Working for the Weak End.
Wednesday, Dec. 13, 2006 @ 2:37 p.m.
The rest of last week was so arduous and weird and awful that I don't even know how to lay it all out. Maybe a timeline
will work best? Sure! Why not.
- Happy hour at Can Can with Kate. Discussed business strategy while eating delicious moule frites.
- Tipsy last minute stop for chocolate gummi bears, as, "won't be able to eat these for...a week at least!"
- Go home, take Xanax.
- Sleep like an angel.
- Eat breakfast, full of dread.
- Take Xanax, chased with an Ativan.
- No longer full of dread.
- Drool on self as Kenny drives to the periodontist.
- Sit in dental chair while staring as bizarro creepy print on the wall, very reminiscent of "The Village" or some other
red-riding-hood-type horror. Wonder why anyone would chose something like that for a room in which scared, drugged
people tend to sit.
- Larry David walks in, takes a look at my gum and declares that it healed up better than he though! Isn't that great?
- Stare at him blankly.
- He claims I don't need a graft, he just needs to, "finish it up."
- Stare at him blankly because not sure what the hell that means, exactly. (Still don't know.)
- Novocain! That's what that means.
- Blrurry heellll.
- He dices around in there, slaps a dressing on it, pats me on the shoulder and hustles me out so fast almost left
without my coat and bag.
- Wonder if he had a lunch date?
- Go home, sleep.
- Wake up, throw up. On floor. (sorry, Kenny!)
- Wake up at 4:30am, not sure what day it is.
- Wake up again at 8:00am, fresh as a daisy.
- Ow, my face.
- Slowly spend next five hours pulling myself together.
- Eventually stagger over to house where the three-day-long craft show is being held.
- Am met by Kate who has a dangerous look on her face and warns, "Don't freak out..."
- Freak out because a) lighting is dismal, b) someone else included their own stuff in with our display, c) we're actively
encouraged to leave. Apparently our "hovering" behind the display tables was "intimidating the shoppers." Oh my God.
- Stagger home, eat dinner, go to bed.
- Wake up at 8:00am, grumpy.
- OW, my face.
- Pick up Kate and go check on our display.
- One item sold. I guess we're not going to make the big buck we were promised?
- Kate fills me in on the debauchery from the night before - sale organizer got tipsy and admitted she'd had a big falling out
with her business partner and attendance was way down because of it. FANTASTIC.
- Am filled with sadness that $1,000 weekend is not going to happen.
- After being told again to not "hover" (aka SELL STUFF) we leave, go run errands and have lunch. We check back in (woo,
two more sales) and go home.
- Am completely exhausted. Eat dinner, watch Winged Migration, cry, make jewelry, go to bed.
- Am still awake at 11:30pm.
- Am still awake at 12:30am
- Take half a Xanax.
- Briefly fall asleep and dream my bed is covered with crafts that I'm supposed to sell.
- Am woken up at 2:30am by an incredibly bad stripey cat.
- Shut her out of bedroom and manage to bash own fist into swollen face when angry blanket-pulling-hand slips.
- Cry until it stops hurting.
- Am still awake at 3:30am.
- Hate jewelry.
- Am still awake at 4:30am.
- Fall asleep at 6:00am.
- Woken up by alarm at 9:00am.
- Ow, my face.
- Eat pancakes that kind husband made.
- Unwillingly shower and dress and drive to boutique for trunk show.
- Arrive, feeling woozy.
- Spend five hours in boutique to sell one necklace.
- Meet Kate at other sale to break down display. Have sold (or had stolen) six items. Total.
- Find out the estranged business partner is usually the one who handles payment to artists, imagine we might not get
paid at all.
- Am angry.
- Ow, my face.
- Wake up delirious with joy that it's no longer the weekend.
1 chatty monkeys