if only we weren't on the lam again

i feel a bit like your kalkatroonaan cruise director, what with the gentle nudges towards maps of the world and online jazz concerts (which was BRILLIANT), but peeps, if you're in the city of angels, i haz your friday night planned.  did you know crafted of los angeles will be throwing an etsy shindig?  these are the same gals frolicking at promaballoona in purple tulle, eighties floral, and a soupcon of tres chic black and white.  they know how to party.  if you're in town, take my advice and head for the nail bar, then beeline to the wine showcase.  sipping wine while the paint dries?  that's just good planning.  rsvp right here!

me?  oh yes, i'll be in town... in front of several suitcases, trying to figure out how to fit seven months of living into four bags.  we're slipping out in the wee hours of saturday morning to our next hideout stop, seattle.  seattle, baby!  and none too soon.  it's actually grown toxic here.  first, nature attacked, in some wild new pollen heretofore foreign to us.  five minutes of fresh air and we're both coughing and hacking like we just returned from silkwood.  this is not right.  flowers love me.  then... food began to attack.  shellfish took ruggy, mozzarella felled me.

this is most definitely not right.  CHEESE LOVES ME LIKE FOR REAL, YO.

i can only assume we are being singled out by the very soil we walk upon. i have come to the conclusion there are two possible reasons for this unprovoked aggression:

1.  we have been partying / entertaining for three weeks straight and it's catching up with us.

2.  los angeles has had enough of us and wants us to get the hell out.

i do believe i'll go with número dos, as we show no signs of calling it quits on the partying.  cool, LA, we catch your drift, it ain't no thang.  seattle calls!  i know you lovely peeps have some cruise directing of your own to do! anything we shouldn't miss?  anything we shouldn't drink?

(just kidding, we're going to drink EVERYTHING.  including the rye whiskey we're packing.  godsakes, never leave a man behind.)

doctor doctor

one thing i ADORE about los angeles is the vintage and thrift shopping scene.  even though i aim to sew most of what i wear, i can't resist.  for some reason, they're not smoking the crack like they do in new york.  hands down, in this category, the City Of Angels has the Big Apple beat.  and this, peeps, is an Important.  Category.  it makes for like 30 percent of the final grade.

and my god, the colors.  there's so much color to be had that many stores will arrange their goods by hue.  jewel tones!  primaries!  pastels!  perhaps the rainbow is here because no one's wearing it out there?  i don't care.  more for ME.

this schizophrenic baby fell smack dab in the middle of the color wheel.  here is the patient in its past life as a dress. it had a hefty price tag of 15 bucks, actually a bit high for LA vintage, especially considering much of the store was on sale for a dollar.  the owner had cut the price in half and was already lowering it to ten when i interrupted with a "yes" (must learn to stop interrupting), but that's cool.  i gave the extra five, she's seeking out a new storefront and i'm happy to enable.

what attracted me to the dress was the pleated skirt.  lady danburry had just churned out another gorgeous creation that i couldn't live without (yet could also not find the pennies for) and this seemed the perfect consolation prize.  but the dress itself was so pretty!  how could i perform this surgery in good conscience?  first, do no harm.  second, have a cocktail.  third, DO IT.

i simply hacked off the top of the dress and took in the center back seam, like you do:

but wait... what about the nice rectangular strip of newly dissected fabric... maybe i can interface it and make it into a belt... wear it with my coveted high waist six dollar forever 21 jeans (i know, don't hate, on so many levels):

BUT WAIT... that top is kinda cool... maybe i can baby hem it... give the cheapo gold button a transplant... and use my new belt...

BUT WAIT.  NOW I CAN FRANKENSTEIN IT AND WEAR IT AS A DRESS AGAIN:

healer, heal thyself.

i felt so very accomplished with this homage to the lady.  i look forward to the day i'll have a real danburry in my greedy little paws.  which could be soon.  mrs ham, an equally delightful blogger you should know, is hosting a giveaway of a danburry creation!  just hop on over to her hammy blog, aptly named the happy hour, and comment to win your pick of ANYTHING from the lady's shop. 

now look.  yes, i get another chance to win by posting it here, but really what i want to do is introduce a few peeps that don't know these awesome gals to each other.  seriously.  oh lovely peeps, meet more lovely peeps. oh lookee there!  it's wine thirty, a virtual toast to you all!

edit 7/17/13: it seems lady danburry and her blog/shop, thinking in shapes, are MIA...lady, i hope that you and yours are well...

there's a light

this was the early morning sunshine in our wintry tree, the day we left new york.  i thought the light on the branches was breathtaking. 

yeah, well.  it's really hard to write a post about the glory of a boxed-in crack-of-dawn view of a barren january tree blocked by iron bars and dirty snow when the sun is shining directly in your face as you sit poolside in the 80 degree air.  

