Once, when I was stuck in ubiquitous Los Angeles traffic, my beloved Tank moments away from overheating, I asked out loud and quite simply: L.A. Why do you hate me?
L.A. replied in my head: Well, you don't love me. Why should I love you?
Geographic locations speaking in my head aside, I thought that was a damn fine answer. Well said, L.A.
I've been sitting on these pictures for about 2 weeks now. They were taken over my birthday weekend in New Hampshire, where a brilliant foursome of friends stomped around in the sun every day, and ate out on the lawn every night. As we drove home, and inched closer to New York, I could feel my good mood evaporating. Summer fun almost done. The Fall audition grind ahead. Subway rides, and pages of sides, and 3 inch heels. It's not a hard job, by any means, but pounding the pavement as an actress can be, let's say...unappealing. Listen, me and NY had a good thing going! I actually used to love pulling from a closet of bargain RTW, getting dressed up as whatever I was supposed to be that day, and racing in and out of casting offices! But we've hit a roadblock in our relationship. WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T WEAR ANYTHING IN MY NOW 90% HANDMADE NEON CLOSET FOR THAT NEWEST HOSPITAL-LAWYER-POLICE-DRAMEDY. DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR, NY.
And I suddenly thought: New York is going to turn on me soon if I don't do something about it.
I really do believe in thought creating matter. Not in a weird cult way, I've just personally experienced it: when I concentrate on something, the fruits of my thinking are pretty obvious. Over the past few years, I dove into the sewing community, and this online nickname, both of which I LOVE. Though all of the things created from "being" oonaballoona have been so much fun, I've put my real name and the things that come with it in a bit of a corner. I often tell sewists I'm happy to be called oona over Marcy. When I see people who actually know me as Marcy on the city streets, they're surprised to see me in town--they have zero idea who this "oona" is, to be honest, they think I'm social media illiterate. This guy, for example, was shocked to know I had a Twitter account. I was all, YOU SHOULD SEE ME ON INSTAGRAM YO.
But most of my sewing peeps know exactly where I stomp around, IRL and online. Because that's what I'm putting out there. Of course my oonaballoona-sewing-life is more fruitful.
I'm not getting all floopy on you here (I mean, maybe I've already jumped the shark on that count when I admitted that States talk to me in my head...), I just came to the realization that it's important for me to start using and enjoying my actual name, and all the things that come with it, again. So I did an @marcyharriell bomb on just about everything. IT FELT WEIRD. But almost immediately, random people started stopping me again on the street because they recognized me from my acting work, rather than my sewing hijinks.
I'm not knocking hijinks. I LOVE HIJINKS. I just want to get back to loving ALL OF THE HIJINKS.
AND OBVIOUSLY I'LL STILL BE TALKING IN ALL CAPS LIKE THE OONA YOU KNOW AND HOPEFULLY TOLERATE.
SO HERE'S THE SEWING SCOOP! This is a draped job, I went nuts on my dress form about a month ago, right before a really wonderful musical workshop ate up a large chunk of summer, in the very best way. (You'll hear more about that sort of thing, now that my spilt personalities are one.) It has leather straps enclosed in a mitered facing, a back yoke, CB invisible zip, and hip level godets at the side seam. The hem curves into a mini train, the better to swan about in. I finished the MIND NUMBINGLY LONG SWEEP of said hem just before leaving for The Birthday Weekend Of Sun And Food. And it was the perfect dress to lounge in after the final delectable meal of the trip! (Guys. Strawberry Shortcake Waffles for breakfast. And it only got better.)
The yardage is some sort of heavyweight, possibly drapery quality linen from Chic Fabrics. It has a slick feel to it, even after washing--it swishes in the most wonderful way, like heavy water!
I used my "birthday brat card" to get Ruggy to snap some shots on my iPhone, before dinner on the lawn.
(Oh by the way, his real name is Rob. But I'm pretty sure you didn't think his real name was Ruggy. He's charmed to meet you. He came up with this post title. He would also like you to know that he fully supports my, and any gal's, non-wearing of bras. He just doesn't cotton to NYC creeps and weirdos viewing my breasts sans any fabric whatsoever, and possibly acting upon untowardly thoughts. He thinks my tatas are glorious. I'm paraphrasing here. He also had a super fancy camera all wrapped up and just waiting for me to open it when we snapped these shots. Which I mention because I ironically hollered: WOW, these phone pictures are better than my old beat up camera!)
See? Still chock full of parenthetical asides. Same oona, new Marcy. Which reminds me! Old social media links in posts might lead you to a temporary page, I'll be slowly working through those. But, I've changed all my handles to @marcyharriell. New links for instagram, twitter, pinterest and my facebook page are all in the sidebar now, for those of you actually viewing this in blog format--but if you follow my accounts already, you're all set. It's just a name change.
That feels really good.