Of Sand and Sun

Kenny and I went to the beach for his birthday. This was his birthday present from his parents, other than black jersey sheets and a smattering of art supplies. All in all, it was a nice trip.
We really only got one shot of the two of us and Kenny and I are both wearing strange expressions. Such is life.

I got some good shots of turtles and fish and such:

We also saw some fantastic birds:


On the way back, we stopped by Kenny's great aunt's house. This woman was the epitome of Southern hospitality. We weren't two steps into her home before she was pressing a variety of drinks into our hands. She proceeded to then serve BBQ sausage and brisket, coleslaw, mashed potatoes and gravy and beans. To top it all off, she also had cherry pie and peach ice cream. My goodness. The heavy fare took a toll on my stomach.

I excused myself to the restroom and was directed to a wallpapered half bath complete with rose pressed guest soaps and the Sunday paper. I suddenly found that what I thought would be a discrete call to Hitler turned into a massive, violent expelling of a quarterback-sized demon from my backside.

My initial surprise quickly turned into panic as I realized that the careful design of this bathroom left no room for something so crude as a plunger. I flush the toilet again only to discover that my indiscretion has lodged itself firmly into the preliminary pipes and that the water level is quickly rising. Frantically, I grab the only toilet-related object in the room. I stand above the toilet, wielding a silver toilet scrubber. I desperately stab at the wad of toilet paper with this ineffective bristle brush.

Realizing that this will never work, I grab a great length of clean toilet paper, wrap it around both of my hands as a protective barrier. Flipping the brush around, I poke the handle into the mass before I realized that this was foul in too many ways to count. I plunge the whole thing under the sink and wash it off as best I can in an attempt to right the wrong that I've just committed.

Turning down the toilet lid, I close the door behind me and make my way to Kenny's side. I whisper that I think something is wrong with the facilities. He assures me that he will tend to the issue and closes himself into the problematic room. After an extended amount of time, he emerges and then whispers to his father of the issue. He in turn goes into the room and when he comes out, he goes to Kenny's great uncle and whispers to him. Shamed, I go outside for a cigarette. Meanwhile, Kenny's mother has come out onto the porch and is questioning me about the well-being of Kenny's digestive system.

On a more cheerful note, here is a beautiful beach sunset, complete with seagulls:

Are you insecure about your butthole?

My roommate just informed me that there is such a thing as BriteSmile for your bunghole. This is particularly disturbing to me. Who takes a peek in the mirror and says, "Gee, my butthole is brown"? Really, who?

Evidently, this is an easy fix, though. You buy a cream and a little paintbrush. Then, you just brush it right on. Now, my next question is... how exactly do you apply this cream? I just can't imagine a scenario where this is going to work. I find it awkward (and just a little shameful) just trying to wash the little bugger, much less maneuver a tiny paintbrush between the over-protective butt cheeks.

For the sake of my own ego, I'm just going to assume that I have a pink, happy butthole.

Of Jobs Well Done

The b-day party was last night. Kenny and I made an appearance, if only to drop off the cakes. Here's a picture of the birthday girls (and boy) with their cakes:


We had a flourless dark chocolate cake with dark chocolate ganache topped with black cherries, raspberries and powdered sugar. Next was a carrot cake with raisins and rum iced with more dark chocolate ganache and fresh rose petals. Finally, there was a spice cake with cinnamon sugar buttercream frosting crowned with chocolate shavings and rimmed with chocolate biscotti.

Yum.

We also had a guest cake... a simple two-layer cake. One lemon layer and one orange layer with a casual lemon icing and sugared grapes.


Kindly ignore the take-out menu and red spatula rest.

The Subtle Art Of Auditioning

I woke up today at 6:15 am. I proceeded to involuntarily watch the sun rise through my bedroom window, with my boyfriend gently slumbering away and wishing desperately that I could do the same. However, my mind had other ideas. It was going through Pie Jesu measure by measure, again and again and again (interspersed every so often with a "God, I need to go back to sleep. What time is it?") until I was sure that I was going insane. Nearly two hours later, I come up with the brilliant plan to count just like how I fall asleep every night. 1-2-3-4-zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I woke up at 11, as originally planned. I piddled around, trying to wrangle my entry-level experience into the ominous singing resume. I showered and I wondered to myself... why don't they just hold auditions in the shower. Yum. Hot water... soapy suds... lather, rinse, repeat. Guaranteed success!

Erin and I went to our massage. Oh, what wonder can't that woman work with her hands? I lie still, being rubbed this way and that, for thirty blissful minutes. The time passed too quickly and her strong hands demand a fair trade of money for services, though her mouth smiles sweetly. As I am walking to meet Kenny at the coffee shop, I find that I can't stop sweating. Not the gentle moistening of the brow that I normally get. I'm talking sweat rolling down my back in fat drops, soaking my hair, seeping through my shirt and no amount of fanning or panting is making a bit of difference.

