Posts in True Story
I’ve already not been murdered by a Craigslist poster selling firewood and done (most) of my Christmas Shopping via Amazon. If I were born 50 years earlier my house would be freezing and my kids would cry hearty tears on Christmas Morning. I can only praise newborn baby Jesus for my easy-peasy life. (Sorry that when He grew up He had to be tortured and die and stuff.)
ANYWAY, the fire is roaring and UPS is delivering whatever my warm-ish heart desires. Isn’t that what this Season is all about?? Between my online-obsession and stoking the fire, I channeled some important words spoken by the Virgin Mary:
Between stalking housepets
and watching scandalous/made-for-Netflix adaptations of Margaret Atwood novels,
I’ve been working on THE PERFECT thank you card to stuff in our online orders. Jen and the Intern keep rejecting everything I make and that’s really hard on my fragile ego.
It never bothered me that the lenses in my glasses were rubber cemented into place and the rubber cement collected sand. I ditched those glasses under a fold in my beach towel so I could run down to the ocean and freely forage for low-tide sea creatures.
It was a free-range life! I wasn’t tethered by social convention! Or hygiene! Fast forward 35 years and I’m still leading a free-range life. Not tethered by social convention! Or hygiene! Today, our press lurched and lunged as if possessed but it was nothing a plastic shim couldn’t fix. See, free-range living!
That’s a filthy, oil-soaked floor and Jen throws cards to the ground when she’s angry. She leads a free-range lifestyle too! THAT’S HOW WE MAKE IT WORK.
(FYI: This is how our beloved C&P looks when Jen isn’t angry:)
Speaking of free-range, I made a new card for all of you (non-vegetarian) LOVERS out there.
My other virtues are my generosity, beauty, and humility.
THAT SAID, while I PATIENTLY wait for Jen to mix ink for the next release, I busied myself creating flowcharts and Venn Diagrams for a client.
TICK TOCK, JEN.
(Can blog posts be passive aggressive?? DISCUSS.)
My roommate (she later married my older brother because she couldn’t resist the way he transformed runner-rugs into ponchos) had a boombox and when she wasn’t “busy” playing her bootleg Grateful Dead tapes, I would (loudly) listen to a certain CD on repeat in the kitchen.
I’m sure my baby appreciated those months.
Fast-forward 25 years to a house I actually own and the filthy linoleum has been replaced with less-filthy wood floors and babies have been replaced with dogs wearing kerchiefs.
BUT these are still days that I’m #blessed and #lucky because even without that boombox, I listen to those 13 songs on repeat every fall. And even though those board books have been replaced with MacBooks
my kitchen murals have been replaced with licensed “art” and is seen by more than three people. Right, RSVP?? RIGHT??
Now that Jen and I are savvy businesswomen we know what it means to write something off and it turns out you cannot write off costumes and puppets, even if they are used for self-expression?? Thank God for our tax guy or we’d be in a Dickensian debtors prison.
Speaking of handfuls of money, I need to get back to writing/designing cards for our next release. Quit trying to distract me with wildfires and Lifetime movies.
WHAT DOES THAT SPELL??
My little brother was in my high school German class and between quacking like a duck whenever he spoke and cheating on tests, I skipped class. JUST KIDDING, KIDS! I never cheated on tests. Kidding! I did cheat… but only on homework. I think… WHO CAN EVEN REMEMBER??
The following photograph features my long-haired little brother. He’s the shirtless one and I am wearing a blue leotard because I liked a farmer’s tan and a pilly bottom.
The Art Licensor needed some sports-themed birthday cards and I love a good cheer, so I made this:
And I appreciate a good miracle, so I made this:
Remember when you were three years old and and ran down a hill and lost control of your legs and ran straight into a wooden post that holds up the picnic pavilion?
My forehead wanted to meet that 4×4 so bad and who am I to stand in the way of destiny?? I don’t pretend to understand the stars! Wait, I do! I do pretend to understand the stars!
While Jen is on the Cape, and between my sobs because I miss her so much, the Intern and I box up orders.
But what about that head-injury?? Hush your sweet mouth and spend the next ten minutes wondering why I am so in tune with the cosmos.
I sampled purgatory (again)… this time at Logan airport. I guess if I was jogging in place for five hours I’d like to be blasted with cold air from a ceiling vent. And if I wanted to watch a Surrealist film, I would have used my precious data and Boingo wifi to stream Volume I of the Anthology of Surreal Cinema on Netflix.
But like a group of shipwrecked strangers, bobbing in a life raft in the middle of the Atlantic, we were trapped together. Trapped and forced to watch a grown woman giving life to a humanoid using only her bare hands.
Anyway, flight 244 may have been delayed but it took off with little fanfare. Passengers boarded like zombies, sans bloody mouths.
I wish I would have thanked that needle-felting woman and I’ll probably never see again, but I’ll never forget her.
Here is a thank you card that has nothing to do with her or the travel odyssey.
Belting out classic tunes in a rental car on the way back from the beach after not being eaten by a shark is the best/only way to express our love for Cape Cod.
Getting past crippling body dysmorphia, skunk babies, and smelly garbage has only brought us closer together. Yay, Cape Cod!
And because I’m a big fan of Mr. Edward Gorey (who lived, and died, on the Cape once-upon-a-time), I am making some pretty useful medical flashcards. Stay tuned for H-Z…
Oh, and The Intern always performs radical stunts, so I made her this birthday card:
I hope no one in our party is eaten by a shark – fingers crossed!