The Cupboards Are Bare

Just a quick note to anyone who has visited either of my sites lately – yes, I’m out of everything.

I know.

I’m making, curing, wrapping, whatever I can. I swear it will be back soon, whatever it is.

What's wrong with this picture? No, it's not the dog desperately trying to get in before the rain. Oh, I know - sixteen flat-rate boxes of boxes and only one box of essential oil.

And a confidential message to the lady who called today to make sure she had a custom wholesale order ready to go in a week or two – HA HA HA HA HA!

Actually, I guess I should be grateful that you didn’t call on Christmas Day. Or as I intend to call it, National Nappie Time.

To my family, who I know for a fact haunts this blog in case I say something bad about them, I really did mail your presents. They’re going to be late, of course, and they have weird soap combos because I was out of everything, so when you start to run low I’ll restock you in the middle of the year.

Mom, I know you wanted the other kind of lip balm, so I’m going to make a batch and mail it to you in the next week or so.

Try to remember who your favorite child is.

Just one day off with a cup of strong coffee and I’ll have my whole spring line planned out.

Just wait.

Light Up Your Life

I know, I keep posting about being busy and tired. But life isn’t all work and no play, even though it seems that way some times. I get to do fun stuff now and again, too. Here’s what I did that was fun last week: went to my neighborhood boat parade.

This doesn’t sound that funny unless you know that I live a good eight miles inland and the only water is in the gutter from the guy up the street washing his car. Still, we’re fairly close to the ocean and to some inland lakes and rivers, so people have boats – and they have a boat parade, with big pickup trucks and powerboats on trailers.

It’s HILARIOUS.

I’ve asked a few neighbors who’ve lived here a while, and here’s how it started. Five or six years ago, a couple of guys were sitting in the driveway at one of their houses, finishing off a case of beer, and one of them said “We oughtta have a boat parade. I gotta boat.” Then they piled into his fishing boat, and got a third buddy to drive the truck pulling them around the neighborhood while they hung on and yelled “Merry Christmas” and drank beer.

The following year, it was two or three boats. Then it was six boats, and they added lights and generators and PA systems and nobody was drunk because they planned for a week to get the lights just right. It’s the holiday season EXACTLY the way Tim the Tool Man would have done it.

Anyway, it keeps on growing. We have an odd little pocket of residential streets, on the edge of town, and none of them are through streets – you only get off the freeway here if you live here. No stores, or shortcuts to other freeways, or anything like that. Just a bunch of houses. So there aren’t any permits or official driving plans.

If you want to enter, you show up at the grammar school with your truck and your trailer and your boat and your passengers and your lights. First guy to arrive gets to lead. Some people have big boats that carry 20 people, and they throw candy and yell and wave. Some are more modest – like the El Camino this year, pulling a JetSki and a guy in a Santa suit.

I think we had 42 boats this year. There was also a marching band, and collections for Toys for Tots. It was a pretty big deal. The dog went with us to watch, so I lost count; he couldn’t decide whether it was fantastic or horrifying or just a big twinkly monster to bark at. He spent most of his time hiding behind my legs and poking his head out to bark.

I know these pictures are hard to make out, but it’s kind of rough to photograph a moving boat covered in Christmas lights with a canine assistant. You’ll have to just trust me, it’s a boat parade.

I hope your holidays have been just as entertaining so far!

I'm too tired to post

There are two shopping days left before the USPS deadline for mailing priority items, for Christmas delivery.

I have giant bags under my eyes. I look kinda like a bassett hound, to be honest. Two more nights of more packaging than sleeping, one last post office run, and then I should have a couple of days off for sleeping. Well, except for the day job and the last minute local orders.

I’ll be back to random complaints in a couple of days, promise!

Sweet Revenge

You know what the best kind of revenge is? It's the kind that's self inflicted. Yesterday, after writing about the dog, I had the following conversation at work.

