Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making harem pants

Ruggy had one word for me when he caught an unexpected eyeful of these pants:

NO.

I responded in the only way I could: I began to croon "The Girl From Ipanema" (Frank Sinatra version), and gave him a nice, leisurely sway of my viscose clad hips, rotating sloooooooowly around for the full 360 view....

At which point he really started hollering: STOP IT NO STOP NOW I'M GOING TO ASSOCIATE THAT SONG WITH THOSE THINGS

He really likes that song. Not so much the pants. These pants are not the droid for Ruggy. Actually, I'm not a fan of the look of this shape either. But the first time I made a pair of harem pants and tried them on, the feel of them was like...the heavens opened up and started singing. Or maybe it was just the musical kids at rehearsals, since I only wore them in Texas, when I was away for work, far from Ruggy's pained eyes. I reserve my Ruggy Repellant for when miles separate us, kind of like a consolation prize, I guess. See: here; and here.

Joyously, the only thing separating us at the moment is our odd hours at the gym. When his workout time rolled around, I took the opportunity to don these and shoot them by myself, because I love my man, and I know which ensembles are better done solo. Alas! His workout was truncated, and upon my return, he was greeted with an image that apparently seared his retinas.

Sound drastic? Y'all, he REALLY loathes them. And listen, it goes both ways, there are plenty of items in his closet that make me want to go postal. I am thinking in particular of a dusty mauve, hole ridden, oversized T shirt that gives him a...pallor..like all the lifeblood has been replaced with antifreeze. Not a good look. But we bear each other's eccentricities.

This little eccentricity started out as an off-the-shoulder peasant dress. Those colorful side panels were center front and center back of a voluminous, gathered alien swath that looked like it was trying to swallow me whole. (Maybe it still does... but at least the mouth of it is only getting as far as my hips.) Would that I had photographic evidence of said dress. It might make Ruggy feel better about the pants. Basically, I succumbed to a trend which does not look good on me, realized my mistake, and then turned to another trend that does not look good on me as the solution.

When things went south with this Mood Sewing Network make, I couldn't bear giving up on this paneled beauty. (I'm shocked it's still on the site, considering the price and the print!) WARNING: NONSENSICAL EXPLANATION AHEAD. To "save" it, I laid the dress out flat, dissected the raglan off-the-shoulder sleeves, cut it open at the side seams, and made a new, longer seam from hem to top, creating a trapezoid shape. Then I googled "make harem pants" for an approximate shape, and sewed them back together. It's basically a trapezoid with a wide curve on the bottom edge, from leghole to leghole. I used the original, truncated shoulder elastic casing for the waist. Yessssss, again, pictures would help. But when I get on a stubborn roll, I just keep the freight train rolling. 

I think that a lot of my garments get finished because I'm far too stubborn to take No for an answer. Ironic that Ruggy's answer to these are exactly that.

I tell you what though: they are SOOOOOO comfortable. I don't care if the final product gives me junk on both sides of my trunk!!! But, these might be reserved for Girls Night and Rehearsal Wear.

I'm okay wth that. I LIKE specialty clothing.

these extra special pant were made using my mood sewing network fabric allowance. ruggy does not join me in thanking mood this time around.

#UnsungSewingBlogHero

My husband is so good to me. Not only is he completely unthreatened by my new lover on my sewing desk...he happily painted this wall to match Gorgeous George's good looks for a little photo shoot this weekend! Thanks, Rugster!

Actually, the wall was already in this fortuitous configuration. But I wouldn't put it past him, considering he did brave 12 bags of New York City Summer Weekend Garbage, lurking about 12 inches from his face (DISCLAIMER: BECAUSE HE REFUSES TO STAND UP AND SHOOT). Oh, what a few days of 90 degree highs will do to the aroma of the city! Such a heady perfume! When I trotted over from my spot on the wall to change a camera setting for him, the stench almost knocked me over. 

RUGGY! I said. We can go somewhere else!

NO. Was his firm response. This is the right spot. Let's just do it.

RUGGY! I said. You can just shoot me straight on front-side-back and I'll get detail pics on my dressform!

NO. Was his firm response. I'm composing the shot. Don't bother me. 

Twenty pungent minutes later, as we strolled away from the odorous corner of 8th avenue, I clicked through the snaps at his request. 

