Sunday, August 7, 2011

french press vintage: trunk show #1: the summary

This past Saturday was my first trunk show for my vintage business, French Press Vintage.

It was a learning experience, to say the least.

I spent Friday night indoors. I was to meet my lady friend J. for sushi and maybe some drinks, but I was too much of a wreck to meet up with her. So I drove to the Salvation Army and scored some great vintage finds, then I went to the Value Village (my hotspot) and the old manager flirted with me. He looks like Rip Van Winkle with horse teeth, but he is nice and he always gives me a kind word and sometimes discounts. The airconditioner is broken in the store and not many people speak English, so it was a toasty way to spend some alone time. I didn't find much there since I practically wiped them out earlier in the week. I grabbed a salad and a pack of beer from the grocery on the way home and Crystal and I worked and sweated as we did the final touches to the merch. We watched King of the Hill and decompressed. I was tired early, and nervous, so I went to bed.

Saturday we left the house early. We'd loaded our jeeps the night before so there wasn't much to do in the morning except drink coffee and try not to barf.

I always get very nervous.

We arrived at the lot where the event was to be. The air was thick, I mean thick with moisture. Gray clouds hung low and heavy and I wondered if I should just call it a day, maybe drive up to the lake and do some good thrifting, put this whole "putting myself out there" thing to rest. But Crystal said I'd come this far and why the hell would I give up now? She's pretty smart for a younger sister.

So we started to unload but we were both on edge. I'm naturally grumpy in the morning and hard to deal with in general, and she hadn't had any coffee so she was especially bitchy and sick of me. We fought and cussed by the Christian dealer lady as if we were somehow taking it out on her too. Well what the fuck do you expect me to do? Look, will you stop acting like a fucking bitch? Fuck!

She left to get coffee and she said she'd "think" about coming back. I didn't care what she was going to do, but I didn't know that things could and would get worse. I brought my dog with me that morning. She's friendly and loves people and loves to be around me. Plus I love her. I was holding her by a cheap leash when she saw another dog, something small and fluffy, and she pulled free from me and darted off. Once she realized she was free, she was gone. Across the train tracks, down the corner, into traffic on busy South Blouvard. I burst into tears as I'm running after her in my heavy vintage dress (silk slip, lacy bloomers) and cowboy boots. Thank the gods for nice strangers, as a truck immediately pulled over and the young husband darted across the busy road as the sweet wife patted my back and told me that she'd be in a tizzy too if her pup ran away. The kindness of people unknown often amazes me. Especially when it comes to my bratty run-away.

Once Teebs was back Crystal returned with coffee and bagels. I was still crying and discouraged and thought, well, fuck this. Can you hear me Christian seller lady? Fuck this. But Crystal, like the loving sister and best friend that she is, coinvinced me that is would be silly, no stupid, to give up now.

We set up and the people dribbled in. It was hot as Hades in a heat wavr, and it was tax-free weekend in the Carolinas, so everyone flips their shit and goes to the mall and Wal-mart to buy a bunch of cheap crap that they don't really need and probably won't wear often, if ever. Many friends came, some just for support, and some brought their friends along. I fell in friend-girl-love with a redhead that bought a sweet brocade vest from me. I can't remember her name.

I was disappointed because someone that I thought would come did not show. It's sad to lose friendships, especially when someone is supposed to be in your inner circle. I think about this a lot but when it comes to writing about it, especially on something so public, I can't come up with anything.

As for the actual trunk show, I learned a lot. I won't do an outdoor event again, ever. Well I won't say ever. But if I do, it will be in better weather, and with better planning. And I will give my assistant coffee and food before arriving, to avoid any bitchy fighting.

I will rent out a place, like a gallery or coffee house. I've already been working on a list of places to email tomorrow...I didn't like being outdoors even though it was in a quality area of town because I didn't like being treated like everything I've been collecting and buying and lovingly, gently keeping and admiring was just yard sale junk. This, I told people, is rare. This is vintage.

Next time I will leave the housewares at home. And the dog. And I will drink more water and not push myself to the point where I am lightheaded and driving like a drunk at 3 in the afternoon down the interstate, pulling over to throw up, finally arriving home and laying on the couch to cool my body, my heart beating, beating.

