March 2004 Archives

I downloaded Dreamweaver the other day. Talk about confusing. I'm screwed.

Links updated...Nancy, Nikki, Carrie, Dave...have I forgotten any fellow Okies?

"your cards are beautiful. don't you dare change a thing. i know you are going
to do so well. i love it all. you are very talented and very good with color. it
was nice to meet you verbally. i look forward to meeting you in new york." I
just had to hear it from someone new.

So I called a fellow manufacturer and asked for her feedback on all these reps
do-thises and don't-do-thatses, and let. me. tell. you. That girl knew her mind.
No way jose was she doing anything a rep told her, unless that rep was writing
orders. So, I listen to the ones that write, and ignore the ones that don't.
Interesting feedback.

This morning my phone woke me up, ringing away at 8:13. I popped an eye open,
glanced at the caller ID, and not being able to recognize the area code, rolled
back over. I have my calls forwarded from the office for this very reason:
caller ID. I'm too cheap to pay for it at the office, and since I have an
outrageous amount of unused minutes on my cell phone bill each month, figure
what's the big deal about paying for call forwarding? At 8:13, it couldn't be a
store, even on the east coast, because UPS doesn't usually arrive at stores
until about 10:30 or 11. It had to be a rep, and a good one at that, already
making calls at 8 a.m. It was, and I called her back, patiently listening to her
suggestions, and biting my tounge on a couple of ideas I wanted to give her
about doing her job. I know that reps have the best intentions in making
suggestions to me, but it's always precedented with "Well, I've been doing this
for 18 (or 20 or 12 or a gazzillion) years, and that's just not industry
standard." It makes me want to snap! I've been doing this for two years, and
before that, I did something similar for 8 years. I know there is no "industry
standard" and that if they want to make money, they just need to figure out how
to put a positive spin on things. This brings up a liberal point of view I have
on "the way things are done". Sometimes, even though change is scary, "the way
things are done" is going to evolve. Drastically. Easy for me to say, since I'm
the one changing things, I know. But I've long had the theory that the only way
to survive in this world is to be a catalyst for change. Roll with it; don't
fight it. Be the pollyanna. Maintain intact your principles, but with all
possible creativity. The nature of this beast is that the reps are going to
write the orders, and I've got to kiss some in order to get the orders written.
I don't want to be an ogre, but I have to run a business. This involves making
decisions. Some of those decisions will not please everyone. How do I politely
maintain that ground?

I think what I'm doing is a good thing. I have my days of wonder, though, as I
peruse my way through MS Weddings, a magazine I've been reading for a decade,
and suddenly find full page ads and double page spreads taken out by my
competitors. It's like they know I'm out there, and they're not about to be
taken down. I know it's the nature of competition, and I'm as competitive as
they are. And willing to starve, if need be, which is an added benefit. I
haven't been living on the wings of sales in six digits, and though I would like
to, I know I don't have to. I want to be one of the best, if not THE best. I
don't want to be sly or sneaky, but I want to sniff out the trends, and build a
brand around classics, and I want to be a company people can identify with.
Sometimes I wonder if the stationery industry will last. Greeting cards have
proven that they will not die, despite the onsurge of email and technology. Are
invitaitons the same thing? Will people continue to buy them? So many stores are
opening? It's just such a POPULAR business to be in. Sometimes I wonder if I'm
here because it's easy, and then I remind myself of the unearthly hours I've
kept for the past two years and shrug off that notion. It's not that I think I
will fail; it's just that there are days that I step back and gasp at where I'm
going and wonder if I'll really get there. OK, back to work.

So I could be spackling my living room walls, or getting quotes on shipping of
my booth to NY in May, or cropping pictures for the dreaded scrapbooks, but I
decided to take a day off. Woke up late, watched a thing on Britney Spears on
VH1, the last half of Dirty Dancing, and am now halfway into Head over Heels. So
the commentary of the day is: do I hate or admire Britney Spears? A conversation
I don't want to get into at the moment. Dirty Dancing never gets old, no matter
how many times the USA network runs it. I want to grill out and drink some beer
tonight. And crash and then get up and begin the giant todo list tomorrow. For
today, relaxation.

well what do you know. Tina Fabulous has a website.

So God smiled favorably upon me today. I've had a wopping fabulous month and
just shipped out 15 or more so sample decks to new reps. I've had two
thousand-dollar orders in one month. In March, go figure. Donna got her first
order for her new company today. On top of that, I found myself standing on the
shipping scale and realized I've lost weight. Crazy good things were happening.
I'm not a holy roller, but when things are this good, I pinch and remind myself
that it's not my glory.

