Lady, this ain’t Antiques Roadshow

Whenever I actually force myself to sit down here and write these days, I realize I want to tool with the blog, change the header, blah blah blah. But wanting to do it and actually doing it? Well, that’s a different story. It’s amazing I am simply WRITING. My schedule is not my own. I am now working some 9 to 5s (and 6s) along with lots of midshifts — 12 to 8 p.m. Which honestly sucks as bad as the dreaded 4 to close. You lose the whole middle chunk of your day, get home and crash.

So, I do what I can. I don’t want to quit my blog, so I don’t. I just do random drive-bys. But obviously, my theme has changed. I still knit, but I mainly test knit for others or make things for my store. Which doesn’t sell great guns, but I’m thankful to be working on two custom items right now. Every bit of pin money helps.

No, I’m here to tell you about the asshattiness and general cluelessness I encounter on a daily basis at Big Box Bookstore. Come on, you know you want it!

Like a few Saturdays ago. A woman approaches me with a battered shopping bag and pulls out a raggedy painting. “Excuse me, miss. Can you give me an estimate on getting this painting restored? It’s a gen-u-ine Norman Rockwell, and very valuable.”

I’m not a fan of Norman, but here’s a portrait he did of Ann Margret that I kind of like.

Well. I will tell you this, folks. I’m a pretty good expert at vintage clothes and jewelry (I say pretty good, not great) but I am NOT one at priceless art. However, this thing was about as genuine as the shoes I got at Target, mmkay? Smudged paint, and the signature was on the left hand side, not the right, which is a giveaway. So, I gave my standard answer…well, actually a nicer version of my answer, which is “JFGI!” That’s an acronymn for Just Fucking Google It, in case you didn’t know…

Frankly, after the whole exchange I felt like something out of Antiques Roadshow, know what I’m sayin’?

Then there was the weird one who came up to me Saturday night and said, “What are these?”
“They’re eReaders, sir.”
“What do they do?”
“You read books on them.”
“Read one to me. Now. But not loud, kind of soft. So no one else can hear you.”

And the kicker is, I acutally did. A sentence or two of some Grisham. But that was it. Any more, and I’d a had to charge him.

Those are just some outstanding examples. There will be more. I’m not even going to go into the Rogue’s Gallery of our regulars, including Backpack Joe, Sandal Sam and Heidi the Hooker who loves Jesus.

Or the absolute douchenozzle who walked up to me last night while I had ten minutes left on my shift, while he was WITH HIS DAD, and said, with no humor, “If you do your job right, you might actually sell one of these to me.”

“I do my job right every night, ” I told him. And twenty minutes later, I did. Ugly flip flop wearing fucktard. I bet he doesn’t get any trim. Just sayin’

Here’s some pretty things I put in the Etsy shop for Cyber Monday. None have sold as of yet, but I did work hard, I love them all, and they’re all originals.

There. That wasn’t so hard, Tanya. Now next time I blog, hopefully I can actually do some work with the site itself. Let’s take bets on THAT happening!


What hairdressers are good for…

Hey, it’s November and I am posting! Look, after a particularly wretched week last week, I’m trying to regroup.

First, some photos of new stuff I put up at Etsy…

Autumn leaf lace collar

Shimmer grey cabled headband

Twisting Vines Butterfly explosion hat

So there you go: these were things I made for the show at the last minute that didn’t sell. Maybe someone will do some Etsy Christmas shopping?

I always put the pretty pictures up before the bitching. Needless to say, I hate my job, I question my life choices, blah blah blah. They have me working a bunch of night shifts now, or rather, the fat ugly asst. manager does. Bitch. She can choke on it. There’s more to the story but I’ll leave it there.

And to make matters wonderful, we have a couple of big booksignings coming up, namely Bill O’Reilly this Friday. Just, no.
I have come to terms with it, and the hundreds of people who have already express an interest in coming/queueing up. It doesn’t mean I’m HAPPY about it, but I’ve accepted it. One of my co-workers is so mad he’s slamming shit around all day, and gave this immortal comment today: “A bunch of scumbags coming in to see a bigger scumbag.”

I’ll leave at that.

And I’ve been so depressed I just break down crying at the drop of a hat. So when I went to see my beloved hairdresser Nancy on Monday, I just lost it. We were alone, as we sometimes are, and I broke down in tears of frustration. But she listened to me, cheered my up, and let me know bad shit happens to her, to, like the company that took her for $300 of product and sent shoes instead. Shoes.


I guess I’m sucking it up as best I can, folks. In cheerier (?) news, I’m now following cleanup guy Matt from the show Hoarders on Twitter.

It’s come to that.