Mannequins are not Barbie Dolls....

The longer that I own Why Not Boutique, the more I realize that, no matter how many "Running your own Retail Shop" or "Specialty Shops for Dummies" books you read, there are just certain things that people fail to mention.

For example...I always assumed that dressing a mannequin would be a lot like dressing a Barbie Doll...and coming from someone who played with Barbies well into the 5th grade, I just figured I would be a pro-manniquin dresser, no questions asked. Well there are several things that I failed to notice and no one thought to mention to me...

First....Barbie clothes are tailored specifically to fit a Barbie Doll. Lucky bitch...if only we all were so fortunate to have thousands of little Chinese children making clothes to our exact measurements. Putting clothes on my mannequins is much like me trying clothes on in a dressing room...should I try a small or a medium? Well the small is too small but the medium is too big so now what do I do? All of these problems point to the reason that I just stopped trying clothes on altogether. No such luck with Sammy the Mannequin though...girls gotta have clothes on....

Second....the makers of Barbie were brilliant in that they figured there was going to be millions of clumsy little girls dressing and undressing this doll, so they made her hinge at the waist...so, not only can she sit and flirt with Ken, but it's also easier to get a tight little mini dress on her because you can bend and twist her to suit your needs. Not so with a mannequin. The best you can do with her is pull her off her stand in order to make pulling a skirt on her marginally easier...at least easier than trying to get it to fit over her shoulders and boobs.

Finally...and this is a big one...Barbie has legs. Yes, I know...they make mannequins with legs, but they're just freakish looking and I'm convinced that having them in my store long term would cause nightmares. So I stuck with the classy, dress form mannequins, but what I failed to take into account is that the ones that I bought have a pole sticking straight up their butt and because of that, there is absoultly no way to put a pair of pants on this girl. Shorts are even difficult. And honestly...because she has no defined butt, pants and shorts just look ridiculous on her anyway....so what would have been nice to know was that if I was planning on carrying pants or shorts...either a mannequin with legs or with an offset pole probably would have been the way to go...

I think I'm going to write a book of practical advice for retail shop owners...anyone else have any other suggestions of things they wish someone had told them before they opened?

Good...but not great

I've been in an odd sort of funk lately. Well ok...maybe just like the past 3 hours for this particular funk, but it seems like it's been a lot longer than that. I've been thinking and I'm seriously worried though, all joking aside, that I've officially done what I always dreaded I would do - I've woken up one day and realized that I do a lot of things, but I don't do anything well nor do I do anything I'm particularly passionate about. Not to be morbid, but I sometimes think that if I died tomorrow, would I be able to look back at my life as I stand at the pearly gates of heaven (stop laughing, I will go to heaven) and say that I lived a full, passionate, exhilerating life? Right now, I don't necessarly feel that way, but sometimes I think I expect too much.

Most people are just happy to wake up each morning, be able to pay their bills, maybe go out to lunch, have a good weekend doing something fun, and then start each week over again. And that's perfectly wonderful. But I don't want to be that person. I want to be good at something, and I want to be good at something I'm passionate about. Don't get me wrong, I have a great, fortunate, full, and dare I say, blessed life. I love my business, I have a great family, some wonderful friends, but, like I said, I do a lot of things but I don't do anything well. I don't have a purpose, a passion, a calling....I mean for God's sake...I can barely get my dog to sit on command...the one thing, after two rounds of puppy school that I SHOULD be good at!

So this is my quest for 2010. Find something I'm both good at AND passionate about. Something besides a chocolate cake and ice cream eating contest because we all know that fat kid over here would be fierce at that! 

Painting with a Twist (of lime and vodka)

I've always secretly wished that I had the talent to be a starving artist. Of course, that's obviously not what most people dream of being - artist, yes - starving artist, no. But really, I would be more than happy to forego making my millions if I had even one iota of artistic talent, but alas I have absolutly none. I can't write in a straight line, let alone draw a straight line. I'm completely tone deaf and my dancing looks more like an animal dying than Swan Lake.  And yet, even with all the odds stacked up against me, I'm on a personal quest to find something artistic that I just might be good at.

