Pepper spray on Black Friday?

I avoid Black Friday like the plague. Usually I’m working, so it’s not an issue, but even so the notion of camping out for two days in front of the Colma Best Buy in the hopes of scoring a 42-inch TV for $199.99 causes my limbs to shake like I’m going into hypothermia.

But every couple of years, I make the mistake of forgetting what the date is and wander into my local grocery store on Thanksgiving Eve for a quart of milk. One look at the lines that snaked down past the frozen foods and finally ended in the dairy section is enough to send me backpedaling out the door -- that’s what God made gas station mini-marts for. I do a lot of shopping for my job, so lines are nothing new, and I often use that time to catch up on my much-needed tabloid gossip. It’s a good way of staying informed on who’s breaking up, who’s in rehab, and who has the best beach bod.

I will admit that my willpower was tested upon opening my email and seeing the Jo-Ann Fabrics and Michaels’ 6:00 a.m., 6-hour, 30% off coupons... But I stood firm in my tradition: no Black Friday shopping! (Except maybe on the internet...)

Now I know for some, Black Friday itself is an adventure, a family gathering, and a tradition. And to those folks -- more power to ya! If you get a kick out of setting up a tent on the sidewalk and tailgating your Thanksgiving meal, then by all means, do so! I know folks who actually plan their calendars around Black Friday, forgoing invitations to Aspen and the Caribbean for a shot at the new Xbox 360/730/whatever it’s called. My own grandmother stood in line at Boscov’s to make sure that she got my sister not one, not two, but three Cabbage Patch dolls for Christmas one year. The story of how she elbowed out a Pennsylvania soccer mom for the last blonde doll will live on in infamy. And to my grandma’s credit, my sister did love those dolls.

But what disturbs me is something I read in the news: some woman in Porter Ranch, CA used pepper spray on other shoppers to clear her pathway to “door buster” sales items at Wal-Mart. And here’s the kicker: she didn’t just do it once -- she did it in several areas of the store! Twenty customers, including children, were effected and had to be treated by trained experts. Where does someone get off pepper spraying a kid for an Angry Bird stuffie or an Elmo Rocks? What is wrong with you?!

Unbelievable as it might seem, police have been unable to apprehend the perp due to the lack of a clear description... probably because anyone who saw her was either blinded or gagged by the pepper spray...

I don’t know. It just makes me shake my head in disbelief. That anyone would sink to the depths of harming other individuals just to get a cheaper price is beyond me. However, it does give me an idea for a new reality series: “Shoppers Gone Wild.” I wonder if A&E might be interested...

Edit: I must note that I heard that the woman who used the pepper spray on the masses has turned herself in. I do have to give her a little credit and sympathy; perhaps she was possessed by a shopping demon. I’m sure it won’t be long before there is some syndrome that will account for bad shopping behavior, followed by treatment centers and rehabilitation programs. I can see it now: The Wal-Mart Center for markdown-induced insanity.

Annette saves the day

Every now and then, no matter how well prepared I am, something happens at a party that is completely out of my control. That’s when it pays to have good family, friends, and employees.

It happened this weekend.

I was doing a party with one of my beloved assistants, Jen. It was a simple party really, an art theme for 14 six-year-old girls. On the difficulty level, this party rates a 2. I could do an art party in my sleep! I love these parties because they are all about making fun crafts and playing very silly games with markers and paint brushes. Total no-brainer, as they say. But then we had... technical difficulties.

Now as I’ve said, some things are just beyond our control, and this was one of those times. One of the craft projects that the client had chosen was making placemats. This consists of decorating paper with stickers, markers, and duct tape, and then laminating the sheet of paper so that it can be cleaned easily when used. It’s a simple little craft, and the kids love running their art through the laminator. As Jen and I were setting up our art station, I noticed that the laminating machine’s plug looked a little wonky. The moment I plugged it in I knew I was in trouble. There was a spark, and a pop, and a tiny little explosion. I came away with my fingers covered in black soot! I felt like my hair was standing on end.

Now it was only 15 minutes before the party started, and I had no laminator. This would be the perfect time for a MacGyver moment, but I knew with this client jury-rigging something wasn’t going to fly. We needed a laminator, and we needed it fast.

Of course my first thought was to call my husband Scott -- which I did repeatedly to no avail. Usually one to pick up on the second ring, he was nowhere to be found. I kept texting and calling but got no response. As it turns out, his phone was still on silent from the previous night’s event. We had produced a small house concert for one of our clients, which meant that all phones had been silenced since 6:00 p.m. Both of us had returned home late that night, and in our tiredness had forgotten to reset our phones.

It was Jen who came up with the suggestion of calling her sister Annette, who also works for me. As luck would have it, she was around and could help us out.. My first thought was to send her to my office, where I knew we had a second laminator, but then I realized that we had removed the hide-a-key from its normal hiding place due to some suspicious activity around our warehouse the week before. It was sitting on my desk inside the office, of no use to anyone. We decided she should just go buy a new one at Staples.

This is all going on while Jen and I are smilingly running the party. Jen would duck into a side room to text the newest bit of intel to Annette, then pop back out like she’d never been gone. She did it so masterfully, and the kids were so engaged in their projects, that they didn’t even realize what was going on.

I don’t think the client was really aware of the issue at all, until she saw me unwrapping the new laminator. I explained to her what happened after the party, and we both agreed that I was lucky to have such great staff that could be reached at the drop of a hat.

For me, I knew it was something deeper than just that. I knew that it was serendipitous to have Jen on board that day, with her quick thinking about contacting her sister, and her sister’s dedication to our company -- they saved the day. It just hammered home something that I’ve known for a long time: that I am blessed with an amazing array of people in my life. And that if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be able to do what I do. It’s really the people who work with me every day who make this business what it is. And I’m so thankful that I have them on my team.

A house filled with art is a house filled with love

Ever since I was a young child I’ve been exposed to art. Both of my parents are artists, and when I was young we didn’t have a great deal of money, but we did have a little red wagon and a membership card to all the museums in Philadelphia. The museums became my playgrounds. This was in the days before lawsuits and police reinforcements, so I remember kids swimming in the fountains and climbing the statues. I remember running up and down those stairs like a miniature Rocky, and chasing the pigeons in the enormous football-sized courtyard. I remember seeing the sculpture of Diana, the huntress, and thinking I wanted to be her. I remember looking at all the weapons in the armoury and thinking, how did anyone ever lift a sword that long? I remember all the color and light. I remember the way our footsteps echoed in the foyer when we were almost the last ones to leave. I remember the museum feeling like an extension of my own home, especially since back at home, the walls of our Cherry Street apartment were filled with just as much art. So much, in fact, that is spilled out into the hallway where my dad had painted this really amazing six-foot Wonder Woman right outside our door. It caused more than a few of my school mates’ mothers to raise their eyebrows, I can tell you.

One of the things that my mother taught me is that you have to buy what you like. You don’t buy a piece of art just because you think it will go up in value, or because the artist is someone you “should” collect. You buy art because it speaks to you... and because you love it. You buy art because it means something, and that every time you look at it, pass by it, clean it, you get a stirring sensation in your soul. This is why, if you look at the walls of my home, you will find an eclectic mix of family art, professional art, and whimsical art. Both my husband Scott and I are huge fans of the organization Creative Growth, which represents and serves adult artists with developmental disabilities. The work is amazing, and so we make a point each year of attending their fundraiser and purchasing a piece or two. The materials range from ceramics to fabrics to paintings and sketches -- all of it totally inspiring.


One of our Creative Growth pieces

The impetus for writing this blog is that the other day I was over at a friend’s house and I noticed she didn’t have any art. I mean, none. Sure, she had photos of friends and families, but no art... not even a poster. I mean, she had things hanging on her walls, book cases filled with books, little knick knacks from her travels, curtains surrounding windows, clocks... the normal sorts of things, but no art. I should have asked her about it, but then I really didn’t start thinking about it until I was on my way home. It got me thinking. Maybe, to some, art is just a space filler, something to place on an empty wall... Maybe I’m the weirdo!


An awesome gift that was given to me

I do know that when people come visit either myself, my parents, or my sister, they are immediately drawn to all the art, and want to look at each piece (especially at my sister’s house where she’s got the most amazing array of items, from a four-foot plastic Santa decoupaged with photos of female body parts to her eight-foot vinyl wall of photos and writings), which leads me to believe that maybe the average person doesn’t really collect art. But why not? Is it because it’s expensive? Is it because they don’t know what to buy? Is it because they don’t know how to hang it up? (I’m not being glib here; sometimes hanging art can be an exhausting battle with a ruler, level, pencil and hammer, and usually the hammer wins -- I’ve gotten to the point where I just eyeball it, and to heck with whether there are 2 inches on this side and 4 on the other!)


First piece I ever bought


A piece by my sister, which her fiancé wants to steal back for their place

If any of these reasons are keeping you from purchasing art, then I suggest this: start small, and start with something that is already framed. Buy something you like. Something that will make you smile. Put it in a place where you can see it often. After a while you’ll start seeing more things that you like, and you can add to your collection. Don’t go crazy and buy six pieces at once. Have fun with it, take your time with it, and love each piece you buy. Like a photograph, each piece should tell a story, or have meaning for you, whether it’s where and when you bought it, or how you found it, or what circumstances surrounded it. And here’s my biggest advise to you: if you see something you really, really like... get it! My dear friend Lisa saw this piece in Mexico years ago. She fell in love with it, but decided she’d wait until the next visit to get it. The next visit came, and when we went back to the gallery, it had been turned into a coffee shop. That was 3 years ago, and to this day she still mourns the loss of not buying that piece of art.

Maybe it’s just me, and maybe it’s just my upbringing, but to me... a house filled with art is a house filled with love.

Who you gonna call? My Mama!

Sometimes my office just gets so busy that we can hardly handle the amount of work that’s on our plates! Even with our entire staff working overtime, and calling in extra help from our party staff, we still find ourselves swimming in tiny little projects that need to be done. During those times I know that there is always one person I can call who will drive 150 miles to lend a hand at the drop of a hat -- and that’s my amazingly talented Mama!


That's what my Mama does - get involved!

You have to understand something about my mama: she’s able to do anything! Seriously, anything she sets her mind to. She has renovated two houses, most of it by herself, including plumbing, electrical, roofing, stripping old paint and painting a new coat, tearing down walls, building them back up, laying foundation, managing construction crews... She’s also a great artist, and works really hard. And she works in exchange for hugs, adoration, and love. Who could ask for anything more?

Just to give you an idea of all that my mama has done for us, here’s a tiny sample:

1. She sewed fourteen of the most adorable horses you ever did see for a horsey party. Each horse must have taken four hours apiece; they had to be cut out, pinned, sewed, stuffed -- and each one was lovingly done. The kids adored them and spent so much time decorating them that the party ended up running over by half an house.

2. Another time she sewed fifty hobby horses. These involved sewing the heads, stuffing them, and then attaching them with silk ribbons to 36-inch dowels.


One of our fascinator-wearing ghouls

3. She decorated over seventy-five little hats for our big annual Halloween party to embellish our ghoulies and ghosties. The theme was a “bloody royal wedding,” so everyone -- including our decorations -- wore a fancy hat.


See all the teeny-tiny pieces?

4. We liked the pieces included in a kit for a piggy craft project so much that she helped sort 500 of them (with ten separate pieces each) so we could use the pieces for our own projects.

