Lots of Big Words Are In Here.

My previous entry discoursed on how fucked up snack-food flavor combinations are. My example being those little peanut-butter & cheese-flavored crackers of sin you can get from a vending machine.

When asked, a number of my cherished readers also divulged in their strange, food-combo guilty pleasures (Names have been changed to protect my whereabouts on the night in question):


Mrs. Sassy-pants- "I get a small mac & cheese with meatballs and a side of pot sticker sauce at Noodles and Co...I dip the meatballs in the sauce, then pour it over the pasta to finish it. It's more dinner than snack...a guilty, weird, pleasure." (Damn, lady. You are a rockstar of weird foodstuffs. I tip my hat to you.)

Tiny elf woman- Peanut butter on apples. (Newsflash: this is a perfectly acceptable and non weird way to consume peanut butter. I still included it because peanut butter.)

Distant pen-clown- Jelly on grilled cheese. (I fully support this one, for the same reasons that jelly sammiches dipped in chicken noodle soup are amazing.)

Mad Max Jr.- Grilled peanut butter and bacon. (How, in my tedious 32 years on this world, did I never discover this?! What promises did you make to some arcane, dark god to receive the knowledge of such a combination?!)

Original Manna- Grilled cheese with ketchup. (Is this an east-coast thing, you weirdo?)

***Cheers, everyone. You have successfully lived up to my expectations of having unusual friends.***

Now on to the actual blog post: 

...eh, fuck it. I'm hungry now.

Snacks Are Weird.

I have been wondering about snacks for a while. I was probably drunk at the time, but I suddenly realized that people mix food flavors in the most unnatural, horrifying, delicious ways. Completely blew my whiskey-soaked little mind.

First example: Peanut butter & cheese cracker sandwiches =/= cheddar with a peanut butter schmear.

It's very difficult to make peanut butter NOT look like poo.

If you haven't eaten these, you've at least seen them in numerous vending machines, glowing sickly orange in the night-florescence of highway motels, summer camp, and college campuses. Four little, dry squares of cheese-flavored crackers & peanut butter. The salty-sweet, crumbly-gooey magical combination guarantees the snack's continued distribution to rest stops and kindergarteners around the country. Take the basic flavors, though; peanut butter and....cheese? How much rum was drunk to make that sound like a good idea?

...I still love those cracker sammiches, though.

Tell me, my cherished readers: What strange food combination do you snack on? Do you have a gustatory guilty pleasure do you harbor?

Finished Projects, All White.

I love colors! Obviously not in my own wardrobe, which is given to shades of black and stripes. In general, though, bright & bold colors inspire my imagination. Both my yarn and fabric stashes overflow with colorful selections with which I can plot and plan and fantasize.

Ergo, I'll be sorting my brag posts chromatically. I start with the color comprised of all color: white. Mainly because these photos were the impetus for this theme.

Rocking out--FOR SCIENCE!

A wedding dress was brought to me, 3 days before THE Day. It needed just a wee bit of adjustment at the sweetheart neckline. It took me more time to disassemble the dress than to perform the tweak! A locking backstitch modified the neckline, invisible fell stitches to close up the lining, and plastic snaps swapped out for metal.

Hand-stitching bridal wear; the most terrifying form of meditation.

The most frightening part about working on this dress was making sure my hands were clean the whole time. Still, the end result fit the lovely bride like a pretty, lace glove!

Except, you know...right side out, like a normal person.

This shirt I was commissioned to replicate exactly from the client's favorite that he had worn out. He wanted 3 shirts identical: the ruffled collar, the french seams, and even the double layer of cotton plisse used. Lucky for him, I found the exact fabric at my fabric outlet warehouse.

I'm pretty sure the dress form is what
makes the shirt look feminine. Mostly.

I bought enough fabric to make this one, to gauge how much time it took and what order of steps I needed for such a project. When I returned to get more fabric, I struck out. I could not find the bolt anywhere! I wandered through every. single. aisle. of S. R. Harris, but could not spot it!

S.R. Harris is like this, only more organized.
And the Ark is 50% off the marked price.

