The Paper Janes have no business cards. We have been known to write down our info on a napkin. Or maybe it was a receipt. Well, it was small and wouldn’t really hold its own in the rain, I remember that much. Classy. Yes, I know.

So I got inspired to make something. To pass out. You know, with our information and pictures and relationship statuses on it. Just kidding about that. We wouldn’t actually give out our information.

ha.

But, the weirdest thing happens when I start to make something–anything, really. I get all happy inside. Almost giddy. Maybe it’s the way a golden retriever feels when you throw a ball and they bring it back. Like they fit, or something. Like there is nothing else in the whole wide world that they’d rather be doing in that instant than going after that ball. How nice when we get it right, you know?

But I asked Shane how many he thought I should make. I was making them, you know. Glue would be involved. And lots of cutting.  And I had just shy of two hours for this project. Yes, I am not the world’s best at planning ahead.

“How many you think I should make?” I asked. “Like…four?”

And he laughed.

“Jess,” he said, “There are gonna be over a hundred people there!”

“So…like, eight, then?”

Silence.

“Make as many as you can,” He finally replied.

And I did. Which turned out to be nine. I thought that was a good amount, actually.

And none of them were the same size. No two in the bunch. Is nine considered a bunch? I guess it is now. But they were all a little irregular because I am not what one would consider the measuring type.

Anyway, it was a fun little project. And much thanks to Christian for helping me get the picture down to size and Janine for laminating every last one in the bunch (since we’ve decided nine is considered a bunch, after all).

But not before I say this.

Shane and I played in Brooklyn tonight, at a nice  little place called The Cove. The stage was small and cute, made even better by the unicorn wearing a pink veil with whom we shared it.

At first we couldn’t find the place. We finally just parked next to something called The Sea. We figured that coves are generally located near seas, so we had to be close. Turns out we were right: they were right next door to each other.

Our songs are so fun to sing; I love doing it.

And I love when there are people in the crowd who good and listen, which seemed to happen tonight.

Two highlights, though:

We wrote our set list on the back of a receipt while driving to Brooklyn. I decided to stick my gum in the corner of that receipt-turned-set-list right before we started playing. Towards the end of the set, it mysteriously disappeared. Good thing we remembered the songs that we sing, I guess. When we were done singing, I stood up to leave the stage and my friend called out, “The set list–Jess, it’s…ON YOUR BUTT!!! And sure enough, it was. Stuck there like I was in fifth grade and the receipt had KICK ME written on it, instead of the titles of our songs. Stuck there in a way that reminded me I should never ever use our set list as a place to put my gum. And yes, everyone laughed. Rightfully so, I may add.

Oh, and Fudd, the sound guy. He went up to Shane after our gig, told him he liked our music and said that he would certainly look for the lady papers on myspace.

And with a name like that, I’m pretty sure it can’t be long before Kotex or Tampax are our sponsors.

An expensive personal massager.

We all know this because she opted for the regular receipt instead of the normal gift receipt that most people get around this time. In fact, when the lady at the register asked her if she did want a gift receipt, my mom quickly responded with, Oh no. I want him to know how much I spent. Which both my sister and I thought was quite funny.

But the massager.

That’s what it is. And nothing else. And it’s certainly not a vibrator. Certainly. Not. Even though I might have referred to it as that when I was asking him how he liked it; I might have said, how do you like your new vibrator? just like that. Like I was asking him how he liked the flavor of this particular kind of butter we were now using.

Of course when everyone started cracking up laughing, I realized my faux pas.

Because, to be clear, my mom got my pop a massager.