Craft Rage

I didn't get any blogging OR sewing done this Thanksgiving weekend, because my Mom made a surprise visit.

She and her boyfriend live about six hours west of here, but she popped up on Thursday, with the idea of cooking a big turkey dinner on Sunday. Now, since The Hotness loves turkey more than life itself, and the only turkey I make these days generally gets cooked in the microwave, this was great news! We took a trip to the grocery store, picked up what we needed, and headed back home.

As an aside, my Mom is a man-magnet. Wherever we go, whatever we're doing, someone ALWAYS tries to pick up my mom. And not only, like, dirty bums, either, but good-looking, well-dressed, age-appropriate men. Currently, she's attracting Silver Foxes, which is what I call hot old dudes - I personally wouldn't necessarily want to see them with their shirt off, but they have a certain je ne sais quois. Like Richard Gere or Tim Gunn. This has happened for as long as I can remember, and happens pretty much any time we go out in public.

So just like the Days Of Yore (aka my childhood), I stood by, shifting from foot to foot, sighing loudly and rolling my eyes while the Silver Fox asked my Mom's advice on what size turkey a single man should cook, how a single man should cook it, whether a single man should make stuffing, and if so, what kind.

He asked her to help him pick out a turkey, which she did, then asked him where to find ingredients to stuff it with, which she did, before finally seeing where this was going, and excusing herself with a grin and a wave, leaving him perfectly charmed. I know "perfectly charmed" when I see it, because it's the same expression The Hotness gets when he's outside feeding the birds, and manages to entice one of them to land on his finger and look at him sideways for a moment before flitting away.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the turkey. It was awesome, and now it's all gone! Except for the two pounds of turkey I have to package up and freeze. I love my FoodSaver. You know, there's really not a lot to say about a turkey dinner. I didn't realize that before I started this post. Sorry to have taken up your time!

If it helps, while we were waiting for the bird to unthaw, Mom and I also did a bit of wedding planning, which I'll post about tomorrow.

Hey, can I get your opinion?

I was thinking of buying everyone their bridesmaid dress, and taking them for a manicure/spa day, the day before the wedding, instead of doing the traditional bridesmaid gift. I've received such gifts in the past, and honestly, though I love the picture frames and bracelets, and other odds and ends I've personally gotten, I'm 35, and so is my whole group of bridesmaids; none of us needs another picture frame or glittery piece of color-matched wedding jewelery. Is it tacky to replace the traditional bridesmaid gift by paying for the dress and the spa day, or is this a perfectly acceptable replacement?

Labels: family, wedding plans

Okay, so it's either really sweet, or really creepy, but The Hotness and I don't exchange purchased greeting cards. You know, birthday cards, valentine's day, etc.

Instead, we exchange handmade cards, which are ostensibly made by the cats. Paw-made cards, as it were.

You may gag on the sweetness now.

Are you finished yet? Good.

So anyway, this started after we'd been together for just over a year. The Hotness is an incredibly hard worker, and though he makes a concerted effort to be home for special days, sometimes his work doesn't leave him enough time to shop.

Plus, when we first got together, we decided to exchange one piece of information about our ex that drove us mad. He said that if we made it to the point where marriage was an option, I was not, under any circumstances, allowed to take my engagement ring back to the store and exchange it for something else without at least warning him. I told him that I wasn't really a fan of purchased cards, and that honestly, I'd be perfectly comfortable with a hug instead. You see, my ex, for every single occasion, be it birthday, Christmas, whatever, would take me to Wal-Mart, stand me in the greeting card aisle, pick out a card, hand it to me, and say "There's your card. Read it and let's get out of here."

I'll pause for your laughter.



So anyway, as you might imagine, I developed a slight dislike for greeting cards.

For the first few special occasions, The Hotness gave me a purchased card, and I liked them, because I know he spent time actually picking them out - his family is VERY big into greeting cards for every occasion.

Then, he had to work on Mother's Day, and since I have no actual children, I didn't think anything of it. But that night, about a half hour after he got home, he presented me with the ugliest, most awesome card I've ever gotten, badly misspelled and partly shredded, but with pictures "drawn" by the "cats". I love using "air quotes" but it doesn't have the same effect on my blog as in person, where I get to use my fingers. Anyway, I LOVED that card, and still have it packed away.

Then, for my birthday that year, I got another handmade card, also "made" by the "cats", but also including a fairly fresh hairball. So fresh that it was still wet when it was placed in the card, and I had to pry the card open. I laughed for three days. What the hell, I'm STILL laughing!

From that point forward, all we ever exchanged were handmade cards, signed by whatever animals we have on hand. I give you exhibit A - pictures of my birthday card from back in August.