The shirts weren't due until August, so I didn't panic too much; I was months ahead of schedule! Those months passed. I looked in chain stores, online, and re-combed the warehouse. None fabrics. Until last week.

A warehouse employee and I picked through the aisles. The countdown to the deadline is a month away, and now the client has been asking after his shirts. Still nothing. I chose a random bolt of cotton to make do, and resigned myself to disappoint yet another client.

Then I looked up. I was storming through the rayon/lycra aisle, and here was the exact plisse I needed. Out of all the sections where plisse should have been (seersucker, broadcloth, cottons, linens), who decided to stuff it on a shelf with all this rayon?!

Froofy, yes. Artificial? I think not.

8 yards of washing and ironing later, I am about to start on the last 2 shirts of the order. This fabric is so lovely to use, I'll be returning to the outlet for more as soon as I can afford to.

...If I can manage to find it a 3rd time. Cross your fingers, you may want to buy from me something made with this great stuff!

It was like sewing with the dreams of little babies.

Next, On "Life Styles of the Weird & Demented"…

When we moved into the Haus of Manna, I knew for certain that I would need a sewing space in one of the common areas. My bedroom is small, strange and has a door that goes to the laundry in the basement (but that’s another story). Original Manna & I successfully arranged the living room to serve our purposes; she has her computer desk, there’s a butt-swallowing couch right across from the TV, and I have a work space. 

I'll admit: I staged this. It's never this tidy

Over here is my standing work table. It was a butcher block construction from IKEA, but now it is an unfaltering plane of creation. Storage underneath is for craft materials and patterns. And stuffing. And some works in progress. In fact, how many works in progress (WIPs) can you see in this photo? The dress form is a vintage 60’s model my Aunt found for me. She named it Mathilde because the size on the box was “M”. 

Many WIPs is considered a badge of honor. Or distraction.

This is where the noisy magic happens. Yes, there are 3 machines in this photo. No, that’s not all the machines I have (there’s one more in the next photo). Yes, they have names. Also pictured is my inspiration bulletin board, my bag of knitting (only 2 works in progress!), my sewing box, the thread rack, and my Nerf gun. 

...Wait...Nerf gun?

This is my Nerf gun. There are many like it, but this one is mine. It’s for cat discipline. Original Manna’s cat likes to be on high places, including my work table. It also comes in handy for the occasional Roommate Nerf Skirmish.

Efficient, accurate, and looks like an alien laser.

At the end of the machine table is Minerva. At the moment Minerva is sporting the Carmen Miranda-inspired turban I made for a friend’s burlesque number. Naturally, the fabulous shades finishes the look in a glamorous, skin-less way. 

That Minerva...she's ahead of her time.

My library and notions are stored below. The last machine is there, also. Yes, it, too has a name. I love collecting books with information on any and every aspect of sewing or fashion design. That way I don’t really have to remember anything; as long as I know where it’s printed! I have several different boxes and bags in which to store my myriad groups of notions. I guess I like the idea of buying cute, clever, coordinated storage units, but I always believe that money would be better spent on more fabric. Or yarn. Or books about either.

I read "The Dictionary of Fashion" to Franco sometimes.

Speaking of fabric, I have lots (big surprise). It’s carefully organized into transparent boxes which are haphazardly stacked on our porch. In the past month, I’ve managed to edit out some fabric that I don’t need, and I need to do another pass to further narrow down my collection. “But why, Manna?! Why would you want to get rid of any fabric?” you might say. Well some of you. The ones whose stashes rival mine. You know who you are. 

Just looking at it makes me happy. Is that crazy? Maybe.

The short answer is: no space, no patience. If I only have so many boxes into which to cram future projects, I’m going to be picky. On the bright side, my friends will be able to pick up some new lovelies from me soon!

Sure, my work space has a sloped floor that makes it hard to sit at the high table with a rolling desk chair (but also makes it damn hilarious); sure, I have to share valuable elbow space with the modem-thinger; sure, it needs more light….but it’s mine. It’s how I want it. It lets me explore and repair wonderful, vintage coats such as this: 

A vintage faux-Persian lamb coat that needed lining repair.