RUGGY! I said. I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOUUUUUU!

OKAY. Was his firm response. And if you don't like these shots, babe, we'll just do them over. 

I MEAN. And what's a guy got to do to get a little sewing recompense? I have no less than 5 different prints in various stages of unmade shirts in the queue (read: the fabrics have been pre-washed). Methinks this is the week to crack into one. Ruggy does these shoots quite willingly ever since he got that unsolicited advice from a passing pro photographer. Pre-pro, it was OONA GODSAKES ARE WE DONE YET. Now, I'm asking him if we have enough shots to stop. Peeps, if you wanna flip the script, stage a little "chance" meeting with a pro and/or a family member willing to shower your photographer with compliments! DOES WONDERS!

Lori's tale of her unsung hero over at Frivolous At Last prompted this post, and her tagged man comes with some hilarious photos as well (seriously, go read it.) And tag your unsung hero(ine) if you have one!

(eta: sometimes i'm clear as mud... just to be clear-er, the credit for this tagalicious spark of genius goes to lori!)

I'll Have A Quilted Christmas

This is the dress that Ruggy made.

No really. Although he didn’t stitch an inch of it, he was the full on Dictator Of This Here Dress. (And by the way, he has sewn, I keep threatening to show y'all evidence, I’m talking wooly welt pockets and silk skirts, but that’s a subject for another time.)

When I came home with this riot of peach and black batting-filled quilted poly organza, I laid it out on the floor and laughed and laughed. Its warmth surrounded me like an electric blanket. With U Got The Look on repeat in my head, I guffawed: RUGGY! THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST WINTER PROM DRESS EVER!

I took his bemused silence as total acceptance. However, as the dress progressed, he found his voice. Well, if I'm going to be completely honest about it, the sight on my Wolfie actually left him speechless for several days. Luckily, I was on my usual kick of working on multiple projects, and he had time to truly consider the view: A bodice made of peach embroidered cloud.

Him: Is that really what you want?

Me: ABSOLUTELY! It's a winter dress. I'm going to be TOTALLY warm!

Him: Yes. Yes you are. And totally lumpy.

Mmmmmmmm. LUUUUMPY. One lump or two? MY LOVELY LADY LUMPS! I could go all day.

 

Convinced, I set about recutting the bodice.  And, altering the pattern (Vogue 8874) to allow for allll black boucle on top, allll quilty goodness on bottom. I had snagged everything left of this peachy stuff for my MSN December allowance, visions of a full length quilted ballgown dancing in my head. The change of direction meant I had to get creative on the top. Articles of clothing had to be sacrificed. I took two old MSN projects that suffered from maniacal overfitting (here, and here) and tried my best not to sausage myself this time. And there are plenty of pieces in this bodice to overfit! 

But, little open pleats over boobage allow for breathability...

 

Gaze upon my little hook and eye that I ALWAYS COMPLETELY FORGET TO CLOSE...

 

And a little neck gaping that I am TOTALLY FINE WITH. I SAID I'M FINE.

Happy with the new bodice, The Rugster approved a voluminous skirt, so long as it was knee length.

 

In fact, Ruggy requested MOAR BOTTOM, “to really allow for that classic line,” (GET HIM) and I was ever so happy to oblige! Having abandoned ballgown length, I had ample yardage for a drop waist crinoline of sorts...even after he made me recut the front skirt panels.

THE AMOUNT OF DIRECTION I WILLINGLY TOOK DURING THE MAKING OF THIS DRESS IS COMPLETELY UNFATHOMABLE.

The pattern calls for a seam right down center front. Against my better judgement, I did as I was told (really, what's going on with this story? Must've been the gin). After carefully gathering the giant five piece skirt to the new, underlined bodice, after pressing and binding and catchstitching seams…RuGunn entered the workroom and once again gave my dressform the side eye.  

Him: What's up with that seam down the front?  Do you really want a seam down the front?

Me: No. But the pattern calls for it.

Him, Pausing For Effect: You’re better than a pattern, babe.

CHARMER. HAND ME MY SEAM RIPPER.

Now, I should have exacted my revenge by making him take the photographs, but Mama Ruggy came to the rescue. I LISTENED TO HIM AND LET HIM OFF THE HOOK FOR PICTURES. Ruggy must have been extra good this year, non?

