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Can I be nicer?
I guess that last round of cards I did for Trader Joe’s were tossed into the “maybe” pile for being “too snippy, irreverent, and sarcastic”. That would hurt my feelings if I wasn’t made entirely of gears, microchips, and ice. I figured I better try again. I thought, “what would a nice person want to say to another person that they actually cared for? How can I help facilitate some positive communication that may otherwise be forever unspoken due to awkward shyness or maybe even because of some sort of speech impediment. What if someone has simply taken a vow of silence? I will be their voice.” (Didn’t that totally give you chills? I know, I KNOW. That was totally unrehearsed.) Here are the nicer cards for Trader Joe’s: (Will they be nice enough? Stay tuned.)
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Let’s Cozy Up, Kelly Clarkson
Umm, the Target Center was a strange, strange place last night. So many jewel encrusted tank tops and hoodies… I felt out of place in my Witch Costume. My friend, Melissa Peterman rocked the house with her comic stylings. To thank her for setting up a meet-n-greet with Kelly and Reba, I made her a set of these:
I was disappointed that Kelly and Reba didn’t arrive on horseback. I did allow them to take a picture with me. An act, I feel, was very much appreciated by both of them. They were thrilled to meet me and asked me all sorts of questions about my lifestyle.
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Bad Catholic Mutha’
They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I’m talkin’ ’bout Shaft. THEN WE CAN DIG IT!
Brrrrrrrr. Um, brrrrrrrrr. Something (snow) tells me summer is over. I had a VERY busy weekend, there was Kelly Clarkson, then a bunch of stuff, then Don Draper. Oh, yes – I managed to squeeze in a design/letterpress project.
Some Bad Catholic Mothers of OLG (hardcore acronym: Our Lady of Grace) asked me to design a book cover for their Tell-All Confessional. Thanks to Boxcar for their perfect plate and thanks to all you Bad Catholic Muthas out there for your indiscretion and moral ambiguity.
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Can I call you Joe?
That Trader Joe’s Card Chick was wondering if I’d like to do some more cards for the stores. Doesn’t she understand that she can’t turn me on and off like some sort of magic faucet?
Doesn’t she understand that my creative process is a flowing, uninterruptible, inspired tangent? You bean counters! I will not submit to your big box schemes. You can’t make me. I’m an artist, a non-conformist! … What’s that? Our 401(k) is down to what? Well, that’s just fantastic… Once again, I’ll have to step in and kick-start the economy. I had really big plans for the week, none of which involved saving America. Well, I guess that my Winter Wardrobe is going to have to try itself on. I hope you’re happy, lady. I hope you’re happy.
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No karaoke at the VFW
Last Sunday, the basement of the Uptown VFW became home to the i Like You craft fair. The Uptown VFW seems to be three floors of basement. Wait, that’s every VFW. The water-stained, drop ceiling has soaked in more than 50 years of delicious cigarette smoke. The vinyl, accordion fold wall was straight out of my grandparent’s house. I felt like having a poached egg or a ham salad sandwich.
Oh, the VFW… so similar to the church basement. Or maybe a bomb shelter. A bomb shelter with awesome junk in it. I recently spent an evening in a VFW for the karaoke portion of a friend’s birthday party.
Again, we were in the basement but I swear we didn’t go downstairs. I knew the night was over when I saw this:
I won’t say whose leg that body was attached to. That’s a silent shame she must carry to her grave. Note the glass of water I kindly placed by her body.
But enough about nighttime VFW! Here’s a photo I took of the Daytime VFW:
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Copy. Paste. Repeat. Copy. Paste. Repeat. Copy. Paste. Repeat. Copy. Paste. Repeat.
Have I mentioned how much Millie The Dog
barks at anything and everything within a 500 foot perimeter of our house? Mailman, delivery-person, solicitors, neighbors, guests, the kids, trick-or-treaters, my mom… We’ve talked a lot about it and she feels super responsible for alerting us – I told her that we really don’t need that kind of help, BUT WE DID. SHE WAS RIGHT. SHE’S ALWAYS RIGHT.SO, my driveway was full of a dumpster filled with bathroom remodel debris, Millie was having a staycation with a friend, AND SOME JERK CLIPPED THE LOCK ON OUR SHED AND STOLE MY BIKE.
And he threw the lock in the dirt like some sort of criminal.AND THEN, the loser (no judgment) tried to sell MY bike on a site called OfferUp.com.
But he is as slippery as an eel wrapped in a banana peel, and disappeared INTO THE NIGHT. Police have been alerted, prayers to St. Anthony have been said. I asked St. Anthony if he could forward my prayers onto the Patron Saint of Stolen Goods and he told me to go back to sleep and stop Googling escutcheons for the new bathroom.
FINE.
While I wait for my miracle, I spend days mindlessly migrating ALL of the content from the Zeichen Press site to THE NEW Zeichen Press site. DON’T WORRY, you won’t even be able to tell the difference because we wanted to spend a lot of money on something that nobody notices.
OH, and Jen got some new/old cuts
so I made a Father’s Day Card out of that little man.
BACK TO MIGRATING/WEEPING. -
Hygiene Tester
I did the math and figured out that two toilets MINUS one toilet EQUALS one toilet. And one shower MINUS one shower EQUALS zero showers.