********
(ringing phone)
Me: Hello, this is Jackie.

Woman: Hi, this is Chirpy from Big Company That Provides Obscure Legal Services. We here at BigCo have noticed that you've recently moved your account for the XYZ Corporation from BigCo to our competitor, OtherCo, and we'd like to know if there's a reason for the change - maybe something we can improve on.

Me: Hi, Chirpy. I moved all our accounts from BigCo to OtherCo because your billing system is terrible, and I was constantly getting past due notices for services I'd cancelled, and I even got collection threats for accounts that weren't ours. So I moved all my accounts.

Chirpy: Well, I don't see any collection actions for XYZ Corporation.

Me: It doesn't matter. See, I have nothing to do with XYZ Corporation, and my name and phone number shouldn't be linked to their account. So that problem I described? You're doing it RIGHT NOW.

Chirpy: You don't recognize XYZ?

Me: No. I have hundreds of corporations to manage, but XYZ is NOT ours.

Chirpy: Sorry, I'll make a note in the file. I apologize.

Me: No problem. *click*

***********

Five minutes pass. The phone rings.

***********
Me: Hi, this is Jackie.

Chirpy: Hi there, I'm calling from BigCo about the ABC Corporation, and we noticed that you recently moved ....

Me: (Interrupting) Hi, Chirpy, it's me again.

Chirpy: (sadly) Oh.

Me: Guess what?

Chirpy: ABC Corporation isn't yours?

Me: Right. You're doing it again.

Chirpy: Um. Could you tell me which corporations ARE yours?

Me: Nope. See, I told BigCo over and over in writing which ones are mine, and they didn't listen. So I moved them. So it really isn't your problem any more. It's all cleared up.

Chirpy: Oh.

Me: Am I on the list for any other corporations?

Chirpy: (reading list under her breath) You're listed for the next seven, eight, nine.... *pause* Would you excuse me? I have some research to do.

Me: Yeah, it sounds like you do. Best of luck. Oh, and if you could put my number on your "do not call" list, that would be GREAT. Thanks!

**********
I may never stop laughing.

Going Walkabout

So I’ve been reading my prior posts, and it looks like I should have called my blog “A Million Little Things That Piss Me Off”. So, perhaps I’ll talk about the dog again, because he never makes me mad. Well, ALMOST never. Well, not so much mad as … cranky.

I have a very high standard of what it means to be a dog owner. You have this creature who utterly depends on you to provide a decent life, and to meet his needs. I knew about that when I was out looking for a dog to adopt, when I was selected by my current four-legged companion. (It was very clearly his choice, not ours.)

We asked a lot of questions to make sure we were compatible and could provide a good home. One thing about our house is that we do not have a yard – we live in a condo, with a small rear patio, largely covered in concrete. We told the dog rescue lady that we should have a relatively inactive dog. I’m pretty sure we used the phrase “couch potato”, because we wanted him to fit in.

She assured us that Bander was indeed a couch potato, and that we were a perfect fit. He needed a home so badly and had already started bonding with us that I’m sure she would have said anything to make it work. I think she also said he pooped Krugerrands, which turned out to be another lie.

Anyway, the things that were true were these:

1. He’s a great dog.

2. He was in desperate need of a home.

3. His house training is perfect.

As it turns out, he regards the patio as a room with no roof, so it’s a little bit too perfect. Here’s another piece of truth – couch potato is a relative term. He does sleep a lot, but he needs the rest because this dog seriously needs to be walked for MILES every day. The schedule looks something like this:

(click for a big pic)

8:30 – dog insists on walk. Husband declines.

8:32 – Husband gives in.

Lather, rinse, repeat; all day.

The schedule includes a long afternoon walk – by “long” I mean a couple of hours. When I come home at night, I walk the dog and give my husband time to inspect his blisters. After dark, we take him together around the block. The final walk of the night is generally around 11pm.