Today, I'm in work mode. Usually, I operate in one third creative mode, one
third work mode, one third fun mode. Today, it's just work. Interestingly
enough, it's dull, but quite satisfactory. I'm getting things done.

I love being part of a blog groupie, LOL. You guys are fabulous, you know that?
Even you, Sarah, whoever you are. Anyway, I had a long anylization conversation
with D last night and came to some amazing conclusions. After reading all the
fab comments this morning, everything is even clearer. Why do I let people
control my thoughts and actions? That's a big problem. So I figured out where
everyone is coming from. How the reps approach the clients, how the clients
approach me as a manufacturer, how I approach the reps. And it started to fall
into place. There is an industry out there that I have chosen to be a part of,
and as much as I love bending rules, there are some cases I cannot continue to
bend them and still expect to win. In those cases I agree to compromise. I
quietly go my way, operate under the standard boundaries of business, and take
my emotion out of it. Last night, I had to babysit at 6. Frazzled from
everything in aforementioned blog, I walked out the self-locking back door only
to realize that my car, house, and office keys all lay on the floor by my desk
chair. I had to call my mom, have her take me to babysit, and have D pick me up
from babysitting to retrieve an extra key. My brain was just not in the right
place. The fabulous thing about the day was that babysitting, for me, is a
refreshing experience. So I get to be a horse for awhile, carting kids around my
back. I get to do somersaults again, and twirl in the grass, and trace people
shapes on the concrete and turn them into princesses and pirates. I get to watch
cartoons, and eat pizza and cold green beans and drink juice from a box. Talk
about carefree. It's therapy I get paid for!

I was going to title this blog "let me tell you why I'm stressed" and then list,
in numerical order, every little detailed thing that defines my life as out of
control. But halfway through number one I wondered if that would be considered
admitting faults. I was afraid it would force me to admit that I can't handle
everything that's going on in life right now, and I'm afraid that if I admit I
can't handle it then everyone will lose faith in me. I spend my days, my hours,
my phone calls, trying to prove to people that I'm reliable. My family knows
they can count on me; friends know I'll pull through on favors if they bug me
long enough. But there are hundreds, maybe thousands of people out there who
have never heard of me and don't know if I operate on principles of integrity.
And people who don't know me assume things. They assume I'm young. They assume I
don't know things. They assume I'm rich (which is the funniest and most
maddening assumption of them all). They assume I'm inexperienced, or blind, or
that they know better. Ironically, most of the time, if I went on other people's
advice (these people that don't know me), I'd be making some very poor choices.
They assume that I'm flexible, that everything is negotiable. They assume that
because I'm a voice on the other end of the line that I won't figure out what
their silence, or chatter, means. And the craziest assumption? That because I'm
a "company" (sounds big, right?), that there is a customer service department,
that a receptionist answers the phone, that I don't know how much I spend on
shipping, that I won't know the difference between a new and old account because
I don't have to enter the dadgum information on the system. They think I'm
clueless. Little do they know. I may be quiet; I may not call on past due
accounts; I may have not known the difference between RGB and CMYK a year ago.
But there is so much more that I know than people give me credit for. So instead
of admitting my stress points for the whole www to read, I'll write them down,
keep them to myself, work past them, conquer the impossible, and talk about it
in my biography some day.

It's 8:19 and I'm here. I've had breakfast, checked the fax machine, and stopped
for coffee. My hair is wet, and I'm wearing the college spectacular Umbros and
Old School t-shirt, but heck. All I have to do today is fill orders (tons of
orders) and get out these sample decks. Saw little Max last night. He is
absolutely precious. A really cute baby. And sometimes, half day old babies
aren't that cute.

I hate it when I never accomplish in one weekend as much as I want to. I can't
seem to recount what I did Friday and Saturday, only that it didn't amount to
much crossed off the to-do list. Yesterday afternoon Drew got his head shaved
for kids with cancer; now I'm dating a biker with a goatee. Yeah, it's as
interesting as it sounds. Phil's wife is being induced into labor even as we
speak (oh, we're not speaking, but you get it), so there should be another
little Inzinga running around this world by this evening. Exciting stuff. Also,
I've had great response from reps in California, the northwest, Chicago,
Mid-Atlantic seaboard, and Florida! Sales! Yea!

