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Wendy Bix Photo Giveaway!

You guys, Christmas is next week. Seriously. When did that even HAPPEN? Do I have my holiday cards finished? No (mostly due to a failed CD burner, which has definitely put a huge delay here at the Haus of Bix). Do I have a wrapping plan? No. Do I have a present for my husband? NO.

If you’re anything like me, you’re feeling a bit of the holiday crunch right now. It’s ok. Shhh. Baby, it’s going to be ok. We’ll get through this together. Until then, here’s a very small attempt to make your Christmas bright!

FREE STUFF!

Like last time, it’s a Wendy Bix Etsy Store Giveaway! One lucky commenter on this entry will receive their choice of any photo in my Etsy Store as a 12×18 print. This is a very fast quick hit giveaway, as I want to get that photo in your hot little hands before Dec 24, so only comments left by midnight on Sat, Dec 18, because I’m going to do the drawing on Sunday and the winner will need to tell me which photo they want by Monday in order to receive their prize before Dec 24 (this is so complicated!).

Unlike the last contest, this is open to anyone in any part of the world, so leave your comment! Quickly!

Additionally, I’m also extending a 20% discount to readers of this blog on any item in my Etsy store through the end of the year, via the promo code TINSELSNOWBOTTOM. Order before noon on Dec 20 and I will also give you a free upgrade to expedited shipping to guarantee delivery on or before Dec 24. Hello, procrastinators, I’m talking to you!

*The Fine Print: Winners will be selected using a random number generator. Only comments received by Midnight CST on Dec 18 will qualify for the drawing. If you leave multiple comments, only the first one is eligible for winning.  A valid email address MUST be left on the comment in order to receive prize notification. Also, regretfully, I can only guarantee delivery to folks in the US by Dec 24, non-US delivery will be a crap shoot known as “sometime after Dec 24”.

Absolutely Fabulous

My imaginary friend Peter said that there’s a point of Wisconsin cold where all fashion stops. He calls it Fabsolute Zero.

It is so cold this week that I’ve basically just thrown up my hands and given up. I took back the Ikea sheepskin from the cat and put it beneath my desk, as the cold seeps up through the hardwood floor and freezes my feet (by the way, this was a brilliant solution, as now they are warm AND cozy) and even a space heater and thick ski socks is not enough to overcome negative 2 degrees. I dug out the most gender-confused footwear in my shoe cupboard: a very rugged and manly pair of boots accented with baby pink detail. They are uncomfortable and heavy, but I can plod across sheen ice as easily as walking across dry pavement in them. At first, I only put them on when taking the dog outside, but yesterday, I actually did the “shoes in the purse boots on the feet” thing when I went into the office and did not even feel the slightest bit sheepish as I clomped through the cubicle farm to my desk, feeling a bit like Admiral Perry or maybe a Budweiser Clydesdale. I will have a new job at the beginning of the year, one that allows me 100% work from my home office. I celebrated by buying a pair of extra snuggly fleece yoga pants and when they turned out to look TOTALLY ADORABLE and indistinguishable from regular safe-to-be-worn-in-public pants, I celebrated extra by buying another three pairs. It’s snugglicious all up in my lady business! (That is definitely not a song that I possibly sing to myself. And the cat. Shush.)

Oh, were you paying attention in that big dense paragraph above? I am going to have a very fancy new job! I was talking with other people who had much more fun jobs at other companies and was finding myself being obscenely jealous. It was clearly time to just cut the cord and take advantage of a clean break, and turned down two job offers from within my company and accepted a new role at another company.

For the first time in ever, my 9 to 5 job is going to be writing and editing. For reals. Crazy!

As beautiful as the cold weather is, I’m looking forward to no longer dealing with the morning commute, the skipping lunch because I don’t want to be arsed to get into a cold car, and also, being subjected to overhearing the snorking, sniffling and obnoxious conversations of the people in other parts of the cube farm. I strongly suspect I won’t miss creating Inception-esque complex Excel spreadsheets. Conditional formatting, see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!