I’ve considered hiring a dog walker, but I can’t imagine what it would cost to have somebody here all damn day. Luxury for us is renting a cabin up in the mountains, that has a large fenced yard, and letting the dog run in and out all day while we lie on the couch and complain. Maybe January or so we’ll do that. Until then, I think I’ll probably solve it by... ...Whoops, gotta go. The dog wants a walk.

I’m Naturally Crabby

I spend a fair amount of time frequenting internet forums. Some are related to specific crafts, some are general interest, some are tied to selling venues. All are interesting.

However.

I saw someone say this, not so long ago:


Well, holy hell. I had no idea that safety was directly tied to this person’s reading comprehension.

Of course, you can’t SAY “You’re an idiot, and you’re not about to follow your own advice. I know you can’t pronounce theobrama cacao and I bet you still eat chocolate.” That would start a big war and everyone would pounce on you for being mean to the person who is standing up for “natural” things.

Uh-huh. Natural, simple ingredients, with short, easy-to-pronounce names. Like “mold” and “germ” and “crap”. All short and sweet. Natural also includes death cap mushrooms, arsenic, and cobra fangs.

People who espouse this sort of crap also tend to claim they are using things like “eggnog essential oil” or “ocean rain essential oil”. I wish I was making that up, but I swear to you I’ve seen it with my own horrified eyes.

Bath and body products are not something to mess with if you are not at least willing to acquire a little scientific knowledge. If you can’t do math, won’t read up on chemistry, don’t like science, and failed organic chemistry, perhaps personal care formulation is not for you.

Is it just my natural cranky tendencies, or are these people overlooking the obvious? If you don’t like heat and can’t figure out fire, don’t blow glass. If you think electricity is caused by little demons running along the wires, don’t choose a career in electronics repair.

And if you can’t pronounce big scary words, don’t proudly announce it in a public forum.

A Shout Out for Lowered Expectations

Today is my favorite day of the year. My own personal holiday that I like to call "Leftovers Day".

It's an awesome holiday.

First of all, your relatives have come and gone and you've had a little time to trash talk about each one of them. Try not to think about what they may have said about you. Today, no guests are expected, and you don't have to dress up. You can sit on the sofa all day, in sweat pants, with a bad case of bed head, and it's perfectly okay. I know there's Christmas shopping to be done, but this is why god made the internet.

Secondly, the big cooking is done - you cooked enough to feed an army, and now you have glorious leftover food. You don't have to eat the strange casserole your mother-in-law brought (mine always brings green beans mixed with a big helping of spite); you don't have to make sure the guests get the best part. Your dinner can be three kinds of pie. There are no rules.

The meal of choice at our house is a turkey sandwich. Homemade egg bread, mayo, sliced turkey breast, a little bit of stuffing, maybe some gravy mixed into it, and a generous slather of cranberry sauce.

I love holidays where nothing is expected.

Some holidays can't keep up with their PR, so they automatically suck. Like Valentine's Day. If you don't arrive at the restaurant in a carriage drawn by white mice, it's already ruined. Have to wait for a table? Bad. The object of your affection wore an ugly shirt and forgot to make reservations? Massive FAIL. It sucks, because it's just too easy to get it wrong.

New Year's Eve is another one. If you don't have a party to go to - and I mean a hall of fame, get out the bail money, par-taaaay, you're boring and you suck. At midnight, you had better be doing something that will set the tone for the entire year - like, god forbid you need to pee and can't really focus, or that they're playing a song you hate, or your shoes are pinching your feet. I like to stay home and be bored and cranky for New Year's.

But glorious Leftover Day - the only thing you're expected to do is eat things that might not be on your diet. You get to wear your old comfy sweats - the old ones where the knees got all big and baggy - and watch movies that have never ever been considered for an award, but you like them anyway.

I invite you all to celebrate Leftover Day, this year and every year. Don't make a big deal out of it, though, or you'll ruin it and I'll hate you.

pic1: tednmiki
pic2: mtsofan

And the winner is.....

This was hard to decide, there were SO many good suggestions. If I ever have kids, you guys get to name them.

