Soul Thumping

Zipper Madness

Now that my first skirt is complete and I'm still intact, nerves and all, I'm starting my next sewing project.  A funky orange dress, and this one has a zipper.  I'm nervous about the zipper.  I don't think I've ever sewn a zipper in anything...ever.

I bought the zipper last weekend.  I felt confident as I strolled down the zipper aisle at the fabric store.  "How pretty," I thought as I gazed at the array of zippers, arranged in rainbow order.  I was looking for an orange one, and it took me a while actually because a brown zipper was covering the orange zippers (you can't really blame the brown zippers, they just want to be noticed with the rainbow colors too), but I found it.  It is 22" and "tango" orange, to match the orange fabric.

I jumped into this project with enthusiasm, cutting out my fabric, marking it, arranging it.  Then, as I read through the pattern's directions, I glanced down and remembered, "Uh-oh, this one has a zipper, and I'm going to have to sew it.  I got scared.  I've never sewn a zipper and now I don't want to.

I followed the directions for the dress, skipping the zipper part, even did some other things to avoid reaching the zipper part.  Finally, avoidance was futile, so I pulled the zipper from the bag and stared at it.  This zipper, so perfect and new with it's straight teeth snarling at me.  I'm intimidated.  It's laughing at my weakness and it knows I'm afraid of it...I don't think I can do this.

--Fortuitous Observer

Sew What? Denouement

Here it is, the finale in my series of the trials and tribulations of sewing my very first skirt.  Though this is the last installment in this particular series, I doubt it will be my last drama on sewing in general because this sewing thing has made a strange inclusion of normalcy to my complex psyche (I've been told I have a "more complex than most" psyche...yup, I don't know whether to cry or laugh about that one).

After practicing making a few napkins, I bought a skirt pattern, fabric, etc., and got down to business.  The amazing part about this making-my-own-skirt thing is that I'm actually finding I have some patience stored way down inside--deep, cavern deep.  These newly discovered patience aren't going to be shared with everyone I can assure you, but it's nice to know I have some, even a minuscule amount and they can be summoned if I really need them (ok, want them).

Getting back to the skirt part...no animals were harmed (although, Kwinn, my Siamese cat, almost had his voice box removed by me and his tail cut off, on purpose...I said almost), but I did break the sewing machine needle, had to re-thread the machine at least 83 times (random large number), sewed the waistband on inside out, twice (ah, those patience came in handy for that one), used the seam ripper more times than the total number of shoes I've ever owned (maybe not quite that many), went through 3 bobbins, two spools of thread, stabbed myself repeatedly with every thing possible on that machine (and off the machine...you know, pens, pins, scissors, splinter from my wooden ruler), burned myself while pressing seams, but I finished the damn skirt and no one went to the emergency room!

My next project will be a dress...with a zipper!  Oh, and it's going to be bright orange with lots of abstract swirls so no one can see the blood that will be a sure thing from the new rotary blade I just bought for fabric cutting.

--Fortuitous Observer

I am Grasshopper

...I have much to learn.  Much.

--Fortuitous Observer

Shut Up World

Today I have a headache, heartache, stomach ache, mental, physical, emotional aches all around.  I don't know why, it's just one of those days.  I look bright and peppy today.  I'm wearing a lime-green light wool skirt with purple-blue pockets and a shirt of the same purple-blue, purple-blue tights, and a scarf with lime green and purple-blue flowers.  I'm bright.  I'm ready for spring.  I can be seen from a mile away (maybe 2 or 3 miles), but I'm so freakin' down today.  Somebody cheer me up!  Please?

--Fortuitous Observer

Sew What? Episode Numéro Trois

This little storyline full of craziness is growing quite long isn't it?  I expect I'll be blogging about my re-introduction to sewing over the next decade or two.

I did manage to "create" (yuh, ok, I'll use that word) a napkin!  That really only required pressing the sides and corners of a square piece of fabric, then stitching around the edges.  I did it, and of course the stitches were crooked and the thread knotted up at the end, but I don't care damn it.

During the sewing of this napkin, the thread became tangled in a knot in the sewing machine.  Something about adjusting the tension or whatever...when you throw words around like "tension" in an activity that I'm suppoed to enjoy, I get nervous.  This is supposed to be a hobby that will relax me?  I wish me good luck with that one.

So anyway, back to my knot.  My normal reaction would have been this:  "Damn it!  F*&% it!  F*&%#~g piece of shit (I only censored that because my mom sometimes reads my blog and she hates it when I use the f word...hmmmm, 41 and I'm worried about what my mom thinks...I am a freak)," followed by my hands going to my head, rubbing the 3 inch creases that already exist in my forehead, banging my fist on the table, then vowing never to touch this piece of crap machine again.  That would have been my normal response (pre relaxtion therapy and stuff), and I probably would not have ever wanted to sew again.

But (I know you aren't technically supposed to start a sentence with the word "but," but it's my blog so I will if I want), I oddly enough, I didn't give up.  Oh, I used that "f" word a couple of times, but I simply said to myself that it is only thread.  String in a knot isn't going to kill me.  It won't even try to choke me, spit on me, slit my tires,  poison my dinner, make me watch a dance recital, etc.  It's just string and I can re-thread the machine if needed.

