Captain’s Log, Stardate 4.1.2013 - Hygiene

Jen was part of a dangerous expedition

New product was added to the shop and I can’t help but wonder which cards will sell well… will they be sheep-related?:Or not?

That’s the sound that March makes — that and a muffled sobbing. February triggers cabin fever but March in Minnesota is far more dangerous.

Here’s a story about March: One Christmas, Santa put a baby albino rabbit under the tree — so delightful! 

The little rabbit grew into a big rabbit and by the next Winter, our basement smelled like the bunny barn at the State Fair. With scraps of wood and a bale of hay, I built an outdoor rabbit hutch.

In a pinch, it could serve as a coffin for an adult man.

IN A PINCH.

By March it was buried under several feet of snow and I’d order my eldest to go spend time with the rabbit in the snow coffin.

The moral of the story is: Get a dog.

And something about March creating crazy. Thank God I have an outlet for my March crazy:

Who’s the fairest one of all?

There is SO much happening around here! First, I had to bait a squirrel trapto catch the Kitchen-Squirrel. I was going to fill the trap with my kitchen garbage (her favorite) but I decided to go for something more bourgeois: Skippy Peanut Butter.

And then there was a serious decision to make: Which card would Paper Source like more?I hope we chose wisely because one of our lives (Jen’s) is on the line.

Oh, and I didn’t forget that it is Valentine’s Day today, I am very romantic. Here is proof:

For Immediate Release: In an attempt to build the Zeichen Press Fan Base, Jen Shea and Fran Shea will appear on a local cable-access show locked in a cell and covered in Fancy Feast™. 1,000 cats will be released into the cell through a small hatch. Fran and Jen will sing a medley of famous duets, including Islands In the Stream, Endless Love, and You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.

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Hello.

My name is Pevenshire Wiffynuts and I’m here today to talk about targeting your demographic. Whether you are marketing adult diapers, cowboy hats, or cemetery plots, it is critical that you understand your audience. That may mean that you have to poop in your pants, herd cows, or bury a loved one.

Don’t be afraid to do these things — they will help you effectively move product and change lives. 

Wow! Thanks, Pevenshire.

I hear what you’re saying — I ripped off my mom-mask to reveal the face of an eight-year-old-boy so I could create this birthday card:

Should I shower today or plan a fictional vacation?

Should I take down the Christmas tree or pet the cat?

Life is so challenging.

Decision du jour: Which card is funnier??

A)B)I have fictional vacations to plan and cats to pet — help me move on with my day.

Why hide your abnormality under a dingy flannel sack? Love suffers enough in this disposable culture and I will not be a lemming — I will stand up for the odd, the fractured, the misfit, the offbeat, the freaks. I will stand up and say, I embrace the grotesque!

As long as they don’t smell like urine.

I can handle just about any disfigurement — emotional or physical — that sits next to me on the bus, but my achilles heel in my mad-dash for sainthood, is my keen sense of smell.

Damn my olfactory perception.

I don’t think John Merrick

smelled like urine, so we would probably have been great friends.

I made two new cards that celebrate this subject. Feel free to give them to the person in your life that needs to know they’re special.

If you have someone in your life that smells like urine, they would probably appreciate this card very much.

Congratulations, future St. Blankblank.

It’s almost January and you know what that means: It’s time to wash my Smart Wool socks. And celebrate Christmas.

Jen told me I can’t write anymore Christmas or Chanukah cards. After I egged her face, I wrote a Get Well card:

I was once one of them — an innocent amusement park customer. I looked down at them now, from the highest man-made point in Shakopee, Minnesota. I sighed and listened to the chug-chug-chugging from beneath our coaster — our lives depended on the integrity of a giant bicycle chain. Our open-casket hesitated for just a moment at the tippy-top of the steel summit — hesitated just enough for me to grasp the inevitable free-fall. And as we plummeted to our possible deaths, I screamed.

And wet my pants.

The End

How old was she?

Don’t judge me.

Obviously, I wasn’t born riding a roller coaster, I was born screaming. And wetting my pants.

*Hint: this photograph was taken close to the time of the event and **Double Hint: I’m not the baby.Speaking of literary themes, there is a lot (not really) to dissect in this new (Holiday/Winter Season?) card:

Bears have it best — fattening up and slipping into their Wintertime coma. I sit here, like a fool, planning my Wintertime Wardrobe — if I never had to shower, I would wear my neck to ankle long-underwear uninterrupted.

I have Faith that Winter will eventually turn to Spring.

In Spring, I will tear off my layers of long-underwear. I will bury my Smartwool in the backyard. I will shun my calf-length coat like an old boyfriend. (I can’t believe I was with YOU!!)

In Spring, kids graduate from educational institutions. And because I am a Giver, I give you these: New graduation cards. Don’t be like, “Why are you thinking about graduation in October?”

Just accept the greeting card calendar. ACCEPT IT.