Blog - behind the scenes

I am still focused on birthday cards every day but

I make time to obsessively google Novara Big Buzz Bike. Oh, I’ll find one. MARK MY WORDS. When Pam the Cat got smashed by a car, I looked to Craigslist for another kitten to fill the cat-hole-sized space in my heart — enter: Tib.

Different than being raised from the dead (a la Lazarus

or Gage from Pet Semetary – a book I didn’t whip across the room in the middle of the night, circa 1988. Just kidding, I did whip it across the room, circa 1988.) Thanks to Craigslist, bikes and cats can be replaced!

Stay tuned!

I don’t always (usually) (ever?) do what I’m told but when our New England rep said she wanted MORE BIRTHDAY CARDS and less Freaktastic,

I said, FINE. After crying myself to sleep, I woke up and made this:

I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY, PAM.

I did the math and figured out that two toilets MINUS one toilet EQUALS one toilet. And one shower MINUS one shower EQUALS zero showers.

I desperately yelled that equation to the boys during my bathroom demo, but they pretended not to hear me.I only gave birth to them to provide me with free manual labor. Ha! Who’s laughing now, boys??

Anyway, who needs a shower??OR a bath??I barely do.

And as soon as all of my family and friends get back from being out of town for a month, they’ll tell you the same.

Here’s a new birthday card/fantasy:

This isn’t the first time I blamed The Cats for a crime they didn’t commit.

Nor will it be the last. The odor of rotten animal is unforgettable and like the odor of rotting potato, it is embedded in the brain. But sometimes the brain jumbles the smell of decomposing rodent with the smell of a blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can.

And that is where my story begins…

The Summer Breeze gently wafted through the upstairs windows. It was pleasant, until an occasional repulsive odor stung my nostrils. I blamed The Cats for hunting, killing, and hiding their prey somewhere on my second floor.

But a search for a body was in vain and a garbage can investigation led me to the real suspect: that damn blanket of maggots coating the bottom of the garbage can!

Mea culpa, Tib!  When will I ever trust you again??

Speaking of breezes (and puns??)… Here’s a new thank you/congratulations card.

Wait a sec… This ice cream truck drives slowly by the house/Zeichen Press HQ every day,but I have never really studied it…

Zoom… Enhance…And again…

…

…

…

…

…I KNEW IT.

Oh, BOTHER!

One more kitten needs adopting.

AND how about this card?

BECAUSE ALL I EVER THINK ABOUT IS CATS.

Help. Me.

Times were simple then — pre-Facebook… cats fixed… no Dance Moms…

The air was thick with anticipation — it wasn’t fair to keep Zeichen Press hidden from the public.It was time to pry open the (heirloom-quality) tupperware lid. Time to expose the rotting and pungent living carcass to the unblinking eye of its critics.

The Universe demanded documentation. Who am I to refuse?

That was four years ago (today).Now, readership of the Zeichen Press blog hovers somewhere between cable-access viewership and meaningful Craigslist encounters.

Cheers!

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.

The weekend in pictures: