Copy Cats

Before I begin my rant, the winner of the Shade gift card will be announced on the next post. You’ve got two more days to enter! Share me on Facebook and let me know you did it. While you’re at it, subscribe on the right.

Okay, now then. . .

Well if Glamour Magazine is not a copycat and a half, I don’t know who is. I can just imagine the conversation in the writing room now:

Mrs. Glamour: I’ve just had the most amazing idea, staff! What if we did a piece on women who are assistants!? Wouldn’t that be a riot?

Staff: Well, er, there is actually already a quite funny blog about that, Mrs. Glamour.

Mrs. Glamour: Nonsense! I came up with that idea totally on my own. I haven’t even read!

Staff: Well, uh, how did you know that was the name of the blog?

Mrs. Glamour: You’re fired! Bring in the other staff!

(Current staff is escorted out by large men wearing suspenders. Enter other staff writers).

Other Staff: So you want us to write an original, informative piece about the life of assistants? Sure thing! It’ll be the best piece ever! We will take all Just the Assistant’s hard work and make major profits off it. Woo hahahaha!

Imagine my horror, readers, when I opened my beloved Glamour this weekend to find the following story:

I’ll sue you, Glamour Magazine. I’ll do it.

The first half of the article discussed all these things assistants should do to get ahead in their career.  I swear they pickpocketed this stuff directly from me.

Do you mean, like how I admit I don’t know anything about mortgages, like, all the time? Hmph.

I’m warnin’ ya, Glamour!

That sounds awfully familiar, Glamour. You mean, learn what others do like I did just last week?!

The next part of the article warned us assistants about:

This is where things got a bit interesting, as all of these “fatal mistakes” are a bit, ahem, familiar to me.

 You mean, like, writing a blog instead of being the assistant?

Oversharing, as in, posting office secrets and making fun of your bosses on a website? What? Come on, Glamour, be specific.

Like the time I forgot to order food for some gig and James nearly had a hernia?

Oh Glamour, it seems you’ve been reading my dear blog all this time and have crafted a handy article out of all my successes and bloopers. There’s one thing you forgot, ole Glamour:

I really should say something about those interest rates.

Wicked. Low.

It’s ridiculous, people. It’s time to buy a house. Tell your parents the interest rate you get and they’ll faint. You know why? Because never in their life will they have known rates this low. Shoot me an e-mail, set up a time to chat with my favorite ole Bosses, and put that realtor to work. Next step: move your Glamour (or Men’s Health!) subscription to your new mailing address.