I admired the hand stitching on a shoulder pad.

Some very close, neat machine stitching. It was a pleasure to
repair this coat and match the stitch styles used.

Neighbor is Building an Ark--Is That Bad?

It has been raining in Minneapolis for almost 3 weeks and it feels like it's been gray and wet FOREVAR. The saving grace of all this angel-snot is that everything is starting to turn green. The muddy yards are green, the treetops are green, my herb garden is green...

Wait, no, my herb garden is brown and soggy. Nothing has sprouted because there hasn't been any sunshine. I can't grow plants with thunder and lightning, Mother Nature!

I am this close to just pre-sprouted cheaters!

It's been cloudy and chilly, which saps my energy. I actually took a nap between this and the last paragraph. Even after drinking half a pot of french-press coffee, I just needed to be horizontal and unconscious. For 2 hours. ugh.

I just...I just need to lie...here...for a bit...

Motivation to work on sewing is scarce. I want to go sew, I think about sewing, I remind myself how happy I am when I do sew, I walk into the living room intending to sew...and then the couch swallows me up and I just end up binge-watching True Detective. Cozy things like knitting and naps and staying inside a blanket cocoon seem like such better ideas in place of working. I wish I could get paid to wrap myself in quilts and eat hummus and watch endless BBC America programming. But watching Ripper Street gives me ideas for costumes, and I start thinking about fabrics, and I feel the stirrings of creativity in my brain...

One more episode. Gotta finish this story arc.

Let's be honest. Blaming my procrastination on the weather is not gonna fly. I'm not getting paid to permanently imprint my butt into the couch cushions, I'm getting paid to make things. Which means putting on my big-girl pants, buttoning up my entrepreneur-shirt, and doing my hair in a getting-shit-done-twist. I have found the best way to help myself move on from crap feelings is to acknowledge them, feel them, and then say goodbye to them. Then jumping around a little to get my energy up seems to help, too. So here goes:

I know I feel sluggish because of the gray days.

I feel gloomy, I have moped, and indulged the Blerch** for long enough.

I am done with sluggish, mopey, gloom. I'm ready to be productive.

I'm going to go jump around now.

**The Blerch was created and is described here by The Oatmeal.

Chapter the Next: In Which the Two Manna Convene and Form a United Front Against the Long Dark.

So basically, my best friend and I moved in together. I don't know if we're best friends because of sharing the name Manna, or if it's coincidence. I don't rightly care, I ended up with a kick-ass bestie all the same! Her surname is actually "Manna", and she's considered the Original Manna. My nickname "manna" is a bastardization of Amanda. Recently, through a strange set of circumstances, it has evolved into "St. Manna the Destroyer." But that's another story.

Through a more typical set of circumstances, Original Manna and I are roommates now. I have brought into the mix an inordinate amount of fabric, paints, canvas, yarns, and other crafty bits. Original Manna has brought an impressive collection of books, comics, monkeys, and her (insane) cat, Spaz, who is more like a small, roaming cactus than cat. But that's another story.

We're both still acting very careful around each other, sharing our preferences about food, cleaning, furniture, and the like. Everything's sort of cordial and gregarious, both of us coming out of extremely stressful situations, and engaging in the extremely stressful process of moving with 2 weeks' notice. The discovery phase of suddenly living with each other is still pleasant, which has greatly reduced the stress levels of us both. Neither of us is comfortable enough yet to walk around without pants, but we'll get there.

I was fired from my job the week before the move, conveniently right around the time my probationary period was ending and I had been planning to negotiate a raise. As a result, I was able to get all of my packing ready for the truck! Then I got to drive the truck! Then I got to scrape the truck against my friend's rear-view mirror while parking! She got even with me, though, she dropped my antique Depression-glass plate my grandmother gave to me when I married. We're square, S-----, we are so square.

...

