Blog - minneapolis design

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:

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.

This blog turned three yesterday. If I weren’t so self-involved, I would have sent it a card and filled a piñata with entrails. But today, to celebrate, I invited the squirrel into my kitchen

to share an avocado and sat in someone’s urine on a concrete bench. It’s sinful to be jealous of my charmed life.

The heat broke like a fever and I’m left shivering in my hot pants and (court ordered) tube-top. I think it’s time to head out to the shop to see what that intern has been up to while I’ve been at the lake.

The swarm of bees came at me like a swarm of bees and stuck their stingers efficiently into my face and left arm. 

The disfigurement that followed was sideshow-worthy and while I’m as eager as the next gal to take the show on the road, I knew this hideousness was only (sadly) temporary.

My forearm doubled in size and I considered tattooing an anchor on it a la Popeye (the sailor man).

Don’t worry, a can of Raid was emptied into their home/my trellis/the doorway to the shop. I’ll be getting back to work as soon as this Benedryl wears off.

Had to drive down to Russell, MN the other day. And when I say “had to drive” I mean “I” drove. Me. Fran. For those of you that don’t know me: Driving on the highway makes me feel like mackerel-chum in shark-infested waters.

I drove most of the way, anyway. I think my fancy shoes made me courageous. There I was, driving down 212 like some kind of commuter – the kids were barely terrified and I was barely crying.

The farm inspired me enough to recycle a line from another card and pair it with this image:

I showed it to my husband and he said, “Oh, that’s really sweet.” and I said, “She’s talking to a pig.” and he said, “Oh. Am I the pig?”

And it’s these little questions that can be left unanswered – that’s how we keep the marriage fresh and mysterious.

I didn’t even ask Jen how she got all these boxes for New Zealand

to the post office. Maybe Henry the Dog helped her. Or Loretta, she’s pretty strong. I couldn’t help anyway because I was busy taking a sponge bath. Andrea says sponge baths are for 80-year-olds but I’d like to see an 80-year-old get into my kitchen sink.

No, I wouldn’t. 

The hot-water-heater decided it was time to rust through and I don’t blame it a bit. It really is the most boring household appliance. If it were a person, I’d hate it.

So, I boiled some water on the stove for my bath and as I squatted in it, I thought to myself, “I wish I had curtains on my windows.” and “Is this funny or sad?” I decided it was funny but only because the new hot-water-heater is coming on Monday.

There are a couple of things going on around here:

1) Our fax machine is spitting out orders faster than we (jen) can fill them.

2) We (I) are (am) making the poster for this year’s Craftstravanganza.

Just to make my load fair, I listen to a recording of screaming children while I work.

I think it really shows:

Today, I will put ink on that – it will be so spectacular there won’t be a dry eye in the room. (I’ll be the only one in the room.)

This is what comes of my unwillingness to fold the laundry – I just stare out the window (of my asylum) and think and write inappropriate things. Shouldn’t the children in my imagination be allowed to have one wholesome snowball fight?

Who put that stupid flyer on my windshield?

Not a flyer! ! A parking ticket??

My first!

What a special day.

I won’t even dispute it.

AFTER THAT HAPPENED, I made this “grocery” list:

AND THEN, I got an email from a writer at Popular Mechanics.

Stifle your laughter. He’s putting together a story about businesses that started as hobbies. Now I have to pretend that I actually enjoyed letterpress as some sort of “hobby” before it turned into this soul-sucking-money-generating-machine.