With Jen gone, I wander about bumping into doorways and stepping in dog poop. I think I can write off glasses and shoes as a business expense so I’m not so concerned about the money. I am concerned by my ever-growing obsession with taking photographs of everything I see.
Help.
Me.
Interns make me think of Summer and since we met two potential candidates this week, I think Summer must be approaching. I wanted to have the girls fight to the death for the position but Jen said we could hire both. She is so sensible.
Anyway, Jen’s going on vacation tomorrow and that leaves me plenty of time to clean up the blood and call Centerpoint before I dig the grave in my backyard.
Dear Diary, I witnessed something today that I’m pretty sure is illegal. Anyway, I hope Jen has a nice time in Mexico. Fondly, Fran
One year, the Easter Bunny put a tiny white bunny in our Easter basket. I was sure it was meant for me and not for the other kids that shared my home and parents. An outdoor cage was built and the bunny lived in it until and my memory gets fuzzy at this point the bunny went to live with the Easter Bunny again? Yes, I think that’s what happened.
I don’t remember how I got it, but I also had a durable green parakeet. I usually forgot to clean her cage and the droppings rose like stalagmites from the newspaper-covered floor.
We never had a dog, although my grandparent’s dog tried to make me his wife. That was pretty traumatizing.
Last weekend, I was surrounded by six small dogs. I loved it so much, I made a new card:
Oh, AND the Important Thing? We got cards into Paper Source. It’s about time you noticed us, you big lug. (Paper Source has 63 shops around the country. Thats 63 x something x $ = $$$$)
Artisan Center -> 2757 East Third Avenue, Denver, CO 80206
ANOTHER profile in that special series dedicated to bringing our readers biased reviews of shops that carry our goods.
Okay, so I began my exhaustive research with the Yelp reviews. One phrase stood out, “This place hasn’t been around for 30 years by sucking.”
That should be their slogan.
Do you need soaps, jewelry, mobiles, salad bowls, stained glass, OUR CARDS, or a bird house made of a Minnesota license plate??
You do? After reading those reviews, I had to go check this place out for myself:
Those people are small. And blurry.
Wouldn’t it be great if there was a single greeting card that could wrap up your feelings of culpability completely? Sometimes saying your sorry just doesn’t seem like enough. Sure, you could show the offended party your remorse, but that can take up a lot of time (and energy!). I’ve put a sizable amount of thought into this issue and believe I’ve come up with a solution that will satisfy both parties.
I give you, The Apology Card:
At my ballroom dancing school, I was a hesitant, awkward girl. I wore glasses and oversized t-shirts.
My papa, and my entire Spanish gypsy family, were skilled in the ways of dance but it was hard for me to incorporate my roots into ballroom dancing.
How did I do it? As luck would have it, the handsome star of our dance school agreed to start practicing with me. Pretty soon he was wearing a matador jacket and I didn’t even need my glasses.
Speaking of Australia! Zeichen Press just got an Australian distributor!
One of my stalkers used to say, “I’ve gottalotta things in the hopper. A lot. In the hopper.” I often wondered if one of those things in the hopper was making a skin suit out of me. But I never asked – I love surprises. He once chased me on roller skates. I wasn’t even scared. Now, the cab-driver… the stalking cab-driver, he was a little scary. Although… he’d drive by an Old Country Buffet and was so high he’d often forget he was stalking me. He just couldn’t resist the chicken-fried-chicken.
But enough of these bedtime stories!
WE’VE got a lot of things in the hopper: A Logo, Oscar-luncheon-gift-bag-goodies, a show at a gallery, a speaking engagement in front of pre-schoolers, a bat mitzvah invitation, more stupid catalogs. I’m nervous about the speaking engagement. If I make eye-contact with any one of those children they’ll own me. The last thing I need is a room full of kids throwing lead type at my head.
In preparation for the upcoming events I decided that someone should clean our little shop of horrors. Someone did. Isn’t it cute? *Note the framed photo of Kelly Clarkson next to the hanging hammer.
Hot Plate‘s Mexican Omelette was again sending me messages. Who am I to ignore them? I just do what I’m told.
Exhausted from an earlier outing, I had my husband drive our team of horses. I was cozy warm because I stuffed hot potatoes in my pants.
While I devoured my second Mexican Omelette of the week I chatted with owner, Carrie Lewis. She told me a tale. A tale that reminded me of how dark the soul can be… a tale of the flawed nature of humanity. I openly wept as she about her passive aggressive neighbors. And, as I sipped my 9th delicious latte, I formulated a plan: I would counter the negativity directed at The Best Restaurant on the South Side by channeling the Prince of Peace, Mr. Rogers.
Who better to handle bad neighborhood karma than him? I can think of no one. I have created this card and will be making a plate asap. Reserve one (or five) today because they will be selling faster than Hot Plate’s pumpkin pancakes.
Only my fellow Minnesotans and residents of Chicken, Alaska can truly understand what it means to be cold. I am intrigued by deadly weather. Cold that can freeze a limb solid. Cold that flattens your car tires. Cold that makes your eyeballs feel funny. I braved the extreme cold today.
Twice.
-21° is COLD. But a Mexican Omelette was whispering my name with such longing… I put on every bit of clothing I own and headed outside. The car actually told me to F – Off. I reminded it that we were both in this together and that if it cooperated I would fill it up with Premium Gasoline. Foolish car, choosing gasoline over Mexican Omelette!
When I was safely inside of Hot Plate I laughed… Oh, how I laughed – and saluted the outdoors for being a worthy adversary. Later that day (that SAME day) I went outside again. I actually ran to the studio. It took 1.5 seconds. Luckily my exposed body part (my bottom) was unharmed.