In other news, Weetacon sold out! Four days after registration opened! And we have people on the overflow list (and are looking at increasing capacity to accommodate those folks, so if you wanted to come to Weetacon, send in your registration ASAP, because we’re only going to increase enough to accommodate people who have actually registered, not people who swear they are going to register but haven’t gotten around to actually pulling the trigger.) which is just so awesome. It’s our seventh year of Weetacon and the theme is Seven Deadly Sins (the best idea ever, it was Meg’s suggestion) and if you ever were an old online journaling fangirl or fanboy, this is your year, because the attendees list is Fabsolute Awesome. As always, please feel free to email me if you have questions about Weetacon, pugs, photography, shoe shopping, Glenn Beck or the secret to amazing eye makeup for the holidays. I’m here for you.

Flash Sob

I think I’m turning into Mighty Kymm, as I have noticed that watching flash mob videos tends to make me get choked up a little. I don’t know why. At first I thought it was because I just love the musical numbers in The Sound of Music, but then it happened again and again, even during that episode of Modern Family and I even had actual tears form when I watched the Prop 8 flash mob (mostly because I imagined them practicing it ahead of time, despite the possibility that it wouldn’t be overturned, although really they could have just used it as a protest flash mob in that case). The people just look so happy and so proud of themselves. It’s the magic of a group of random individuals pulling it off, having made so much effort and stepped outside of their comfort zone just for four minutes of uninterrupted joy. Even though I know the flash is going to happen and that the bystanders are going to be standing there, amazed and transfixed, I still get goosebumps when the tipping point occurs, when it becomes clear that there is a greater force at work here in this mall food court or Belgian train station.

This morning, I was surfing and found this, via Kim, and now I am officially a full blown sap, because I had actual tears streaming down my face. Multiples. It’s just gorgeous. Perfection. And while I’m certain that not everyone reacts to chorales the way that I do (I’m still embarrassed about the St. Paul’s Cathedral Incident), consider this your warning. And if you’re not a sap like me, it’s still a very joyful holiday break for a slow December Friday (and totally safe for work).

Enjoy.

We’re a couple of misfits

You guys already know that I’m a dope about Christmas specials (hey, is this an old Elastic Waist post? How did that get on here?), but can I just say right now that I’m super duper excited about the special stop action animated episode of NBC’s Community this Thursday? Ok, if NBC hadn’t asked me to post this, I probably wouldn’t have written a blog post about it, but I definitely have my TiFaux primed and at the ready. Now if only the little Abed’s and Troy’s were made of felt and faux fur, ala the Rankin/Bass Rudolph special, my cold black heart might really grow three sizes that day.

By the way, the video below is kind of eye-rolly lame because you have to watch a commercial that is almost as long as the clip, but it’s still worth it just to marvel at how long it must have taken them to create the clay models for JUST THOSE 20 SECONDS OF FOOTAGE. People, I work in clay and my hands are dry and pruny in empathy for those artists. For reals.

When is Shirley going to get a People’s Choice award? Even her clay self’s line delivery makes me laugh. How is that possible?

Moments I’d like to not have played back in the movie of my life

A few weeks ago, while I was in Everwood demanding that Jake drive me around and find things that would delight and amuse me, he pointed us at a bakery that was apparently founded by Joseph Smith or something. I tried half of a piece and demanded the box be taken away before I eat an unfair share of the booty, but a week later, I was still thinking about that cake. Perfect frosting, cake made of clouds. Hell, it was even coated with coconut and I hate coconut almost as much as I hate clowns but I was willing to overlook it for this cake of the gods (or cake of the Nephites, as the case may be).  Luckily for my inner food demon, a week after my visit to Utah, Jake was flying out for a 22 hour stay in San Francisco for the sole purpose of going to the Stars concert (that’s us at the Fillmore, trying our best to look indie rock and roll and also, I swear my bosoms do not normally burst forth in such a manner. I will pretend it’s joyfully unexpected satire or something). I made a trip across the East Bay just to procure a Lego Advent calendar that would serve as a sweet enough bribe for him to bring me one little box of cake. Later that night, I was driving down Highway 101, one false MAC eyelash partially obstructing my vision, listening to “Smack My Bitch Up” on the radio and eating cake with my fingers did it occur to me that maybe I should put Mrs. Backer’s cake on the list with fresh hot Krispy Kremes and white chocolate covered pretzels– foods that I should really just avoid, because otherwise a criminal mastermind could plausibly use it to get me to do their bidding.

Food demon quelled.

But then, I had to go to Boston on Tuesday for an 18 hour trip. Four plane flights in 18 hours does not a happy Bix make. I was somewhat buoyed by the fact that I have never been to Boston and I have recently learned that I am a descendant of the Plmouth Rock-y types and some guy who founded a big school there.  This totally explains my long-held secret wish to be called “Muffy” and be swathed in argyle cashmere during months containing an R.

