Saturday, May 27, 2006
I guess the fuckers were riding around on 97th and Sandy. The cops ran the plates, made the arrests and towed our precious Steve to 143rd & Sandy.
We are going to pick it up at 6:30. Here is hoping that the inside looks okey!
Friday, May 26, 2006
you car theifs.
who could steal the STEVE?
i hate all of you uguly ass faces.
this is all we had. and now it is gone.
for all of our friends that have known, and loved the STEVE,
"SEND BAD MOJO to all theives!"
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Friday, May 19, 2006
I have spent the past several weeks thinking about my creative future. It has been a full year since I started my bag business, and as much fun as it has been, I am ready to throw in the towel.
WHAT? You’re never going to make another bag?
NO. I just don’t want to focus on them anymore. I am tired of straps and pockets and linings. Bags just aren’t my bag. Never were. They were just a quick way to accessorize a dull wardrobe. And that is how it all began.
For those of you who don’t know the tale on how I stared sewing, and bagging, here you go:
It was 1998 and I was living in Chicago, off the Blue Line California stop with my boyfriend Putz. No, wait. I know I usually give aliases to protect the identities of those I write about, but I’m not even going to do that for Putz, oh yeah, his name is Greg Thorpe. Of the Cincinnati Thorpe’s. Anyhow, it was Christmas time, and instead of getting a traditional tree, I had to have a Christmas Ficus. But instead of calling it a Christmas Ficus, I would say it real fast so it sounded more like Christmas FUCK-A. Those were the days.
Under the FUCK-A that year, my mother got me a sewing machine. Actually she got me a phone call, of which I took my name down to the local Sears and picked up my machine, and THEN I placed it under the FUCK-A. (This is a beautiful option for buying gifts for loved ones who are far away. I just walked into Sears and they gave me my machine. Wham. Bam. Thank you MOM).
Growing up, my mom always sewed. Every pre-teen Halloween costume. (She won’t let me live down the bunny costume of 83. She claims she was snorting foux Peter Cottontail for weeks. I ended up wearing the damn thing till it was more like bunny-knickers). Every special occasion dress, from prom to my stint with pageantry, she sewed. I designed. She sewed.
I never watched her during these sewing bouts. I just picked out the fabric and pattern and that was it. Occasionally, when I wasn’t screaming at her, I helped cut out the pattern and help pin, which to this day is still her least favorite part of sewing. But I never actually sewed. So when I brought my Sears machine home and took it out of its microwave sized box, I had no idea of what to do.
Greg “the putz” Thorpe and I didn’t have any furniture for me to set up my machine on. We had a kitchen table, but no chairs. We had a couch, but no coffee table. We had a desk, but that was for Putzie’s computer, not, gasp, for a sewing machine! I set up on the floor, brought out some old items of clothing, cut them up with kitchen shears and tried to make a straight line.
Fast forward to fall of 1999.
The Putz and I were through. I moved into a fancy pants garden apartment with my gal “Ford Model”. We had less furniture combined than I did with Putzie. I did, however, have a kitchen table. Once we bought chairs, we were set! As for a couch, each of us being couch potatoes, I had to come up with something QUICK! I went down to the local Salvation Army and purchased a dozen old couch cushions and a dozen vintage sheets in solid colors of blue & green. I ran home and began a frenzy of sewing, recovering all of the old cushions in a retro, lets-lounge-on-the-floor-pillow, style.
It was my first big project. They worked out great, if you don’t mind the lack of lumbar support. And by the time I was done with the project, I had my straight lines down. What does this have to do with handbags, you say? Well, this is the back drop for the story that begins now.
Ford Model and I weren’t very responsible with our money. Instead of buying furniture, we would spend evenings having lavish $400 meals. Instead of buying new shoes, cuz I think I might have a hole in mine, we would go and have a lavish $400 meal. Instead of paying rent on time, we would go have… you get the idea. We were food whores. Working in an upscale food establishment that pimped out fine dining on a daily basis, it is all we wanted when we were done with our shift. We wanted to pimp some food y’all.
With this food debauchery came the booze debauchery. Campari and soda to start, or Pimms and a cucumber. Champagne while we waited for the table. A bottle of wine with dinner, or two. An after dinner drink, perhaps Gran Marnier or a fine port? This is how we rolled, in our holy shoes and tattered clothes. But one night I had had enough. Too much. And on the cab ride home, I had only one place to put it.
I barfed in my handbag.
I upchucked in my purse.
I ralphed in my clutch.
Pick your favorite. That is what I did. And the next morning, after cleaning off all of my ID’s and bank cards and what not, I was faced with a dilemma. What am I going to put all of this shit in?
And that is how it started. I sat down and sewed my first bag. I used some of the left over sheets and the lining was made out of a vintage shower curtain, incase I had to wipe it out. OH YEA, I was thinking! It was fast, it was easy, and I got so many complements on it. Now before heading out to lavish meals I would sew up two hand bags, one for Ford Model and one for myself. It was an easy way to spruce up our dated duds.
I began to scavenge resale shops and vintage stores for fabric. A local hair salon started to sell them, and I began to bring in money for them. A local paper wanted to write an article about me. ALL BECAUSE I VOMITED IN MY POCKETBOOK! Not very glamorous, I know.
Now when I sew bags it isn’t the exciting “oooh I am going to spruce up a wardrobe,” it is “oh shit I have got to get this out on time.” I started to create something a bit more rock and roll and my clients didn’t like the new style. I wasn’t able to grow with my creativity, and things got pretty stagnant. It has been about two months since I have sewn my last handbag. I have a few lined up for friends, but I am just not feeling it anymore.
I have moved on to clothes. They are exciting in that “oooh I am going to spruce up a wardrobe,” which is what I always enjoyed the most. Am I going to take it to the retail level? I doubt it. Friends and family. I will start there. Just like I did with Ford Model oh so many years ago.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Here are the three “models” that are left. Flopsey, Mopsey and Cottentail.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
This here blog is dedicated to one of the babiest babes around, Union Jackie. “Why dedicate this to miss Union Jackie?” Well because this past weekend Union Jackie announced that she just jumped on the HOT MAMA bus, destination BabyVille! YEAH.
So let us tip our hats and clink our glasses to Union Jackie and her husband DeWalt.
I have compiled a list of all that is wonderful to come!
Pimp new rides.
Fine French Undergarments.
More nipples than you can shake a stick at.
Poo Poo platters
And, of course The best sitters in town!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Chaz had some business to do on Sunday around town. I decided I would keep him company on his journey. What was supposed to be a two stop, 15 minutes each location, 30 minute total working trip, ended up a passport of culinary bliss.
Our first stop took place during the witching hour, somewhere between breakfast and lunch. Chaz was rumbling for something dim-sum-ish and we hadn’t yet ventured into Beaverton’s one-stop Asian superstore, Uwajimaya. http://www.uwajimaya.com/index.html So we decided to check it out.
We did what we always do when we step into an Asian grocery store, we looked for Chaz’s grape drink.* I didn’t think it actually existed until Sunday when we found the elusive drink, in a box of twelve, for $8 and some change. Besides the Korean grape drink, Chaz scored himself a steamed pork bun. I walked away with some tasty Japanese candy and some shrimp chips, (which I am wishing I bought several bags of right now, cuz I could really go for some). We paid for our loot, stamped our passports: Korea, Japan, and China and headed to our next destination.
“All aboard, train heading Southwest; get your sombrero on to block the rays of the jalapeno sun!”
The next stop was a 30 + tasting of salsas. From Pico de Gallo to roasted tomatillo, I have never tasted so many salsas in one place. There were jarred varieties and freshly prepared. Green, red, fire roasted, mango, pineapple, olive, black bean, mild, medium and hot… “Ole” you say? Although we didn’t purchase any we added another notch to our world tour belt and moved on…..
Right across the street. Yup, right across from the Salsa fest 2006 was a porthole to the Russian motherland. Pyccku Magazine. (Russian market). We were greeted with a warm, round-faced, glowing smile.
“May I hcelp ewe?”
“Chaz would you like to get some cabbage rolls?” A nod and perusal of the pickled fish, exotic jams and tea, we were leaving with two home-made cabbage rolls, just like my babushka used to make! I gave her a big thanks in Russian. She asked if I was Russian and I replied, in Russian by the way, that my great grandmother and grandfather were. She gave me a knowing look and said “Ewe are Ukrainian, no?” “DA.” How did she know that?
Passports full, exotic food dazed we contemplated where to head for lunch. Each of us was craving a bubble tea, a regular hamburger wouldn’t do after such a world-wind of an afternoon.
“How about FuBon Super Center? We can check to see if the bubble tea shop is open and get some Vietnamese food.”