Normally, he's just plain better at this than I am.

Last May, however, I made an extra effort, and gave him a cake "decorated" by the "cats". Please picture the air quotes in your head.

He's a huge Minnesota Vikings fan, so I went online and found this picture of their helmet.
With this picture I made this;


Are you ready for it?


Keep scrolling - I want it to be a surprise!


One more little scroll! And don't forget, you can click on it to see it in all it's 1000px glory!

Labels: crap sieve, family

My mom and her boyfriend decided to get one last motorcycle ride in before the snow flies, so they took their last week of holidays to go camping and fishing, and stopped by to visit for a couple of nights here.

My mom is awesome. Of course, she's my mom, so I have to say that, but really, she IS pretty great. She's really go-with-the-flow, and very non-judgmental, which is good, because it means she eats my cooking without complaint, and doesn't care if I NEVER dust under the TV.

My mom blames herself for the fact that I'm clumsy, though she herself is incredibly graceful, and up until a few years ago, was winning dance competitions all over western Canada and the US.

When I told her about falling off my deck, and showed her my still-swollen ankle (yes, three months later, it's still swollen and painful, but that's another story) she sighed heavily and shook her head.

Mom: "It's all my fault."

Me: "Wha...?"

Mom: "Me and your dad. We should have broken your legs when we had a chance."

Me: "WHA...?"

Mom: "I just couldn't do it to you - you were so little. And cute."

Me: "What. Are. You. Talking. About?!"

Mom: (nonchalantly) "Oh, you were born with crooked legs."

Me: "Crooked...legs?"

Mom: "Oh yes, REALLY crooked. The doctors wanted to break them and splint them right after you were born, but your dad and I just couldn't do it to you."

Me: "Crooked? How crooked?"

Mom: "Oh, like this, kind of." (she draws a sketch on the table with her finger that resembles frogs legs - in at the knees, out at the feet) "But you were so little - we just couldn't do it." "But I guess if we had, you probably wouldn't have fallen off your deck."

Me: "Or out of the back of the truck. Or off the dance floor. Or at 7-11. Or at prom. Or in the parking lot. Or off the swing set. Or..."

"Mom: "Yes, yes. See, it's all my fault! And your dads!"

Now I have an official excuse for being a klutz! It's my mom's fault! I wonder if that will cover me for sewing through my fingernail this weekend. Maybe my arms are crooked, too!

In any case, I'll leave you with this:
Simplicity 1447, size 18, bust 36. I LOVE this dress.

I couldn't wear it, of course, because my legs are crooked, so I'll end up selling it, but what I really love is this cover art.

The lady in the blue dress is obviously the clear winner of a fairly scathing verbal exchange between herself and the lady in red. But nobody who wears a red dress is going to take the humiliation kindly. Her little red clutch purse contains a tiny vial of something that mixes very well with a vodka martini, and her next words will be "I'm sorry, you're right. May I get you a drink?"

Labels: family, vintage patterns

Ah, family.

As I mentioned earlier, I spent the weekend hosting one set of in-laws - my fiance's older brother, his wife, and two children, ages 5 and 2. I'll call them the Jetsons (second favorite cartoon family, after the Simpsons, but before the Flintstones).

In the six years we've been together, it's the first time the George and Jane have made the nearly nine hour drive to visit us, a heroic feat with two young children. The Hotness and I were very grateful; our work schedules are a train wreck right now, so we wouldn't have been able to spare the time to drive out to see them until November.

I spent a good portion of the weekend nomming chubby cheeks and elbows, and making myself scarce when the little one's diaper started to stink.

As an aside, I love toddlers, but I cannot abide babies. I fear babies. I am baby-phobic. When I attend baby showers, I bring gifts, but prefer to see the baby from across the room, and I won't hold it for ANY reason.

Babies smell nice, and they're cute, but no matter how rugged they really are, to my eyes, they're these fragile little glass creatures, and if I touch them, I might break them. Everyone assures me that when I have my own, I'll feel differently. In turn, I assure them that when I'm certain that I can train a baby to use the litterbox, I'll start having babies.

That's always good for a blank stare.

I'm kidding about the litterbox (mostly) - in reality, I'm really looking forward to having at least one child - The Hotness is a stellar uncle, and he'll make a really wonderful dad. Plus, then I'll be a mommy blogger, which I think will be a lot of fun! Or will at least lead to more interesting posts than this one.

Anyway, to thank them for making the trip, The Hotness and I planned a number of fun activities, not the least of which was catching the live-action Sesame Street show. The kids enjoyed it a great deal, and the rest of us enjoyed seeing the kids happy. And the mini-donuts. And the thickly veiled adult humor.

