I think when the economy is bad, people start doing crazy shit that they'd never do if they didn't have to invent their own opportunities. I think that might be a paraphrase from like, Hoover or Eisenhower, or someone important who also rode a horse (maybe my Dad?), but I also believe that to be true.
If I could get a regular gig somewhere for fun and $$ I wouldn't be thinking to myself, "How do I hustle and make some flow?" (assuming "hustle" means "work hard" and "flow" means "major cashola.") And, since the economy is in the crapper and jobs are scarce, I'm doing what many women at home do: I'm gonna start selling crafty things at stupidly high prices that no one can afford, because the people that buy your stuff are off making their own crafty creations and are selling them at the booth beside mine.
Yes, Mr Heller, I am aware of the catch-22; however, I brought a magic marker so I can out bid my competition, Price Is Right style, only the opposite.
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| With the right adjectives, even a Popsicle stick tower can be sold for $75. |
But where would I find such a bevy of young ladies? Why, I kept things simple-- I called my sister, sister-in-law and a couple of friends with wee girlies. Everyone, much to my relief, agreed to do the shoo. And then, my needs went from all that aforementioned stuff, to also needing to clothe 6 models. Quickly, I figured out what needed to be done.
(here's the email I actually sent)
Hi!
Thanks for saying you will model skirts and such for the photo shoot on Saturday. We are super stoked to have your wee princess in our clothes! Please bring the following things with you when you arrive. Please arrive ready to dress, undress and re-dress your child many, many times within an hour.
Please bring the following shirts with you:
long sleeved navy, no print/logo -- with matching tights
long sleeved white, no print/logo -- with matching tights
3/4 sleeve red, ruffles on chest
3/4 sleeve green, five buttons on chest
short sleeve pink, with pocket
short sleeve blue, with pocket
cap sleeve brown, with print/no logo
cap sleeve black, with print/no logo
1 white cardigan
1 brown cardigan
1 jean jacket
Please bring the following accessories with you:
1 hat in black
1 hat with sequins
a pair of hair clips/bows that match each shirt
Please bring the following shoes with you:
Pair of cute, fun boots (not winter)
Pair of flip flops
Pair of dressy shoes
I think that's it. I hope you're able to bring everything-- I hear Gap has a sale on, just in case you're missing a piece or two. :)
xoxo
Diva
Looking back, I should've been less shocked for the flood of emails that went "Uh, my kid is, uh, like, sick or something. She's gonna be sick for at least another week or two (until the day after the photo shoot, whenever that is anyway). Sorry we can't do it anymore."
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: Like, Sister! Why aren't you answering my call. Did you get my email? Of course you did. I checked the read receipt like the proper stalker I am. Call me. K? Click.
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: Sister! I only asked for like, two dozen shirts and various shoes and accessories. This is not outrageous or bizarre. Call me. Seriously. Don't be a jerk. K? Click.
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: Why are you screening me? Anyway, I can't believe you're not answering my calls. My email is legit. Frick. Click.
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: Ok. So now Sister-In-Law isn't answering either. Are you two talking to each other? Don't get her to drop out, too. That's shite! Click.
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: I just got the angel forward email. Seriously? Fine. Just bring your kid. And one shirt. Will you do it then? Frickin' call me. K? Click.
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: Ok. I'll just like, bring a couple of bins of clothing with me and you can figure it out. No biggie. K? You're acting like a jackass, by the way. Click.
(phone ringing)
Cell Phone: "You've reached Sister's voicemail. Leave a message."
Me: SERIOUSLY! Fine. I'll just post something on like, craigslist or something and find some new models. Frickdy.
(phone ringing)
Me: Hello?
Sister: Hi! Hey, so I saw you called 53 times. I was out buying the 50 thousand shirts you need. This photo shoot is so exciting! Sister-in-Law and I have been giggling about it all week! So FUN! Anyway, my phone was out of charge-- what's up?
Me: ... Uh. Ya. Um. Just can you, uh, delete all those messages without, uh, listening to them?
I look at the clock-- it's 2pm on the dot. Everyone has arrived at the house. It's time to start loading cars with girls, their clothing, and my skirts. And the balloons. And the giant sequined teddy bear.
We start out toward the photographer's when I realise that Gloria (my GPS) has no idea how to get there either. I drive towards the small town, regardless of that fact, hoping I'll just see some giant sign to call us inside. After driving up and down the main drag 4 times, with three cars trailing me full of models and their giant suitcases of shite, I remember that I have a postcard in one of my boxes with the phone number of the photographer written on it.
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| Just then, Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" came on the radio. |
I got out, opened the hatch, grabbed the rush of balloons that tried to escape to freedom, looked inside and realised that NONE of the clothes bins made it to the car. NONE OF THE CLOTHES MADE IT TO THE CAR!
I'm usually a pretty relaxed person. Well, sometimes I am relaxed, but anyway, this was not one of those times. See, I booked one hour for the photo shoot, and the photographer lives 40 minutes from my home. There was no time for us to turn around and be back by 3pm. And there was no point in doing the photo shoot without any FRICKING CLOTHING!?!
I did the jumping kicking dance of rage while the three moms looked on from the safety of their newly locked cars. I got back into my car. I called Husband. He picked up.
Me: (growling) CAN you see two baskets of CLOTHES in the laundry room?
(I was still kinda hoping that he wouldn't be able to find them, and they'd magically appear in the trunk through Jedi magic and well-harnessed rage.)
Husband: Um. Hold on. I have to go upstairs. (sounds of him going up stairs agonisingly slowly) ... Yes.
Me: Why do you think you can see them?
Husband: Uh, because they're here?
Me: WHY ARE THEY THERE???
Husband: I don't know. Are you even talking to me or is this whole conversation rhetorical?
Me: RAZZ-A-FRAZZIN'!!
Husband: Hey, Yosemite Sam. Can I bring the stuff to you?
Me: please.
Husband: K. You're welcome. You can sew me a cape when you're done with the photo shoot.
Husband arrived with the clothing-- thankfully my sister had claimed a few of the skirts as her own-- so she'd packed them in with the shirts et cetera she was bringing. Fortunately, she was able to get get some pictures done of her daughter done while the rest of us waited for the rest of the stuff.
I'm quite certain the photographer took the cutest pictures ever taken in the history of time, but we won't know that for a week or two. So, in the meantime, take heart that no children were harmed in the making of the photo shoot-- even though my blood pressure went up 200 points when I thought we were lost, and then again when I realised we had none of the necessary goods with us.
I've just been avoiding salt and egg yolks this week-- I'm sure the pulsing in my left arm will stop on its own.
In the meantime, anyone interested in a $75 Eiffel Tower sculpture message me. I can get you a good deal.
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