And there you have it. One afternoon took us all the way around the world, and we didn’t even have to leave the state! I love Portland. I love that it is a small town and yet so damn diverse. Who wants to take a trip with me this weekend?
*Chaz used to live in New York. He has two stories he tells about New York. One of the stories is about a vegetarian duck dish he had ALL THE TIME at a restaurant called Planet Thailand. The other story is about a Korean grape drink he always drank with one of his roommates, who was Korean. The grape drink had actual grapes in it. Every time Chaz and I hit an Asian grocery store, WE WOULD LOOK FOR THIS MYSTICAL DRINK.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
A week prior to our date we started to see copious amounts of advertising by the Lobster Company on it’s “30 Shrimp Special.” For $11.99* one not only received endless cheesy biscuits, a salad WITH croutons AND choice of dressing, a favorite Lobster side choice (rice pilaf, baked potato, French fries, or seasonal vegetable), but also was able to choose TWO preparations for the 30 shrimp. Choices included the always succulent hand battered and fried shrimp, the garlicky goodness found in the Shrimp Scampi, the ever delectable popcorn shrimp, “could it possibly get any better” shrimp alfredo AND a new choice to the scene, Cajun Shrimp. OH THE CHOICES.
Chaz and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to dine in such splendor at such a meager cost. Hook, Line and Sinker, we were headed to the OL’ LOBSTER!
As it turns out, there isn’t an OL’ LOBSTER located in the city of Portland, so we had to travel to the outskirts to reach the shrimpy-good-times location. Crossing the boarder into Washington we knew we were headed for a treat! We turned the “Steve” into a mall parking lot and there it was, a grey, oceanic building of bliss.
Entering into the OL’ LOBSTER was just as exciting. Tanks full of lobsters the size of my hand, paintings of sea voyages of the past, nautical gadgets to blow your mind. It was like being in food aquarium. We placed our name with the hostess, who looked ever so knowledgeable about seafood, and sat next to ONE of the lobster tanks with our blinking coaster. (Apparently, when there are long waits to be seated, guests are handed blinking coasters that buzz and blink when their table is ready.) The two other couples eyed us nervously, hoping their coaster would blink first. It was a race to the shrimp line, I could just feel it!
Our coaster went off and we were lead through a maze of dining rooms, each packed with tables, anchors and diners. We were lead to a comfy booth and handed four menus. Levi our server led us through a whirlwind of choices. Opening the first menu and showing us the specials he tempted our taste buds with all of the succulent choices. Chaz asked Levi his opinion between two different appetizers, the Ultimate Fondue or the Artichoke crab dip. Turns out, LEVI can’t eat shellfish. Now how the fuck does that happen? You don’t see Drylids working at a Peanut Factory, or Britney giving haircuts at the local Cattery do you?
We opted for the Ultimate.
Chaz’s order: 30 Shrimp Special. Salad with blue cheese. Rice Pilaf. Hand breaded Shrimp. Shrimp Scampi.
My Order: 30 Shrimp Special. Salad with ranch. Seasonal vegetables. Shrimp Alfrado. Cajun Shrimp.
The first to be dropped were the cheesy biscuits. UNBELIEVIBLE. The best damn biscuit ever created. Salty, buttery, cheesy, light and airy and HOT HOT HOT. I had to restrain myself from eating all four they loaded into our endless basket.
Second to hit the table: ULTIMATE FONDUE. A HOT HOT HOT, cheesy, shrimpy, lobstery, crabby dip served in a bread bowl. Calling out to all those who know and love Perkins and their delicious bread bowl, “this one is the ULTIMATE.”
Next came the salads. Fresh iceberg. Shredded carrots. Cucumbers. Tomatoes. CRUTONS and a generous serving of dressing on the side. Need I say more?
By the time our entrees hit Chaz and I were stuffed. I couldn’t look at the 30 shrimp. They just seemed so endless. Between the array of four preparations, I couldn’t chose a favorite. You can’t go wrong with the hand battered. And the Scampi oozed butter. Cajun was hot and spicy and the Alfredo coated in cheese! We left over full, to-go box in hand, wishing we hadn’t ordered the appetizer.
Would I go back? Heck yes. Was it delicious? It was everything I thought it would be. Would I order the same thing? Not on your life. Do I dream about cheesy biscuits every damn day? HECK YES I DO. All I can say is that I can not wait till LOBSTER FEST! BRING IT ON BITCHES, BRING IT ON!
*Prices higher in Times Square and Hawaii.