1/4 Tank of Gas

Aside from the fact that there is a demonic mockingbird living outside my bedroom window that enjoys chirping for lady friends at 4am every morning, things have been progressing nicely. I've begun dress #5 and I'm ahead of schedule for the class. I figured, what the hey hole, I might as well come in early Saturday morning and do a little more work to keep up the pace.

Fuck.

I left the house this morning at 9am with my grainy French press coffee in hand planning to go to the dungeon and slave for a few hours but little did I know that there was a marathon happening...all over the place. As I approached the main street that separates me from campus, I noticed a slew of breathless people running along it. I headed West: closed. I headed East: closed. Even the part that runs through downtown was blocked off and since Raleigh's roadwork is planned by drunks, I had to go around my elbow to get to my ass and drive about 3 miles in the wrong direction to get to a highway entrance and take that to campus. Unfortunately the exits off of the highway were also shut down so I was forced to drive to the opposite end of town and then back track on small streets scattered with unnecessary stop signs until I reached campus or died trying, whichever came first. At least its Saturday so I can park anywhere I friggin feel like...wrong again.

Apparently its someones birthday today and all of the children in Raleigh were invited! I know because when I finally got to campus they were all over the place, swarming and drooling on everything in a crowd around a giant blow up jump-jump like satanic spawn with grubby little jam hands and cotton candy plastered to their faces. I finally found a parking spot a million miles away and walked back to the building. Its now almost 11am and I'm finally starting sewing, thank God for small favors.

Kissed by the Angel of Death

Our two garment critique that was supposed to be today got moved to Monday on account of the fact that the majority of us were worthless slugs over spring break. However, I worked my patooty off before I ever left for Atlanta and therefore I'm pretty much done with those dresses so when I woke up this morning with a skip in my step, I was feeling pretty good about my decision to brave Joanne's and all its minions.

I showered, put on my face followed by my clothes etc etc...the usual morning routine and then I headed into the kitchen MOTHER TRUCKER SHUT THE FRONT DOOR WHAT THE FRENCH TOAST: broken coffee machine. The only thing that keeps me sane and functional decided to just up and quit like the little bitch I always knew it was. I shook it, unplugged/replugged, opened and slammed the lid a few times. I did everything I knew how to do to fix things and then I resorted to the crusty old French press I had lurking in the back of the cabinet. Thinking I had beat the system, I went to recover my milk: expired. After pacing the kitchen a few times my ultimate decision was that if I used enough coffee, I wouldn't be able to taste the sour milk and still have enough caffeine pumping through my veins to fuel the sewing.

By the time I got to the car I had a raging headache and reached into my bag to grab an Advil. Everything in the endless abyss that is my book bag feels the same when I'm driving so I took out what I thought was the pill and after having swallowed the bastard, I came to the realization that what I had downed was in fact a bead and instead of relieving my head was probably going to give me cancer...excellent.

When I finally made it to Joanne's I perused the aisles, got what I needed and headed out. The friar wasn't working but apparently her friend (who I'm also pretty sure is the devil) was. I swiped my credit card and she looked at me with her cold and beady little eyes "denied." I immediately called home to tell my parents my card had been rejected and my Dad's response was "you're such a felon."

I have no money, I have no coffee...I fell off the deep end and I'm wading around in the crazy pool.

Shiny Balls of Glory

Somewhere someone some time ago decided that right smack in the middle of the semester, students need a break from all the useless mumbo jumbo that teachers try to cram into their brains and that theory gave birth to one of the greatest mini holidays of all time: Spring Break. My blog may have remained postless but uneventful, it was not.

I'm currently down here in Atlanta schmoozing with my sister and wallowing in my pool of leisure but the road to freedom wasn't paved with golden bricks. It was long and tedious... and made from gravel. This coming Wednesday boasts the deadline of another critique meaning two more garments are due and therefore, the entirety of last week was spent hunched over and cracked out on caffeine trying to finish dresses three and four so I didn't have to think about manual labor during vacationing. 

While trying to accomplish an elephant sized load of sewing in a mouse sized amount of time something amazing happened... at Joanne's nonetheless. I walked in and tooted around like I usually do waiting for someone to do something miraculously stupid when I stumbled upon the bead aisle and right there, like a glowing gift from cherubs, were the pearls I've been harassing A.C. Moore about for weeks! Initially I stood there dumbfounded and then, like an over zealous fat kid in the midst of cake, I grabbed every single package they had and ran to the checkout counter to purchase them before some buffoon could tell me otherwise. When I got there Friar Tuck was the only one working the area so I approached the lone ranger, beads in hand. The plan was to be that annoying customer who does a million transactions so they can use a coupon on each one but the Friar let me use them all in one fell swoop. At that point I collected my lower jaw up off the floor and headed out for more sewing.  

Thanks to the Friar and her tricky schemes, I finished most of my sewing sans one heinous waistband that refuses to cooperate regardless of my many attempts and differently angled approaches. 

The latest news: My sister took me to a fashion fabric store and I immediately developed "shiny ball syndrome" and dropped $100 on a very small bag of sparkly goodies (sorry Mom) and now, the commencement of dress five!

     

A World in Color

I've spent the last two years working at the White House Black Market, a boutique in a ritzy little shopping haven for southern country clubbers with too much money who need something to do when they aren't taking tennis lessons or sipping on mint juleps. I sold cropped jackets with matching skirts and jersey jungle print tunics to women who didn't need them in the worst economic slump since the great depression and I did it all with a smile and a magnetic nametag. However, on account of this class burying me in a pile of crepe up to my eyeballs, I was forced (oh so painfully) to put in my two weeks early making today my first official black and whiteless day.

This weekend was supposed to be a celebratory one filled with all the colors of the rainbow and freedom-induced frolicking but instead I got sick...really sick. All those early mornings and late nights in the dungeon finally caught up with me on Thursday when I woke up with a raging headache and booger-encrusted nose. Dreams of spending time with the friends I haven't seen in weeks were replaced by quarantine and Bridget Jones on Repeat. Six Advil, two Sudafed, one box of tissues and an entire roll of Airborne later, I accomplished zero sewing.

Fortunately today, I was feeling optimistic thanks to our very first 65 degree Spring-esque kind of day and wandered out of my apartment for a leisurely stroll in the village with a girlfriend. We were approached by a daisy who asked "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" My friend's response (jokes aside) was "No I don't want any of your million calorie cookies that are going to spread trans fats all over my thighs. What do you need money for anyway? All you do is build Popsicle stick houses...are you going to build those houses in Haiti? When I was a Girl Scout all we did was sing Christmas carols to people in nursing homes. Besides, Sam's Club gives you samples...you don't have any samples. All you have are empty boxes and empty hearts. I'm just glad I'm wearing sunglasses so I didn't have to say no straight into the Devil's eyes."

Side note: We each bought four boxes of cookies and they will be my fuel for dress #4 that I begin tomorrow.