I make it home with minimal loss of fluids, surely no more than a gallon or two. I pound out the last of that bloody resume and send Kenny off to make copies of my sheet music. At this point, I've changed into my vintage green dress, perhaps a little tight 'round the middle, but not much worse for the wear. That is, until the sweat soaked through the dress, despite the antiperspirant that I applied under my breasts and to the middle of my back in a futile attempt to stop the torrent of sweat.

So, we get back in the truck (nervous as new brides) and drive to North Austin before realizing that we've gone and left the directions at home. No need to panic, I just whipped out my Magic iPhone and Googled it. By the time that I pulled up the directions, Kenny had already found the church. Erin and I wander in, only to be met by a surprised old man. He directs us to the second floor. A small gathering of people greet us hesitantly.

I'm shown into the audition room and I nervously introduce myself. Smiles all around. I give my sheet music to the pianist and shuffle my way to the front. She begins, much faster than I had practiced and I stumble to catch up. My voice is shrill and breathy and my shoulders begin to shake violently. I glance at the dirctor, whose face is distoted in a grimace of pain, and I blank. I know this song, I know I do. I don't need sheet music. Suddenly, it isn't there. My brain can't think of anything but the look on his face. I apologize repeatedly and get my copy of the music.

As I bent over to my purse, I hear a thundrous noise originating from the vicinity of my backside. Surely not, you say. Oh, without a doubt, I farted the longest and loudest fart of my life... in room with wonderful accoustics. I make my way up to the front of the room once more, this time, fixating my eyes on my sheet music. Regardless of the pages right under my nose, I accidently skip a verse, though everyone (including yours truly) seems more than happy to let the shrieking come to a premature end.

Red-faced and humiliated, I eye the exit as the directer politely asks me if I have any questions. I know my cue when I hear it. I excuse myself and make a beeline for the door. All-in-all, the demeaning experience only lasted five minutes.

Thank God, it's over.

All work and no play

Don't bite off more than you can chew. Better bread with water than cake with trouble. Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors. Only a fool tests the depth of the water with both feet.

I've just realized that I need to finish my dryad costume for the Magic, Myth and Mayhem party next week, re-sand and re-stain Erin's table, finish the trim on the new floors, put the living room back together, finish the 13' bookcase, paint the hallways, re-upholster the couch and last, but not least, sew four ballgowns.

Wow.

However, I did finish my headpiece for my dryad costume. Here it is!


I'm going to finish sewing the dress. Now.

A Semi-Successful Day

Today was part frustration, part triumph. I picked Erin up from work and we headed over to the fabric store. After about three hours, here are our spoils:

Cinderella's bodice and underskirt (4.99/yard)

Snow White's Skirt (Although, it is more of a buttery yellow than the camera thinks it is) (7/yard)

A lovely dark blue micro-velvet for Snow White's bodice (16/yard)

A contrasting blue silk for Snow White's sleeves (7/yard) and Alice the kitten's debut.

A sheer red floral for Snow White's slashed sleeves

I also picked up this whimsical print for some project (hopefully) in the near future (8.99/yard)

We also picked up some pearl buttons for Cinderella and a few other baubles. Unfortunately, we didn't get to the cutting part, but we did...

begin to sand down Erin's dining room table. You can see her here in the initial stages. We lost our light pretty quickly, but after the second coat of stain, the table really wasn't as mahogany as the stain implied.

Oh, well. We'll take a look in tomorrow's light.

This is Plan B.

I've done something foolish. I've agreed to make, not just one, but four formal ball gowns. And I have until October 31 to do so. Figured it out yet? Yep, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Belle and Snow White are all going to be running around the bonfire on All Hallow's Eve. I'm the only one with a sewing machine, so I guess I'm the one going to be doing most of the work.

I've picked this pattern (Simplicity 2589)


I figure, it's got a nice bodice and a mid-sized skirt. I'll have to do a bit of editing on the neckline and make cute little puff sleeves, but all in all, I rather like it.

Erin will be starring as Snow White. She wants a smaller skirt radius and I think I've swayed her her from the jewel tones. Hopefully, anyway. Blakesley's costume as Belle may be the most complicated with all the swags and whatnot. Although, I'm still trying to figure out Sleeping Beauty's collar for Shelley. For Cinderella (that's me!) I thought I'd do a pale gray blue. I just love the color of Mia Wasikowska's Alice Dress.Wouldn't it just be lovely with frothy white lace and pearl buttons all up the back?

As far as glass slippers are concerned... well, firstly, there is some debate as to whether they were glass in the first place. Admittedly, glass is much more romantic than squirrel fur, if not terribly practical. But, I was thinking something along these lines (please, note the lack of heel for ease of bonfire manueverage)


I will start the cutting and mess-making process tomorrow. I solemnly swear to post photos.