(besides which, the screen is just so glary in the LA sunshine.  they oughta have an app for that.)

sorry for the absence, we've been unpacking and getting used to the new digs.  california is EVER so much nicer when you swap joints with someone who has a pool, jacuzzi, and sauna.  here's hoping our wee tree and wine refrigerator make up for it. this weekend, i'll be attempting a poolside Real Live Photo Shoot as evidence of the four tons of garments i made before leaving the city, three for the worldwide party that is debi's sew grateful celebration and one of which is an oona does it (!).  but don't hold me to it.  the sun could get in the way.

don't hate me too much, i forgot my adjustable low shank zipper foot in new york.  

la + la = sew

Awhiles back, saro commented:

Have you ever done a post of how you got started sewing? You're so fearless, I love it..  

Well, lassie, I'll tell ya, it had a little bit to do with boredom, a little bit to do with impatience, and a LOT to do with keeping my sanity.

Peeps who have trolled through the recesses of le blog may recall its beginnings in lalaland. Los angeles, for the uninitiated. And bless those who haven't had the chance to experience it. It's a hot mess. You get in your car, you drive an hour (at the least) to get to wherever you're going, you get back in your car, you drive, you get home, where you have the choice of staying in or braving the cesspool of schmoozing that is LA nightlife. To survive said cesspool, everyone drinks. And then gets back in their cars. 

Now, at the risk of losing another follower (I lost one today! It could be the cursing. And/or excessive drinking) let me add: if you grew up in LA, I'm sure it's a different story. But the nature of the main business of the town, the business of show, makes it hard to find much that's real there. Ruggy & I counted ourselves extremely lucky to have each other, we kept each other cemented to the earth. I can't tell you how many times I was calmly and quite seriously told I needed a boob job. Or how often Ruggy was propositioned a night of booze and sex, from both sides.

But I digress. Upon hearing Kalkatoona would be inhabiting the land of LA for a spell, a good friend advised me to get a hobby. I have plenty of hobbies, I thought, I'm a CRAFTER! I draw and knit and make cards and jewelry. I'll be fine. NOT SO. None of these kept me near enough occupied in downtime. 

I'd been idly chirping about wanting a dress form for years, ever since my first (very short) visit to LA. The lovely ladies I subletted from had a vintage form in their apartment, for show, and while I worked on handmade wedding invites for a friend, I imagined draping gowns on it. The christmas we made our big move, Parental Balloonas shocked me with a Singer Featherweight sewing machine, and Mama Ruggy surprised me with a pair of gingher shears and a dress form-- she even roped her sister into getting me pinking shears. I just about fell over.

We hauled the booty to LA and I dove into my first pattern, new look 6557. I had picked out some horrible synthetic stuff from Hancocks, turquoise and red and orange and yellow phoenix motif on brown (shit brown, to be exact), and I just knew that I'd have the perfect summer dress by five o'clock that evening. I didn't bother reading much about anything. Reading instructions makes me feel I am being told what to do. Ask Ruggy how that goes.

So I just placed the pattern pieces where ever they'd fit and got cutting. You can imagine how that worked out.

Disgusted with myself, but sure it was solely the pattern's fault, I punished the sewing accessories by putting them away for several months. We then enjoyed the coldest winter OF OUR LIVES. The beautiful worn down french doors and sprawling patios we fell in love with on craigslist let an arctic chill in at night that was unbearable. Heating our Laurel Canyon find came to about $700 a month. Seriously. We layered ourselves up like mountain climbers and wore down coats to bed.

Spring arrived, and with the warm breezes rolling in, I thought it would be nice to have a few new dresses. With no cash in my pocket (all of it having gone to Con Ed), I turned to the internet for help. Free help, to be exact. The exact search term was free funky patterns. And found Burdastyle. At the time, they had only been running a year or so, and everything-- I mean EVERYTHING. Was FREE. The first pattern I downloaded and made was the danielle dress:

(Back then, I didn't have a head. LA had absconded with it. The uneven waistline is equally proportional to the amount of teeny 'tinis Ruggy would make for us every evening. Because they were teeny-sized martinis, you could have seven.)  

