Warning- I curse a lot in this post. Okay, in most posts.
Today at work, I was attempting to do some very necessary word processing, and was experiencing "issues" with the printer.
I sent the following email to my girls, Kaz and QB-
AM TRYING TO PRINT OUT INVITATIONS FOR OUR PROM OPEN HOUSE AT THE END OF MONTH.
AND THE MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT PRINTER KEEPS FUCKING JAMMING UP. I SWEAR TO THE NME AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, I'M GONNA CHUCK THE FUCKER ONTO HIGHWAY 61 AND LAUGH MY DAMN ASS OFF WHEN A SEMI HITS IT AND CRUSHES IT INTO OBLIVION.
Kaz sent me back the following YouTube clip. I adore my friends.
Fucking hell, they were 18 and 20? Jesus Christ, they're not old enough to legally drink here, and now they've died for their country. D'ya suppose this had anything to do with lack of training?
Jesus. I'm no longer wanting to cry, I am fucking crying. I know they signed up and everything, but their families didn't, and well, they're still on this plane of existence. One of my co-workers's sons just completed Basic Training. He'll be Over There soon enough. I pray to whomever that she never has to deal with what these soldiers families are dealing with. But what makes us anymore special than these families?
*The weather has changed to spring, and my hair has gone from its lovely fall and winter-wavy state to sticking your finger in an electric socket-frizzy. Damn humidity.
*My cat ran in front of me, causing me to stub my toes really badly and now my foot is all swollen. Damn cat.
*No news source on the Internets has up the setlist from the Manchester v. Cancer concert last night. Damn reporters.
*My parents and my aunts and uncles are going through my grandparents things, and deciding who gets what. The only thing, the only fucking thing, that I wanted was a Japanese battle flag that my grandpa acquired, I don't want to know how, in WWII. My fucking cousin, who didn't even go to either of his grandparents funerals, got it instead. Because he was in the military. (not at the time of the funerals- he's the ass, not me)
Big woo. I was a history major. I know, lame, but I really wanted it, and he's a jackass. Damn relatives.
The only bright spot is that while my dad ran distraction on the others, my mom grabbed a ruby ring of Grandma's and the picture that Grandpa took in New Guinea of a woman nursing a piglet. For reals.
Okay, that's over with.
Naptime. It's rainy, and there's very little I love more than rainy afternoon naps.
Well, maybe Carl Barat and Anthony Rossomondo, but not by much.
Since my mom is out of town and we had a wedding* this weekend, we kind of figured that all hell would break loose at the flower shop. And how! We now have a funeral visitation both tomorrow and Monday, and since funerals generally come in threes, we're due another one.
Jen and I were going to stay late today and make both the casket sprays, but when we were both incapable of forming a sentence, we decided to make a fresh start tomorrow.
But it's all good now- I've had a glass of Chardonnay and a Benadryl, and am settling in for a lovely nap. Yay!
*this was a fairly small wedding- only 10 corsages and bouts, 3 bouquets and a few church pieces, but it's never that simple. First, you have to make the arrangements, then on the day of the wedding, double check to make sure that everything is done, then get it to the church on time and set up. It takes time and skill- even for a small wedding.
I think it's freaking ridiculous that I'm still using my heavy duvet and electric blanket, and we're supposed to have thunderstorms, potentially severe storms, tonight. It's 35 degrees.
is because of associated memories of an assclown ex-boyfriend who listened to them. Constantly. I mean, ALL THE TIME. And he was a total jerkface/stupidhead. (Yes, I'm 10)
So, when I make fun of Thom Yorke, this is the reasoning behind it. That, and I truly don't give a fuck about Radiohead. The only whiners* I like? The Smiths and Moz.
If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, I like big, dumb rock and roll.
from a floral designer to a customer, during this happiest of times.
1. The floral warehouses raise their prices during peak demand times, and most shops do not grow their own product. My boss (also my mother, natch) is not trying to take your arms and legs from you. She runs a business, see. Making money is good. Repeat customers? Also good good, double good. We want you back. Just like the Jackson 5.
2. Don't bitch about delivery charges. Just don't. You sound like an asshole. For God's sake, take a look at Exxon's profits from the last quarter. Not to mention that the shop owner has to maintain a vehicle (gas, insurance, labor). Again, a business is for making money.
3. We're happy to help you, and yes, we do know what we're doing. Being a floral designer is a skill. Would I want to change the oil in my auto guy's car? Hell to the N-O. Would I want my mechanic to create my Valentine's bouquet? Again, hell to the N-O.
4. While it is rewarding to be creative and express yourself, I don't think I'm overstepping to say that most floral designers would be glad to hear the last of the following statements:
"Oh, It must be so fun/relaxing to work with flowers"
Or my own personal favorite-
"Valentine's Day is so commercial/was created by florists/is a waste of money."
For the first, yes, it is fun to create arrangements that make people happy/feel comforted, etc... But don't kid yourself, it's hard fucking work.
First of all, you need to have inventory on hand. Flowers? Perishable. So it's a total crapshoot on whether you need the product, getting the product (providing that your warehouses have said items on hand at the moment), and hoping that you use the product before it fucking DIES and becomes moldy.
And I'm not even mentioning the constant maintenance that the flowers require.
And for the second, Spanky, let me get my bitch boots on. You see, most florists know, WE FUCKING KNOW that Valentine's Day is commercial. We thank Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Shiva, David Beckham, the deity, or non-deity of your choice, that it is commercial. Why?
Because most shop owners aren't in this for shits and giggles. Money is good. And many times in the fiscal year of a florist, the cash ain't coming in. (Summer months tend to be particularly dire. Exception- weddings). If we don't have money, there is no product. None. We need it. You have it. Such is the symbiotic relationship between producer and consumer. If you don't like it, take it up with a fucking economist. See if you can hug it out.
This is because of many reasons, but let me put this to you. You have a cooler full of perishable product, and you know, you fucking know, deep in your heart just like you know that funerals come in threes and that Lisianthus are a bit dodgy, that 2 times in a year, you'll be able to get rid of it. The flowers.
Maybe you'll be able to pay off your overdue bill at the floral warehouse. Maybe you'll be able to pay off the credit card that you used to pay off your other credit card. So that the next time someone comes in expecting a masterpiece for $15, it won't burn as badly. So that my mom won’t wake up with panic attacks regarding financials.
Those days? Valentine's Day and Mother's Day.
We depend on those days to get us through the shitty ass days of July and August.
And you want us to, because if we don’t, what the hell are you going to do the next time you forget your bosses birthday, and need to suck up, real quick? You accidentally say "Yeah, a little" to your girlfriend's query, "Does my ass look big in these pants?" Your best friend finds out something that happened, and words won't cut it? Your grandma calls you, sounding depressed? The next time your wife hears you say the wrong name at an inopportune moment?
You need flowers, arranged by a professional. We can help. And we're glad to. *Smiles*