I got to work early this morning. 8:30. If you know me at all, you know that is
the bloody buttcrack of dawn. But it is quiet, sitting here, drinking coffee and
preparing for the day. The day is usually something I'm thrown into around 11
o'clock, not something I pre-prep for at 8:30. Feels good. Apparently I've been
missing out on alot lately. I'm aware of this; don't remind me. It seems like
the spare moments are wanting to be filled with lounging around, doing a whole
lot of nothing. Going out would constitute me actually having to eliminate the
ponytail, dry my hair, find some earrings, and get a makeover, since the makeup
bag is run dry. The few moments I'm willing to sacrafice in the name of partying
have lately accompanied a sore throat or other ailment. Not whining, just making
my excuses, gents. Sunday afternoon there is a charity thing at VZD's and I'm
rounding up some great crowd. Everyone needs to come out. It's a $10 cover to
get in, but there will be 5 bands there (not sure who just yet). Drew is shaving
his head, but I will be drinking beer. Sunday afternoons have become a great
party day for me, for some reason. So, I'll be getting giggly for the first time
in months on Sunday. All should come hang out. I'm gonna get rowdy. And if you
don't come out, you're guaranteed a phone call a-la Dani.

So I work too much. I can't help it. I really never accomplish as much as I want
to, anyway. There is alot I want to do in this world. For example, I want a
house on a beach somewhere. Close to good shopping. Preferrably somewhere within
the continental United States. I want to license my designs to someone,
somewhere, until they're plastered all over kingdom come and the royalty checks
are bigger than Mary Kay's. I want a two room shack on some remote mountain in
Colorado with a hot tub, sub-zero wine refridgerator, and wood burning
fireplace. On the edge of great skiing. I want to live in the South of France
for a year and immerse myself in their sexy, no-makeup, love the earth under
your feet and the wind in your face kind of lifestyle. I want to wear cotton
shirts that aren't crisp anymore and have a closet full of sexy shoes and skirts
with dressmaker detailing. I want to have tea with Sting. In his castle. And
invite Bono and Jesus and solve major world issues. I want to write books, and
make movies, and swim with dolphins. I want to design furniture and fabric. I
want them to name drinks after me. I want to give Ralph Lauren a run for his
money. All in the nicest way. And above all, I always want to remember to smile
gracefully, remember where I came from, give credit where credit is due, and all
the glory to the One who created me. That's a rich life. A girl can dream,
right?

I love those little salt packet things. Perfect for leftovers. A Dr. Pepper
would make me really happy right now. I wonder if someday everyone in the world
will have their own webpage, kinda like we all have our own phone numbers. I
really want some queso for these chips. Maybe I'll go get the Dr. Pepper at
Sonic and get a banana split at the same time. I'm really not that much of a
pig. I really should go out to the Wormy Dog tonight. Been a long time since
I've had that much beer. Beer definitely makes me giggly. I could just show up
at midnight, take a bunch of funny pictures, listen to some good ol badwater,
participate in a few drunken audio blogs. I want to see that Taking Lives movie.
Looks creepy. Must go to Sonic.

who is this Nanna who is commenting on all our blogs recently?

What a weekend. So much to say, but I've gotta hurry through it. I arrived at
work later than anticipated, due to a craving for Sam's Club pizza. So my sister
is going to have another baby in September. Not shocking. I met Drew's parents.
Saturday night I was late to dinner; Sunday I was late to the zoo. Meeting
parents is a draining activity. I was exhausted last night. Drew and I spent the
drive back from Sam's discussing the holiday/in-law dilemma. Interesting. I've
never really had that conversation before. Kenny is the owner of the Syndicate.
Highly intelligent, very amusing, and I guess as far as to say slightly
sarcastic. Oh, and political. His darling wife is my fabulous bookkeeper, highly
tolerant of my ever-increasing craziness called an office. Finally some orders
are coming in, which means I'm going to get very good at packing boxes. Today.
OK. Hope this blog made sense.

this one is for Ragan.