Taping the pattern together was terrifying. I left a freak-out comment on the forum, worried that I'd ruined the dress before I even began because my test square was off by 1cm.

This time, I decided to take a different route than that New Look failure: I read through the instructions carefully, and followed them as best I could. The instructions were most definitely ESL. I think this was the reason I was able to force myself into patiently reading and following directions; in my head, I would chuckle softly, and gently correct their english. Made me feel like I was the boss. I like to feel that I am the boss.

And it went on from there. I freed the New Look bodice and married it to the Danielle skirt.  

Both of these were done up in quilter's cotton. That section of Joann's is a veritable candy store, it's not surprising that burgeoning garment sewists head there first, and without shame.  

Had my first try at making something for someone else; pajamas for Valentine's day (forgetting that, ahem, boys have extra junk in le crotch. The beginnings of the No Sewing For Others rule). Went nuts on Burdastyle. Tried the celestina. The sabrina. Oooooh, the sabrina, I love that one. I need to make that one again, this time in something other than an Urban Outfitter's curtain panel.  The desira. Also from a curtain panel.

This one still survives in my closet! The same cannot be said for the RTW jeans, they ripped right up the ass in public. At a job interview, to be exact.

I went through the prerequisite making of the Butterick walkaway dress, from vintage bedsheets (total failure). Ruggy and Parental Balloonas fed the flames with a subscription to Burda magazine. I ventured into apparel fabrics. And LA is just fantastic for estate sales. Lotsa folks kicking it daily, many of them possessed of vintage sewing accoutrement and mad men esque decor. Ready to go for pennies! Such a predicament, balancing respect for the dead and sheer joy for the find! At one point, I had three machines for a grand total of 70 bucks. And sewing books, oh, sewing books. Two Claire Shaeffer bibles and countless vintage sewing handbooks. Whenever I was stumped, I looked into one of these. But mostly, I just grinned, and cut, and hoped for the best. Every success felt awesome, and I learned with each failure.

My obsession survived the move back to NY. The dress form, sadly, is still in a storage unit in LA. It waits patiently for me, ready to keep me from a killing spree, should we ever venture back...

So, to sum up, saro, (do you have a link, lassie?) lack of funds + lack of society + lack of patience = fearless sewing.

What's your equation?

power steering

i miss my tank.

when we landed in LA for those very strange few years, a car was an absolute must. i decided i wanted a used car for under $1000, and had no doubt that i could make this happen. i do get what i want.

i trolled craigslist, that treasure trove of The Deal, and came up with nothing. except, that is, cars from the 90s with too much mileage and not near enough looks. we took our best find to a mechanic to get it checked out, and when he pronounced it a clunker i could've cried with joy. the sweet girl trying to sell it did cry, but that was okay with me; she was checking ruggy out. and her boobs were WAY bigger than mine.

the mechanic promised to call us if anything came into the shop. he did, in fact, have an old car in the back, but he didn't think the "lady" would like it. that's because this gentleman had spent too many years in LA fixing cars for status obsessed women. i was not that woman. i piped up and asked to see the car immediately. okayaaaaaay, he said, butchu not gonna liiiiike it. 

the second we turned the corner and saw tank sitting there, ruggy knew we weren't going home without him. it was instant love. he had no AC. no stereo. no power steering. no power ANYTHING. but he would be mine.

my mechanic angel said he would tune him up, and i should come back with whatever i wanted to pay. i mean, whatever. just said to decide on a number. i obsessed for over a week. our thousand dollar limit had fallen considerably, as work was, shall we say, slow to start in lalaland. after much internet searching and dad interrogating of the worth of a 1981 honda civic wagon (the phrase "he should pay YOU to take it" came up on several used car forums), i decided.

i walked into the gas station with $200 but was too embarrassed to name my price. angel promised he would take whatever it was, because he could tell i was a good person. this does not happen in LA. i almost cried again as he smiled, put my pittance in his pocket, and gave me the keys. 

come on, how could you not love a man with this much junk in the trunk? we were kindred spirits.

i learned about coolant, and washed him once a week, and developed some kick ass upper arms from the sheer force it took to make a right turn. tank held my martini shaker of coffee with nary a spill, carried me safely across lanes of freeway traffic, and talked to me often, always in the gruff but kind voice of robert loggia.