A happy holiday, or reg'lar day to you, may your home and heart be as warm as a two tiered poly batted skirt!

this poofy frock was made using my monthly fabric "allowance" as part of the Mood Sewing Network.

how i love my crotch of many colors

in ruggy's opinion, possibly worse than the unblogged drop crotch pants: the balloon dress.

around this time last year, i was in dallas, texas, sweating like a fool, flying through the air, and far away from ruggy.  that last part never goes well.  we don't do apart, as a general rule.  but do it we did, for three whole summer months.  and i began to notice something: i stitched differently when i was away from my man.

a pair of yet-to-be-blogged pants started the whole shebang.  i made them in what seemed like sixty minutes, the day before i left for dallas.  LAUGHING ALL THE WAY.  ruggy, i said: i can no longer fight it.  i am going to make a pair of drop crotch pants.

ruggy blinked, steadied himself.  are you telling me you're going to succumb to trend pressure? slowly, i dropped my head: ...yes.  i'm afraid i am.  and wait till you see the print i'm going to use.

an hour later i clambered up the stairs, cackling maniacally.  LOOK!  AREN'T THEY HORRIBLE!!! we agreed the pants were meant for indoor use only.  and not just indoor use, ALONE indoor use: i.e., my hotel room in dallas.  after all, being lonesome, i would need something to make me laugh, something to keep my spirits up, other than spirits.

but one sunny rehearsal day, when the pile of laundry was greater than the pile of clean clothing, i threw them on. and suddenly...a shower of compliments rained down on me from the glorious gaggle of stunning female dancers in the company.  what?  how could they possible like these...things?  this insane pair of droopy spandex pants that give me, essentially, more junk in the back, and MAN junk in the front?

good lord does ruggy hate him a jumper

now, let me be clear: none of the heterosexual men at work ever complimented me on them.  not a one.  and at this point in the summer, everybody knew i made my own clothing, and commented on it daily. no, the pants praise was doled out only by women, gay men, and all young children.  

but the category specific praise was enough.  i began to feel good in them.  they came to be known as the-pants-that-ruggy-hates, the running joke being that i had to get enough wear out of them before he came to visit.  hey!  a random child would cry, you're wearing ThePantsThatRuggyHates!  a surprise bonus: a guaranteed mention of ruggy whenever i wore them, further guaranteeing my grinning like a fool and skipping 'round the room.

started in dallas, reunion with ruggy imminent, finished in nyc: sewing with wiggle again

so: a year has passed, happily back in the company of ruggy, and still in possession of the pants.  i know the man i love is not in love with them.  will i wear them anyway?  yes.  ruggy grins and bears it like a champ, same way i bear that damn faded mauve t-shirt he refuses to throw away.  i wore them 3 times during me made may.  i think i dress about 60% for myself, 30% for ruggy, and 10% for i-have-to-look-like-a-lawyer-for-this-audition.  but DO i? the pants were mutually laughable when it was ruggy & me in our living room.  the pants became high fashion under the opinion of long legged ladies in a rehearsal room.  i fancy myself a strong willed brat whose fashion sense is entirely of her own making, but really, these are the pants that opinion made, unmade, and made again.

(i realize i have not shown you the pants in question...yet.  i'd like to build them up to godzilla proportions in your imaginations first.)

i've probably asked it before, but i think the answer changes as we grow, so: who do you dress for? yourself?  or the company you keep?

keep this train rollin'

nope, no derailing in the here and now, although i have derailed in blogland in order to stay on track!!  this eve is opening night in dallas...ruggy is by my side, and oh by the way we were apart for FIFTY TWO FRIGGIN DAYS HASH TAG NEVERDOINGTHATAGAIN.  

ahem.  in the middle of the usual madness surrounding this sort of event, ruggy and i found some time to vintage shop hop.  gotta get the man looking right for the par-tay tonight.  as for me, i'm choosing between this silk and this bombshell.  it's a big decision, 'cause i'm gonna go ahead and say it: this show is the most magical, beautiful performance i've ever been so lucky to be part of.  and as y'all know, we show our love and respect in the cloth we wear.  hash.  tag.  truth.

happy weekend to all!  see you when the train slows down next week!

polka dots and crescent moons

oh hai!  do you like my megan neilson crescent blouse?

because i made it into a dress.