Last weekend a girlfriend and I took a trip to St. Pete's Painting with a Twist where an instructor teaches an entire class one painting step by step. Frankly the only way you could possibly mess up one of these painting was if you were completely wasted (BYOB is greatly encouraged by the staff there - I think they feel it might keep people from having a nervous breakdown). The entire point is artistic license, in that you can paint your particular painting as differently as you want (different colors, different spacing, etc), but at the end of the night, you will probably walk away with a perfectly acceptable looking painting. Heeeellllloooo I've found my heaven. I mean, seriously, you might as well have just handed me a gallon of paint, a paint brush, and the broad side of a barn and told me to go to town, because with this nifty little method that Painting with a Twist has developed, YOU CAN'T FAIL. It's amazing. I'll admit, it was a lot of work, Diana and I thought, by picking a somewhat abstract looking painting, that it would be easy when in reality we picked one of the most detailed projects that PWAT offers, but I think it's pretty safe to say that, for $46, we both left there feeling pretty darn good about our mythical artistic abilities.

So what did we paint you ask? This one was a knock off of Picasso's "Girl Before the Mirror" and while it's more abstract that I usually enjoy, it's very colorful and fun.

Here is Picasso's actual painting:

Here's PWAT's interpretation:

And here's mine:

Yes, I know....absolutly brilliant right? I'm sure MOMA will be calling me any day now requesting permission to display my wonderful work of art. But until they do, I'll just sit back and admire my brilliance....

40 Days?? Really? Can we negotiate God?

Lent for me is much like crossword puzzle books - they're easy to cheat at because all the answers are in the back. And you better believe that I cheat. Lent and crossword puzzle books evoke similar reactions in three ways for me - smug satisfaction, rationalization, and defeat. Let me outline:

Smug Satisfaction: One of the "rules" of Lent is no meat on Fridays. I like to pretend that every Friday during Lent that I don't eat meat is just one more "God point" added to my tally that will someday open the pearly gates of heaven for me. I derive a lot of smug satisfaction over the fact that I am able to refrain from meat eating and therefore fulfilling my duty as a good Catholic....regardless of the fact that I'm a vegetarian and wouldn't be eating meat anyway. I get the same sort of smug satisfaction when I finish a crossword puzzle. It's my way of saying "Hey, look at me everyone! I'm BRILLIANT." No one ever has to know that I looked up 60 of the 90 answers in the back of the book...

Rationalization: This year, I'm going to give up carbs. But not all carbs, only things that are obviously carbs - pasta, rice, cereal, bagels, bread, etc. But not on Thursdays when it's family pasta night because, after throwing my desire to become a vegetarian at my mom right before Thanksgiving a few years ago, giving up carbs at the exact moment she is making pasta for dinner tonight would be just cruel, right? I thought so too. And honestly, they wouldn't put the answers to the crossword puzzles in the back if they didn't want you to look at them...

And finally defeat: I'm a carb-a-holic. Making it 4 hours, let alone 40 days without cereal might just kill me. And honestly, I think it might just be a pretty unrealistic goal that willcrash into flames in yet another epic Lent failure. Much is the same any time I try to attempt a crossword puzzle without the answers. Massive, humbling defeat...

Check back with me in April and I'll let you know exactly how many days I made it without a cupcake...except for on Thursday nights of course...

Call PETA...

Yesterday was our annual "take your cats to the vet day." It's an appointment that lasts approximately 30 minutes, but I start mentally preparing for it about a month in advance. Why is it so bad you ask? Oh it's bad for so many different reasons....

First - my cats are princesses. They never really got the idea that there can only be one princess per house and it's me..to them, I exist to scratch those hard to reach spots, feed them, and open the blinds when they meow in the morning so they can see outside.

Second - they do not view a once a year car ride in their carriers as an adventure. To them, it's torture. At the first hint that the carriers might be coming out of the closet they bolt, hiding under chairs, my bed, behind furniture. There are many a times I'm head first, butt up, under my bed dragging a cat out by the scruff (or tail). I've resorted to stealth tactics in recent years. Pulling the carriers out the night before to lull them into a false sense of security. Closing them in a bathroom. All sorts of things that make me want to pat myself on the back and say "Way to go Jen...you're smarter than a cat!"

Third - my one cat, Shank, weights 15 pounds. No she's not fat...she's just big boned...the vet tech told me so. Have you ever tried carrying a 15 pound chunk of fat in a plastic carrier? Anyone with an infant is nodding their heads right now. Have you ever tried carrying a 15 pound MOVING chunk of fat in a plastic carrier? I'm not sure which is worse - the wrenching of my elbow or the dislocation of my shoulder. Although, perhaps it might be worse for Shank based on the number of times I've banged her into a door frame....

Fourth - the meowing. Oh my god, the meowing. It starts the minute the carrier doors close and does not stop. And they just feed off of one another. Chai: "Meow" Shank, not to be outdone "Meow Meow" Chai "Meow" Putting the windows down doesn't help. Turning the radio up only causes them to meow louder. It is non stop.