i would drive up to job interviews, hair windblown and tiny battery operated radio shack speakers tinning out some jazz, and get the biggest, toothiest grins you've ever seen. tank just made peeps happy.

this is a rare shot of me in the backseat. it was not often i gave the keys over to ruggy-- he had his motorcycle. and for some reason, tank seemed to overheat on him.

i mean, all you had to do to avoid that was blast the heat and put him in neutral. no biggie.

but every time tank had a problem (which he did, oh yes) i took him back to my mechanic angel and he fixed him right up. 

then one day my angel retired, and i was suddenly back in NY, and without me, tank overheated more and more until finally he died of blown head gaskets. as ruggy puts it, his heart stopped ticking. when we finally packed up our LA digs, i watched them hook tank up to a flatbed and drive him away to a charity.

and then i DID cry.

have you ever fallen in love with a machine? did he sound like robert loggia, too?

in which i freak out upon reflection

i was on a semi-crowded local subway train at the start of rush hour. i like to stand just in front of the doors and play solitaire on my phone, it's distracting, but not enough to miss what's going on around you. so, there's this guy sitting a couple feet from me, clutching a plastic bag to his chest, jittery. it's new york, big deal. but further discreet observance while sliding aces around proved disturbing. it was 19 degrees outside. he wore a flimsy knee length trench coat. sneakers that were several sizes too small, tied very tightly. no scarf or gloves. khakis and a button down. clothes that were bland-- not new, not old, and definitely not suited for the chill outside. speaking of dead-of-winter, he was sweating. a LOT. lips occasionally parting while eyeing everyone on the train, quickly and nervously.

there was something sturdy inside his plastic bag.

as we pulled into the 34th street station, the little no-nonsense voice inside me told me to get off the train, even if there wasn't another train in the station to get on. i HATE to get off a successfully moving train and wait. but this voice likes to bite me in the ass if i don't listen. lo and behold, an express pulled in. with great nonchalance i strolled across the platform, assumed my usual position inside the car, and resumed my game of solitaire. 

i glanced up CIA style, eyes only, as the recently abandoned local train prepared to pull away. as the doors slid closed, i saw the head of jittery man slowly rise. he walked to the edge of the doors, stopping an inch in front of them, and calmly stared directly at me as they slid closed. just stared. i raised my head and returned the look. we continued to stare until his train was out of sight. 

either i'm not as discreet an observer as i think, or that was one freaky freaking freak of a moment.

the first time ever i saw your :burdastyle book: face

three years ago i was sitting in a little tree house apartment in LA, stuck in the middle of a town obsessed with itself, about to pull my hair out (and i've got a LOT of hair), searching for something to do that had nothing to do with lalaland. equipped with a featherweight sewing machine, a dress form, vintage spools of rainbow thread and the misty memory of sewing a large stuffed pig back in the 6th grade, i set out on what i assumed would be a futile search for free patterns on the internet. i had resigned myself to making the ever present throw pillow.

i think i actually gasped when i stumbled across burdastyle. i raced to hook up the printer, and like the pack rat i am downloaded everything they had. i was terrified to tape my first pattern together. i didn't know how to convert inches to centimeters (seriously). i think i only had a godzilla size 18 machine needle. two days later, my first dress, a sleeveless danielle, was done up in joann's quilter's cotton. (i know! but it came in so many happy and bright kalkatroonan colors...)


it's safe to say i wouldn't be sewing garments today without burdastyle. i heart burdastyle. and i don't care who knows it. oooooh, wellz, okay actually i guess i DO cause they asked me to be a part of their very first burdastyle book! and so lotsa peeps will know it and it makes me dance around in gLeE!


rachel, our fearless project manager and all around cool chick, gave me two pattern choices, and i got my first pick of a beautiful blouse pattern by alison. in true burdastyle fashion, you're meant to build on the patterns and change them up. (the lovely nora says it much better than i can.) i had to sketch out the variations i'd make (another first burdastyle pushed me into, i've never sketched on a croquis before and now i LOVE it). i can't tell you which variation they chose, because it's still secret, but i CAN show you the most amazing bamboo jersey i get to work with, from britex fabrics --->

(apparently, when i do occasionally choose solid colors, i go for green.)

and now, it's time to finally break my new vintage serger in...

thank you burdastyle! you make me happy!

 are you doing the book too? i'd love to know!

we are home

we have two chairs, a coffee table, a tv and a bed, but we are HOME. after living in 5 strangers' spaces filled with what had to amount to 500 strangers' crap. in each apartment. over 12 months.