YEAH I DID!!!

spring seemed to overflow with opportunities to share-in & shout-about sewists' offspring.  lemme break it down: nikki's book, tilly's skirt, superheroine missions, tempest's sewalong, heather's sew bossy, but still, when megan put out the call for pattern testers for her stunning breakwater collection, i couldn't tweet fast enough.  i was honored to test the absolutely delicious crescent blouse and one more bit of good goddy goodness i'll show you later on....and let me tell ya, these patterns are DELIGHTFUL.  in fact, they're so good, i felt my first try at the crescent didn't do it near enough justice, so i immediately made the sequel.  megan's tweaking advice in the back of the sa-weet pattern booklet suggested going for a dress.  ah yes, please, i could live in dresses.  Summer.  Is.  The.  BEST.

(well, fall is good too, it's ruggy's birthday season.  also winter, for christmas.  okay everything pretty much rocks except for that half-light-time right after valentine's day and before spring finally hits.  that time suckity suck sucks.)

i simply made the pattern as directed using only the bodice sections.  the sequel you see here is sans collar, but my first go has the sweetest little peter panner you ever saw.  unfortunately, my fabric choice made the collar the only good thing about that run.

to make the skirt portion, i used two very long rectangles of this floaty rayon from fabrics for less.  the owner sam and i marveled over the drape (and i marveled over the price.  you know sam?  sam rocks, he is the nicest man in the garment district.  just ask seam ripped).  

next, i sewed the rectangles together at side seams... the wrong side is very similar, so once i had my skirt tube, i folded the fabric to the inside down to slip length, sewed along that tube fold to create a waist "seam", and attached it at that seam to the bodice.  then i opened up the long side seams to just where the slip hits. 

instead of using elastic, i grabbed this extra leather buckle from my technicolor boucle jacket (or i should say, mommaballoona's boucle jacket, IT LOOKS AMAZING ON HER).  hand stitched them to the waist, and buckled her up...

she moves in the breeze with no worry of a peep show! 

(obviously these were taken in new york, before my secret agent journey to texas, and before spring decided to take a long nap in the east coast.  sending some warm breezy thoughts your way, ruggy...mwah.)

on project runway, the finalists:

it is late.  oona and ruggy lie in bed, fighting felines for footspace.  with a roll of her eyes, oona presents ruggy with a recap of the latest project runway, via beau baby (her favorite way to "watch" this season).  they share a grimace.

oona:  i could totally make something better than all of those contestants.

ruggy:  but then you'd have to sell your soul.

oona:  yeeeaaah.

ruggy:  don't sell your soul to anyone but me.

oona:  i would sell my soul to you.

ruggy:  noooo.

oona:  i would sell my soul to you for twenty five cents.

ruggy:  noooooooooo you can't sell your soul to me you can't sell your soul to anyone you have to hold onto your soul--

oona:  but you could hold onto my soul.

ruggy:  i already have your heart.  you have to keep your soul.

grinning like a fool, oona turns the tablet off.  best episode of project runway ever.

view 4, avec bands

 

as i strolled into the kitchen the other day, glass of wine in hand, i gazed at my man, working on hour eight of a delicious sauce. same man who makes coffee every morning and puts a little bit on my bedside table so i'll wake up nicely. who orders me to go and do something fun when i'm stressed out.

 

the other night, stressed out and with direct orders, i turned of course to my sewing desk. there were things a plenty i wanted to sew for myself, but tiny problems with each, a missing zipper, a pattern that needed to be graded, blah and blah. it hit me that i might sew for my man, not just for the dare, but because it would be nice. and as i ironed and cut the pattern, i felt better.

 
WHO IS THIS WOMAN.
 

so y'all, quick question, when making a men's shirt, do you interface the upper or lower collar piece? you know what i mean? the pattern always tells you (well, at least the three i've tried) to interface one collar piece, stitch it to the other, turn and press. but surely it must matter which piece ends up interfaced, non?

that's not a star, that's a satellite

 

ruggy told me to be ready to leave by 5:45 last evening. destination unclear. on such occassions i am instructed only on dress and departure. we got on a subway and then a bus across the river, separated by an aisle on the second leg of our trip. i tried to tune in to the general noise of the bus, rather than a specific conversation: are you checking in?-- i hope we hear that-- i want some cornbread--. at various points, i thought we were going to 1) a college basketball game. 2) a wine expo. 3) neil diamond. but then, as we pulled up to the izod center, i heard a piercing soprano tone in the back pipe out so how many daves does this make for you?

