Reconstructed (and it feels so good...)

Recently I have had a renewed interest in crafting and sewing. Part of it was successfully constructing the Halloween costumes for me and Miss Thing, and part of it was being in a place again that inspires me and sparks my imagination. I took the plunge recently and bought a new (brand-new!) sewing machine because it was cheap and I thought the tension on mine was shot (turns out it just need a little love and a new needle.) The new one is plastic and very lightweight - I nearly tipped it over trying it out - and it doesn't have the solid sound or feel of my 40 year old Kenmore. It is fast, however, and the tension dials all work, so I guess that is something in its favor. I decided yesterday that its inaugural project needed to be something quick and dirty that I would feel triumphant about. I went with a sweater reconstruction that I have been contemplating for months.

I had forgotten about Sweet Sassafras (her real name is Sarai) for a while. I voraciously followed her when I was addicted to Craftster about two years ago, and I read her blog religiously. Then my computer went dark for a while and I had to reconstruct my bookmarks from memory. She was one of the ones that got lost. I rediscovered her because S. sent me a link to her patterns, and in researching fit and ease of sewing, I stumbled upon her website again. I remembered how much I enjoy her sense of style and her writing, and how much I lovelovelove her reconstructions. One was a recon where she did nothing but improve the fit of a particular cardigan. It reminded me of my own sweater I had been too lazy and uninspired to improve upon. It is the softest, sweetest dove gray cashmere blend - from Fred Meyer. It was boxy and unformed, and had developed a rip at the neckline and lost a few buttons. I followed Sarai's instructions for fitting it.

here it is pinned. you can see its basic non-shape.

Because I am lazy, I did not baste. Instead, I sketched the new seam lines lightly, with a Sharpie because I couldn't find my fabric marker.

I regraded the sleeve, to your left, because it was a weird angle at first.

It was a matter of perhaps three and half minutes of sewing to make it into an article of clothing I would be happy to wear out of the house. I ran up the new seams and mended to neck tear with a little satin stitch. Then I spent about 45 minutes searching for this particular cream colored lace, which I knew I had used TWO WEEKS AGO in the creation of the costumes. I couldn't rest until I found it. When it was finally located, I went about the business of embellishing it.

remember when anthropologie made things that were delicate and feminine and vintage-y? that's what i was shooting for.

In addition to the lace, I added pearl buttons in place of the plain faux-shell ones that were there, and I finally trimmed the neck in the last of this delightful French velvet ribbon in ivory. I couldn't resist adding a tiny bow, even though my first instinct was that is was a bit twee. I might remove it later; right now I like it.

I felt so good about finishing it that I put it on immediately and wore it for the rest of the day. By the end of the night, I was feeling so creative that I broke out some jewelry making supplies and made a necklace, too. I have two more cardigans that could stand a little love, and I have a bag of vintage trims someplace that, in keeping with my philosophy, I am not longer saving for later. Well, not much later, anyway.

Jenkies!

Monday outfits used to happen with regularity, but they don't anymore. As a matter of fact, I haven't worn something blog-worthy in long enough that some people (you know who you are) have expressed dismay over the lack of whimsy and quirk that is usually expressed through my sartorial choices. Well, here. It's Friday, and I almost waited until Monday to post this, but I know that I will forget.



I bought this red skirt from Plasticland. It's from Tulle, and it is a light sweater knit in rayon and polyester. I thought it was going to be jersey-ish and bias-cut, but I actually like it better this way. The tee-shirt is from Threadless' 9/9/09 sale (all the shirts on the site were $9) and might be my favorite piece of clothing I've ever owned. In case you can't see it, it is a drawing of a T. Rex on a unicycle wearing a tophat and a clown nose, juggling bowling pins and a lady's leg. I added charcoal knee socks and black ballet flats.


Later I got chilly and pulled on this stripey sweater from Old Navy that I have had for approximately one million years. It makes me look a little like Velma from Scooby Doo. The headband doesn't hurt the resemblance at all. It also seems to add about fifteen pounds to my frame, but that might just be the angle of my arms while I'm taking this picture.

