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OK, Pennsic.

I wore my cotehardie for intercamp dinner Monday evening, and discovered that a skin tight dress one makes before losing 40 pounds does not provide the necessary support after the loss.  So Tuesday morning I put it on inside-out and Morgana marked it for me.  Ladies and gentlemen, that dress lost 6 inches of circumference easily, and could probably stand to lose a bit more.  But I don’t care, because I can wear it now.  I’m told it looks good, too, which is always a bonus.

I went to the audition for Anne of the Thousand Days after all; it may be a classic, but I don’t like it.  If I get a role, we’ll see whether I actually want to get back into theater for real.  Sadly, I suspect I’m shallow enough that the decision will largely rest on what part I get.

I attended one class, which was not even roughly as advertised and kind of put me off classes–it claimed to be Fabric Wall Hangings, and the description talked about getting period effects with modern materials.  What it actually was, was “Here are brands of fabric paint I use”.  Hi: I can’t draw, so your fabric paint does me no good.  I left when she pulled out the stencils.

The problem is, I love Pennsic, and I love my camp, but Shauna has so much shit it’s unbelievable.  Last night, after two days of instantly doing whatever she told me, and most of three hours slinging lumber into the trailer, with the moon rising and the sun well down, I basically walked out of camp without saying goodbye because if I tried to talk to her I was going to fucking strangle her, I was so tired.  We got back from the trailer and I was like, hey, time for me to go get Liam so we can go home–I should note that the entirety of La Familia had decamped for dinner because unlike Shauna, Ajax is not completely insane, and thus she and I were the only people around.  But no, we had to move her bed out of the toolshed.  Fine, did that.  Then stuff from the toolshed needed to go into the rental truck.  OK, so we did that and I’m all ready to go get in the car and get Liam when she starts taking the toolshed down.  So we did that.  She tried to get me to help her figure out how to collapse it, and at that point I simply started being stupid at her.  It got worked out in the end, and I stuffed the cover bits in the bag and said I was leaving and that was as civil as I could manage.  Made it to Clovenshield, greeted friends I hadn’t seen in months by bursting into tears out of sheer fatigue, and we finally got home at about 10:30.  But at least Clovenshield gave me bacon.

Weather Happens

Much as I would like to be working on garb right now, it’s too darn hot to be running a sewing machine.  I expect it’ll be cooler shortly, and then I might be willing to bust out the Singer, but for now I have pieces cut out and I’m going to call that a win.

LessthanamonthtillPennsicgah.

One always needs more garb.  Fortunately I discovered the stola last year, and as a result sewing for myself for Pennsic consists of making a tube with ribbons sewn into the shoulders¹.  But Liam wants a sorta-Chinese robe thing for cool nights, and there’s actually some tailoring involved–plus, pretty much no one makes Chinese-inspired patterns to fit a guy who’s 6’3″ with a 52-inch chest.  I have to do rather a lot of extrapolating from the pattern I do have.

That said, I’m looking forward to War this year more than I have in a while.  People to see, and all that.

1: I bought fibulae, but they have gone missing.  Having the ribbons sewn in is not terribly period, I admit, but it looks pretty good so I’m running with it.

What I Learned Today

Two things: that a Calvin Klein dress in size 10P fits me, and that I shouldn’t try on $90 dresses…because they might fit.

I didn’t buy it, but I was sadly tempted.

Replacement

I went and bought a new bag yesterday.  It’s black, and either leather or pretending to be, and it’s only slightly smaller than the straw bag so I can happily fit everything in it.  Plus it sits up straight and has many internal pockets, so I can use it as a purse; I tried to do the thing with cutting down on my stuff in my purse, but it ended up that I was just carrying two bags instead of one, so I think I’m going to bow to the inevitable on this one.

The really great thing is that the straps are long enough that I can sling it over my shoulder.  I like the straw bag, and always get compliments on it, but those wooden handles are killer for carrying it any distance at all, especially if I put enough stuff in it to use its capacity.

I Don’t Have to Knit…

…I can stop any time I want.

And if more places sold wool thigh-high stockings, I would be ecstatic.  The only brand I’ve found so far is called Levant; they’re only 70% wool, but that’s sure better than nothing.  I shall have to keep an eye out, as winter approaches.

I like wearing skirts.  I have a lovely wool skirt for the winter, and some nice charcoal grey to make another, but there’s only so much even the warmest skirt can do for the lower legs.  This is where the stockings come in.   And since I’ll take any excuse whatsoever to wear a garter belt, stockings rather than tights are the way to go.  The kind that has sticky stuff on the inside that’s supposed to keep them from falling?  You really have to wear a garter belt anyway, but the sticky stuff gets very irritating (which is too bad, because I love these).

In a pinch, tights are great, but I’d really rather have stockings…

Clothes

I hate shopping for clothes.  There are a number of reasons for this.

  • When I was a teenager, the disparity between my taste and my mother’s led to some truly impressive fights, pretty much any time we went shopping; I therefore associate clothes shopping with being yelled at and having my opinion ignored.
  • Mum and I still aren’t really on the same page, as evidenced by the stuff she buys me when I’m not around to stop her.  Our current shopping trips are less teary, but they’re still a weird battle of wills between my taste and hers.
  • Go through your closet and see what you need.  Make sure you’re wearing appropriate undergarments, including a bra that’s fairly typical of the bras you own.  Get to the store.  Go through it, picking out things you think will fit based on how they fit hangars and mannequins.  Pick out a size, guessing whether this store runs to small or large.  Get a dressing room opened, but remember you can’t take everything in at once lest you try to escape with a pair of pants stuffed in your shirt.  Try things on–aside from being an exercise in masochism, this is tedious.  If you’re shopping alone and you need another size or more of the stuff you picked out, get fully dressed again to go fetch it.

It doesn’t help that I have little money for clothes.  Heck, from my brief scan of the mall over Labor Day, I actually rather like many of this season’s styles, but I can’t afford to buy them…