Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

I haven't really posted anything about sewing in a while, since--well--probably in earnest since before Oregon . . . in all fairness, I doubt anyone wants another run down of my sculpting scraps into a swanky, borderline hooker bra, the abuse I'm giving my serger with a well crafted raglan after another, or of the hilariously obscene things I add to the crotches of my jeans and say while making them (okay the fly details are just drop dead jovial, and I will not apologize for kisses on my fly, compasses, or xoxo labels). Yet . . . I've also found myself making more basics and eschewing the need to deviate from classics, tried and true, and what I know works.  Why? Part of that comes from the six or so weeks I spent out left last summer.  I left New York with a backpack, a carry on, and one well-crafted suitcase.  In two months--during insomnia hours--reading and pinning notes on the capsule wardrobe craze, and then I spent several days combing through my closet and dr...

I could lie and tell you in light of the impending Crown Jewel of Hallmark Holidays I replenished my lingerie drawer.  I could.  Yet, like a bad penny that always comes back, I'm too damned honest.  I've been home a whopping three weeks (shocker, I know . . . hold your gasps, it won't be for much longer), and in that time an impressive list of to-dos has been done and an even more surmounting of stitching has been done.   Last year, about to the day, I posted the first (of a few  (or this one  too)) diatribe on bra making.  Then, there was the one post where my Mom and Dad (who apparently read things their daughter writes--who knew!) found out about my newest tattoos.  Yea, that sports bra  and top is like a feat of gravity in and of its own . . . though, the final frontier is a strapless.  I heard a rumor of one being released this year, and let's just say if that happens I'm all about that.  No lie.   Anywho . . . L...

Bras.  Now there's a thousand dollar subject.  The cost of them, the shape of them, of the fit  of them . . . last ready to wear bra I bought set me back just shy of a hundred bucks.  Yea, a bill man . . . And, to make it even better it was just okay.  Like every other bra I've ever owned it was comfortable for about two wearings and then the real personality appeared.  Yea.  Every woman knows that pain.  Wires digging into you, cutting into the chest bone, or . . . the dreaded jiggle and gap at the cup top.  Okay, the other side . . . spillage.  There's a classy, sexy image.     Any woman will admit--though many will need a bourbon or two to really say it--that a favorite bra, one that fits will get worn until it stinks. You know what I mean. Years later, no amount of soap gets the sweat smell out. Yea. The bra. It's like a woman's inside arm. Of course, 99 percent of bras make us want to rage, pull our hair ou...