Blog - Tortured Soul

Winter has been creeping in like a gas leak and I am always pleasantly surprised to find myself awake in the morning. 

“That’s nice.” I say, as I stretch and crawl off my sofa-bed. Never one to miss nuance, I wonder why I’m not in my own bed.

Good design sometimes requires getting into character – I’ve been dressing like a gypsy (not showering) for our latest Tanek project. A paper fortune teller is easier to mail than a crystal ball and some might argue – more accurate. Tanek will send 300 of these out to their dearest friends – I only hope they take the responsibility of predicting the future seriously:

The odyssey began exactly three and a half miles West of the Mississippi during what would later be called “Friday.” No need for an alarm to be set because rising at 4am comes so naturally to me – getting a jump on the day makes me feel like a dynamo.

First legs of journeys are often fueled by earnestness and without vigilance, that fuel can turn to ennui. (ahn-wee)

Ennui can turn to desperation and when mixed with starvation, can lead to tragedy. Remember the Chilean rugby team? Their plane crashed in the Andes and they ate each other. Survival and cannibalism are in cahoots, everyone knows that.

Our airline didn’t want that blood on their hands so they loaded us up with a rib-sticking breakfast.

Our plane did land safely on the ground and we were stuffed into a sweat lodge/taxi-cab that smelled like thousands of weary travelers. (Curry + pine tree + urine).

I don’t remember my own birth but I bet it felt similar to exiting the taxi – the crying, the relief, the hotel cradling me in it’s arms.

Like good tourists, we went right from the hotel to the subway. Now I know that when I go to Purgatory (and I know I will) it will look, feel, and smell like the subway.

It will make heaven even more glorious.

Because traveling underground on a train isn’t strange enough, the subway was filled with hundreds of boozed-up Santas.

And because my touristy feet were killing me, I had to go to the T.J. Maxx on Wall street to buy slippers. I did see the Occupy Wall Street people and asked them if they wanted to occupy T.J. Maxx with me but they (all five of them) looked at me like I was crazy.

Oh, we also walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. Has anyone seen that thing? It’s pretty cool and people should really be aware of it.

Don’t I look serious? I didn’t crack a smile all day.

It’s hard to put a price tag on joy and laughter, but we did: $10.

Actually, four cards for $10. This, and Jen not wearing a top, made our shoppers more giddy than usual.

The Zeichen Press booth was a beacon of laughter bobbing in the sea of wrist-warmers, nose-rings, and ironic Christmas sweaters.

I hid behind our card racks for two days and talked to Jen about important things like iron lungs and Santa Clause while our customers snort-laughed (my favorite kind of laugh). There was even a gal that was laughing so hard she had to stamp her foot on the floor. Those responses made me feel like this:

And I think Jen felt like this:

Finally, a man came up to us and told us all about human exoskeletons. (See blog post #390: Freak-Magnet) Eventually, he rode away on a unicorn.

What I guess I’m trying to say is that the No Coast Craft-O-Rama was, once again, awesome.

PS: No show would be complete without a little danger and ours came in the form of an icy, yet beautiful, drive home.

Our U.K. distributor placed another large order and while Jen is printing her fingers to the bone, I am busy documenting important behind-the-scenes developments. The Zeichen Press ship sails on serene waters now that Jen and I have embraced our roles in this partnership.

Today, she stepped over me and made her way to the shop to print this:

That seems important but so does this:

On a recent episode of Hoarders (Monday, 9pm A&E) we witnessed an extra strange living situation: A man (struck by almost immeasurable grief) shared his home with 2,385 domestic rats.

I say that his grief was almost immeasurable because, although he had a great amount of grief, there was an obvious rat to heartache ratio. 2,385 rats : 1 deceased wife.

To see the number of rats in one area was amazing – they poured like water through every possible (and rat-made) nook and cranny. The bottom of every wall and door had been chewed to bits and the floor was lost under a carpet of rat feces.

But in just a few hours, the team trapped and caged the rats, shoveled out the house (why didn’t they just burn it to the ground??) and left the man.

The before was so ridiculous that even the after looked like a pair of soiled underpants.

Oh, well.

Another thing: Sometimes I don’t believe the weight-loss/makeover Before & After photographs. It’s hard to know.

Before:

After:

Is this transformation even real??

And now, witness the magic of the Zeichen Press warehouse Before & After:

(It’s okay to cry.)

Before:

After:

The trees are already half-naked and that reminds me – it’s time to start throwing my end-of-Summer tantrum – it’ll be a doozy.

October has been more cunning (moody) than usual and for that I tip my hat. I never know if I should wear my hot-pants or my Forever Lazy ($29.95).

But did October imagine that I would wear my hot-pants under Forever Lazy?? I think not. I think not.

Speaking of Winter and claustrophobia and lack of space and re-organizing the warehouse:

Yes, reorganizing the warehouse is at the top of my list. Right after:

1) Stare out the window, and 2) Wish someone would bring me coffee.

Because Summer is ending and because I can never have too many awkward locker room situations, I joined a gym. Let me be clear, the other women in the locker room aren’t at all awkward – only me. They undress shamelessly while I wrestle my sports bra off like Houdini. They meander from locker to shower completely nude while I fashion and drape a towel-sari around my body.

(That’s me and Lucy.)

I expect the entire Winter to be a blur of snow and uncomfortable nudity.

Thoughts of this inspired a (birthday?) card:

I was never a cheerleader in school.

What?! I know. Organized support seemed wasted on those teams. Where was all that morale-boosting during my long hours of detention? Murphy-oiling the wainscoting on the second floor made me feel like a loser. I think. I don’t remember anymore but it seems pretty pathetic. Anyway, If there were a team of girls, skipping, waving their arms, encouraging me – through rhyme – I could have had that job done post haste.

Here’s a new card:

Being buried alive happens – especially if someone thinks you’re dead. Why be unprepared for such misfortune? I practice digging myself free of the shallow grave by waking from daily, coma-like naps. That, and a spoon in my pocket give me peace of mind.

After I shake the dirt from my hair, I ask myself a series of questions: What time is it? Did I really just stab that woman in the neck with a pencil? Why did I have to use that toilet on the 50 yard line? 

Whew! Every day is like a new adventure.

Sometimes my subconscious dreams up a new card and that usually comes out in my post-coma Q&A.

Vulgar! I know. I won’t apologize for ideas that The Lord puts into my head.

Everyone knows that discovering a centipede on your toothbrush is an omen. That sounds scary! It is. In my case, the foreshadowing is still in its mystery stage. To be safe, I am zipped up to the neck in a sleeping bag.

In other news: I was almost hit by a car in St. Louis Park today. Hey! THAT’S what the centipede was trying to tell me! Thank you centipede/sorry for telling my husband to make sure he really smashes you.

This change of seasons (mood swing) forced me to think about cold and Winter – and because I always try to find the nugget in the pan – I thought about Santa. Good ol’ Santa. I refuse to let him be this one-dimensional “ho, ho, ho-ing” character.