Congratulations to Tracy - it shall be named "Alabaster".

At a Loss for Words

So I made a new soap recently. Special request from a repeat customer – it’s a lovely salt bar for people who are sensitive. It has no scent and no color, but I did add a touch of silk and some coconut milk. The lather is creamy and fluffy, and the bar itself is pure white – looks like whipped cream. I’m quite pleased!Except that I can’t think of a name!

Purity – no, a fellow soaper has a bar by that name. She’s a friend of mine, too.

Simply Soap – taken, trademarked, and another person I’m on good terms with.

Snow Angel – well, that implies cold, which makes a lot of people expect minty, and this isn’t minty. It isn’t anything.

Ether – sounded good until I wrote it down, now looks stupid. Besides, it makes me think of chloroform.

Seafoam? Sounds like it ought to be green.

Wahine – Hawaiian for young girl or maiden. Hubby says it sounds like “whiny” and is too obscure.

Angel – Lush makes a bar called Angels on Bare Skin. So, nope.

Mist – ha ha, gorillas in shower caps… crap, I ruined that one.

Orphan – I’m just grasping at straws, here.

I have beat my head against my desk all afternoon, so I’m throwing this one out to you guys. I have about another week before I need to have these all labeled for shipping. Either post to my thread on Etsy, send me an e-mail, or comment here on the blog with your ideas. I’ll pick the winner – just based on my own personal preferences. If you win, I’ll send you a free bar of the nameless wonder. Ready?

Go!

What’s in a name?

Huh.

My last post is a long babble about pilgrims. I’m probably not getting the right vitamins.

Well, as long as I’m going to just blab, I should probably explain some more about me. Like my name.

I make soap. It has a big hand, our logo, stamped into the bars:

People at my outdoor market used to always say “Ooooo, hand soap!” And then laugh like crazed jackals. Yes, that was HILARIOUS, much funnier than the last four zillion times I heard it!

Then they’d see my massage booth. And nod wisely, as if they now understood where the name came from, and clearly I meant the magic of healing.

Nope.

I’m not that easy to figure out.

The name came from one of my earlier careers. I did close-up magic, strolling performances for street fairs, private parties, and such. I even did a tour of Japan, doing card tricks and rope tricks with a Wild West show during the Oban festival.

Now, think about the 7 of Hearts.

I realize that this sounds like complete bullshit, so here’s a tiny bit of proof:

This is my passport visa for the tour. I wandered around ritzy expensive hotels in Osaka for six weeks, snapping the ace of spades out of the air with a bullwhip. I had some other routines planned, but I had neglected an important bit – I don’t speak Japanese.

This had never occurred to either me or the promoter who booked me, because magic is largely a visual thing, but when you do card tricks you have to talk to people. To be truthful, during card tricks, 99% of the time the entertainment is in what you say, because nobody is amazed that you finish by going “Is THIS your card?”

I used to alleviate the boredom when I did strolling gigs in Vegas by stealing watches and wallets from people, then finding a dramatic way to return them. This is easier than it sounds; men in Vegas really don’t pay too much attention to some woman putting her hands all over them, and they really don’t notice when you have your hand in their pockets if your shirt is cut low enough.

This is all well and good, but I tried it once during the Japan gig and the guy thought I was a thief, because I don’t know how to say “Sir, please don’t call hotel security, I swear I am not a pickpocket, and by the way, is THIS your card?” I think since I was wearing cowboy drag, including hat, boots, spurs, and fake guns, he assumed I was one of the foreign lunatics who were running through the hotel lobby. He just took his wallet back, counted the money, glared at me, and stomped off.

Anyway, that’s where I came up with Magic Hands. I’ve been using it in various forums and incarnations around the net for quite a while now. Hubby even calls himself Mr. Hands. If we ever meet in meatspace, feel free to call me Magic.

I’ll answer.

Is this your card?

Pic 1: The Rocketeer
Pic 2: Palmea