Apologies for my weird faces as usual. I don't know how to do the Myspace coyface thing. I can't only make the please-God-don't-let-me-drop-my-camera-while-taking-a-photo thing.

More Halloween updates soon, my lovelies. Ta until then!

Depression chic

this is not a very good shot of this outfit.

I realize that it is only Sunday, and that I just updated yesterday, but here is an outfit for you, as well as another insightful posting. I decided yesterday that if it wasn't raining, I was going to wear this dress, which has a distinct Dust Bowl vibe to it. I had forgotten, though, that the last time I wore it was several summers ago, when it was wickedly hot here in Southeast, and when I was eight months pregnant. Since it was the coolest thing I owned, I clipped the elastic out of the waist in desperation. I set it aside after that steamy August and more or less forgot about it until yesterday. I put it on this morning and it looked kind of like a feedsack pillowcase. I added this handtooled belt, which is way too long for me, and my cowboy boots.

my pose seems urban outfitter-y.

You can't really tell, but I also added my necklace with the bird and the key and tiny milkglass earrings and petal pink lipstick and perfume that smells like crushed flowers. Then I was dressed for a Jenny Lewis concert. Since there wasn't one, I played the following songs on my iPod while I walked next to the harbor on my way to have coffee at my friend A.'s little cafe. While I was there I wrote some letters and ate some pancakes and read a few paragraphs of an Alice Hoffman novel - she is a guilty pleasure - and allowed myself a moment of wistfulness. It's hard to be wistful for long, though, if you are full of buttermilk and blueberries. Those are the words of wisdom I have to offer you. That, and, if you get the chance, dress like you are acting out a song. People complement you on your outfit that way.

Still no pictures

Here are some things that helped to erase my truly bad attitude today:

1) S. came back from Europe with the prettiest shopping bag I have ever seen, full of marvelous little gifts wrapped in hot pink tissue paper.

2) There were still lots of cherries when I went to Chelan at 11:00 this morning. I ate the whole bag of Rainiers before noon.

3) I was asked today, "Do you ride a longboard?" No, I said, I can barely walk down a flat street without falling over. Trying to ride a skateboard is beyond me. "Oh, well, I saw a woman in a red helmet longboarding the other day, and my first thought was that it must be you. I couldn't think who else it would be." Dude. I am not that awesome, but thank you.

4) My retro styled lemon yellow bathing suit arrived in the mail. I put it on immediately. It makes me feel like a Vargas painting.

5) I am going to make beets at some point today. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.

That's it. All of it. I am better now, really. All I require is a nap, and maybe a really cold beer. Ahhh.

Hey, there, cool people!

Thanks for visiting our sleepy little town. I noticed that you were cool because of your dedication to looking ridiculous and ugly, no matter the circumstance or setting. For example, Mr. Fine Arts Camp assistant instructor, I was struck by your gigantic wire frame aviator glasses that sit crooked on your face and appear to not be prescription - or maybe just not your prescription. Also, I respect the moxie it takes to sport a hairdo that looks as though you cut it lefthanded with safety scissors and styled it by carefully holding your head out of the falling water the last time you showered. Your sweater vest/flannel shirt/slightly too short skinny pants/penny loafers combo is working for me, too. To top it all off, you went the extra mile by growing a leather daddy mustache and then refusing to maintain its integrity by going anywhere near it with a razor for the past three days - possibly since the last time you got the top of your head wet, judging by the hairdo. All in all, I must admire the effort that went into making you look ironic and effortless and INSANE. You realize that you look less rational than the clowning instructor, whose own hair is the color of a traffic cone and who has a rather detailed portrait of Red Skelton tattooed on his person? Okay, just so you know.

Oh, and hi! returning college student! You have grown up so much in the past eight months. I can tell because you are wearing a pillowcase for a dress, and even though it is a shapeless bundle of mushroom colored jersey knit, I can still tell you what color your knickers are, because it is so short that I can see them every time you take a step. Also, I think you may have forgotten that you have come home to a town whose average daily temperature in June is 60 degrees. Maybe you should think about putting on pants or a rainjacket or some socks - although I realize that it wouldn't be practical to wear them with your flipflops, which you are insisting are an appropriate footwear choice for a rainforest in Alaska.