 

WE'RE GOING TO SEE DAVE MATTHEWS i yelled smiling across the aisle. my knight grinned.

 

we watched a sixty-four year old jimmy cliff roundhouse kick and stomp and spin his way though an amazing opening set, over hot dogs and dave matthews' wine. (no, seriously. dreaming tree wines. click on the link to be whisked to an appropriately dreamy shot of dave enjoying a bottle in the backyard of the vineyard. i'd like to be in that picture, i breathed just moments ago. ruggy shook his head. yeeeeeaaaaah, i think i'd lose that battle. no, ruggy. no you would not. not for all the dave in china.) our reggae enjoyment was only marred once, as i stopped to lean back and chastise the extremely drunk couple just arriving behind us please baby PLEASE i'm begging you i love ya lemme hear the song. the smoke piled higher as dave and crew took the stage.

 

the thing that i love most about dave matthews: he sings like he's going to die. DIE RIGHT HERE AND NOW. he is actually going to pass out, keel over, expire from a consuming desire for whatever he is singing about. that subject is often a woman. as a member of that gender, i'm all for it. to me, there are a handful of people who sing that way: ray lamontagne, otis redding, thom yorke, john legend, bjork (though her subjects of passion are varied as the fabrics at mood). i simply cannot get enough of that kind of singing. can you call it singing? it's closer to wailing. not that riffalata wailing that drives me screaming for the eject button-- a wail that comes straight from the center of your body and shreds you and everyone lucky enough to be in earshot.

 

near the end of the concert, the band (who had jammed for over three hours) quieted, as he breathed one line again and again: that's not a star, that's a saaaaaatellite, a soft smile on his face. and although my lungs were pretty full up from the general exhaling of the surrounding vicinity, my heart was clear and happy.

 

ruggy's mood: THWARTED.

Oh Ruggy. Will I ever sew you anything?

This plaid flannel was truly meant for my husband. I had all the best intentions of making him a cozy fall shirt, partially egged on by Amy's rage inducing make for her soul mate. WHATEVER AMY. As I pored over Mood's online site, bookmarking fabrics to my portfolio (I love that wee feature, I can see all my wants right on one page), my mind quickly wandered back to myself, and I let out a little gasp when I saw this chenille. Unfortunately, Mind Reading Ruggy heard my gasp, looked at my screen, and asked when I might be making something with my Mood allowance for my loving husband.

Must learn to keep emotions hidden.

I promised I would pick up something for him the very next time I was in the store, and indeed I did... after spending an hour and a half poring over boucle for myself. By the time I got to shirtings I think the fuzz from wools had coated my brain. Aided by Nate, I dug into the racks, looking for something that wouldn't bore me half to death. When the strapping Nate yanked this bolt off the shelf, he deemed it edgy without being Oona crazy, and I was sold. But I was too precoccupied with the boucle in my arms to actually touch it.

Arriving home, I was still too enamored of my own find to lay hands on it, shoving it in for a pre wash so I could get back to fondling wool. Later, as I ironed it, I patted myself on the back for the sheer magnitude of my kindness in making my husband the second shirt of my five year sewing career, trumpeting to the general public of cats and man that it would be killer, with pearl snaps and a contrasting back yoke made out of thick olive green jersey.  

Then I noticed the plaid wasn't quite matching up... had it gone off grain in the wash? I asked Ruggy to pull opposite corners with me. After all, it was destined for his closet, he could do a little work. So we pulled... and realized I had purchased a flannel that was surely meant for the likes of Stretch Armstrong. I'm talking trampoline worthy.  

Now, my Ruggy is picky man. He eyed that lycra stretch, and I knew it wasn't for him. Sweat glands like a delicate flower, that one. No matter! I happily chirped. I'll just make something for myself and I'll get you some nice 100% cotton next time for sure kaythxbye!!! And I was off to my pattern stash.