I desperately yelled that equation to the boys during my bathroom demo, but they pretended not to hear me.
I only gave birth to them to provide me with free manual labor. Ha! Who’s laughing now, boys??Anyway, who needs a shower??
OR a bath??
I barely do.And as soon as all of my family and friends get back from being out of town for a month, they’ll tell you the same.
Here’s a new birthday card/fantasy:
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Jenmas Eve!
Everyone celebrates Jenmas Eve differently.*I* like to go to Hot Plate SANS Jen to eat a Mexican Omelet surrounded by a gallery of paint-by-number masterpieces.
YEARS AGO, Jen (carefully) slaved away over *her* masterpiece and it sits atop a shelf of knick-knacks in Cape Cod.
She was so dedicated! I bet she knew that someday I’d repay her in birthday cards.
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Will Design 4… White Italian Cararra Marble Hexagon Tile
The Art Licensor (RSVP) asked us for some birthday cards and because I love to work/need money, I made nine. I won’t bore you with the details/need to get back to listening to my new podcast (My Favorite Murder).
Here are a few… Will they choose any???
Stay tuned.
Thank you, Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. I can’t wait until Alexis Stewart and I meet you in person!
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Minnehahahahahahahaha Creek
“What street is this??” I yelled up to the boy watching us float past him. He told me that we were just about to enter the Ninth Circle of Hell.
PHEW! Almost done!
Three hours to travel 2.5 miles… Could we have walked faster than the creek carried us? Oh, THAT’S the point my kids were making when they got out of their tubes and dragged them the last four blocks! Oh, kids! So subtle!
I didn’t get a photograph of them on our adventure, BUT a giant spider landed on my belly! AND who needs a picture of all three when one of them modeled for the company that made our tubes?
(Grip those handles! Safety first, Dylan!)I only thought the creek-pollution caused blindness one time and I only lost my sunglasses one time — I’d call that a win!
Here’s a card, maybe inspired by laughter-induced bladder incontinence. MAYBE NOT.
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Roadhouse and Tea Towels and Poop Sandwiches
My life is one big Sexy Action Thriller. And being a bouncer at the Double Deuce in Missouri when I was only ten years old was pretty intense. Sure, I had great hair and sure I had a winning smile, and sure I always made breaking up bar fights and drinking black coffee look sexy. That’s just who I am.
Truth is, practicing tai chi in your brother’s sweatpants and running a letterpress design studio with cards SOLD AROUND THE WORLD, takes discipline and dedication.
Live Wires, our New Zealand distributor, knows this and sent us a token of appreciation.
I think they’re supposed to be for tea but I already used mine for sopping up blood from a letterpress-related (packing tape dispenser) injury. Thanks Helen Harvey!
After I bandaged my wound, I made this:
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As The World Turns
My little sister had baby #2 last week, she gave birth at home but, strangely, didn’t ask me to participate.
Despite my lack of presence, the birth went off without a hitch because anyone can boil water and get towels. (SORRY MOM.)
I will give her this card the next time I break in to her house:
ALSO, I made this because I am so into politics:
So, you don’t need to watch the news tonight. You’re welcome. -
I Dreamed a Dream
Dinah told me about her crazy dream!
She said we left her for two weeks with Tib and Jen so we could go to Cape Cod, and she had a fever and hair-balls. She said it was actually more like a nightmare poor thing!
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her nightmare was real… that we did leave her for two weeks with Tib and Jen.
But she isn’t alone. When she reads the blog, she’ll find out about our scary flight home. The airline warned us, but people just do whatever they want.
The other passengers made calls on their flip-phones, watched who-knows-what on portable televisions, drove their remote-controlled cars up and down the aisle, talked to each other on walkie-talkies, and blasted music on transistor radios! Meanwhile we, The Law-Abiding, were stuck in the teeny-tiny bathroom, forced to take hysterical selfies.
BUT, we managed to land safely, no thanks to all of that recklessness. I will NOT be giving them my latest Thank You Card.
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02630
Cape Cod 2016 is (so far) drama AND cage-free. Wait, we did lose one member of the party searching for the water shut-off valve in the cellar.
He was brave and will be missed.
More importantly, we never found that shut-off valve! One life wasted.
But we must carry on, he would have wanted it that way.
The very next day was filled with so much splashing and laughter and sunscreen, I’m sure Ben was looking down on us and giggling! Oh, how he’d giggle!
AND here’s a little thing from The Boston Globe about Millennials’ loving PAPER greeting cards. DUH. -
Mystery Solving and Scapegoating and Huge Fans
This isn’t the first time I blamed The Cats for a crime they didn’t commit.
Nor will it be the last.
The odor of rotten animal is unforgettable and like the odor of rotting potato, it is embedded in the brain. But sometimes the brain jumbles the smell of decomposing rodent with the smell of a blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can.And that is where my story begins…
The Summer Breeze gently wafted through the upstairs windows. It was pleasant, until an occasional repulsive odor stung my nostrils. I blamed The Cats for hunting, killing, and hiding their prey somewhere on my second floor.
But a search for a body was in vain and a garbage can investigation led me to the real suspect: that damn blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can!
Mea culpa, Tib! When will I ever trust you again??
Speaking of breezes (and puns??)… Here’s a new thank you/congratulations card.