when we left ny for la, we were ready to get the hell out of our apartment, not to mention ny. we were this close to selling it. we rented it out instead. found a tree house in la, where i learned to sew. plans changed, and brought us back to ny without a home. we'd peek in occasionally to grab something we needed, and leave in horror at the sight of our subletters cluttered life. we boxed and bagged and moved our things so much, things became things and started to get left behind. we took care of other people's spaces better than they took care of them themselves.

the same cannot be said for our tenants. our place was demolished. they are the reason i'm writing this from a chair in the middle of a bare living room.

but no matter! let's make some lemonade! IT'S REDECORATING TIME! here, for your before and after pleasure (well, really for my pleasure, as my blogger slacking has deservedly lost me all of my readers. did i mention i've moved six times in one year? come baaaack!) are the before shots...

the living room. yes, that is ben-moore-watermelon-red and martha-stewart-cornstalk-yellow living together. martha would not be happy with this bastard child. picture it instead with magical white walls that shift color as the light of day changes (seriously, r's sister hepped us to some awesome paint at farrow and ball) the two chairs and the table, and you have our current situation.

the living - dining - loft - kitchen room. it is new york living, after all. table, chairs, clutter, chartruese, orange, yellow and gold gone. i'm adding some color back, that would be one serious cold turkey of a quit. luckily r loves everything i paint and wants my art to be the color on our walls. luckily? i think? isn't it kind of pretentious to have only your art hanging? etsy to the rescue...

the bedroom, currently in a state of shock from severe water damage that happened the day we moved back. yep. it's actually been happening for years, but the old super never really solved the problem. what's left: torn walls, bed on floor (because, natch, the renters broke our bedframe), and that funny little squat thing under the stairs. that, my friends, is a wine refrigerator. full of wine. that ain't goin' NOWHERE.

even in its current spartan state, i could kiss the ground. the months of moving have really made us appreciate our home, and our building filled with people who own and care for their own homes. i think you call those people neighbors. we haven't seen that life form in a loooooong time. our home is going to rock. and i'm going to give you proof. assuming there are any witnesses out there.

(SIX. TIMES.)

because i said scout's honor:

i would like to provide evidence that i did indeed sew this weekend. though not until the very last minutes of sunlight of said weekend. i spent most of it at, god, yahweh and yoda save me, THE MALL. nothing was fully accomplished, and now it is time to have a little wine and nachos. (i'm not sure where i got this attachment to the honor of a scout needing to be upheld. i was a brownie for about ten minutes when i was a little girl ((the precursor to a girl scout on the east coast)). i think my mom & i were supposed to bring cookies to the first meeting, and we brought brownies instead-- you know, in honor of brownies. as i recall that was all the Powers That Be needed to oust us from the group. but on the other hand, i do remember being part of a weekend girls' camping trip, which had to be well into a scout's career, no? i cried about being away from home, i cried about our troop leader losing our way in the woods, i cried about peeing in the dirt, i cried about the tarantulas my fellow brownies promised me were clinging to every treetop...) (clarification, mom?)

okay you win.

firstly, thank you all so much for the happy birthday wishes! i would add a grinning emoticon here if i knew how.

so here's the story. one hot day in downtown LA, i decided to take advantage of a long lunch break and frolic in the garment district. there's a 4 block radius of fabric shops there, surrounded by several streets straight out of the crackhouse scene in jungle fever. one wrong turn and you are truly in some kind of danger. i know this because i made about twenty wrong turns. luckily tank was the perfect disguise. 

i arrived safely, found the only unclaimed metered space (it was my birthday week, after all), and put my game face on. it was a busy saturday, with shop owners vying for attention. one particularly shady dude whispered as i walked past: "a dollar a yard. a dollar a yard." i pretended, in my best new yorker fashion, not to hear him, and casually fingered the bolts at the edge of the shop meant to lure you in for the more expensive stuff. i glanced inside, sure that i would be on my way quickly, and almost dropped dead on the spot. along the walls and down the middle of this tiny crowded shop were bolts and bolts of the Coolest. Fabrics. EVER. from behind me, that whisper again... only this time he added that most beautiful of words: Everything. my game face cracked. suddenly shady dude was positively russell crowe-ian. "a dollar a yard? i'd like... three... of this one..." i managed to stammer out. russell immediately offered me six yards for five dollars, and we were off to the races. i left the shop with a sack half my size for only 30 bucks of birthday money. i floated down the street, beaming at everyone like i was from kentucky and goin' to the fair. 