Later Crystal and I went for tacos and margaritas at our favorite Mexican place. Everything is served on Fiesta ware, which I love. Our server was a street-looking kid who was sweet as pie and talked to me about this grandmother's mole, more spicy than chocolate.

Overall it was good. Lessons learned, not just about vintage. Next on the list of to-dos is flying out to Portland, where I intend to do a lot of shopping, as well as adding to my plan of moving back in May. My life is not quiet what I expected. My show didn't go as hoped. But as I am often told, baby steps....remember to take baby steps.

Pictures
prep work.

shoe prep. my kitty loves shoes, too.

this is my backyard the day BEFORE the show. yeah. wtf.



before we realized we had more space...a lot more space. we stretched out and showed off.





I only took pictures in the beginning. Before we got into the groove. Perhaps there are some other pics from other vendors, who knows. Until next time, hombres.


Thursday, July 21, 2011

coming to french press vintage

It's been kind of a shitty month. The humidity and heat are stifling me and all I want to do is sit in the soft leather chair next to an air conditioner vent and watch reruns of Law & Order. Thank the gods for vintage clothes, you know? This is what I love.

Saturday I met my new friend J. and we hit up all the vintage and thrift stores around town and perused the antique mall, Sleepy Poet. We talked about chiffon and crinoline and antique lace, favorite finds, and our personal collections while we sipped nice drinks at a bbq joint near one of the shops. It was a good Saturday - one of those days that made me feel a little revived.


Coming super soon to French Press Vintage:





Thursday, July 14, 2011

fuck you anyway.


Sometimes it's a little challenging for me to move forward with life. Not because of any other reason, really, besides myself getting in my own way. I was talking to a new friend last night, very new, and she asked me how my day had been as she sipped on her oversized Diet Coke. I said it was ok, that I was a little stressed, even though that was a lie because in reality I was a lot stressed. My eyes watered a little and the floodgates opened - not crying, because the lobby of a tattoo shop is no place to cry, but a lot of shit just came pouring out of my mouth. This doesn't normally happen....I'm not a "share-er" unless I feel super close and/or comfortable. I'm especially not a share-er with a new friend. It's odd, to me, this making of new friends. It's almost like I don't remember how, like I've been in the same pattern for so long that I've forgotten the polite getting-to-know-you conversation topics.

As I was pouring out my crap day, my anger and disappointment and other unsorted and unidentified emotions, I blurted out, I just really hate my life. Which is true, in a sense, because of the last year of turmoil. But as I was walking on a suddenly cool Southern morning, amongst the broken glass from past car wrecks, a solitary truck door handle, overgrown weeds and soft-looking morning glories, I realized there are some beautiful moments, even in the wreckage.

So fuck you. I'll drink my strong coffee and eat my banana and just move forward. I won't crack from work stress and being micromanaged. I'll blare Jacked on Green Beers and I'll forget all about you, and her, and everyone else. So fuck you. You deserve it.

Voodoo Pincushion available on Etsy.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Perfect for the warm weather.

French Press Vintage is coming back, and this time with a vengeance (insert winky face here). Here are some of the current dresses in stock. More coming soon, keep your eyes peeled.



 

 


Friday, April 8, 2011

Stuck in your head like a pop song.


Last night I slept better than I have in weeks. Being on the road just kills me but the exhaustion is starting to wear off. I didn't buy as much as I thought I would. We walked in puddles and downtown and we later gathered in a group, all of us sitting on that porch, the evening sun getting distant, laughing, thinking almost of nothing. It's spring, finally, and the chill is nearly gone from the air.

Bird Cage on Stand print available on Etsy.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Vintage Recipe Friday: Fudge Cupcakes

Just in time for spring: cute flowerpot fudge cupcakes.

Fudge Cupcakes
from Woman's Home Companion, February 1954

Heat oven to 350

You will need:
1/4 cup shortening
Two squares (two ounces) unsweetened chocolate
1/2 cup water
One cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
One cup cake flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
One egg
1/4 cup sour milk or buttermilk

Melt shortening and chocolate in 1 1/2-quart saucepan over low heat; blend in water and sugar; cool to room temperature; add vanilla. Sift flour, measure; add salt, baking powder and soda; sift again. Add egg to chocolate mixture in saucepan; beat well. Add flour mixture alternately with milk; blend well after each addition; beat until smooth. Fill muffin pans (greased or lined with paper baking cups) 2/3 full. Bake in moderate oven (350 degrees) about 18 minutes. Cool slightly; removed from pans, cool thoroughly. Makes about one dozen medium-size or 1 1/2 dozen small cupcakes.