I know I don't have much room to talk, as I have been known to wear leopard print heels with blue jeans, to match my hair dye to my lipstick, and to accessorize with a greasy-haired, leather covered tall drink of water. AT LEAST I BRUSH MY HAIR.

I hope your children mock you when they see pictures of you in your youth. Have a great day!

I do not have a Monday outfit for you, for several reasons. The first of these is: today is Wednesday. And the second of these is: no one wants to see pictures of me in ugly sweatpants and a filthy, decade old t-shirt, my hair 24 hours unbrushed, which is how I looked for all of Monday.

Instead I have for you the picture of the ridiculousness that was me on Saturday morning. See, I had gone out on Friday night, already all high on self-pity and indignation. I forced E. to take me out to the Pour House, which was having some kind of herring season/spring break promotional event involving Jagermeister schwag, pretty girls in tippy heels and scandalously short skirts (you know they were short if I thought so) whipping Jello shots like softballs across the bar, and challenges from random strangers that ended with: "YOU'RE the one I want to do a body shot off of!" In other words, not the sort of scene I normally enjoy. I like to drink my whiskey in PEACE, thank you. The upshot of it all was, I declined the body shot from the itinerant herring tender, I split a Jello shot that tasted of cough syrup with E., who was actually still coughing, and I scored some WICKED SWEET giveaways. On top of this, I had been making rather cruel comments earlier in the day about Supersoakers full of Jager and the type of person who enjoys them... so I was forced by my own conscience to wear this in penance:

I am pretty sure spring break does not coincide with Sturgis. Also, these are the Rock of Love scandalpants.

So then the rest of the weekend happened, and if you are reading this, you probably already know that the rest of the weekend was the shittiest 36 hours of the last three or four years for me. All the studded leather jackets and bitchface in the world couldn't keep me from the melancholy that beset me.

So, for the second time in a mere six months, I impulsively laid my money down to flee. The first time I was flying straight into someone's arms; this time I will probably have to shop around a little bit. We'll see what charms Texas Rockabilly Revival holds; I am going this one alone, and so will most likely spend my time pressed up against a monitor, making eyes at a guitarist who is busy making eyes at the 24-year old with the cut-off halter top and tattoos across her boobs. At least I will get to watch Jimbo slap his stuff again, and see the Queen of Rockabilly before she kicks off this mortal coil. I won't say that there isn't a curious weight in my chest when I think about how the one person I would dearly, dearly enjoy sharing this with can't even bring himself to look at my Facebook page, but that is neither here nor there. Rock and roll will burn the sadness right out of you.

Speaking of impulsive... um. Turns out the day H. shows up with her locks shorn into a delightful yet manageable bob is the day I ferret out a 2 year old bottle of peroxide and go all Patricia Day on my bangs:

I am only wearing half my makeup, and half my clothes. I guess it's good this is a headshot.

I went a little overboard, maybe. But I needed to do something in order to crowd out the running monologue in my head, the one that says things like this.

I am not making any outfits for RAB Revival, by the way. I am just taking those scandalpants and that Jager shirt. And the highest pair of Hey, Sailor! stiletto heels I own. Maybe the red ones.

I promise this won't turn into a tiresome fashion blog.

I do have today's Monday outfit for you, as well as last Saturday's as well. The first of last Saturday's outfits, anyway. You know that by the time I left my house for a rendezvous with the blues, I was tarted up like a Rock of Love reject. (until I changed my scandalous pants, anyway)

Monday

I like that I look like I ought to be standing on the yellow line in the middle of a stretch of deserted highway, so I can rip off my neckscarf and flag the draggers into action.

Saturday
I think this is what Amelie wore when she was moonlighting in a wartime cabaret.

I always have that weird up and to the left headtilt because I have just been looking down at the camera screen to make sure the shot is decent. Mostly it is not, and I take several just to make sure you can see some or all of the details.

