Monday, April 14, 2008

My Skin'll Already Be Wrinkly, And I'll Probably Already Stink.

I first started really smoking when I was 15. Sure there was that time I was 7, but I don't think it counts unless you're buying your own.

But by 15, I was nicely settled into my routine and probably up to a pretty consistent half-pack a day. I never really strayed from that half-pack limit; it's about one an hour, except work times, and it's always kind of worked out for me.

"They" always say that you'll quit when you need to. Or when you have the proper motivation. For me, it was the kid. It got to the point where I couldn't possibly feel more ghetto than putting the baby in front of the TV so that I could sneak out for a smoke. So I quit. Used the patch. Worked like a charm.

I still miss it like crazy though. Especially on a day like today. Stressful work, beautiful weather, 20 minute uninterrupted drive home. But I know I shouldn't go back.

So I made a deal with Carol. On my 75th birthday, I'm buying a carton and having the time of my life. Get me an extra large from Dunkin' Donuts and an ashtray and stand back.

Carol says if that's the case, then she's gonna buy herself pounds of Ghirardelli and join in on the festivities.

Oh, it's going to be sweeeeeeet.

Monday, April 7, 2008


We have several greeting cards that have been in dire need of a facelift. Since I've been feeling inspired as of late, I got my ass in gear and set to redesigning. The trend seems to be following stripes and damask these days (this also happens to be a favorite combination of mine):

We're also gearing up for the National Stationery Show in May. Unfortunately, we won't be exhibiting (insert hysterical sobbing here). We made this decision based on the fact that I'll be about 9-months-pregnant when the show comes. I'm not sure if the world is ready for this scenario:

Me: Hi! Welcome to my fantastically designed booth. Can I show you some of my work?

Them: Ummm, no, thank you. I'm just looking.

Me: What? You *don't want* to see my stationery line? (the tears start to flow right about now) What the hell is wrong with you? I worked hard to get here! I'm tired, huge, and I neeeeeed you to tell me I'm pretty, dammit. (and now the anger) Look. At. My. Line. Before. I. Kill. You.

It's probably for the best.