now, that might have been my downfall. i should have stopped there and grinned my way right back to tank, made some time to actually eat some food during my lunch break... but no, i pushed it. i walked into the biggest, prettiest corner store on the block, just to see, and was immediately accosted by a salesman. did i say my dollar-a-yard beau was shady? feh. THIS dude was shade-apalooza. he honed in on me & the mod silk print i was eyeing and pronounced it twelve dollars a yard. i politely declined. he brought the price down. i told him i had 23 bucks cash and two pennies. he badgered me to use a credit card. i said no. he badgered me to use the ATM. i said no. my elated mood wearing thin, i bade him farewell. he told me to give him the 23 bucks and he'd give me four yards. i twirled and handed him the cash. he told me to give him two more dollars. seriously? we ACTUALLY HAD A TUG OF WAR WITH MY MONEY. i'm not even lying. the new yorker in me finally came out and i left, with my money, amidst some shocked stares. it only took several seconds of walking with eight hundred glorious pounds of russell's fabric on my back to get me in a good mood again. 

i tore into it this weekend and made this!

and this!

and this!

and very soon i'll make lots more, what with my fancy new BWOF birthday subscription... THAT'S RIGHT! but more on that tomorrow. now it is wine-thirty, as sugar mama would say, and time to sign off. 'night!

i feel the earth move under my feet

well, more like slide around under my feet. we had a bunch of earthquakes here in LA today, although i guess most of them were aftershocks. like 24 of them. i've got limited internet time as web type things are in flux, but i thought it was interesting that i planned on posting this pic today of my very! first! burda WOF magazine! because it reminds me of a map of shaky terrain. and that's just what we got today. i've been enclosed in a small room with singers and musicians all day, so i don't really know the extent of the quakes, but i think most californians may be considering it life as usual. i hope.

gotta go sing... but sewing goodness tomorrow, courtesy of the map above...

co-dependence day

r is home! r is home! happy co-dependence day! and he brought me chilean candy!

so, remember when i said i would be bringing the creative noise? i lied. let me explain. we basically spent the first two years of our marriage apart. i was on tour, r was in NY. first, the rule was no longer than six weeks apart. then four. it quickly dwindled to one week. now, thirteen years later, we don't like to spend so much as a weekend away from each other. but spend it we did, two whole weeks alone in this train wreck of a town. i decided i would handle it by doing something creative every day (INSERT LAUGHTER OF THE FATES HERE). instead i got fourteen days full of some very crappy auditions (at one, i was asked to RAP) and round three of the vet hospital with layla. don't ask. i did have a few good days at the beginning of the trip, when r was in chile and i was excited for him--painted the apartment once again--but that quickly dwindled, probably around the time he got food poisoning from a bland piece of tuna, and then really coming on full force when he was with our friends, announcing pregnancies (theirs) and eating various grilled meats.

(by the way, how awesome is my husband: worst food poisoning of his life and he STILL brought me candy. it was waiting for me, arrayed on my desk when i woke up today. i'm most excited about the black and white tuyo bar, i'm pretty sure that wrapper is destined for a frame.)

it was not fun. but it could have maybe been bearable if i had stayed creative. and i don't know how many times i have to have the epiphany that good things come our way when we're happy before it finally sinks in. so i'm issuing myself a little challenge. starting monday, i will create something every day, and post about it every day. and i'm extending it to anyone that might want to join in. and you can do whatever it is that makes you happy--doesn't matter if it's cooking or gardening or wrenching on your car--you just have to post about it every day for a week. i'm calling it the Week Of Happy. i hope you will join me!

i do not like them, sam i am.

when we lived in new york, back in the real world, i took care of our building's window boxes. every 4 months i threw on a sundress, twirled down to the union square farmers' market and blinked fetchingly at every stall proprietor, finagling the best prices for a taxi cab full of flowers. (i did try, several times, to lug said flowers on the subway. it did not work.) then i spent the day on the front stoop of our building (and teetering on top of the railing over a 9 foot drop, yes, sorry mom and dad) and our street magically transformed into that of sesame lore, strangers coming up and introducing themselves, neighbors bringing sodas, dogs and children happily tugging on flowers.

