Must…write…more…cards……………… - World Dominance

There seems to be something gnawing on the chicken-bone of my subconscious. Not just gnawing, but dipping it in creamy, blu-cheese dressing and sucking on it.

Thank goodness for the wet-nap, or whatever is doing the gnawing would contaminate the rest of my psyche. I like my non-physical parts to be separate. Like a melamine hot-lunch tray. Everything stays within it’s little-walled-area and nobody gets fussy.

Unfortunately, or maybe not, there does seem to be some breach in the Dreaming ~ Day Dreaming compartments. Sandbagging might help. Or a thick, mashed-potato partition – the mashed potatoes finally living up to their destiny.

Great writers are great ruminators but great ruminators are not necessarily great writers. I think that’s what I’m talking about. Or was I talking about my days in the cafeteria? Ah, the cafeteria…“Lunch Lady? Would you mind being careful to keep the gravy in its… No? Yes, you’re right. It all ends up in the same place…”  In the toilet. Which is, of course, a metaphor. That’s what happens when you give children mixed-messages.

So, anyway. I have a growing collection of printer’s cuts and for some reason I feel compelled to give each of them something to say. I realize that the New Yorker’s Caption Contest is eerily similar to what I do. Except I always win. That’s the nice thing about owning the company. Thatand the hugs I get from complete strangers. Why do strangers hug me? They might be trying to squeeze the life out of me. I’m not sure. They tell me not to resist – I’m always like, “Resist? Resist what? Who am I to stifle this bizarre act of love?”

Where was I? … Right. A line I wrote for a lonely cut:

PSSST,

are you coming to my funeral?

Should a grown woman spend the day in bed drawing animals?

No? What if the animals are super-cute and made entirely of her favorite font? What if the woman was very ill, clinging to life by a bed-thread? What if… what if… oh, what if… oh, my bed-sores… Without further ado, Franimals:

A-J Franimals were originally designed for Room & Board. Sadly, they were overlooked. Apparently kids today aren’t interested in “animals” or “alphabets” That’s not Room & Board’s fault. Or…is…it?

ANYWAY, I love Room & Board. Sometimes I break into their showroom and rehearse scenes from Failure to Launch starring Mr. Matthew McConaughey.

Matthew! Your mischievous smile… your love for Mother Earth… your shirtless-ness…

What am I talking about? Oh, yes. My fever. It’s very high and I wouldn’t turn down a copy of Erin Brockovich and some German Spaetzel.

they would have me design a super sweet invitation for an important event in your life. IF they REALLY loved you they would call me on the phone and say, “Hey, Fran! My name is Mr. Blee-Blah-Blah! I would like to demonstrate my love for my child by paying you to artistically interpret an upcoming event.  Your design savoir faire is the ONLY match for the depth of love I have for my child. They have a (insert important event) coming up. Let’s do this.” 

CLICK.

I’m just saying.

We created the following Bat Mitzvah invitation for a family that clearly knows how to express their love:

Ding! Round two!

Meeting with Room & Board this afternoon. If all goes according to my master-plan* R&B will bite the inside of their cheeks to stifle their sobs of awe when I reveal The Prints. To diffuse the awesome aura, I will hand out sunglasses. Personally, I think inked antique type is as delicious as kangaroo meat from First Course.

YES. kangaroo meat. 

Round one for Room & Board ended up being a creative exercise – I know, I know. My Reward Will Be In Heaven. I produced some cutey cutes for Children’s Rooms. I dug down deep into that soft part of my heart – it was under a layer of small pebbles – and found these: I call them Franimals:

*master-plan: do not get lost driving to Room & Board HQ.

Dahhhhhhhhhhhhhling!

You simply must see the latest thing! Diamonds are so last week and pearls are so last century. Resin and metal is H-O-T! I hate to muddle-up the Natural Order of the Universe (no, I don’t) but we simply couldn’t say no to Ampersand Designs suggestion of collaboration!

We already sat side-by-side in the Oscar Luncheon gift bags – and – although opening the gift bags caused a face-melting scene ala Raiders of the Lost Ark, we decided to combine our chocolate with their peanut butter for a super-sweet fashion-statement.

Buy one or ten today!

Dear Diary,

Last night was ever so much fun! I went to a party and got a lock of everyone’s hair for my scrapbook. My art was hot glue-gunned to the wall by Jen.

Oh, Jen… will she ever settle down? She wore a short little dress and MOTORCYCLE BOOTS!! She’s trouble. See her little tiny head?:

The young man that sold me my dress failed to tell me that it also doubled as a shirt.

I blame him for the indecent length.

I also blame him for climate change, hiccoughs, Christopher Reeve’s “accident”, and my parents break-up.

~

There were so many tasty bits about that party. Jocelyn’s food and drink was dee. lish.us.

 Scott Parkin‘s street-level office was cooler (and cleaner) than anything I will ever own.

Maybe that’s why he asked me to stand by the door.

And sit in a highchair.

Studio on Fire displayed their goodness on the West Wall. And by that I mean, Ben Levitz stood nude on a chair in front of the West Wall. It wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. Something about the beard made him seem fully dressed.

Part II of the evening was jam-packed full of comedy. Stephen Lynch was gracious enough to give us front row seats to his show. Um, I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard since he came to town last year. AND did you know that The Hilton grills up Steak Bites for hungry travelers after midnight? Well, they do. We ate them and laughed at Rod Cone.

Or was it the other way around?

BUT there was one thing we all could agree on: It would be better to lose an arm than have your face chewed off by a chimp.

AND never wrestle a Praying Mantis. 

Oh, and somehow during the course of the evening, this happened:

Oh, Diary… what will tomorrow bring?!

I know everyone is DYING to see me operating my big-ass press.

Will wonders never cease? I love you, Internet.

Shu-OOT!! It’s a letterpress extravatacularasm!! This Freitag is gonna be all monster-truck-jam but with no trucks, no face-tattoos, and no NASCAR jackets. WHAT?! How can THAT be any fun?! Don’t tell Scott Parkin but I’m planning to ride in through the double doors and right over his conference table on my pimped-out ATV. It’s gonna kick so much ass. 

So, it’ll be ME, JEN, MR. BEN LEVITZ … and I’m sure he’s got some sort of gun-toting design gang. I’ll be wearing a full Kevlar dress, so I’m not even worried. The thing about Kevlar is that it’s light and airy. Just like me.

So, pack your saddle-bags with hard-tack and whiskey, shave your legs, and kiss yer ma’ goodbye – you’re goin to Northeast Minneapolis. Oh, Northeast Minneapolis… so… artsy, so… much… like… Uptown… wishes… it… were… still…

::The Dirty Details::

That was the most recent search on my blog stats page. Somebody NEEDS a birthday card for that special murderer in their life. Somebody typed those words into their little google search window and the 13th result is a link to this blog post.

You’re welcome.

Robert Downy Jr. is holding My Cards and the cat is throwing up worms. Yin Yang, right??!! I get it. I GET IT. I can’t have the RDJ without the 5″ long vomit-covered, wriggling worms. I wouldn’t even dream of it. I don’t even DESERVE it. I AM the worm.

The Lowly Worm.