We considered taking the kids to the Zoo, but the temperature reached a near-record high, so we decided not to bother. The Zoo here isn't really a big, magical place like some zoos. They're more of a wildlife preserve with large fenced-in areas, so there are a lot of ungulates (deer, caribou, bison, antelope, moose, etc) but not much else. They do, however, have a really excellent gopher exhibit. I kid you not. A gopher exhibit, in the prairies.

Ah well. Now that my house is empty, it's back to sewing. I've cut out the muslin for the big dress, and will be starting assembly soon, but I'm having a heck of a time finding gold lace for the reception dress. I was hoping to find something that already had a bit of sparkle, because I'd really rather not do all that sequin application if I can avoid it. And I'm not too keen on spending $130.00 for pre-beaded lace - I want to do some of the work myself. I just want something with a bit of metallic thread. Any ideas?

Labels: family

Since I'm still beading that stupid lace for my stupid wedding dress, I thought I'd post another (quick) story about what it's like to be me.

I've spent a goodly amount of time in emergency rooms throughout the course of my life. Without giving it much thought at all, I can remember getting stitches six times, hard casts twice (including the faux cast they put on my fingers after the hand mixer incident, soft casts four times (including the fall I took off my deck), and three other incidents where I didn't get anything but good drugs. And that's without racking my brain - I'm sure there are more that just don't come immediately to mind.

This particular time I'm thinking about happened about a week after I learned about Karma in school.

I came home from school a bit late, and as I was walking down my driveway, I could hear my mom yelling. My mother isn't a screamer - she's pretty even tempered, so I ran into the house to find out what's going on. Turns out, she was shouting at the dog.

The door we used to get into the house led directly into the kitchen, where the yelling was happening. I walked in and watched my Mom loudly ask the dog several questions as though she expected answers. She was waving her hands and her face was all red.

Duke was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing - he sat down and started licking at his nether region, clearly not caring what she had to say. This INFURIATED my mom, who apparently didn't realize that Duke was A DOG, and therefore ill equipped to have a rational discussion with her.

Of course, I was standing in the doorway laughing my ass off, because I was a teenager (and therefore a jerk), and because catching my mom acting crazy wasn't an everyday occurrence.

She yells at me that I'd better stop laughing, then goes to shoo Duke out of the open kitchen door.

Duke's looking at her like "Seriously? You want me to go outside? Can't you see I'm licking my junk, here?" and is clearly reluctant to go anywhere, and since my Mom isn't a hitter, she won't reduce herself to smacking that smug look off his furry face, so she gestures wildly and starts to swear at him.

My mom is TEENY. She's barely five feet tall, and weighs maybe 98 pounds soaking wet - the dog is probably big enough to take her down without a problem, and frankly, I've never seen her this excited, so I'm laughing so hard I can barely stand up. I'm holding myself up by the door jamb when she turns on me and shouts at me some more, which really just eggs me on.

Finally, she's had it. She bends over and plants her hand on Duke's back (he's sitting in the doorway, having gone back to his...erm...personal hygiene routine) and gives him a shove out the open door, then SLAMS the door shut with all her might.

The door pops back open.

She stands there looking stunned for a moment, and I laugh even harder - seriously, you shoulda seen the look on her face. She reaches out and slams the door again, this time hauling it back as far as it will go before whaling it shut. BAM!

It pops back open.

I am SHRIEKING with laughter at this point - seriously, I've never SEEN my mom so mad, and right now, she's five feet of exposed nerve.

She grabs the door with both hands and flings it shut again, following with a kick, and guess what...the door pops back open.

Still shrieking with laughter and gripping the door jamb to keep myself upright, I suddenly realize that something's wrong. Terribly wrong. With my hand.

Mom's given up the slamming, realizing that if it won't close after that two-handed slam/karate kick, doing it again probably won't do it - now she's trying to figure out why it won't close.

Suddenly, we both go very still and silent, and I slowly turn my head toward the door.

Toward my fingers in the door jamb.

In the way of the slamming door. Keeping the door from slamming.

Instant Karma. Universe is back in balance.

I am yelling for my mom to stop laughing, and my mom is, no exaggeration, rolling on the kitchen floor, laughing her guts out.

Labels: childhood, family

I think I had a breakthrough.

The Pink Abomination, (AKA giant transvestite skating costume) is kicking my ass, and I finally figured out why. They say the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over, and expecting a different result. Hey, I never claimed to be sane. I've tried editing the pattern for the bust area in a number of ways, and none of them work properly, so maybe I need to stop trying.

The last time you saw the top of the dress, it looked like this;


I had converted the bust gathers to bust darts, then realized that this, in addition to the repetitive floral pattern over the bust, REALLY make things look bad. And there's no getting around this - there is NOTHING I can do with those flowers so that they aren't either directly over my lady-lumps, or else just sitting between them.

