You Can Do It!

Are you familiar with that saying, "Taking the world by storm?" Well, that's what I had imagined would happen when I officially opened the doors of The Vintage Laundry shop last week. Well . . . it seems that storm I was anticipating has been downgraded by weather experts to the equivalent of having someone spit out of their car window as they drive past my shop.

We opened our doors on Tuesday, July 19, 2011, at 11:00 A.M. and were an instant hit - like meatloaf at a vegan potluck or the Santa Dreidel. We brought a spoon to a knife fight, basically.

We were not a hit.

But yesterday was a different day because we had customers who must have seen something of value in my quirky little shop (20% off coupon) because they decided for some reason (20% off coupon) to come in and shop and make actual purchases. "This is it," I thought. "Here comes my storm!" I don't know why I'm so confident (20% off coupon,) I just am. So, I'll just keep on keepin' on in my usual overwhelmed state, reacting to these little traffic hiccups with grace (20% off coupon) and optimism (larger discounts coming soon.)

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First Liar Doesn't Have a Chance

 "You name it."

These are the three words that leave my mouth when the subject of what I carry in the shop arises.  Which it does, and quite often, and not without a twinge of self-promotion and most often with a little competitiveness thrown in for good measure.  I find myself thinking, when listening to what a customer collects, "I'll see your salt and pepper collection and raise you a mess of printed tablecloths from the 1950s.  I'll see your Eames lounge and ottoman and raise you a Louis XV armchair.  And I'll see your Vera Neumann scarves and buy 'em."  These conversations have no end and no goal, and frankly I have no idea why I carry on so, except maybe I'm just one more vintage find away from starring in the next episode of A&E's Hoarders . . . . check your TV listings, I may already be there.

From the moment that I caught the vintage bug until today, I have lived by the philosophy that it is better to have dumpstered and dived than never to have dumpstered at all.  I have acted as host and restorer to just about every vintage item I could squeeze through the front door.


The other day my son began to question a new friends long term viability, noting that he lived in a house with his mom and dad and no old stuff.

"Not even any vintage knickknacks!"

"Not even," he says like his parents were unfit and smoking crack for lunch.

"But how does that work, exactly?" he asked.

"I don't know, I guess their family just likes a minimal look to their home."  I try to explain.

"Sounds awful."  he says.

So, apparently it's genetic.

I can't think of a smooth segue from there to photos of the shop.  So, here they are,  the "can't-get-no-minimal" shop photos.  Oh! . . . . and don't forget to join The Vintage Laundry on Yelp, Foursquare and check in when you visit and receive a discount on any purchase or you can join us on our Facebook fan page or follow my Tweets to get updates on new merchandise, deals, invitations to exclusive events, workshops and lots more.  Special grand opening specials begin next week and you don't want to miss out!!

Comes see our collection of vintage china, crystal and silver . . .

. . .  or peruse our vintage chandeliers . . .

. . . or linger in our vintage clothing room . . .

. . . . and don't forget about our Grey Gardens Collection, where you can customize and furniture purchase with paint and upholstery of your choosing . . .

 

. . . or maybe you have a wedding, dinner party or event that you're planning . . . . check out our vintage rental inventory . . . .

 . . . and of course there is always our vintage textiles and linens to Ooooh and Aaah over!

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Epic Facepalm: A Celebration of Fogetting and Frustration

If you are unfamiliar with the word facepalm let me explain . . . . According to the Urban Dictionary, a facepalm is the act of dropping one's face or forehead into one's hand. Usually accompanied by a 
"thunk" or a cry of "Doh!"  As in:  Today I locked my keys in my car.  Again. *facepalm*

Well, unfortunately, I'm all too familiar with this experience as you will gather from the following story:

Things have been slipping my mind for years - at least since I was twenty-eight.  I know this because the year I celebrated my twentieth-eighth birthday was the year I was pregnant with my daughter, Olivia.  I can even prove it, because after her birth was when I started forgetting the names of people and words - they would just slip away without warning.  This marked the time when I had to begin scrolling through my mental dictionary, trying to guesstimate what letter the word or name I was frantically searching for began with.  Sometimes I even tried to figure out how many syllables were involved to speed the process.  When this first began, the lost name, word, or thought would drift back into my head, recovered, kind of quickly.

But here's the thing:  it's gotten worse in the past few years.  And now if my daughter, with her talent for remembering everyone's name or my son and husband with their ability to play charades with me aren't close by, I have to fake it.  Olivia can actually gather that I'm trying to remember Tina Fey's name when I gesture with my hand in a certain way and Noah and the Hubbs can tell me the name I'm looking for is Julie Andrews when I say, "You know . . .  she's  that chick that sings on 
the mountain in that movie and makes matching clothes for that guy's kids out of the family curtains . . . . and there's nuns . . .?"