5. She has wrapped thousands of candies and made hundreds of goodie bags.

6. Sorted over what must have been 100,000 self-sticking foam letters for Christmas projects.

7. Made twenty-five clown suits out of silken fabrics for a huge party with no budget.

8. Wrapped about 10,000 feet of gauze that was used as packaging around my dad’s Harley motorcycles parts into little balls, just because she thought it would come in handy some day. And its true -- to this day we use it for our vet parties.


Her regal banners, recently used at our Halloween party

9. Sewed twenty of the most amazing royal banners you ever did see, and for an added bonus she made matching triangle pennants.

10. And the best (and worst) was when she helped us move our entire warehouse from one space to another. We are talking 3,000 square feet of stuff! Boxes and bins from floor to ceiling!

It’s really true what they say about family. They are the ones that will stick by you through the thick and thin.

I really need to think of a good Mother’s Day gift!

I need a haircut!

There’s one sure way to tell when my party business is crazy busy… and that’s my hair!

I’m a pretty low maintenance kind of gal. I don’t wear a lot of makeup (unless I’m on an event or video shoot), I don’t dress up (again, unless I’m on an event), and I don’t do anything fancy with my hair except run my fingers through it, and give it a tussle or two...

Now, I was born to be a blonde, but the universe had other plans. I was gifted with mousy brown hair that has absolutely no body – I’m talking poker-straight and fine. And I grew up in the era of the Farrah Faucet flip! How I made it through high school without suffering whiplash (from snapping my neck to throw my hair into that perfect “feather”) and severe scarring (from the third-degree curler burns I inflicted upon my forehead) is a mystery to me.

As to the unfortunate coloring, thankfully there is a lovely woman in Marin with the perfect chemicals that can make me the right shade of blonde. Which brings me back to what happens when I get severely busy…

Now, along with being low maintenance in the looks department, I’m not very vain about my appearance… except when the hair starts taking over. You see, a really horrifying thing begins to happen… my face becomes consumed by a lank, two-toned, unflattering curtain of hair. Possibly one of the more horrifying things is that I start sporting a mullet that would make Miley’s daddy proud, and I start sprouting sideburns that rival Elvis.

Normally my constant clients comment on the fact that I haven’t changed in the 16 years that I’ve known them. However, when hit by hair fatality, I often get asked, “Are you okay, you look a little sick.” Or, “You look a bit tired, are you getting enough sleep?” Even those close to me start making comments like, “Good God, have you seen your hair this morning?” It’s really quite sad.

The worst part is when it gets so long that I can’t see, and I’m forced to sport a sort of Pebbles Flintsone top ponytail whenever working out of the public eye. This season it got so bad, that I actually bought one of those funny hats with the built-in hair so that I could hide my mop top.



I can’t even begin to expound upon the delight and joy I feel as I make my way through the Rainbow Tunnel to Marin for an appointment. My pulse quickens and my heart lightens as I can sense that there is a light at the end of that proverbial tunnel. Each stroke of the coloring brush, each fold of the foil, each snip of the scissors takes me one step closer to “lightenment.”

All I can say is, thank God for my hairdresser Melle – she really deserves a medal, just for keeping her composure when I enter her shop. I know she must be thinking, “Oh dear, here comes cousin It!” But after a couple hours of banter, and a pile of hair later, I was fresh and myself again.



Every time I leave I swear that I won’t let it get this bad next time… but then the phone rings, and the parties start booking, and what can I say? Just call me the human Chia Pet.

What happened to Thanksgiving?

When I was in the midst of my Halloween madness, running back and forth to Lowe’s and Target and Home Depot, I noticed something horrifying! One week before Halloween, the Christmas merchandise appeared. Now I’m not talking about a little tiny section of pre-holiday sales items to get you in the mood -- I’m talking clear the shelves, push everything else to the half-price table, take over 3000 square feet, full-on Christmas. The paint wasn’t even dry on our creepy fake guillotine back at the warehouse (a really cool contraption that my warehouse manager Steve created for our big annual Halloween party) before there was a 7 foot Santa popping out of a chimney, and eight oversized reindeer prancing around the inside of a giant blow up snow globe! I mean seriously... they had placed a Santa hat on the Grim Reaper door greeter. I wanted to shout, “Have you no respect?” I mean, it’s like that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the guy says, “I’m not dead yet...” Can’t we at least get past one holiday before we start pushing the next?