Blogger is going to SXSW!!! I always knew Blogger was cool. I, however, will be
unable to attend, due to an oh-so-heavy social schedule. Lunch with the Queen on
Saturday, dinner with Springsteen Saturday night, Dennis Kucinich on Sunday.
Just kidding, I know I'm not funny. Just broke. So Drew's parents are on their
way here right now. Kinda weird. It's been a long time (if ever) that I've had
to meet someone's parents. I practically had to force my only other boyfriend to
introduce me to his--and they lived in the same town! Parents normally love me;
it would be an interesting change of pace if Drew's didn't. Oh well. We shall
see. But apparently Phil Collins is going to be in town sometime this year. And
Sting is going to be in Dallas with Annie Lennox in September, and you know I
won't miss that. I mean, I'd miss Annie Lennox, but Sting? Are you kidding?
Sting is a hottie! I've mentioned this before, I know. Just reminding everyone.
Sorry no deep thoughts today. But linkage is the lovely Jading Heart.

link of the day is Chicken Girl. Really cute design. I love outside-the-box
thinkers!

I've wanted to talk about the whole linkage thing for while now, and today's the
day. There are so many cool people out there, and I'm always trying to find new
ones. I gage the links on my page by a combination of factors: 1. site design.
the pinker, the better. 2. site content. do you have interesting links?
fascinating trivia? 3. writing ability. a poorly designed site with excellently
edited controversial content can keep me fascinated for hours. 4. plain old link
swapping. So maybe I'll start doing a link of the day. Today's link is The
Syndicate, a fellow Oklahoma political enthusiast. If you'd like to be
tomorrow's link, please contact.

hello, hello, hello. So here's the brief synopsis: Yesterday the power supply on
the main computer died. Completely defunct. So had to fix that. Then found this
awesome site, Fontifier, where you can make your own fonts for $9 bucks.
Fabulous. I made two. So then I go to the Lime Leopard and look around. Cute
store, a little over the top at times, but chock full o' ideas. Came up with
several rather clever ideas for some new invitation designs. Forgot two of them,
remember one. Came up with idea for a business-woman-oriented website; we'll see
how long that takes to implement. Came up with great toile placemat idea. I love
toile. Ran over to Kelly's last night for some paper chat, three orders came in
while I was there. Maybe Kelly is just good luck. So today I'm filling orders,
eating Taco bell, and trying to figure out why they make taxes so complicated.
By the way, they put ice in my Dr. Pepper at Taco Bell, after I asked them not
to. I hate ice and now I have half the Dr. Pepper I would otherwise.

what are your favorite fonts? please comment. I love a classic Caslon Open face,
small caps, anyday, but "Little Days" is one that Martha has used on her baby
magazine...very sweet. Typadelic is one of my favorite foundries--everything
there is fun.

I hate Rage Italic. I don't care who you are, please, please, please, avoid
using this typeface, or any derivitive, if at all possible.

Hello, avid readers. Happy Friday to all. Before I shift into hi-gear, some
updates and thoughts for the day: Hung out at my sisters last night for a couple
of hours. My neice is almost one, and the CUTEST button you've ever seen in your
life. Listend to Everclear last night. Had no idea their music was so composed.
Quite fab. Cleaned Drew's bathroom. An experience I'll be happy to delegate next
time. Developed a list of concerts I would pay good money to see: 1. Sarah
Brightman--up to $250 for good seats and backstage. 2. Phil Collins--up to $200
for great seats, don't care about backstage. 3. U2--up to $500 to be right next
to Bono. 4. Sting--lord, take me away. Up to $1000. He is the hottest thing
ever. More later, I'm sure. Happy Friday again, all.

Was yesterday really my birthday? In the scheme of birthdays, it sucked. I paid
bills, worked all night, didn't go home until 8:30 this morning, and am running
on two hours of sleep. It was all very self-inflicted, admittedly, but it still
sucked. I'm whining, I know. But hey, it's my blog. I'll whine if I want to. And
I know I could go out tonight if I want to, but I don't. It's yucky, raining,
I'm tired and cranky, and I just want to watch TV, even though there's probably
nothing good on. Reminds me of this book I used to read when I was little.
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. This kid,
Alexander, got gum in his hair, mud on his new shoes, couldn't find his choo
choo train pajamas--regular kid drama type stuff. He kept on saying he was going
to move to Australia. Then at the end of the book, he realizes that everybody
has bad days. Even in Australia.