Flowerpot:
Cover cupcake with coffee frosting; lightly sprinkle top with instant coffee to resemble soil. Pipe border of frosting around top edge and base. Cut flowers and leaves from gumdrops; stick on separate toothpicks.

Monday, March 14, 2011

That shit you don't want.

There are hard things that we don't want to face; sometimes we can't see past them and can't see that everyone has these difficult moments. T was in a good mood until an accidental run-in with someone to be avoided and after that both of our moods plummeted. I sat in a chilly office with a sore throat and tried my best to think of nothing. It's all there - the pesky grievances that we'd rather ignore.
I didn't sleep last night. I was worried about this morning and a morning weeks from now. I tried to imagine every scenario, what reactions were needed, what I should avoid. But I can't control that, just like I couldn't control this morning. I chatted with a stranger on an elevator and it made me sad because I saw myself in him. Thirty-three years is a long time to suffer, no matter what I tell myself.
This isn't the life I imagined but there's not much I can do about that other than trying to move forward. I wonder how I can move forward without money and freedom, but I know people do it all the time, and I'm resourceful, right? Because things could be worse. Remember when you thought that no one would forgive you, that you were marked, a giant bright letter on your chest just like Hawthorne wrote about? As if everyone could see it, as if it were glaring.
Once I was told that someone I love and care about had a lump in her breast. She told me calmly - there was nothing really she could do - and I got off the phone quickly and laid on my bed. The ceiling fan was on and the bed was a crumpled mess. I shut out the sunlight and just laid there, my head about to explode, my heart sinking, and I thought, how the hell can she be calm? How can she smile and tell me a joke?
She was facing her hard thing, standing up to it without fear, just like the stranger in the elevator this morning. Thirty-three years. You've got to face it some time. Fuck - life's tricky, right?

Friday, March 11, 2011

Vintage Recipe Friday: Easy Mix Muffins

Rich! Tender! Quick!
These look delicious - and not only are they easy, but muffins are perfect for the first delicious early berries and fruits of spring! Hit up your local Farmer's Market this weekend and enjoy these nibblies.

Easy Mix Muffins 
From McCall's, July 1953

Heat oven to 400 degrees.

You need:
Two cups sifted flour
Three teaspoons baking powder
One teaspoon salt
Two tablespoons sugar
One egg, well-beaten
1 1/4 cups milk
1/2 cup cooking oil

Mix and sift first flour ingredients into a bowl. Make a well and add remaining ingredients. Stir only enough to dampen flour; batter should be lumpy. Fill greased muffins pans 2/3 full. Bake in hot oven (400 degrees) 25 to 30 minutes. Makes 12 muffins. 

Blueberry Muffins: Increase sugar to 1/3 cup and add one cup fresh berries to sifted dry ingredients.

Peanut Butter Muffins: Cut 1/2 cup peanut butter into mixed and sifted dry ingredients.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The hour of the wolf.


I woke to the sound of trains screeching along the tracks this morning and the cats snuggled up to me in my bed. Sunlight was pouring in my room (it's getting lighter earlier and earlier as the days grow into spring) and I wondered about what happened the night before. Unexpected things, flickers in a dark room. We think the house next to us is haunted or otherwise occupied by someone that is crazy, someone that never turns the lights on.

But really I'm the haunted one. I've been trying for years to expel these ghosts. I've written pages and pages trying to get them out of my bones. But they remain, lodged, like the man next door, spying, aware, always.

It's the unexpected things that have thrown me for a loop. Small signs that I beg for and then convince myself that they aren't true, a move, a missed call, a dream and a smile. Everything is upside down but I'm not upset by it.

I told the truth once. You asked me last night to tell you something but I'll probably never tell you this. I was in a bar in Tennessee. It was early and we were drunk. I sat next to an older gay man. He was thin and had no front teeth. He told me about his childhood, playing dress up with his six sisters and living on a plantation in rural Georgia. He was high on pain pills that night, and drunk as hell. He flirted with the person I was with but I didn't care because I didn't want him. He kept talking until he finally was asked to leave. I started to cry, quietly, leaning on my friend, telling him something unknown to others. We all have our secrets, we all have our doubts. He told me he felt the same but I knew he was lying because it was one of those situations where you want to be lied to.