Unfortunately, since it was a business trip, I didn’t get to choose my airline, so was stuck riding United and flying through O’Hell. Longtime readers know about my long hate affair with O’Hell. In fact, I have actually changed airline allegiances based on how much I loathe O’Hell. And to make matters worse, since I was flying United, which I only fly when I have no other choice (ie. someone else is paying for it) I was in totally strange and bizarre parts of O’Hell. Like E and F terminal, for instance, which I’m pretty sure is where lost souls go to earn their way back to the light. But one thing I had not realized is that United had several perks that the American Airlines folks in G, C, H and K would certainly cry mutiny over if they knew what they were missing. For instance, a Jamba Juice! Oh Jamba Juice! What I would give for a convenient location to the very tasty and highly calorific, marginally nutritious buckets of dietary delusion!

I was thisclose to gleefully loading up on a Coldbuster with extra Immunity magic when I spotted something even better than Jamba Juice to blow my empty calorie wad just a few feet down the concourse.

A Garrett’s popcorn stand.

I’ve only had Garrett’s once before and had mercifully only been given a small portion of the pre-packaged Chicago Mix (cheese and caramel corn living together in delicious sin) but I knew that it was some kind of crazy addictive meth corn from the first bite.  But fresh cheese corn straight from the source? Dripping with orange artery-clogging delicious liquid cheese grease (Chrease TM)? It was as if they peered into my inner secret heart. I had found my soul mate. My cheese corn soul mate.

What I had also found was an unholy mess.  After about four dives into the bag, I realized, oh, look, orange fingers. Then I wiped with a napkin. It didn’t come off. Then I went to the bathroom and washed my hands. Less orange, but still orange.

Yes, I’m aware that the bag is editorializing in the photo on the right.

Yesterday, after a shower that involved double hair shampooing,  I accessorized my black tailored business suit and crisp white button down with an accent of orange finger tips. It’s going to be all the rage in Milan, just you wait!

Maybe if I’m lucky, I can add a Kool-Aid mustache for formal occasions.

By the way, today my fingernails are still orange and we’re reaching the 40 hour mark. I’m kind of freaking out about having my cheese corn weakness broadcast to the world days later (aside from its obvious addition to my ass).  I’d like to believe that I’m imagining the shadow, but I’m not. It’s there, labeling me as a cheese corn pariah. A carbohydrate addict’s Lady MacBeth!

On a side note, I woke up this morning with a monster cold.  You saw that coming, right? Of course you did.

(I just noticed that I’m wearing the same dress in both photos. As you can see, I did not lie in this post for BFD, I’m totally addicted to it right now and have in the span of the last four weeks, worn it in all four time zones. I did wear it with a cami and a scarf while traveling this week, though. I save my whorish ensembles for backstage at rock concerts. Also, yes, that’s the lining from the Igigi coat mentioned in the same BFD post.)

Getting into my underpants

I made a discovery recently that makes me question how I live my life. I recognize that I have a clothing problem, that I treat fashion with the same zeal that I treat all things wonderful: more more more nom nom nom. I have regular purgings and trend annihilation (for instance, those stupid convertible bras? They are worthless in every variation! I’m sorry, you are out! Auf Weidersehen!)  on a seasonal basis. That’s why I was so surprised when I opened the bottom drawer on my dresser in search for ski socks (damn it’s cold)  and found not a stash of long johns and cold weather gear but instead dozens upon dozens of carefully folded underwear. Apparently during one of my clothing overhauls, I had abandoned the cold weather drawer and turned it into an underwear drawer annex and then forgot all about it.

It’s a sad state of affairs that I had taken about half of my underwear out of rotation and hadn’t even noticed them missing. My only defense is that growing up poor with a neglectful parent does crazy things to your brain and now I am as a squirrel for winter, but my nuts are in my panty drawer  (That came out wrong.)

The crazier thing is that I don’t even REMEMBER half of these panties. At some point, apparently I had a field day buying a bunch of stuff from Torrid, things I don’t even understand wanting, much less wearing. In the time it took for me to forget my panty annex, I have gotten very serious and adult and feel weird wearing Tinkerbell on my crotch.  So boring.