I'm hardly what I would call easily angered. Anger is a very strong term. I am
what you would call, easily flustered. Irritated. Frustrated. Disappointed.
Especially after exhausting efforts to be absolutely NONE of the above. When I
was in junior high (and Ash can vouch for this--yes, we really do go back even
further than that), I wore my feelings on my sleeve. Was constantly crying about
SOMETHING. Some tiny, miniscule, pin-dot-problem-thing. It was annoying, I'm
sure. In college, I decided to adopt the philosophy, "If you never expect
anything of anyone, they'll never disappoint you." The concept of distancing
myself from relationships became a reality. Dating became a game. A "catch me if
you can", all the while knowing I couldn't--wouldn't--be caught. Towards the end
of my junior year of college, I lost a ton of weight and started realizing how
easily the male head could be turned. Talk about empowerment. It started in a
most innocent, beguiling way. Sitting at Joe's with some friends one night, a
guy right behind me was constantly glancing my direction. I had these big,
ancient, klunky-type glasses on, and took them off to bat my eyelashes at him in
a most appealing fashion. Soon he came over, we struck up a conversation, and he
walked me home. Days later, I realized I had left my glasses on the table that
night. I made no attempt to retrieve them. Neither did I attempt to ever
re-connect with the gentleman of that evening. After several invitations to some
end of the year barbecues, he gave up trying to phone me. I was not concerned.
Summer lay ahead of me like an endless rainbow of bliss--and at the end of that
rainbow was a pot of gold, my friends--the boys were back in town. After several
summer whirlwind romances, senior year began, and there were more hearts to
break. After that, came my stint to Dallas, where it became a goal to have at
least one date a week--and most weeks I managed at least two. What can I say?
They all knew me, all wanted me, all loved me, for one reason or another. For
those of you so disgusted that you're about to quit reading, hang on a second.
At heart, I wasn't really a flirt. I didn't lead anybody on. I wasn't slutty,
and most of the dates never went past lunch, peck on the cheek, email later.
(For those who are really curious, none of them went that far either). I knew
how empty it was. For a few of them actually in the game for the relationship,
not the score, I saw disappointment. I started to discover that not all males
are in it for the thrill of the kill. So I resigned the title of princess, moved
back home, and called it quits for awhile. For what I was prepared to be a LONG
while. A little harmless flirting here and there, but a relationship? Never!
That wasn't for me! I was a self-defined woman of soon-to-be independant means!
I was the bachelorette of all bachelorettes! Before I knew it, the girl who had
said "never" found herself in a giant cliche of phrases like "guys night" and
the realization that in some point in time, if you plan on ever feeling anything
again for the rest of your life, you have to expect something out of somebody.
And in doing so, you will be let down. There will be disappointments and tears,
and anger, and frustrations, even after trying to be so cool you could scream.
So at the end of two very long days--and yes, slightly disappointing days--I
tell myself to be grateful that I at least feel. Grateful that passion and
principle run deep within my veins, even if it does mean I'll have to bleed
every now and then. Thankful that wounds heal; that I'm not numb to the standard
pangs of, what do they call it, life? We would not know the joy of falling if we
did not feel the pain of landing, no?

I hate that. I may be young to be running my own business, but I'm not dumb. And
calling me "honey" is a sure fire way to set me off. A receptionist just asked
me what my name was. When I told her, she asked me who I was with. When I told
her again, she paused. It's like it doesn't add up. My voice sounds young, I
know, but give me some credit. It happend last week, too, when a woman at a
store started telling me how to run my business. "Honey, how old are you?" On
the verge of tears, I lied. By two years. And she still told me I was young. So
my mom started answering the phone. Shocking how different the response was. All
of a sudden the whole office is more professional. All of a sudden it's not hard
to get a credit card anymore. All of a sudden everyone is kind and amiable and
easy to work with. What would they do if they really knew how old I was? Do I
lose credibility because of it? Friends admire me. Clients question me. A
conversation with an old friend on the subject last night reminded me to
maintain my integrity. At 23, he was promoted to CFO of a soon-to-be Fortune 500
company. He told me that on the phone, via email, over fax, no questions were
asked. But the second the boardroom came into view, people wanted to see his
business card, and establish that he really could be the CFO at such a young
age. All I can do is work 12 hour days, ship on time, answer all questions,
establish my boundaries, maintain my integrity. And not be walked on. So don't
call me honey.

Happy Birthday to ME! Happy Birthday to ME! Happy Birthdaaaay to sweet little
ol' Meeeeeeee....Happy Birthday to ME!

Tired of Howard Stern, gay marriage debates, and people saying that Passion of
the Christ is anti-Sematic. Tired of working, creating, dealing with problems I
do not want to deal with. Tired of trying to get this office to smell like
flowers. I'm going to go home and watch Average Joe II.