Later that same night I was told I was dangerous and that I knew it. I think this is one of those situations.

Tom Miller's House print available on Etsy.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Happiness endeavor..


This year my main goal was just to be happier. I'm still working on it. You'd be surprised how hard yet simple being happy is. For me it's a work in progress, so one of my new (old) past times is finding the little things that make people happy - grilling out on a nice day, walking the dog, sitting on the couch with loved ones late into the night, drinking tea and chatting, the smell of baked cookies, a freshly washed and made bed, a crisp morning.
This morning I found this: The Bicycle Project. Bikes wrap all sorts of good happy things in one package - the sun, control, speed, fun, mobility. I'm inspired to finally get new bike tires since my others are flat (and have been for a year) and start getting happy! Also, to take my own bike portrait ;-)

Join the party! This is a perfect friend date. And I would love to see portraits of you + your bike!

This could be you:



Friday, February 25, 2011

Vintage Recipe Friday: Corn Tamale Loaf

I feel like the last Vintage Recipe Friday was pretty gross, and this one might be too. Sorry. But it cracks me up the weird and disgusting stuff that people used to (and still do) eat.

Corn Tamale Loaf
From Ladies' Home Journal, March 1967 

Heat oven to 375

You will need:
1 medium onion, minced
1 clove garlic, finely minced
1/2 cup cooking oil
1 1/2 cups yellow cornmeal
1 3/4 cups hot chicken broth
1 1/2 cups diced cooked chicken
1 can (8 oz.) tomato sauce
1 tbsp. chili powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
3 eggs, beaten
1 can (17 oz.) cream style corn
1 tbsp. butter
Green onion for garnish
Olive slices for garnish

Saute onion and garlic in oil until tender. Mix with next eight ingredients and blend well. Pour mixture into well-greased 9" loaf pan; set in pan of hot water. Bake at 375 for one hour or until firm and brown. Heat corn with butter. Turn out loaf on platter; top with corn. Garnish with green onion and olive slices, if desired.

Serves six.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

This is the story, and you're not in it.


Over the last few days I've been talking and thinking a lot about break ups. It was sunny this weekend but that drab, sad feeling of the bottom dropping out prevailed, and the sun slipped away sometime early in the week, leaving us with gray clouds, chilly weather, and sniffly noses. We can't just ignore it, this feeling. I usually just try to ignore anything that bothers me - the dirty dishes, the overflowing trash, the finite breaking of a heart. But just like the dishes and the trash, these need to be addressed and overcome.

I was chatting with my best friend earlier. We're tired and busy. We need to clear our heads so we planned a night to wear heels and flirty smiles. We need to heal, we need to get past this, and we can do it together, right? Right.

I can't stop listening to I'm Not Yours. It's relevant for all of us, and you know who you are.

So how do you get over it?

Boyfriend in a bottle available on Etsy.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

My daily habit


Of course there are lots of things I do each day. Fiddle. Pick at my nails. Drink hot tea, drink Crystal Light (seriously, I'm obsessed). Pop my neck, check Facebook, check email, check other email. Blog. Make more tea. Glance over conspiracy theories, but only sometimes (more on this later). These habits usually happen in the mornings, when I'm working and/or bored, when I'm staring off wondering exactly how I will tackle a given problem, whether work-related or not.

One thing that I particularly like to do is to check a photography and culture site my writer friend the other AB suggested a while back: American Suburban X. Some of the photographs are haunting, disturbing, telling, and sometimes just plain weird. I just like how photography - and art in general - reflect more about our current lives than we even comprehend. Here are just a few.






Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Spotlight: Spoonflower.com

I am in ab-so-lute 100% love with spoonflower.com, a fabric website that custom prints various types of fabric for reasonable prices. You can choose public prints or you can choose your own design, including the fabric width and repeats.
There are so many cute ideas for these fabrics - most involving kids, in my imagination. The amigurumi-Japanese-style cartoon prints are my favorite (ok, I like owls, too) (and all the other stuff below).