What I  have here is a case of a Panty Drawer Time Machine.

I really have to wonder about the taste level of Past Bix. For instance, a black and white striped number with a skeleton on the front, complete with dialogue tag that exclaims “You’ve been warned!”. Why would I want to warn people away from my panty region?Clearly I wasn’t giving enough though to my personal branding should be that of welcome!

This is sarcasm, by the way.

Fragile. A Major Award.

My morning view
If you’re looking for the Holiday Card Exchange FAQ, it’s here.

I just came back from seventeen days of travel. Three days in Everwood, UT, hanging out with Jake, which was a whirlwind of zombies, cake, tea parties and arguments about whether  another friend was hiding a thirteen year old child in her studio apartment (I still think that they were confusing her with Anne Frank). Then four days in San Francisco, close enough to the Bay to be able to verify the time off the Ferry Building clock followed by ten days in the South Bay, camping in a business traveler hotel that basically acts as the dorm for Esteban’s new employer (a super huge Silicon Valley company, you can probably figure it out in three guesses) where I was there long enough to  sit through three cycles of the free breakfast and enough to contemplate buying my own real maple syrup  so that I didn’t have to ruin their very tasty waffles with that fake plasticy crap.

I’m having a big of a friend withdrawal right now: after so many days surrounded by the people I love the most, in beautiful weather, eating amazing ethnic food that I only get in the Bay area (and pizza  with sourdough crust, where have you been all my life?), drinking impossibly gorgeous wines and having people actually get my stupid jokes, to come back to a messy house (no daily maid? WTF?) and daily highs in the 30s and being told that my position is being eliminated (AGAIN) and the job they want to give me is one I don’t want so I have to figure something out in the next six weeks followed by my sister unload a bunch of dysfunction in my lap on my second day back in the office and then oh yeah, Esteban’s truck needs a heart transplant or something equally expensive, I’m certainly feeling the reality of yin and yang.

I’m not saying that I’m depressed, exactly, but I certainly wish I could crack a Tennessee/Hank Williams joke and have someone get it.

Instead, I will focus on things that make me happy. I missed my pets while I was gone and they have been more than appreciative to have us back (plus, is there anything better than a warm pug snoring on your lap? I think not). When I went backstage at the Stars concert at the Fillmore, Amy Millan actually recognized me, which just boggles my mind (or means that she’s afraid I’m stalking her). Also, my photos are in a freaking art gallery, which just keeps boggling my mind. Which is a good thing that my mind is pre-boggled because this next part’s the craziest:

The boat story that I’ve mentioned here time and again?

It was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

You should know that I got the e-mail notification from Blackbird while sitting in a Whole Foods in SoMa and immediately started crying. Mostly what I hope were little pretty tears, but I am almost certain there was at least one hiccup in there. Now, let’s be honest: a lot of people are nominated for the Pushcart. So many in fact that my boyfriends at Barrelhouse actually made a t-shirt about it. But let’s be honest, I constantly think my writing sucks and basically went through the hell of applying to (and getting multiple rejections from) graduate school so that I could feel like I had earned the right to call myself a writer, so it really means a lot to me, even though I seriously doubt that my story will end up in that pretty pretty volume. Just the same. It’s still kind of awesome.

Although, it did occur to me that weeping into my vintage/thrifted embroidered handkerchief in the food court of a Whole Foods in the middle of  my raw vegan breakfast makes me some kind of weird person that I’m not really sure I want to know.

Empty car

The Official Holiday Card Exchange FAQ

river road

You guys, I’m excited about the Holiday Card Exchange too!  I think this is our ninth year doing this, which is amazing longevity when internet bloggery is concerned. I’ve also been bouncing back a few questions in e-mail, and if someone’s actually asking, chances are good that more people are wondering so here’s a Holiday Card Exchange FAQ!

How many cards do I have to send?

Depends on your choice and how many people sign up for the exchange. If we have more than 40 participants (which we do) then I split the exchange into two separate but equal exchanges.  When you fill out the info form, you get a choice of No More Than 40 Cards or All The Cards. If you pick No More Than 40 Cards, your name will be on one list only, and you’ll send to the people on your own list (and they to you). If you pick All The Cards, then I’ll send you everyone’s name and you send to everyone (and they to you). Obviously, if you looked at both lists, you’d see that the people who pick “All The Cards” are on both of them. I hope that doesn’t sound confusing: it’s really not, but I fear that I’m making a botch of explaining it. Anyway, I do all of this business behind the scenes, all you have to do is decide do you want to send/receive 40 or fewer cards OR more than 40 but fewer than 80 cards.