Wow.  Who was that talking and when did logic and calmness replace my normal chicken little reactions?  I was so impressed with my lack of hysteria and mauling of the sewing machine that I was able to re-thread, and finish my lovely blue napkin.

Skirt next?  Let's not go batty.  I only survived knotted thread people, not 4 days at the bottom of a canyon with a broken leg, and I still don't know how long the new "tranquil-it's-not-the-end-of-the-world" me will last and I don't want to push it.  No, I think I'll try another napkin first.  Actually, my new sewing machine has 70 different stitches, so I think I'll make 70 napkins, each with a different stitch.  There should be no question what everyone will be receiving for Christmas next year, right?

--Fortuitous Observer

Ladies, This is Why You DON'T Go to a Sperm Bank...

...enough said

http://www.timeidol.com/women-stay-single/

--Fortuitous Observer

The Bread Lady?

OK, the grocery store that appears in many of my blogs (let's face it, more like rants than blogs), the one where freaky shit always happens either to me or I witness?  I stopped in yesterday and I was getting some bagels in the bread area and this crazy lady started talking to me, except she wasn't talking to me as much as she was yelling at me.  "Are you the one who takes care of the bread?"  "Hey, are you the one with the bread?"  I wasn't sure she was directing her question (or, scream) at me until I looked up and she was in my face, eyes sweating, her face beet red, 2 seconds from an aortic aneurysm.

I looked at her like she might need to be on meds (because she probably does if she isn't already), then she realized perhaps I'm not in charge of bread and she asked, "Oh, are you a customer?"  I nodded, still unsure if I wanted to speak or not, then she just walked away.  Why do I continue to go that store when weird, stupid things (by that I mean weird stupid people) always happen?  Why?  Because, weird stupid things always happen and I can't make this stuff up.

I had on a black coat, jeans, and a white knit beret.  Does that say bread lady to anyone?  I guess I can switch to my vintage leopard pea coat and a red cap.  I'm thinking that doesn't say bread.  Maybe hooker, but not bread.

--Fortuitous Observer

PSA: Keep Your Kids in the Car...Much Agita on Channel Z

Agita.  One of my favorite words and I experience it a great deal (anxiety; agitation).  I know I bring it on myself, and yet, I'm addicted to the anxiety, no matter how annoying.  It is quite pathetic, but here I am.  People always tell me to relax, get a hobby, mediate.  I would love to do all of those things you crazy little fools.

Today, to sum up the agita and the noise in my head, I'm borrowing lyrics from one of my favorite bands, The B-52s, "Gettin' nothin' but static on channel Z."  I'll file this one under the "My Neurosis" category.

Oh, and this is a bulletin, call it a PSA if you will...I have to stop at the grocery store tonight on the way home, so everyone who has a brat kid who thinks its acceptable (I'm sure it's because they were taught to do what they want and boundaries don't exist) to pick his/her nose and wipe it on the produce, keep them in the car with the windows rolled up (come on, it's cold outside) or I may have to show them an uncomfortable way to eat an avocado...'k?

--Fortuitous Observer

Career Change at 41...Mars Bound

Just a question, right?  I could start over.  Why not?  For a second this morning, becoming an astronaut sounded appealing (and oh so original...just like every other Gen Xer at the age of 10) but I know I won't pass the mental, physcial, and IQ tests, so astronaut is out.

Although, anyone interested in becoming an astronaut should read this:  http://hubpages.com/hub/How-To-Become-An-Astronaut.  I found it this morning while searching on requirements for becoming an astronaut (See, I told you I thought about it for a second or two this morning.  I was serious in a not-really-serious-but-sort-of-curious way).  According to the author, "Not only do you need the balls the size of hypergiant twin binary-stars. You will need a baggage of academic and practical excellence."

So, astronaut is out for me...maybe swap meet coordinator?

--Fortuitous Observer

 

Sew What? Partie Deux

When we last left Fortuitous Observer, she was smack in the middle of a panic attack because she has committed to sewing for the first time in XXXXXXX years (I'm not divulging the true number of years)...

OK.  To pick up where I left off, and this is all true folks.  I stared at my new sewing machine and terror took over.  I was seized with gripping fear and anxiety.  I'm serious.  I obsessed about sewing all day.  This is supposed to be a new hobby, not a life or death task that I need to do ASAP.  Oh my God, I don't even remember how to thread a machine.  Where does the bobbin go, and what is a bobbin?

I purchased material last weekend for the skirt I want to make, along with a starter sewing kit and all the necessary things I would need (I didn't realize I might need to add a prescription for valium to my sewing checklist until later) to begin making my skirt.  Then it hit me like two tons of bricks (not just one ton...one is for sissies):  I can't remember how to turn on a sewing machine, much less actually sew.  My debilitating fear wore me down and I didn't even attempt to turn on the machine.

I went back to the fabric store the next evening after work and purchased some pre-cut squares of funky fabric.  Napkins.  I'm going to start with napkins and move on to the skirt.  That night, I was able to wind the bobbin and thread the machine.  Then, I was able to sew the sides of a square, making a napkin, all without vomiting.

Baby steps people.  I need to take baby steps.

--Fortuitous Observer