Worried?

Don’t be.

here you go, teeming masses: the chump who’s constantly running her fingers at y’all, right here in my first bathroom selfie

I do go on, don’t I? And on and on… and on. Then I get concerned emails. It’s the nature of being honest about my feelings. My feelings, waaah.

Really guys. I’ve got this. Punk Rock Sarah, lest you forget. Nobody’s victim, even when I am. Flying under the radar, waiting for the other shoe to drop… and I still manage to melt rainbows and bang on silver and feed cats and help Mom plug stuff into the wall and smile at whoever needs to be smiled at. Those first 5 blissfully unaware seconds after waking up are what get me through a day full of coming to terms with life’s rich trainwreck. Shattered illusions and like totally slicing my finger open on my canned dinner… pee-shaw. When I start sounding like I sounded in my last entry it means I’m ready to get real and cause some better things to happen. Life is short. The world is mean. If you can’t be kind, then, well, I don’t know, get outta my face.

I shall close my eyes and thunk my giant shoes together and say three things:
I will not crawl out of my own skin.
My “sanity” will rub off onto whoever needs it worse than I do.
I’ll pull my chestnuts out of the fire just in time.

don’t tell me I don’t know how to have fun, I left the crappy shower curtain and hanger for the full bathroom selfie effect… the dorky grin is from the amusement of seeing the shutter open on my camera

Anyway. I went to Gordman’s* on Valentine’s Day and while I was there it became clear that I missed my calling as a perfume salesperson. I saw a hard working guy in a worn leather jacket and cowboy hat who was obviously shopping for a last minute gift for his lady. Poor dude was looking mighty out of his element in the narrow aisles. Another shopper and I both approached him. The other lady immediately suggested Viva La Juicy, without knowing the age or tastes of this potentially touched but disappointed woman. I asked how old his lady was (he said she was 40) and what other perfume she liked and how much he wanted to spend. He said money wasn’t an issue, he wasn’t sure what she’d like, she had a bottle of something called Luna and he described what it looked like. Luna didn’t ring any bells, so I asked if he would consider it a “sweet” perfume. He said yes, and I said Juicy might work… although personally, I find anything Juicy abhorrent, and would recommend that for a teenager before I’d recommend it for a woman who has had a chance to develop a preference.

So I sprayed a bit of Calvin Klein’s Euphoria into the lid of one of the boxes. He was kind of “meh” and then I held the bottle of Thierry Mugler’s Angel EDP out to him and told him to sniff the nozzle. He looked vaguely interested so I sprayed it into the lid of one of the boxes, and you guys, you should have seen his eyes light up. I knew that would happen. Men LOVE Angel. I don’t know why, but they love it and even if you don’t you should wear it anyway because it drives them bonkers. I know that when a man likes a perfume more than I do, I’ll wear it to see that look on his face. But I loves me some Angel so no problem there…

that look, kinda like this. nelson, son of a motherless dental floss farmer

———–

I haven’t just been taking selfies in my funky bathroom all week… I made all of this!:

spikes, glitterbombs and bon-bons in sterling and glass

 

another view – these will be for sale soon!

And I made this special for a client:

pink scarab ring, special order

The beast (me) is hungry. I’m gonna go jazzercise and then ferociously tear into some egg salad and zesty bread & butter pickles. I’d show you a picture of that too, but this ain’t fakebook.

Check you bead ninjas later!

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death and taxes

HR Giger’s sandworm

That’s right, folks. You read it here first. They’re the only two things in life that you cannot avoid. Actually, poop is another one, and short shrieking parasites in light-up sneakers every time you go to Walmart. And a whole slew of other things. But death and taxes is so succinct – the way I like most things to be. You know, on the surface, of course. I can also boogie way down in the dirty complications with you. Whatever you need. Us evolved scorpios can do it all. And we’re not gonna be driving by your house at 2am with clenched teeth 10 years after you break up with us.

So, two deaths happened in the family week before last, within hours of one another. Viewing dead bodies is grueling. When forced to sit in the same room with them for an extended period of time, they’ll catch my eye as I sense that they’re on the very edge of movement. Perhaps that same part of my brain that fills the blind spot in my eye with what it knows from experience should be there also expects them to shift to a more comfortable position. It’s disquieting when the rest of my brain remembers that they can’t. Repeat several times until I finally get to go home.

Sometimes I think it would be a huge relief to be completely insensitive.

Sinister enough for you? Good, because that’s the kind of mood I’m in. And I’m gonna try to lay down some brutal truth while I’m here because I’m also in the mood for some of that. First truth: I write better than I speak, that’s why I do this. I MUST do this. Otherwise I’d be forever tongue-tied and flustered, especially when I try to share something real.

end cane by Stephen Boehm

Dear Friends,

Life is duality. Take the good with the bad and all of that. It’s a shame it isn’t really that simple. I’ve made attempt after futile attempt to distill everything down to its simplest form – grocery lists, my wardrobe, what’s good, what’s bad, other people, my relationships, my emotions, you know. When I was much younger, I didn’t know how to manage my emotions. I was happy, but always guarded. I fell too easily into the blackness of feeling misunderstood, mingling with dirty box knives and bruised knuckles and abject confusion. So I put on my big girl panties, ditched those dead-end friends and fashioned myself a prison of simplicity and solitude. I’ve tricked myself into believing that how I feel doesn’t matter, to benefit the greater good of my own comfort and that of those around me. But the old scars are my reminder that superficial ripples hide consuming depths. Now I only skim those depths, alone, and leave without sustaining any scars that would prove I had been there. It’s not denial, per se, it’s procrastinating the inevitable. Feel it now, or feel it later in ways you wouldn’t believe. Whatever it is can’t be hidden or hidden from forever.

