Friday, October 22, 2010

I've Got a Bone to Pick

But then again, don't I always? Ha Ha.

Several people have actually asked me if these bones are REAL.

UMMM... Yeah they are, let me know if you're going to buy them so I can go rob another grave. Why do they cost 25 bucks? Well, that includes the vintage crate they are nestled in, and do you know what a bitch it is to boil the flesh off of a skeleton?

Seriously, People! I mean I'll float a doll head in a jar of fake formaldehyde (see Previous Post) but I'm pretty above selling actual human remains. And not just because there are laws against things like that; I tried it once and it totally stank up the shop. (YES I AM KIDDING!!)

Do you think I need a sign that says "No bodies were harmed in the making of this STYROFOAM skeleton"?!?

Monday, October 11, 2010

Scary Stuff

More from the "SERIOUSLY?" Files... I swear I should just rename this blog "Seriously?"

I can't even imagine what 'real' celebrities have to put up with in the way of bizarre unsolicited feedback, but I'm pretty sure they must all have a really thick skin, which I am trying desperately to grow. I have been getting a great deal of shall we say, unsavory emails, regarding our creepy campy Halloween decorations made out of doll parts.

Maybe it's unfortunate I grew up in an unpolitically correct time (not that long ago!) when Halloween meant guys with their head sewn on with thumbtack looking bolts out of the sides (Frankenstein, anyone?) and skeletons did not offend everyone who happened to have a dead relative.

So I was overjoyed when Claudia kicked off the fall season with a few ghoulish creations she made out of doll parts she's been saving all year.

Come on now, do you look at these and think "ooh this woman worships Jeffrey Dahmer, damn her and her shop to hell!" Or do you think, dang that would make an awesome decoration at my Halloween Party. Honestly, you don't have to embrace it; People have, and excitedly bought these 3; but I understand it might not be everyone's cup of tea. You might think it's in poor taste, that's OK. I can appreciate that. I respect people's opinions and moral and religious views. But I think sending me emails saying 'stop with the creepy doll creations they are too evocative of dead babies' is a little over the top. You might want to find a clinic to picket instead.

I'd say 9 out of 10 people have given us rave reviews on these items; even if it's "I love that, I wish I could buy it but it would freak my kids out" I consider it a positive. But, let's see, just the other day there was one guy declaring to his wife "I don't consider THAT Art, that's disgusting." I wish I thought to tell him if it were really meant to be ART the prices would be a LOT SCARIER.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

A Sad Tale

Warning: Extreme Tearjerker.

A funny thing happens when you share your life on a Blog and it develops a following; people start to feel like they know you and are a part of your extended family. (Reference: anytime Kenny makes an appearance at the shop he's invariably met with a stranger saying "Hi Kenny!" accompanied by a look that says "you poor hen-pecked schmuck" while he innocently wonders, do I KNOW you? Poor Kenny.

And it's not uncommon for folks to ask me "How are your dogs?" A question which has had me for the past few weeks choking back the right response. So it's with a sad heart that I let you Dear Readers know that we lost our Izzy last week. Dog Cancer sucks.

Now that you've got your Kleenex out let's take a moment to remember some of the highlights of Izzy's life. She was only six but she packed a LOT of living into those years.

We adopted Izzy while on our honeymoon in Maine in 2005. Whenever I feel the need to point out that Maine was a lame-ass honeymoon destination, I remind myself that's where we got Izzy.

We were dead set on getting a dog on our honeymoon because we had lost our late great dog Shane a few months before the wedding. Kenny narrowed it down to three dogs at the shelter: one labeled "FEAR BITER", the second "Food Agression" and the third... a goofy-looking brindle Plott Hound named Chanel. This 'busy bee' with a 'melodious bay' had already been returned once to the shelter; we couldn't imagine why.

She didn't know the name Chanel and in keeping with naming all of our animals after members of the band Guns & Roses (Kenny!), we christened her Izzy and took her home to meet her new cat siblings Axl & Slash. On first introduction there was a bit of a scuffle and we ran into the house only to find 70-pound Izzy... standing on our dining room table.

Izzy was skinny and all legs and her exuberant style of running around the yard came to be known as 'spizzing'. She was a dog of many nicknames, and she responded to them all. You may know her by her gangsta rap name "Notorious S.P.I.Z." She won a Dog Grammy for the hit single "As Brindle as I Wanna Be".

Before opening Salvage Chic I spent many years in corporate hell as a project manager and contract negotiator. One day in the home office I was on a particularly hellish call when Izzy slunk by with one of my wedding shoes in her mouth. I wish I could remember which company's CTO got an earful of "IZZY!" because I sure as hell didn't have my headset muted.

The first time she howled I thought there was an ambulance in my backyard.

Once while loading groceries into my Jeep at Stop & Shop about a half mile away, I distinctly heard her howling all the way from my house. No wonder our neighbors never invite us over for dinner.

Weird things Izzy ate: 2 Netflix DVDs. Had to email them and they didn't take it well.

I know these stories about Izzy are starting to make that Marley & Me dog look like a martyr; but really Izzy turned out to be such a nice dog. The day we installed our fence was the day we realized "A TIRED dog is a GOOD dog."

In fact, we should call her Saint Izzy because she spent the last three years of her life with her menacing brother Duff's mouth around her neck, and never lashed out.

She loved her kiddie pool.

She liked to sleep in one of our spare bedrooms under the mattress pad. She would dig at it until the elastic pulled up and then cocoon herself snug as a bug in a rug. It totally stressed me out thinking of a dog on top of an undressed mattress but still I let her do it, it was too funny to hear her 'unmaking' the bed with snarfing sounds of joy.

More from the nickname files: We called her Bronwyn, because she was the Brown One; which morphed into Bronwinnie and then just Winnie. Every morning when I went to check on her under her mattress pad, I serenaded her with "Winnie in her Nest" (to the tune of Benny & the Jets... yeah, I know I'm queer. but it got a lot of tail wags.)

If you've read this far, you're surely a dog lover, and I thank you. Rest in peace my sweet Bronwinnie, I hope the mattress pad in heaven is snug.