I think I was trying to make a post about what I'm doing now that I'm unemployed, about my future plans, and about the 50-hour long fundraiser I'm participating in this weekend (dielaughingmarathon.com), but it all just got away from me this time. I really wanted to talk about how I came around to the decision to start my sewing business, and my thoughts about fashion and entrepreneurship.

But that's another story.

Two Cats and a Bumble: Seven Days in Suburbia.

Quite some time ago, mine Uncle asked me to stay at his house for a week to feed his cats and keep the house secure. I couldn't say yes fast enough; not only do I get an empty house to myself for 7 days, Uncle will pay me to do it! I pick up the keys one night and return the next day with my personal effects. The cats warm up to me quickly, as the first thing I do after taking off my shoes is feed them.

The large tom is Tennessee Tuxedo, for obvious reasons.

He eats his kibble with his pinkies up.

The small, round female is Tugboat. I appreciate the alliteration. Well played, Uncle.

This is her "loaf of bread" impression.

I survey my surroundings: a clean, large kitchen, sparingly used by my bachelor Uncle; Netflix available upstairs, a monstrous theater system and all the seasons of Venture Bros. downstairs; an adorable Christmas diorama: 

It's nostalgic! It's nerdy! It's NERDSTALGIC!

...in the guest bedroom, fluffy blankets, a space heater, and, leaning against the closet facing my bed, a photograph of...an antique clown? 

WHUT.

Um. Ok, I can allow Uncle his peculiarities. 

huh.

He can have whatever art laying about as he pleases. 

...damn.

I guess.

Right! So, the day-by-day observations of my Adventures in Cat-sitting. 

Day 1: Someone ate a rubber band. I found it while playing “Pirate Treasure Hunt” in their litter. Tugboat likes to trundle after the feather-toy-on-a-stick. I'm sure this amuses me more then it does her. Tennessee is aloof, acting like he doesn't even need a sitter. Typical little boy.

Day 2: There are too many light switches…what are they connected to? I test some, but there are more switches than light fixtures that respond. Did the neighbor’s porch light just come on? 

When Uncle calls in, I ask--and yes, he did put the clown photo in my room on purpose. I have named him Aloysius and have left him leaning against the closet out of spite.

But how can I stay mad? HOW CUTE IS THIS BUMBLE?!

Day 3: 20 minutes fucking with the faucet to take a shower. 10 minutes to google and find the answer on product website. Most non-intuitive faucet ever: crank a lever to run the water, and then pull down this plastic device from the spout. A device which looks part of the spout and gives no indication of being pull-down-able! Cats are, as usual, tearing about the house for no reason.

Who cares about showers? Rudolph's nose lights up!

Day 4: Finally gave in and used the thermostat. When there’s a 20 degree difference between your bedroom and the house, something’s gotta change. I found a laser pointer. Tennessee has a vendetta against it; Tugboat is only mildly interested. Typical little girl.

I'm not chasing after that....little red bug. Ew.

Day 5: The cats have warmed up to me, finally making the connection between my presence and food. I also bring neat toys into the house, like a box of instant oatmeal packets; which are obviously for the push-it-off-the-counter game. Chubby Tugboat is actually an instigator, not the squirrelly tomcat. She stands really close to Tennessee (I'm not touching you), and when he reacts she smacks him. Then they wrestle until Tennessee runs away and Tugboat chases him around the den. 

These PRECIOUS toys are also push-it-off-the-counter ready.

Day 6:  I start cleaning up and packing up. The cats have accepted me as their own, following me around the house. Tennessee climbs anything to get higher and closer to me. Well, my hands. Because HANDS ARE FOR PETTIN’S.

Hands are also for making LITTLE RED BUG!

Day 7: Last day. I brought supplies from home last night for a nice breakfast. Bananas are found on kitchen floor, gouged and pierced with tiny Tennessee teeth. I snuggle with the kitties on my bed, they only love me for the overnight warmth I generate. 

The dispassionate gaze of a creature who will miss me terribly.

Aloysius is stoic, but I know he's distraught. He's a trooper. In making sure everything is properly secure, I accidentally lock my Uncle out of the house.

I don't feel guilty at all.