And the duality of other people. I’m endlessly fascinated by them and scared shitless of them. They cannot be avoided. So I glint across their surfaces, yet dig fervently through the psychic junkyards for the twinkling gems amongst the rotten cores. I’m as patient and determined as a stringy-haired weirdo with a pick axe and a bucket at a touristy corundum mine. These gems are rare and worth the trouble. Funny thing, though – they tend to show up when you’re not even looking for them, in places you’d never expect to find them. I’ve found a few in my lifetime and I instantly recognize them when I do. They glow. Like glittering treasure under a mile of cold debris, a signal of hope, a kindred spirit, a tether to something higher. Like a warm light by which souls can be safely laid bare without uttering a single word. They make a difference, even if they’re around for only a short time. We all need these gems. They shouldn’t be stolen away or hoarded in dark musty boxes. They should be cherished and allowed to glitter and glow for whomever enjoys their light.

I can’t see these gems and cores within myself, I’m too close, too afraid to expose what’s beneath my fragile punk-rock shell to myself. I’m my own worst scrutinizer, psychoanalyzer, 24-hour martinizer. This is something I’ll leave to you… I know I can count on the warmest and kindest and glowingest of you to help iron me out when I’m beginning to resemble microwaved hell. To say “Hey girl, it’ll be okay. Let me show you something good.” You probably won’t even know you’re doing it. And that’s fine, it means you’re the real thing. To lock myself away from you would be to not know me.

Thanks for the sparkles.
Sincerely.

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Hmmm…

…what is it about listening to weird music, eating the human equivalent of cat food (cold pizza) and editing photos of pretty things that makes me think I might be having a Superstars sale…?

Oh, that’s right – I’m having a Superstars sale. Tonight. Be there or be somewhere else. Whichever. You know me. I’m cool and flexible.

Here’s another peek at what’s coming up:

click me to get to the superstars page!

The Superstars schedule for this evening is:

7:30PM CENTRAL TIME: The new beads will appear on the Superstars page for the sale preview. Take this 30 minutes to read and decide what you want, and email me with any questions.

8PM CENTRAL TIME and beyond: Start sending in your requests via email.

Maybe I’ll see you there!

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beading amok

I’ve been a bit quiet lately. Wisdom is knowing when to shut up and make some beads.

I finally brightened up my display case with 99 cent Christmas lights. It houses the majority of my glass-glass, glass cat and glass bird collection, protecting it from my live cat collection. My live cat collection is actually pretty good about not knocking things over, in fact, I’m more dangerous to my various collections than the cats have ever been. They don’t do dumb things like go on pissy house-cleaning binges and sweep the walls with a large heavy broom and knock pretty glass things to the floor. Nor do they play catch in the house with an old nerf football.

I completed a few bead orders, as well, and am still working on a couple. You’d be surprised at how often I hear “I don’t want to bother you with an order.” Folks, I love made to orders. I know most lampworkers don’t like to take them, but I welcome them excitedly. It gives me a chance to revisit color combinations and maybe do something better the second time around. Plus, why would anyone turn down paid work? I’ve rarely had a made to order go off kilter, and when it does, it isn’t like it’s the end of the world.

I also made these:

z-beads week of January 18th

I’ve increased my efficiency in producing glitter bombs (above). The stuffing is the easiest part – it’s the making of the beads and having even ends, and then adding the tubing and end caps that is most time consuming and likely to go awry. There’s always a chance of breaking or chipping the bead, but I found that if the ends are good and the tubing doesn’t stick out too far (no more than 2mm) when I go to flare it and the tubing is soft enough, everything goes well. Fine silver is preferable for this particular application – sterling tube has odd sizing, whereas fine silver tubing is sized the same way our mandrels are: 1/8″, 5/32″, 3/8″, and so on. It’s nice and soft, too. Silver is down to such a reasonable price these days that fine silver isn’t such a splurge any more.

Mom and I went to a bead show. It wasn’t terribly exciting, except for that $600 strand of faceted aquamarine rondells I’ve been lusting after for years at Queenly Global Trading. I settled for some sterling clasps and two strands of “black” pearls. They were higher quality than the $3-$5 strands they were next to, and were marked $20, and were the only ones marked that high. I asked the guy if they were actually $20, and he said they were $5. So I went with it. It looks like I might be knotting some pearls, something I’ve never done before. I don’t need any luck – just wish me sanity. It’s gonna be a double strand.

ETA: It went so well that I knotted myself some white pearls, too. It only took me a few hours each. It was quite relaxing, actually. Next time I’ll do it right – with bead tips rather than knots around the rings. Very unprofessional of me, yes, but I had something in mind that didn’t turn out as great as I had anticipated.

unprofessional

However, my favorite “pearls” aren’t pearls at all, I don’t think – I believe they’re Lucite with a very high quality coating because they’re still in fabulous shape. I got them from my older sister in a pile of things she didn’t want anymore when I was about 9 or 10 years old. When I was older, I wore them with my biker jacket. It was never about the irony – it was about the iconoclastic style. I still wear them proudly with what-the-heck ever.

AND…! My grandest announcement of the day is that there will be SUPERSTARS THIS THURSDAY! Here’s a look at just a smidgen of what will be available:

look at us, and just in time for valen’times!

In case you’re new, the Superstars sale happens on my website. Click HERE for more info, or go to http://www.z-beads.com and click on the Superstars link.

Thanks for checking in, more to come this Thursday.

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