But… I don’t actually know you or the other people in the exchange. Is that weird to send a holiday card to someone I don’t know?

That’s ok! The Holiday Card Exchange isn’t about knowing the people in the exchange, it’s just about making the holidays brighter and putting a personal touch to a cold, hard internet.

What do you write in a card you’re sending to a stranger?

How about “Happy Holidays” followed by your name? We usually suggest a fun version of correspondence (one year we had a questionnaire that I loved so much I still have all of the answers in a stack in my office) and we’ll be doing that again this year, but as with everything, it’s totally optional. Low stress. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Do I have to make the cards?

No! You don’t have to make cards at all! Some people choose to do this, but if you aren’t so much with the glue stick and just like getting the holiday booty, then feel free to print labels and use mass-market cards, whatever works for you.

Can I send holiday postcards?

Absolutely! That’s a very green and economical solution!

I don’t do Christmas but I like getting and cards. Is that kosher (ha! See what I did there)?

Absolutely. Send whatever kind of card you wish. If you’re a Christmas-y type, send a Christmas card. If you’re all about the Hanukkah, hit us with some dreidel goodness. If you are a Happy New Year! kind of person, let’s see that baby in the top hat. You get the picture. This is low stress, so whatever makes you happy will make dozens of people smile!

What if I’m going to be busy before Dec 25?

Then send them after Dec 25. This is LOW STRESS, guys. I personally try to get mine out before Dec 25 and I would say 95% of all participants do too, but that doesn’t mean that you have to toe the line. Again, it’s a holiday exchange: we’re not going to get paranoid about rules and will give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

What if I live somewhere that is not the United States? I like cards too!

Hey! I don’t discriminate. Sign up! We love pretty stamps, and of course, it might take a little longer for you to get your cards (and for us to get yours).

I heard a rumor that you send out Holiday Weetamixes that are traded on the black market like currency. Is that true?

It is! However, it is also true that I made that question up. Holiday Weetamixes will again be in production, much to Esteban’s chagrin. I don’t care, you guys, I LOVE them! And this year’s Weetamix is going to be AWESOME, if I do say so myself (and I’m probably the only one). Also, in previous years, I’ve sent out the Weetamixes to Exchange Veterans only but now everyone on the exchange gets one, plus I typically shoot a bonus CD into a few Veteran envelopes, just to keep everyone on their toes.

What did I miss? Do you have any other questions about how this thing works? Hit me up, gangsta-style, in the comments and I’ll respond to you there, as well as update this FAQ.

Remember, this is a limited time offer. I collect names/address until Thanksgiving in the US, or Nov 25, and then the participants start sending out their holiday goodness. Already we have 42 people signed up, but you still have time to get in on the action. Just fill out this form and you’ll be all set.


A tale of two parking spots

I’m a strong believer in karma. I think the universe abhors a vacuum, which is good when it comes to my belief that every no you hear means you are one step closer to a Yes, but bad when it seems as though the universe sets forth a correction in a strong series of calamities.

Last week, the Midwest had a cyclone. This is apparently different than a tornado that sent Dorothy to Oz, but rather basically an inland hurricane. Shit was flying everywhere. Pieces of roofs blocked streets. The first day of the storm, I had the strong misfortune of NEEDING to go into the office, because the fan on my laptop was frying out again, so I absolutely had to go out in the wind. On my way to work, I dropped the puglet off at her daycare and the wind ripped my car door out of my hand, bending the hinges. I groaned, because it’s happened before, at that same spot (it’s in an industrial park, so the wind just howls through there) but then when I opened the back door to get Ave out, the wind grabbed and bent the hinges on that door as well. Awesome. On my drive in, I realized that I had been stupid to take one of the big bridges, because semis were having a hard time staying in their lanes, and even the Murano was doing its best impression of an air hockey puck.

I ran into the building, noting that more people than usual had parked in my usual spot. I was in the office for about thirty minutes and managed to spray myself with Kool-Aid while I was shaking it in my faux Sigg. Then an e-mail was sent out to everyone stating that we weren’t supposed to be parked in the place where I was parking. Oh. Apparently they had changed the parking heirarchy and didn’t note it the last time they sent out a parking reminder. Ok, fine, I won’t park there again. Except then the receptionist made an announcement stating that everyone parked in the rogue spots had to go and move their cars RIGHT THAT MINUTE WE ARE NOT KIDDING DO IT.