so why did these LA boxes turn out so... crappy? i don't know. maybe these flowers are intimidated by the backdrop of 12 foot high bougainvillea. maybe i need my sesame street neighbors to sit on the stoop with me while i plant. maybe, and this could be the real kicker, maybe i need to pass the gauntlet to my building super once the planting and scaling of railing is done, as i did in good old NY. that is so not going to happen here.

i mean, i like the flowers, they just look sort of pitiful up against all that green. sort of mange-y. now that's a word you want in a descriptor for foliage, isn't it?

i do like this one. i'm thinking of replacing the little blue daisy things and the orange poppies (which by the way have COMPLETELY wilted) with this plant. i think it's called sweet broom.

and yes, mom, i have planted the many seeds and crazy outer space canna bulbs you sent me, but they are still pots of dirt. now, if these full grown flowers are intimidated, can you imagine the inferiority complex going on in there?

ps: 2 more days to guess my thrifty weight!

feh.

RAINY DAYS IN LA ARE SUCH A JIP.

seriously, isn't the payoff for living here constant sunshine and a median temperature of 77 degrees?

we are not only underwater outside, but also inside... pretty much everyone in LA has got the plague, and r caught it a few days ago. so the good doctor has advised us to drink plenty of water and cram vitamin C and zinc. said doctor practices in beverly hills... in a beautiful office where all the other patients were waiting for their botox injections. ah, the good life. did you know virginia madsen advertises for botox? yep. i was surprised. most women around here do it, to be sure, but i think her support is akin to dole's viagra announcement. as for me, needle in the face? no thanks.

more importantly: in an effort to drink water, i gussied up the reusable glass bottle.

picture taken on a sunny day, like, 2000 years ago.

i can't say it's made me drink more water, but i sure do like looking at it.

off to heat up some soup. our world is made entirely of liquid.

the doves are back!

we live in a tree house. every window of our second floor apartment has ficus, palm, and evergreen (i think) trees within arms reach. when we first moved in, there was a pair of doves right outside the window by my desk. layla made quick work of scaring them away, they would sit and stare at each other for hours, layla making this weird no-noise at them. they left, and i think they left their eggs behind as well. damn cat.

but they're back!



so far the cats are really upset about it.



the doves will get payback when i shatter the felines' cozy existence with my mad painting skills. i have the thumbs up from our lovable jekyll&hyde landlord to PAINT! what color do you think? yes, i know there are about 80 shades in that picture. and?

CAOK III (or, these are the people in your neighborhood)

i just spent 2 hours with the wildest lady i've ever met.

75-year-old sheila met me at her door wearing bedazzled eyeglasses (with matching headband, of course), blue eyeliner, a caftan of several hundred colors (which she kept hiking up to show me her "dancing gams"), and black poofy slippers. her house is filled (and i really do mean filled) with every crafty supply, knick knack and collectible vintage item imaginable. there is not one inch of usable surface in the house. and i know because i had to find said surface.

she is me in some alternate universe.

i saw sheila's ad on craigslist. she has arthritis, and needed help cutting sewing patterns. in exchange she would barter "great sewing supplies and fabric!". now, that was easier said than done, as it became clear rather quickly she is not the type of person who lets things go too easily... she ended up giving me a remnant of fabric (pictured above) that was way too 100% cotton for her style. but more than that i enjoyed helping her out. it was like being phoebe in Friends and just having a totally out there couple of hours. we made a dress for her grand daughter, and started a caftan made out of a huge island wrap she got on a cruise. she showed me every, and i mean EVERY, piece of clothing in her closet. she played me her son's cd and showed me her moves. she gave me chocolate covered cream puffs, 2 of which fell on the floor, and although she wouldn't eat them, she also wouldn't throw them out.

i mean, and she lives on the same street as me, 2 blocks away. it was all in all a neat experience. it made me feel like i live in a neighborhood, and it made her happy. afterwards, i surfed my favorite blogs and found african kelli's CAOK. i think i have committed a CAOK! wahoo! and i may even commit one next week when i take sheila over to the valley to the thrift store where she gets all of her booty. she's very excited to show me this secret place, she doesn't share this information with just anyone, you know.

and we had a CAOK happen to us yesterday: our awesome next door neighbors gave us this gorgeous chair because they know we're finally trying to make our apartment something we love to live in, rather than a holding pen while we're here in LA. i didn't think it was possible... but there are actually good people in LA. people who like to laugh and eat and talk and don't give a shit about the business... oh yeah, and they curse too! and they live right next door to us! shhh, don't tell anyone.