Sunday, December 15, 2013


• Sometimes when I look at a sales report for my prints I see stuff people have purchased and I say, “Really? Are you sure? Well, okay.” Because while some of my stuff is pretty neat, some sucks. But unless the piece has no design integrity whatsoever or I hate it with the fire of a zillion stars, I don’t remove it from my available work. See, when I first started selling quite a bit of prints last year I was having trouble keeping up and was getting overwhelmed. The Wasband asked me, “Do you want to make art or do you want to make money? You don’t usually get to do both.” He was right. And while I enjoy making art, I’m not sure I enjoy it more than I enjoy spending money. I love money, and I’m not shy about it.

• Terms that will never be accurately applied to me: busty, slim, calm, husky (because I will kill you), ankle-boned, dull, vapid, voluptuous, dim, matronly, motherly, early-riser, and meek.

Best sound in my house: a dripping faucet, because that means that the pipes didn’t freeze, which they do a couple times every winter. Last week I started my washing machine and rather than the sound of water filling I heard a dull hum. I turned it off and thought, “Bummer. So that’s what I’m doing today.” Frozen pipes are no longer a freak-out type of event. Circumstances have made me into a pipe-thawing pro. And this season I finally did what I’ve been writing on my to-do list for all of 2012—I submitted a warranty inquiry to my builder. In a house that’s less than 10 years old I think I should have a reasonable expectation that my pipes don’t freeze every winter. So fix it, fools.

My Christmas Wish List, in case you were wondering:
—Moose, Jim’s sister’s blond yorkie. I don't just want a dog. I want that dog
—Ambien for, you know, a little here and there when the sleeping gets tough
—Oodles of compliments
—Sorel's Caribou in Shale
—Design inspiration for my "artwork," as I am presently running low
—Pills to make my hair grow
—All the money
—Some dipshit publication to accept my "work" already. (Yes, we're back to that. We're back to putting my "writing" into quotation marks because even though I've got this fancy shcmancy degree thing and its corresponding knowledge and practice, I'm bombing, and my "writing's" a poser.)
—A Smart Car. Any color will do.

This weekend Jim took me to a job site. Now that was fun. Have I ever told you what my boyfriend does for a living? He has a company that makes things. Their workshop is extra busy in December. All the workers—you could call them elves—put in many hours sawing, nailing, and gluing. And Jim’s in charge. So my love’s a full-time Santa, though much slimmer with a more stylish beard, hip specs, better clothes, and a hotter significant other, but props to Mrs. Claus for rockin’ that red like she’s Nancy Reagan. Being serious though, Victory Woodworks (Jim’s gig) builds and installs stuff made out of wood in places like hotels, casinos, and stores. This particular job site is a high-end appliance store, Pirch. It’s like nothing you've even imagined an appliance store could be. Everything in there works. Faucets are fully plumbed. Stoves fire up. Fridges are running. It’s part of a new iteration of shopping—interactive retail, which is what I’d imagine is necessary to sell a $100,000 stove. Ritzy.

• Christmastime is rough for me. No, not because of anything emotional. I’m not like that. Christmas is tough because it’s a social season. Social stuff’s so not my bag, even if I like some of the people I'm to socialize with. Surprise! It’s a fair bet that if you don’t know me well, I’ve fooled you on that front. You think I’m outgoing and love a good get-together. This because you’ve been snookered. I am perfectly comfortable speaking on a stage in front of 300 people but only so long as I don’t have to talk to any of them one-on-one afterward. The very definition of an introvert. We prefer isolation and occasional intimate socializing. So for me the holiday season ends up involving a lot of deep breaths of courage in the car before I reluctantly walk across a parking lot, Jim laughing and holding my hand and telling me I’m going to be fine, to whichever event I couldn't figure out how to turn down. And when we leave, I release my breath that I didn’t realize I was holding, and Jim will say, “Was it as bad as you thought it would be?” I just look a him, my very social boyfriend, and he understands.

• My holiday gift for Shrink Nancy:
 photo SNancy.jpg
(Image is a link to purchase print. I should specify that. So I just did.)

• Oh, and LydUnited, here's a link to The Cameron Credo in case you missed my reply to your comment on that post. 


Rabid said...

I have nothing smart or witty to say. I'm just letting you know (via comment) that I'm always pleasantly entertained by "the blog."

Props to Mrs. Clause? Ok. Mega Props to Megan? Right on!

Rabid said...

I wasn't comparing you to Mrs. Clause, by the way. I just wanted to use the word "props."