Where was I? Oh, yes. I risked my limbs (and bottom) to run to the studio and lay out previously written cards. Three birthday cards. The metal type was awfully cold. I wanted to lick it but I exercised restraint.
The low magenta toner has put a hold on the catalog production. I am really, really upset about it. I’d like to spend more time with the new laser printer. Understanding its quirks, its likes and dislikes. What makes it get out of bed every morning? Does it enjoy being my slave? Don’t worry, Brother HL-4070CDW – this is only temporary. Jen paid the extra $3.99 for shipping and your toner will be here Wednesday. Thank you, Jen. I mean it.
So I spent the day in the shop. Despite my tears I was able to lay out some previously written cards. I think the anguish really comes through. I am, after all, an artist. My soul is appropriately tortured. Whoa is me.
WHERE??? If I have to work on this catalog layout for 10 more seconds I’m going to quit my job. I will instantly rehire myself just so I can quit again. This could go on for days. Of COURSE I couldn’t just work with the catalog copy in Adobe InDesign – I HAD to use a WWII era typewriter. A Smith-Corona Skyriter to type in each individual bit of information about all 100 products. What is wrong with me?
I actually cheated in “keyboarding I AND II” in high school. Don’t ask me how. DON’T ASK ME.
Jen is just dying to say, “I told you so.” Just shut up, Jen. Why must you take the place of my underdeveloped sensibilities?
Day Two. Snow fell through the night and drifted into the passage. The women and children are weaker today. Kenneth is ailing and must be dragged on a make-shift sledge. Robert appears to be delusional and only can speak of thick-cut bacon and death metal. The dogs are starting to look delicious, especially the fluffy one. We are, most certainly, in a predicament.
Um, here’s a new card – inspired by the men, women, and children that ventured West .
The Donner (Birthday) Party
Uh. December is, like, over. I don’t even care. Good riddance you ungrateful pig. You think you’re so great with your Christmas and your Hanukkah and your Britney Spears’ birthday. I’ve had it. I think we all have. Even with all of these Feast Days I managed to squeeze in our long-awaited catalog creation. And don’t think I forgot about my 25-birthday-cards. Self-imposed deadlines are the only way to get anything done. You know what else works? Pretending someone is going to kill you if you don’t get something done. SO, I scrounged up some images and wrote some lines. Yeah, yeah – I’ve not set the type or done layouts or pulled any proofs – mere formalities. And anyway, my shop elves will do it while I’m ringing in the New Year in lovely Brainerd, Minnesota. Here are a few images/lines – they’ll be 15% funnier after I’ve had my way with them. And another thing: they’re not all birthday cards. I’m not some sort of one-trick pony.
You make this, you live.
Good luck.
Shhhh. Nobody’ll even notice us.
Good Lord, what a day! I got up at the crack o’ eight – Jen picked me up and brought me to the MidTown Market to hawk our goods. It was the No-Coast Craft-o-Rama! We were pretty much SiameseTwins – due to my crippling Math Anxiety, I can’t be left alone to make change for a twenty. I welcome your prayers. I smiled lots and said, “four dollars” or “five dollars” whenever I felt like it. Sometimes it was in response to a customer’s question. Here are some customers: notice their intense cheerfulness:
I did manage to step away from our table to find a crinkly cat bag for My Mother-in-Law. She’s gonna frickin’ love it. Those cats are gonna thank me by walking by me and not noticing I exist. It’ll be one awesome Christmas.
…Fast forward, like, eight hours and I found myself at a delightful Holiday Party. I think it was in Plymouth. Anyway, the halls were decked, the booze was flowing. The booze was flowing. In retrospect, I don’t think it all wanted to be in my body. I’m not sure why, at the time, I thought it did want to be in there. And honestly, there wasn’t a lot of room, what with all the spanakopita . I was planning on giving it all up in a stock pot that Katie generously donated to the car. I felt the love. I did make it home, with a clean stock pot, and Kenny dumped me into bed. He was like a hunter and I was like a deer carcass. The bed was the pick-up truck. It was so much fun. I dragged my sorry arse out of bed this morning to for churching. The stock pot is a symbol of one woman’s redemption. So much can happen in a day.
PS: Did you know that 80’s glasses are back in style?? You crazy kids!
Three 10″x15″ iron chases locked up with Touchpoint Buzzwords. Buzzwords and some other random cuts from the ZP collection – including a chunk from a newspaper insert advertising handy items for the ladies: A rubber-lined shopping bag available in gay plaids, a multi-tiered clothes hanger, a cap to protect the hairdo. What I wouldn’t give to have those items. My drab, rain-soaked groceries… My closet, crammed full! How could I be hanging my clothes on ONE plane? My hair, My God, my hair… I don’t even know where to start. I get a “do” and leave it completely unprotected. It’s like I don’t even care! Oh. Back to the Touchpoint Holiday Card/Disc Sleeve. It’s super sweet:
Three 10″x15″ iron chases locked up with Touchpoint Buzzwords. Buzzwords and some other random cuts from the ZP collection – including a chunk from a newspaper insert advertising handy items for the ladies: A rubber-lined shopping bag available in gay plaids, a multi-tiered clothes hanger, a cap to protect the hairdo.
What I wouldn’t give to have those items. My drab, rain-soaked groceries… My closet, crammed full! How could I be hanging my clothes on ONE plane? My hair, My God, my hair… I don’t even know where to start. I get a “do” and leave it completely unprotected. It’s like I don’t even care!
Oh. Back to the Touchpoint Holiday Card/Disc Sleeve. It’ super sweet:
