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.



just a warning to you mens out there....

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.

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?

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.

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.

Robert Frank

Larry Sultan

Ralph Eugene Meatyard

William Eggelston

David Goldblatt