I chose Simplicity 2337 of the Project Runway line, my favorite of the big 4 for sure. Seriously, if I'm near a chain store with a sale, I just open up the drawers and pull out every blue envelope that doesn't have a child on it. I love the variations in these patterns, but rather than try one of their infinite perfectly drafted options, I was moved to sketch my own: a dolman sleeve. Which I royally fuka'ted. See how that seam curves down to the front of my arm? Yeah, I TOTALLY meant to do that, it's a design element, thankyaverymuch.  

The rest of the pattern went together like a charm, princess seams on the front, two darts in the back, vent.  

Oooooh and my current trick for dealing with the excess fabric around my back shoulder section: cut the offending excess out! HA. I call it the Posture du Dancer's Adjustment. I love a good PDA. 

The neck and hem are finished off with bias trim (can I just say I hate facings? I HATE FACINGS. I said as much to Carolyn the other day. I love it when someone who really knows what they're doing tells me it okay to do whatever hairbrain thing I might be doing at the time). The neckline is actually sandwiched in trim, and since I had to rip out the very last bit by the zipper head so many times it was a holy mess I just decided for the fun of it to add this little ribbon & pearl embellishment at the top.

Ruggy snapped these photos for me. Wearing an old Gap sweatshirt. Oh, the humanity. A police van was parked next to us. A female officer leaned out the window: Okay, I gotta ax. You took like a hundred pictures already, whaddayouDOIN. After some shouting about sewing and Mood, I informed the officers that the plaid was meant for the man behind the camera, and that sent me and the male officer into gales of laughter. He seemed to understand completely. My Ruggy grinned acceptingly like the wonderful guy he is. 

I would say I'd make it up to him soon... but I don't like to lie.

(But! Notice anything different about this post?  Apparently my ee cummings style of lowercase typing confuses the hell out of the Rugster.  So I'm throwing him a bone. Whaddaya think?  Shall I stick to it?)

this dress was made using my monthly fabric "allowance" as part of the Mood Sewing Network.

a quick note

too much ironing makes brain mushy.

so YEAH if you happen to get my RSS feed (which, what exactly is that?  is it like email?  you can do that here now! it's the little "oona in your inbox" addition to the sidebar.  but isn't that different than RSS?  yes, i know i can google it.  i want a factual and/or made up answer; bonus points for made up answer that is more believable than fact.  at this point i have strayed too far from the original sentence and will begin again).  so YEAH if you happen to get my RSS feed, then you got my birthday post waaaaaaaaaaaaaay early.  like, over a month early.  to be fair, i start thinking about my birthday on january second.  but still. 

this error in clicking could be due to the fact that i have been involved in a self made assembly line for the past four hours, and my brain is a bunch of 1/4 inch lines.  or it could be the manhattans.  ruggy made them with bulleit rye whiskey tonight.  as he called out pour #2, i was in the middle of a brainstorm involving compiling a wee blogger list.  "save" and "publish" are very much too close for comfort.  thwarted!  by my own true love, rye whiskey!  (you know i love you ruggy.)  

at any rate, if you happened to see it during the two seconds it took to correct my error, or if you have this RSS everyone is speaking of (really, WHAT IS IT), mum is le word!  the upside is i realize i need to put up details up next week to give peeps time.  time is of the essence.

ooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooh i am so excited.

*************************************************************************************************
UPDATE: all this tech talk pushed me over the edge and i've finally gone all custom domain.  SMELL ME.  ruggy has been holding oonaballoona.com for years (seriously, i do love him more than rye whiskey) and i finally switched. this shouldn't gum up the works for anyone except moi-- when you go all custom, you lose your blog roll.  i'll be adding that back this weekend. please let me know ifyou have any problems! 

my featherweight can sew ANYTHING

most interesting google search that lead four people to this blog:

"my elbows are dark."

okay.  c'est true.  they are.  so are my knees.  i'm currently employing a salt scrub twice a day in an effort to annihilate a layer of skin on the pointy parts of my limbs.  (and if the four of you out there found a solution that doesn't involve bleach, let a girl know, 'kay?)