Here are all the things I've tried so far;

Tried
Following the pattern exactly
Result
Massive monoboob (where two become one because there isn't enough fabric), along with wicked underarm gaposis

Tried
Adding 2" of length along the bottom seam to give more chest room
Result
Baggy gathers that sit right under the breast line and make me look like gravity has been particularly cruel.

Tried
Doing an FBA on a pattern without darts (which I made up as I went along, because I couldn't find a tutorial on the 'net)
Result
Strange curved seam at the sides, moderately...lumpy appearance of excess fabric.


Tried
Redoing bodice #2 and changing gathers to darts
Result
Monoboob again, plus gaposis under the arm, which only went away when I made a really awful-looking seam from the underarm to the bust point. That's the picture that's shown above.


The Bottom Line
I like everything about this dress except for the front of the bodice. It's high-backed, which I like, and the length of the skirt is pretty good. I'd like the skirt to flare out a little more, which I think I have the skills to do just by cutting the skirt a bit wider. The only problem is the bust area.

I think I might try draping a bodice for myself - I have a dress dummy and all the right materials, so what I think I might do is remove the front of the bodice, pin the whole hot mess to Clarice (too much Silence of the Lambs), and then see if I can drape a simple halter. I'll probably try it with the lace, just to see if folds make the flowers less boobcentric, but I'm starting to think that leaving the lace on the skirt and doing the whole top of the bodice in just the satin would be perfectly fine.

Once again, I'm REALLY glad I went out and bought pink fabric for this test dress. If I'd have experienced failure on this level with the silvery green fabric I intend to actually use, I'd probably have given up and bought a dress by now. It's kind of an expensive muslin, since it's the same fabric as my actual dress fabric, just in a yucky color, but honestly, it's still cheaper than giving up.

Deep Fried Moths
In my last post, I mentioned that I'd just returned from the lake. Every year, we try to get out with the Hotness' family - his older brother and wife (I'll call them Fred and Wilma) and his younger brother and wife (I'll call them George and Judy). This year, Judy is very pregnant with the Hotness' new niece or nephew, so it was just the Hotness and I, Fred and Wilma and their two boys, and Wilma's parents.

I come from a hardcore camping family, as does the Hotness, so I'm used to a certain level of discomfort while camping. On past camping trips, we've mostly tented, and as much as I enjoy actually camping, I LOATHE setting up and taking down, particularly since taking down always seems to happen in the rain.

This trip, however, was our first trip with our new (to us) 29 foot travel trailer. We bought it late last year as insurance salvage - it was written off due to "hail damage" which in this case, equates to five, dime-sized dents across the top and a small crack in a fiberglass panel at the front of the trailer, invisible to the naked eye.

We paid less than $2000.00, and the thing has an awning, a working fridge, stove, and oven, a full bathroom including a little tub, a king sized bed and AIR CONDITIONING. Yes, AIR CONDITIONING, all caps, and maybe even some exclamation points!!! Gaylen and Marjie, you mentioned that you aren't really into roughing it, but I think you'd both enjoy doing it this way!

On Friday, it hit 39 degrees Celsius (102.2 Fahrenheit) before 12:30 in the afternoon, so we cooked brunch outside, then went inside and sat in the air-conditioned shade and had a leisurely meal. That night, it was still pretty warm, but over the course of two days, the Hotness had caught enough fish to feed six adults and two children (his limit plus reeling in mine - I'm an indifferent fisher; I love to sit in the boat and fish, but I could not care any less about actually catching a fish).

My future sister in law Wilma has magical fish fry powers - I'm not sure how she does it, but she's like the Macgyver of fish batter - she can take a few seemingly unrelated ingredients and turn them into deep fried heaven. Of course, if you deep fry bear turds, I'd probably eat them with gusto, which in part explains my large rear end, but I digress.

Each of us fired up the camp stoves and started cooking - she did the fish, I did the chips. Halfway through the process, the Hotness decided we couldn't live without a lantern on the cooking table. Wilma and I eyed one another doubtfully, but the Hotness couldn't be talked out of it. Until ten minutes later, when Wilma and I were living a scene from a horror movie in which moths descend on you and...uh...flap their wings at you. Okay, so it wasn't really all that scary. Until the moths started landing in the hot oil. They really crisp up nicely, but I doubt they taste very good.

It wasn't quite as horrific as Camilla's spider (thanks, by the way - I've been dreaming of giant spiders for two nights, now), but it WAS pretty gross.

Anyway, I'm off to try to figure out how to drape a bodice. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Labels: family, pink abomination