I try to comfort myself by insisting I'm too young for dementia to be setting in and that it's not so much a "Senior moment" as it's a Freshman or Sophomore moment, instead.

But here's my point:  My forgetting has taken on a new slant.  Now I can't remember if I've shared important information or not.

So, just in case I forgot to mention it . . . . . .

THE SHOP IS OPEN!

We will be closed Sundays and Mondays and open from 11PM - 7 PM Tuesday through Saturday.  The address is 3406 Glenview, Austin Tx, 78703.  You can join The Vintage Laundry on Yelp, Foursquare and check in when you visit and receive a discount on any purchase or you can join us on our Facebook fan page or follow my tweets to get updates on new merchandise, deals, invitations to exclusive events, workshops and lots more.  Also in the works is The Vintage Laundry TV on our YouTube channel that I'm really excited about!!!  More on that later.  I can't wait to share more info and photos!  So, check the blog in the next couple of days to take advantage of all of the goodies that we have planned to celebrate our new store opening!

See you soon,
LeAnn

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So's Your Mom

Something funky is going on in the world of women's underwear . . . .  Well, at least in THIS woman's world.  Don't freak out, I'm not about to over-share or anything, it's just you know how they say that you should always be sure to wear clean underwear just in case you're in a car accident and have to be taken to the hospital?  Well, I have a story to tell you and it's kinda like that . . . kinda.

Until Monday night, last week was shaping up to be marvelously productive.  All day long the kids and I had been zooming around from one task to another, like protons spinning out of control (I may have the science wrong there) when all of a sudden, I had a complete and total nuclear melt down.

For the past month the whole family has been working in the shop trying to prepare for its opening by painting walls, chairs, etc., hanging chandeliers and mirrors, polishing silver, and pricing merchandise.  Monday had been particularly great because it seemed that we were at "full steam" and getting all matter of things accomplished.

And if that wasn't magnificent enough, many, many Diet Dr. Peppers were involved.

So I was working on putting a couple of metal contraptions on the back of a rather large mirror that needed hanging, when it happened.  I was sitting on the floor power-drill in hand just about to make my first pilot hole in the template that came with it when my hand slipped, making a lovely pilot hole in my left thumb, instead.  I quickly reversed the drill and removed the bit from my thumb and then debated upon which to do first . . . vomit or spout a creative stream of obscenities.  Turns out there was a third option which was to burst into inconsolable sobbing - complete with lakes of tears and snot and lots of snubbing just for effect.  To be perfectly honest, I wasn't being a complete wussy for nothing, this puncture ranks as one of my more severe injuries. I mean, when I held it up to the light I could actually see all the way through to the other side.  And there was blood - lots of blood - like in that episode of SNL where Dan Akroyd, dressed as Julia Childs, has just cut his finger and is spurting blood everywhere.  My children quickly grabbed the roll of paper towels and crafted a mighty fine bandage consisting of about twenty-seven sheets of Brawny held together by 2-inch blue painter's tape while the Hubbs located his keys so that we could dash off to the emergency room.

As we ran into the emergency room I became immediately aware that something was wrong, I mean other than my perforated thumb.  I was getting some interesting looks from everyone in the waiting room, which prompted me to turn to the Hubbs and ask, while I tilted my head back and pulled my upper lip over my front teeth, "Do I have a bugger?" or, as I looked down at my pants, "Is my fly open?"  Turns out neither was the case so, I just smiled and stared back at my audience.  The second time I was aware that something was amiss was when the handsome young male nurse led me back to the examination room.

I need to interrupt the story here to share a couple of things about my appearance.  When I dress to go to the shop and paint and sweat and move furniture and sweat and sweat some more, I don't take a lot of care in my appearance - I typically choose a pair of Nike running shorts with one of my husband's "seen-better-days" t-shirts and a tragic looking pair of pink flip  flops.  My attire says, "When I'm not in prison, I enjoy a day of looking homeless."  So, just in case I have to go out in public, each morning I grab a change of clothes from the fresh from the dryer pile that is currently residing on my sofa, clothes that I quickly changed into before heading off to the emergency room.

Okay, so I'm there with the handsome nurse asking me all the usual questions, "How current is your tetanus? . . . . yadda, yadda, yadda.  when I notice that he keeps looking at my chest or rather right below and to the side of my chest.  So, the next time he turns to write on his clipboard I take a quick look at my shirt . . . . . and there "it" is  . . . . containing enough static cling to start a small electrical fire . . . . a pair of my underwear stuck to the side of my T-shirt.

As he turns from his clipboard I ask, "Why didn't you tell me I had underwear stuck to my shirt?"

"That's just how I roll.  It's nice underwear though - my mom has the same kind." he says. 

"Oh, your mom?" is what I said, but this is what I thought:

YOUR MOM!

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