other peeps with an eye on this blog: some wicked weather fairies.  temperatures dropped 20 degrees after i mouthed off about poolside shoots.  sorry los angeles, my bad.  we had a chilly valentine's day with roast chicken and buffy the vampire slayer.  last night, after a two-and-a-half-hour sixteen mile drive (truly, i was certain i would never see the outside of a car again), i arrived home to the scent of rosemary and thyme drenched in chicken fat, and my featherweight had been decorated with tulips and chocolates.  shortly after, my man was decorated in a da beard hat, which he hasn't taken off since last night.

i hope you had a wonderful valentine's day!

hubba husband

i made ruggy a shirt.

this is not the shirt.

but we were all dolled up for a night out on the town with parental kalkatroonans and i had to get a picture.  (and i did make my shirt.)  it was a wonderful boozy jazzy night, surrounded by the lights of the city and the billy hart quartet (the man has a syncopated metronome implanted in his brain, and dizzy's needs to get on this tip.  ethan iverson explains it much better.  MORE OF THIS PLEASE DIZZY'S.)  would that i had grabbed a shot of the four of us: kalkatroona dad donned a green plaid shirt with yellow accents, a gray sportscoat, and a silver and black tie. in case you're wondering where i get my pattern matching skillz from.

luckily the shot passes muster with ruggy, because there's no way i'm going through the negroni photos again for an extra oona does it! wrap up here.  no, this is just to let you know there's some man candy going on over at my column on the sew weekly.... ruggy takes center stage.   

sunday prayer

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY RUGGY YOU GORGEOUS HUNK OF MAN.

(please god let the steelers beat the bejesus out of the patriots.)

get you a southern boy

(it is a sweaty summer day.  having spent the previous night with her wino friends, and a subsequent afternoon with her wino parents, oona struggles to keep conscious.  she is wearing a shift dress that is far too snug in the armhole area.  she knows there is a quick fix to this, but it involves the sharp blade and maniacal rattle of her elna prolock.  she needs her wits securely about her first.  suddenly, inspiration.)

oona:  RUGGY.  make some sweet tea!

ruggy:  you can do it.  it's really easy.

oona:  southern boy, you know you'll make it better.

(ruggy rattles off instructions as oona stomps around the kitchen:

one growler, one large glass measuring cup

pour 500 grams boiling water over 6 black tea bags

steep 15 minutes

strain tea into growler

add a pinch of baking soda, 75 grams of agave nectar, and 1/8 tsp vanilla

add filtered water to fill the rest of the growler

shake it up

et voila.

they drink.)

oona:  my tea is not as good as yours.

ruggy:  that's because you ain't southern.

(time passes.  oona pounds away on her laptop.  ruggy, sipping the mediocre tea,  senses he is being typed about.)

ruggy:  still good though.  congratulations on your first tea making venture.

oona:  thank you.

ruggy:  next time do better.

(next time, oona will add rum.)

grand central conflagration: seriously, what is it about lines?

(this is not grand central. but it is certainly majestic.)

ruggy and i were in grand central station, on our way to a lovely evening. of course we were running late.  i made ruggy promise to slow down, as it was totally our friend's fault that we were late, and friend could pick us up on the next train or i could break my ankle running on the decrepit subway stairs.

this always gets ruggy.  noooooOOOOOoooooo, he says, don'tsaythati'llslowdown.

we had nine minutes to make the train, but fortune smiled, and the two ticket machines had incredibly short queues.  so i leave ruggy second in line, and traipse off to find a bottle of water that's not dasani (fruitless search; pepsi/coke have taken over the world in all beverage related forms).  walking back empty handed, i see that ruggy's line has grown stagnant, while several peeps in line-to-the-right have come and gone.  the same confused woman is poking the "back" button on the touch screen like it's whack-a-mole.  the clock ticking, ruggy tries to stay calm as a man beseeches him in spanglish.  we can't tell if he wants us to buy him a ticket for a dollar, or maybe he needs a dollar to have enough to buy a ticket?  ruggy's southern sensibilities wreak havoc on his new york training in situations like these.  the man walks sadly away, and ruggy looks at me like he's just inadvertently drowned the guy's kitten.  i have a dollar, i say, i'll go find him.

two more peeps in line-to-the-right happily get their tickets and move on.  confused lady desperately punches at the screen in front of her.  ruggy breathes deeply.

sad man is a very quick bunny.  he's all the way past the central clock by the time i get twenty paces out.  or maybe it's because i've decided come hell or high water, i'm TAKING IT SLOW, and thusly, as there's no hope of catching him, i stop, turn around, and glance at ruggy's progress.  this is what i witness:

ruggy:  HOly SHITballs!!!