And what happened to Thanksgiving?

Granted, the merchandising limitations on Thanksgiving are a bit tough. Cornucopias, Indian corn, pilgrim hats, and buckle shoes do not readily make for a full shopping basket. Thanksgiving, I realize, is more about food and family, and since the great commerce behemoth has yet to find a merchandising spin on Thanksgiving, they seem to have decided to just leapfrog over it entirely.

This both angers me, and makes me sad...

Why can’t we celebrate a holiday for its true meaning? Why must everything be about the commercial tie-in? It makes me shudder, because it just reinforces that horrible image of America as this enormous gluttonous vacuum sucking up supplies and resources.

It takes me back to my grade school days where the room was decorated with hand print turkeys and coffee cup Pilgrim hats. Days when we made hand-dipped candles in a coffee can over a Bunsen burner that our teacher had borrowed from the lab... or the homemade soap we made with lard and cornmeal in the teacher’s lounge. (Man did that smell! I’m so sure that my teacher got in huuuuuge trouble for that one.) It was special because we got to have Pillsbury crescent rolls, sit down with the whole family, and talk about the year that was. It was for watching football (or in my case, working on an art project while the adults watched football) and taking long walks to help digest a big dinner. It was raking leaves, and jumping in the piles. It was hanging out playing hide and go seek in the basement with my cousin, or playing ping pong with my Gram. It was about looking at the newest rock my Pop had collected, or savoring my mom’s candied sweet potatoes. It was about spending time together.

Thanksgiving may not be a huge commercial success, but for me, it’s about family and friends. And there should be a way to celebrate that, even if it doesn’t translate into big bucks. For goodness sake, let Thanksgiving have its place on the calendar! We’ve already downgraded Pluto from its planetary status, I don’t want the same to happen to my Thanksgiving! Next thing you know, they’ll start hawking Valentines the week before New Year’s.

You know you're busy when...

A rare moment of goofing off with Freda's amazing creepy Halloween flowers

For some reason, our busiest season kicks in between September and December. October alone is a sea of party insanity. We’ve got workshops at the local library on how to make ghosts out of waxed paper, corporate Halloween parties for 600 costume-clad children, simple birthday birthday parties for twenty kids -- it’s mayhem. And I love it!

Every October I have to rent a separate storage unit just to handle to overflow of props, costumes, and candy. It’s totally insane. Our normally organized and tidy warehouse takes on the look and feel of a bomb blast -- there are fake body parts and craft supplies strewn haphazardly in every direction. I even found a foam arm in the bathroom the other day!

There are a few warning signs that I’m reaching my maximum party capacity...

1. My normal 4:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. workday starts to stretch into longer hours, ending at 10, 11, 12, and finally 1:00 a.m.

2. Under my eyes I have more bags than the local Trader Joe’s checkout stand.

3. The mounds of dirty and clean (but all unfolded) laundry start resembling Twin Peaks.

4. I have to purchase packages of under garments at Target, just so I can make it through the weekend.

5. My kitchen remains untouched with the exception of the tea kettle, the freezer, and the microwave.

6. My vitamin consumption goes down as my caloric intake goes up. (Honestly, during these busy phases, processed foods take on an almost American Red Cross survival pack quality.)