Go out into the hurricane. Awesome sauce.

I nabbed my keys out of my purse and listened to people around the cube farm excuse themselves off of conference calls to go move their cars, for the love of Pete! It was a company-wide walk of shame, complete with a maintenance guy standing out in the parking lot with his arms folded, making sure that we complied with the evacuation order. Everyone was pissed, and at least two people moved their cars to OTHER illegal spots (basically some tenants of our building get huge numbers of very close spots that they never use, leaving the rest of the day-to-day people to walk past those rock star spots to get to a much further door. Totally a Haves and Have Nots situation that has generated an obscene amount of bitterness, particularly in the winter when we also have to deal with a haphazardly-cleared icy parking lot) in defiance.

I was similarly pissed so I decided that since I was out in my car anyway, I would swing through Starbucks and nab some coffee. Fuck the Man! And my devious plan would have worked brilliantly except that after the barissta had made my drink and handed me a piece of Lemon Loaf I realized that, oh, yeah, I didn’t have a purse and the Starbucks card that lives on my dashboard only had exactly 11 cents on it. Which is less than you need for a Grande coffee and a piece of Lemon Loaf, apparently. I tried to give it back to them, but they couldn’t accept the food after it had been in my car, and since they had made my picky drink already, they were just going to give it to me for free.

Do you know how hard it is to enjoy freeloaded coffee? It tastes of bitterness and guilt, I tell you!

The Lemon Loaf, however, was delicious. It is impervious to guilt and shame.

I ambled back into the office, happy that I had avoided the return Walk of Shame with the rest of the car movers. I sat down at my desk, started working, and then clicked on a link to go to MSNBC, which promptly downloaded some kind of Mega Trojan onto my computer, completely devastating everything and unrecoverable after several reboots.

At that point, I wanted to give up. I called in the issue with the IT guy, who was going to be awhile, and then realized that I might as well go to lunch, because I certainly couldn’t get anything done until I had a replacement. I went to a vintage store and ambled around for a bit, scoring a totally vintage Eames desk lamp and one of those great old fans with the steel blades and open cages that they discontinued because they chop off fingers (or something silly like that), as well as some ancient books. I could so easily become a hoarder, for reals, because I am powerless in the face of amazing junk store finds.

I got back to work, happy that the IT guy had brought me a replacement desktop and used it for several hours. It was too soon to determine whether my bad karma had shifted yet, so I kept feeling like the other shoe was about to drop at any moment. Then the IT guy came over and said that he was going to give me a new laptop rather than mess around with my corrupted one (the fan had been replaced twice already and was going again, apparently a problem with that model), something I’d been begging for for months (when I returned from my sabbatical, I actually received my old laptop back, so my laptop was legitimately long in the teeth and I had grown tired of its face).

When the whistle blew, I skedaddled out of the office and ran home to change my Kool-Aid speckled dress, as I had two tickets to a Stars concert in Milwaukee! I had contacted Christine, a fellow Stars enthusiast, and asked if she wanted to go along, especially since I would be driving through Sheboygan anyway. She was all over it, and was ready whenever, but the wind storm was making driving somewhat treacherous, and it took forever to get down to her apartment, and then apparently the cell networks were being weird as she didn’t get my “I’m here!” texts for an unusually long time after I had sent them.

Together, with a Stars playlist queued up, we raced down the freeway, semi-panicked about the time frame. You see, I had exchanged Tweets with their road manager and he had promised to hook me up with a band Meet and Greet. For reals. My little heart, it went pitter pat! But now the stupid wind storm was making the ETA dicey, plus when we got to the venue, we realized that whoa, there was a huge WWE event happening across the street, which meant that parking was nowhere to be had.  After a nearby lot turned us away, I spotted an open spot that had a RESERVED sign on it. Hmmm… do I care about this? Park in someone else’s spot or park in a safe spot and miss my chance to meet Stars? Fuck the rules, man. The parking lot attendant came over and informed me that I would get a $50 ticket, and I said “Ok!” because hell, if I had stayed the night in Milwaukee, I would have paid like $30 for my car on top of the hotel anyway. A $50 ticket and they don’t tow my car? Fine with me.