Fifth - and final object of torture is also Chai's big F* you mom moment as well. I live 5 minutes from the vet. Without fail, within two minutes Chai will drop the nastiest, stinkiest poop in her carrier, never once pausing in the renewed meowing - it does stop once we get into the exam room at the vet...at that point they just try to be as inconspicuous as possible. It's truely gag worthy.

All this, so that my only indoor cats can get a re-newed rabies tag that costs $30 each. How my indoor cats will get rabies, I don't know, but we're covered just in case a racoon or a bat manages to break into the condo....sign me up for another 10 years of this!

You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!

It's become abundantly clear to me lately that I live in every man's nightmare. You know the one where the girlfriend says "Honey, tell me the truth, do these pants make me look fat?" And any good, well trained boyfriend knows that this is a trap. Say yes, we'll get mad, and you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. Say no, we will totally know that you're lying to us, we'll get mad, and you'll be sleeping on the couch. This scenario never ends well for the boyfriend. 

Well, this is my life. I am both cursed and blessed to be a great listener as well as an opinionated, I cannot tell a lie, truth giver of the largest proportions. Blame in on being raised by a feisty mother and a father who gracefully allows me to call him on all his bullshit, and sometimes even enjoys getting caught "spinning" as my family so delightfully calls it. Spend 10 minutes with me and I'm going to offer you a no holds barred, honest to goodness opinion on whatever comes out of your mouth. You want to know if those pants make you look fat? Stick with me, I'll tell you, without a flicker of guilt or remorse, that they do. You want to be like my father, who complained for a month straight about how badly his back hurt (after playing 36 holes of golf each weekend)? Then I'm going to listen and sympathize for the first few days, then I'm going to tell you to shut the hell up, stop complaining, and go see a doctor (Hey Dad, surgery could have been  A LOT sooner if you'd listened to me in the first place). Worried that your boyfriend/husband/significant others sense of humor is too blunt and crude? I'll tell you I find it funny and that other people need to accept it for what it is and stop taking themselves so seriously.

This is me. I make zero apologies for it. I make a deliberate attempt to never, ever be malicious, cruel, or unnecessarily mean, and believe it or not, there are many times when I actually do hold my tongue. But, I will not cater to or feed your drama, nor will I tell you what I think you want to hear. If you're going to come to me and have a conversation where I could potentially have an opinion on it (and this covers just about everything since, trust me, I have an opinion on just about everything) then you need to be prepared to hear the truth as I see it.  And truthfully, I don't understand why this is a problem. Would you rather I talked to our good friend Sally behind your back about how those skinny jeans seem to be having an adverse effect on your thighs? Prrrrobably not. I have absolutely not artifice. I would make a terrible poker player. I have an awful poker face and I will probably never say something behind your back that I wouldn't say to your face.

There's a very good chance that this little quirk of mine has cost me "friends" and you know what, in the long run that's ok with me. I treat others as I wish to be treated. There is NO WAY IN HELL that I would want to go out in public in a pair of pants that make my butt look as wide as a tractor trailer. I may pout a bit when you tell me, "Yeah Jen, you ARE kind of being a bitch right now" (yes those words have come out of many a friends mouths), but I absolutely do want to know when I appear to be stepping outside the lines of being polite. Tell me I'm being dramatic, tell me your opinion, tell me THE GOD DAMN TRUTH. 

Accept the fact that the reality of how you see things may not mesh with the reality of how I see it. This is life people, a respectful difference of opinions and conversation is what makes things interesting. Accept that we may not agree, accept that each and every event in life is not black and white, and move the hell on. But then again....this is just my opinion....

Will Sell Daughter for Farmville Bucks

Today my mother offered to set up a profile for me on eharmony. Part of her motivation was so that she could get some Farmville Dollars for her farm on Facebook (I swear Farmville is the answer to my mother's lack of a backyard here in Tampa). As for what her reasonings beyond that may be, I have no idea. A mother's wish to see her daughter happy and settled? That's never really bothered her before. The desire for grandchildren? My younger brother has taken care of that quite nicely when he presented the family with my nephew last year. Maybe she thinks a significant other will mellow me? Which I can assure you has never been the case in the past...quite evident in her description of me to friends as a "man eater." So maybe her full motivation really is the Farmville Dollars....which then all I have to say to that is..Thanks Mom for sacrificing me and my dignity for a larger virtual farm and a horse barn.