the case worldwide.

The creative director took me under his wing on my first day and we were editing a commercial. Usually I am very meticulous, but I missed a small error on the commercial and he said he was waiting for me to pick it up. I cheekily told him I saw it way before he noticed the error but “didn’t want to pipe up to cause more work”. He brilliantly said,
“You know what? You were born for advertising. You’re full of bullshit!”

Whilst taking a “creative time out” (read: socialising) today we found these halarious TV spots. I tried to put up the links on here before, but they didn’t work. For a laugh go here and search the following TV spots:
Mayday
Undies
March of the Emperors
It’s worth it! You’ll get a laugh! Brilliant creative and pretty effective.

Beauty appointments. I get my eyebrows done at the brow king in Claremont and every single time I allow myself 45 minutes travelling time (which in theory is ample enough time). That is, till I hit Stirling Highway where all the stupid drivers in Perth tend to roam in their Volvos or BMW’s and I get into this mad rush trying to get to my appointment on time. As I weave in and out of the traffic (and probably become one of these stupid drivers) all I have in my head is the fear that if I show up late and hold up the brow king, he might “accidentally” over wax my entire left eye brow to teach me a lesson.
He did a great job yesterday. I didn’t lose any brows. But I know that idea was swimming around in his pretty head.

I start my two weeks full time paid internship at one of the top advertising agencies here on Monday. Everyone keeps asking me if I’m scared, but I couldn’t be more excited! However, I am now in a desperate rush shopping for business wear. I use to love wearing business suits and sky high black stiletto shoes, but ever since working last year in New York my business dress sense has fallen off the face of the earth.

The dress code in New York was “stylish” - they didn’t care what you wore as long as it looked good. The CEO and Vice Prez would come to work in Lacoste or Penquin polo shirts and ripped Diesel jeans. Some of the girls would wear ugg boots (which is far from stylish at a work place) but would make up for their fashion sin by flashing around their Louis Vuitton bag or Balenciaga tote. Designer jeans were a must. Luckily they’re my weakness and I didn’t have to bare horrified looks like some of the other girls did when *gasp* they had the gall to wear a pair of jeans with a $50 price tag. It was completely shallow.

I do admit though, I loved that being in New York you had a good reason to up the ante. Anytime I had this crazy clothing concoction in my head, I would justify it by saying “Well, fuck it! I’m in New York!”. Once I wore white MOON BOOTS, teamed up with black patterned stockings and a Marc Jacobs black and white POLKA DOT skirt during a SNOW STORM and the whole day the CEO was completely in awe, so much so that he asked me to finish work early so I could accompany him to the ABC studios for a TV appearance to represent the company.

So when I came back from New York and had to go back to work doing marketing for the government here, it was painful to have to go back to business suits. I ended up getting away with wearing casual wear and justifying that I had uni classes after. But now… it’s a new beginning and it’s back to business. Starting Monday at 8am.

Phew! The Big Day Out has come and gone and I am not baring any bruises, sunburn or damage to my bank balance. The past few days have been agony, tossing around the idea of braving the Big Day Out and contemplating how much I really wanted to go. Well, conclusion is, I didn’t want to go all that much. Usually at this time of the year, I’m taunting my Perth friends with tales of seeing top bands playing 15 minutes away from home in New York.
This year… I had to suck it up. It serves me right.

There are too many reasons why I refuse to go to the BDO. A few include:
1. Being vertically challenged, I really don’t get to see the bands I want to see. In fact, I don’t get to see ANY band. I’m paying to see heads and backs. Yes, it is true, sometimes it does suck being short.
2. The cost - $100+ just to HEAR bands? I think not.
3. The crowds - so not worth it
4. The sun - impossible to enjoy an outdoor festival when the sun is searing and the temperatures are nearing 40C.

Anyway I’m happy with my decision. The only bands I really wanted to see were Kings of Leon, The Go! Team and Iggy Pop and realistically even if I went, I wouldn’t have seen them anyhoo.

Last night (the night before the BDO) my friends and I had a few drinks with some of the bands playing at the BDO. However, the whole night Sazz and I were on a look out for Iggy Pop, praying that he would stumble by us and spill a drink and it’d be enough to cause some conversation. But when the night started getting a little exciting we made a pact that if we saw Pop, we wouldn’t talk to him.

We decided that if we did meet him and we were sorely disappointed, it might ruin our perceptions of the man and could drive us to the brink of burning his cds and other violent hate campaigns.
Frankly, I love his music way too much to discover that he’s some prick. I know that he’s meant to be some nice guy, but I’m a hard girl to please.

Not meaning to brag (except that I am going to to prove my point), when you’ve had bands sing a love song for you on stage in front of hundreds of people or you’ve had your rock star crush give you a big smooch or got wasted with your favourite group or had a famous band drive you home after their show, it kinda heightens ones expectations.

So I figure realistically, the only way I’ll be satisfied with an encounter with Iggy Pop is if he was so charmed by me that he begged me to take him on a road trip and allowed me to play Lust For Life on repeat till we hit our secluded destination or if he offered himself to me or if he rolled around naked in peanut butter and we had a jello wrestling match after. Oh boy am I going to have sweet dreams tonight!

I can’t explain it, but despite his cocaine face, there is something so attractive about the man.