Here are a few of my most favoritest songs about cars, in honor of today's outfit. You will note these are, well. You know. Rockabilly, mostly.



Vroom.

For your delectation, a Monday outfit

I don't have much to say about this, except that I wanted to wear it with the mysteriously missing black shrug I got for New Orleans, and have not seen since unpacking that bag, and that I am also wearing black wool tights and black ballet flats. Also, I was listening to Gogol Bordello while I got dressed.

A paragon of style and grace.

I would instruct you all to the Raven archive at this point to download my newest show, which is full of fluttery, violiny, songs to slow dance to, but do to some extreme misfortune, I can't say if things will be updated this week the way that they have been for the past few. I don't think it's automated. So you might just have to use your imaginations.
This picture is for La Fab, who often complains that she wants me to post pictures of my daily outfits on my blog for her pleasure. Usually they are nothing to write home about; this one, I think, warrants a little attention. I adore this skirt; it's from Anthropologie. It has a funny kangaroo pouch in the front. The top is Old Navy, and the color was what made me buy it. The shoes are eBay finds. They are painful to walk in, but I wear them anyway, because, look. If I am not the type of woman to sacrifice a little comfort for aqua patent leather, then what kind of woman am I, precisely? I thought so. And please forgive my lopsided hair. After I took this photo I fixed it, applied more lipstick, and put on black hoop earrings.

Listening:
Have you not been paying attention? Swoony big band stuff. Rosemary Clooney singing Tenderly is terrific in all sorts of ways. Also, I have played the live Bernadette Seacrest CD every night this week. And Elvis Costello's Blood and Chocolate is permitting me the peace of mind necessary to inhibit my murderous tendencies. Oh, and I am obsessed with Circus Contraption, which is an actual circus in Seattle. The music is marvelously creepy and highly addictive. I feel like a preacher, the way I've been singing their praises.

Watching:
I had a hankering to watch the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and it was just as good as I wanted it to be. Netflix also sent me Mad Men, which is coming highly recommended from all quarters, and I rented Fight Club the other night and watched it all by myself, with a giant glass of wine. It frightens me how much I love that movie.

Reading:
Have You Found Her? a Memoir by Janice Erlbaum This book is kicking my ass. It is so painful and raw I can hardly stand to turn the pages. I've been working on it for more than a week now, because I can't read more than a couple of pages at a time. I will try my best, but I have that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that you get when you know womething bad is going to happen. I hate that.

Consuming:

I haven't had anything outsttanding recently, although L.'s adventures with beets are making me crave them something fierce again. The most discussable event involving comestibles recently was the purchase of a bottle of French Syrah a few nights ago. I went for a long walk, listened to a bunch of music, and then eagerly opened the bottle and poured a glass. It was not the pleasantest bottle of wine I've had. It was bright, raw, and fume-y, and rather too dry. I did not like it. I left it alone for a few days, and last night, as I was contemplating calling it a loss and dumping it down the sink, I gave it one more swallow. Silly me. Some reds need to breathe before you go swilling them back like Kool-Aid. I'll try to remember for next time.

More whining about this town's sense of style.

Here is a picture of me. I just took it on my iSight. My hair is cute today, except one chunk that inexplicably fell, but I love my bangs, and mostly the curl is hanging on. You will notice, please, the telltale sheen of moisturizer but neither base nor powder, as well as the conspicuous lack of lip colorant. Also, I am wearing an olive green sweater from Old Navy. Pretty normal, right? In addition, I wore: a pale pink cotton voile shirtdress with a pleated skirt by Isaac Mizrahi (FOR TARGET) and pink flats. In light of my recent efforts in Las Vegas, this outfit is barely suitable for grocery shopping in. But, lo and behold, what does someone tell me?

"You look ready for prom!"

PROM?!?!

Like, rent a limo and eat at a fancy restaurant your parents picked, PROM?!?! You're fucking kidding me. You know, I kind of wish it was prom. Then at least I wouldn't feel so bad about the Hot Shots Cinnamon Schnapps and Diet Dr. Pepper I'm about to swill. And maybe somebody would feel me up in the hot tub during the afterparty.