7. The “low fuel” light seems to be a constant on the dashboard in my van, Bessie.

8. My single means of communication with my husband becomes texting.

9. I seriously consider purchasing a dictaphone so I can keep up with my weekly blogs.

10. The dust bunnies under the bed have started their own political party, and are threatening to a military coup.

11. My mother comes for weekly visits, not to chat, but to work 12-hour shifts.

12. My warehouse becomes a sweatshop for my poor sister and her helpers.

13. My “To Do” board has so many clips on it that I have to get an extension piece.

14. I seriously consider installing a Murphy bed in my van.

15. I have to hire someone just to put things away, and even he can’t keep up with it all!

It’s definitely a crazy ride that my team and I are on... and I wouldn’t change it for all the tea in China. Well, maybe a few spoonfuls -- I could use the caffeine.

16 years and I'm still learning...

Yesterday I did a very cute little garage party with about twenty-five 3-to-5-year-olds. It was a simple party, based around the motif of bubbles and balls (which is a very cute party idea for young children!). The main focal point of the party space was a big blow-up pool filled with sixty 9-inch jewel-toned beach balls. It was beautiful to behold.

My initial thought was that the children would enter the pool one or two at a time, toss the balls around, and we’d have a fun diversion during their arrival time. My plan was to then use the balls in a variety of very simple games. What I was completely unprepared for was the onslaught of little-boy-energy that came hurtling toward me the minute the party began. Looking back, I should have realized that all the kids were coming directly from school. That meant they were arriving in packs... like wild dogs let loose from a kennel.

You should have seen it. En mass, the boys entered the party space, spied the pool, and then, as if psychically connected, broke out into a flat-out run at the same time. The melee of flailing limbs, tiny Nike-clad feet, and total bodily abandon literally knocked me off my feet. Seriously -- I ended up on my butt as soon as the first tidal wave of boys went diving into the pool. The chaos that ensued while I tried to recover lasted about three minutes...

Of course, as soon as I regained my balance and composure I ordered everyone “OUT OF THE POOL!” and was able to institute some rules. Shoes off, no more than four in the pool at a time, no diving, and no mosh pit-like activity. I further gained control by instituting a boy/girl split: one minute for girls followed by one minute for boys. I kept repeating this until everyone had ample time to experience the joys of the ball pool.

After about thirty minutes, my assistant and I turned the pool on its side against the wall, placed two chairs in front of it, and brought the kids back to earth with some shaker eggs and songs.

All in all, it was a great attraction. The kids loved it, and I’m sure they will be talking about it for the next week at least! And once I got everything under control, it was quite safe and harmless. It did cause me a bit of anxiety and stress, though... in the future, I think I’ll hire a professional bouncer!

Personalized seating cards

Here’s a very sweet idea for seating cards. Collect photos that represent the event -- meaning if it’s a 50th birthday party, find photos of the honoree at various stages of his/her life, if it’s an anniversary, find photos of the couple at various stages of their lives together, if it’s a family gathering, find fun photos of the various family members.

With computers being as fabulous as they are, you can just download the images and drop them into a little template, print them on cardstock, cut them out, fold them, and place them. We do ours double-sided, so folks sitting across from one another can see the images as well. It’s a great conversation starter and a pretty simple touch that can really personalize an event. If you don’t feel like you have the capability to create the cards on the computer, then just take the photos to a place like Kinko’s and have them shrink them down and print them on full sheet lable sticker sheets. You can then cut out the photo stickers and place them on standard table cards.

For larger events, each table can be represented by a certain photo, or “time frame.” If it’s a 50th wedding anniversary, and you’ve got 10 tables, make each table a period of five years. The centerpiece could reflect the time frame; the years might be 1945-1950, and the photos would then reflect photos taken from those years.

Everyone loves looking at photos, the older the better. Admit it, don’t you love seeing Grandpa Joe in those coke bottle glasses with the skinny tie, or Aunt Jean in her bouffant hairdo and prom dress, Uncle Tussy standing next to the tractor (yes, we really did have an Uncle Tussy!)?

Technology has made personalizing items so incredibly simple that it’s worth giving it a try at your next event. And listen, if you’re not tech savvy, don’t despair, have your nine-year-old do it for you.