(ruggy turns sharply sideways, a la wile e coyote, and runs full tilt away from the ticket line.)

i know where he's going.  he's headed to the ticket booths on the other side of the stairs.  and i know why he did it.  confused woman had brought ruggy to the very short end of his "i'm taking it slow" rope.  like me, ruggy doesn't do well in lines.  but direct confrontation with strangers is not so much in his genetic makeup.  instead, his syncopated decree (think chris farley) only threw his fellow travelers into a state of complete bewilderment.  i gazed from a distance, amused, as he bolted like a triathlete at the starting gun.  confused lady blinked in wonder at the ruggy-sized hole in the line behind her.  a family of tourists stared at said hole and sniffed the air for insanity as tourist dad put a protective arm around son and daughter.

i strolled to the ticket booths around the corner, quietly chuckling, and watched in gleeful anticipation as a woman slammed obnoxiously into ruggy while squeezing between him and her friend.  i don't know why she chose that spot; there was ample room on the other side.  ruggy's spine went bolt straight and his shoulders stiffened as he held the last ounce of his cool in.  luckily she threw a "sorry" over her shoulder and that was enough.  just barely.  by oona standards, i would've went OFF.

tickets in hand, he turned fuming away from the machine.  i couldn't help but break into a grin.  he caught my eye and shook his head in laughter.  as much as he is an absolute perfect gentleman and chides me for my public outbursts, ruggy loses his shit too.

(only when i lose mine, people know what it's about.  i don't give them much choice.)  

she's just afraid of the comb

jorth has a lovely picture up, angelic really, of her as a golden locked girlie. she wondered if anyone else would care to share.

ah, the sideshow bob hairstyle. a favorite for unruly kalkatroonan hair.

at times, hot rollers were used to tame the mane.

they did not work. hats, applied to distract one's attention from the botched experiment, also failed.
(brother beast had problems of his own.)

braids were a viable option. i look insanely angry here for one of two reasons:

1. brother beast, knowing full well i like surprises, snooped and told me everything i was getting for christmas.

2. my braids, which were 4 inches diameter each, brained me every time i swung my head in glee at the christmas booty. there was a LOT of booty that year. i probably have a mild concussion in this picture.

apparently, ruggian children had hair issues as well:

that's a wig. and several perfume bottles. i'm just sayin'.

how 'bout yours?

and afterwards, we took a nice little nap

this weekend, ruggy and i became members at the museum of modern art.

i think this means we are grown ups now.

it went something like this. our out-of-town friends wanted to go, and we like it there (you know, the two times we'd been). i'd handed out hard candies (grown up? more like senior citizen) as we stood in the admissions line. when the friendly ticket man asked for our zip code and learned we were, ahem, new yorkers, thankyouverymuch, he quickly embarked on his membership spheel. ruggy smacked on his mango sucker like we were at a county fair discussing the weight of the winning pig, working out a deal where our friends could get their money back and we could buy them fancy five dollar guest passes. we were sold and directed to refund line, which ruggy proceeded to jump--twice--and without flinching. it was like he had a cloud of membership privilege around him, didn't even garner one dirty look. 

being out-of-towners, it was friends' choice for exhibits, and well, we're members now so moma is our daily bitch. they chose "design and the modern kitchen", which was fairly cool-- above is a close up of a solar powered cooker. it was taller and wider than me, although the same could not be said after lunch later that day.

did you know the army was semi-vegan? for the cause? i did not know this.

maybe it was the hard candy, maybe it was the hard plastic card, but i was really drawn to this old timey display. i love the organization of it, and the labels. i wouldn't call it appetizing, but it's appealing.

there was a neat "material lab" in the education building that we didn't make it to, we were tapped out. well, they were tapped out, i was frothing at the mouth, there was wire and foil and stones and thread and you could MAKE STUFF... we're going back. oh yes, it's probably for kids, but these grown ups are members now. we do what we want.