Pickles & Dimes

The very first masthead I ever attempted for P&D was a giant slot machine featuring a bunch of pickles spewing out of the slot.

It was horrible and never saw the light of day.

When we found out we’re going to Vegas this month with Jason’s family, I knew I wanted a Vegas theme.

Whenever I think of a theme, I have all these grand ideas and then realize I only have a small amount of space to implement them. Kind of like my habit of thinking I can accomplish 137 activities in an 8-hour day.

For this masthead, I wanted roulette and craps and all kinds of neon signage, but pretty much the only element that remained from my original idea was the “Welcome to” sign.

I had recently seen an ad that used transparent color bars and liked the look of it, so I added that to the mix. The pile of dimes worked, especially since I am a freak about symmetry, and I added a pickle to one of the cards and called it a day.

Sometimes I think of how I’ve painted myself in a corner by always having to work a pickle and dime into the mastheads, but it’s fun and challenging and even though my Photoshop skills are basic at best, I love making these.

Want to hear something spooky, something so supernatural the hairs on your neck will stand up and salute?

I have powers.

Not necessarily powers that are awe-inspiring, mind you. For example, I can’t teleport or light a cigarette using my finger. I can’t fly or stop time or shoot icicles from my fingertips.

I can however, make dining establishments build locations close to my home.

It happened a few months ago, when I wished for a Dave & Buster’s to appear and it did. At the time, I had no idea of my powers and proclaimed that I wanted a Jimmy John’s near me.

And today, after months of fervent wishing, it happened. In the location that I desired, three blocks from our house.

It wasn’t all happiness and rainbows, though. It took lots of mental dedication and a refusal to give up. First, a Starbucks went up. Then a nail salon. Since only four more spots were available, I had to step it up. So I concentrated extra hard.

And I made it happen with my mind.

It’s there. The sign says so: Jimmy John’s Gourmet Sandwiches. Three blocks away.

I hope they deliver.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wish for a Big Boy Restaurant.

Awhile back, I purchased a Feliway diffuser for the cats (specifically, Abby). Its claim is that it contains pheromones to calm your cats and prevent them from spraying, whining incessantly and possibly, hanging from the ceiling fan meowing the lyrics to “Cat Scratch Fever.”

At the time, Abby was 100% nocturnal, and Jason and I were desperate for sleep. (Note: by “desperate,” I mean we were each clinging tightly to our last shred of sanity as we gently bobbed in The Sea of Madness.) Abby’s nightly routine at the time involved the following activities, usually performed simultaneously:

- Jumping on the bed
- Jumping on the headboard
- Jumping on my exposed, tender face
- Pawing at the blankets near my head
- Pawing at my head
- Smacking her lips
- Whining
- Batting the blinds
- Licking the windows
- Licking the blankets
- Licking herself

It got to the point that whenever I saw Abby sleeping during the day, I’d go over to her and shake her awake, saying, “No! You sleep when WE sleep.”

Then we purchased the Feliway diffuser and a few days later … peace. Peace and quiet, peace of mind. We attributed our good fortune to happenstance, the change in weather and our newfound ability to function solely without REM activity.

Our latest diffuser ran out a week ago. I wasn’t going to order any more because I still wasn’t convinced it was the reason for Abby’s positive nighttime behavior.

But for six nights in a row, I have lain awake cringing at the sounds of Abby tak tak tak-ing her way across the hardwood floor. I have endured the resulting licking and jumping and constant.moving.around.that.never.ends.EVER.

My left shoulder is messed up from always having to sleep on my left side. If I don’t, I enjoy an endless one-cat production called Cat Pawing On Blanket: You’ll Think I’ll Eventually Stop, But I Won’t.

We have tried closing the bedroom door, but Jason and I only lasted 14 minutes before the unceasing door pounding/caterwauling/wood scratching nearly led us to turn on each other.

I have pushed Abby off the bed, heaving a great big sigh of relief as I listen to the diminishing tapping sounds of her “exit,” only to immediately hear her turn around and jump back up.

This morning, I finally ordered some replacement diffusers. Because I’m ready to admit they really work.

Rating: 4 out of 5 pickles

This past week has been so wearying, so heavily burdened, so disappointing, I’m taking it personally and anthropomorphizing everything.

My iPod is named Sammy. Jason’s work-induced stress ulcer is named Frank. (Also, his ulcer is Italian.)

The headache I’ve had off and on for nearly a week is called Stephen, but it insists on pronouncing it “Steeeeven” instead of “Steffen” because that’s so much more annoying. (Also, Stephen should not be confused with Steven, my pool cue.)

My overall mood this week – which pinballed between grim desperation, excessive annoyance, homicidal rage, teetering despair, giddy silliness and throbbing headachey-ness – is named Mark.

In other words, life right now is being a Dick.