We raced up the stairs of the Historic Turner Auditorium and met with the merchandising girl as well as the road manager, who told us it would be awhile. It seems the wind had wreaked havoc with everyone, as Amy Millan and Even Cranley had a flight into Milwaukee get canceled so they were driving up from Chicago. They were ten minutes away, so we had plenty of time. Great for me, since in my rush to get inside, I had left my phone and camera in the car, so I ran back out and scored everything then raced back up the stairs a second time. And that’s why I was a big sweaty mess when it came time to meet and talk with Evan and Pat and Amy and Torq and Chris.

I didn’t care. It was still awesome. They are awesome. I am forever a Stars girl, without a question.

Christine and I scored an amazing spot for the concert, at the feet of  Chris Seligman, the source of all of those ethereal melodies (and the guy tucked against my side in the above photo). Stars have an amazing show every time I’ve seen them, but this particular concert was fantastic. The performers play their asses off and didn’t even mind with Torq called an audible and decided to add another song and do “Heart” at the end of the encore. The best part: at one point, Chris was trying to get my attention while I was all gazey-goober at the singers, so he nodded to Christine to tap my shoulder and then he handed me a white rose from the stage (lest you think this is a big deal, it’s not quite a huge deal, as part of their thing is that they throw flowers off the stage, but being singled out is still pretty cool).  Also, the roadie gave me one of the five set lists, so now I have Madison AND Milwaukee’s set list.

It was a good night. Clearly my karmic debt had been paid off by the craptastic morning and the universe was feeling generous again. Certainly I could not have asked for a better evening and the bonus of having fantastic and fashionable Christine for company.

Also? The $50 parking ticket never materialized and apparently I didn’t have to pay a cent for the parking spot right outside the door to the venue.  Now I’m worried that I’m in the red with the universe again. Note to self: load up on the acts of senseless kindness this month. For reals.


Speaking of doing good for your fellow man, don’t forget: I’m coordinating the annual Holiday Card Exchange again this year and you can sign up for it RIGHT NOW and ensure a mailbox full of happiness throughout the month of December and into the New Year! Details and all your questions answered right here.

It’s the most Holiday Card Exchangiest time of the year!

Oh November, how you sneak up on me! Every year, like clockwork, and yet, I’m always shocked and dismayed to see that yes, Virginia, there really will be a hardcore holiday scene in less than eight weeks and zomg, so much to do. I blame Halloween, quite honestly. I get distracted by all the goth doom and gloom (spider webs are pretty). And yet, how much do I LOVE the holidays! SO MUCH! Mostly because it involves one of my favorite fetishes: stationery. Seriously, you guys, I think I could die happily if I had my own letterpress printing press and a mountain of gorgeous cottony cardstock to go with it.  Note to self: settle down, not everyone gets off on the Cranes catalog.

SO! You know what November 1 means? That’s right, my babies, it’s Holiday Card Exchange time. What’s the Holiday Card Exchange? Well, it’s simple: it’s a chance for you to send and receive cards from all over the country and the world. We’ve been doing the Holiday Card Exchange for mumblely-peg years (nine? ten?) and it’s been such a wonderful tradition that I’m loathe to give it up. Besides, I love getting mail that isn’t a bill, you know? Plus — secret — I love getting to see photos of your children and your pets. I get extra squealy when the card is actually FROM the pet. I know, I am broken.

So, do you want to play along? Come on, you know that you want to.

Here’s what you do: fill out the handy dandy little form here. On Nov 25, I’ll send out a final list of all the participants of the Holiday Card Exchange. By signing up, you are agreeing to send/receive cards with no more than 40 people. If we have more than 40 participants, I will split the exchange into two lists, so that no one is overwhelmed by their commitment to the Exchange. However, if you WANT to send and receive more than 40 cards, you can indicate that and I’ll put your name in BOTH exchanges, so you get double the awesome holiday cheer.

To be clear, I will be sending to EVERYONE on the list, as I am greedy that way and want LOTS of cards. But I do not labor under the delusion that everyone is crazy like I am loves sending cards like I do.

Sound like a plan?

If you have questions, please leave a comment and I’ll reply to it, but otherwise, here’s the form. Fill out and then start thinking about sipping hot chocolate curled up on the sofa, stuffing envelopes to your heart’s content! Smooches!

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