(no subject)
Omigod, the New Yorker magazine is talking about CTY. GEEKGASM. The article ends with a description of the American Pie ritual. I bet the geeks they interviewed were obediently geeky and annoyingly insistent that it end with American Pie. I can just SEE it. My only problem is that they only talk about one girl, and she's this giggly bubbly airy thing learning five languages. Nope, girls can't be geeks, we still MUST take on the sex appeal because it's our job to make men happy HAHA I can cross it out but it's still there! I am censoring, but I'm NOT. ...that's COOL.
I've mentioned this here before, but I plan to dress up as a member of the We Want Roy Mustang to Burn Us to Ashes club at Otakon this year, which is basically the Hagaren military jacket and a "miniskirt" (pleated school uniform skirt). This started with a call to French Toast to order a size 16 1/2 (girls size) pleated navy blue skirt directly from their factory. Then I got a haircut. On the same day, my mother and I went and bought a pattern for this jacket, the material, thread, and some white stuff to go around the edges. We hunted down the darkest shade of navy blue cotton that we could find and the squarest jean jacket pattern and I think some pins and then we ran home and felt fashionable because of our hair.
Monday, Tuesday, and today, mom went, uh, fucking berserk on the jacket. Monday especially was crazy. She pieced a LOT of it together (and even the collar came out right), and then late in the day, the skirt came in the mail. We were overjoyed to find out it was too big, because it was also too long, and I could just roll up the waistband to adjust it. Then there was the problem of the French Toast people apparently being colorblind, because their idea of navy is something a hell of a lot like black. Mom went tearing out to buy dye to change the color (something that we've done before), and the next morning, we had amiracle matching jacket.
Today I made some Important Decisions about where that flap on the front would go (having a seamstress to boss around is fun). Then I went and bought a lot of snacks for Otakon. Like, a lot. Like, I paid like $150. And that feeling that the cashier hates anime fans andthought knew that I am one because I bought a truckload of snacky crap. Yeah, well, uh, I took Japanese for five years so I definitely did my time your mom.
I got a bag of little crabs. Like, in their shells. I bet they're crunchy.
I've mentioned this here before, but I plan to dress up as a member of the We Want Roy Mustang to Burn Us to Ashes club at Otakon this year, which is basically the Hagaren military jacket and a "miniskirt" (pleated school uniform skirt). This started with a call to French Toast to order a size 16 1/2 (girls size) pleated navy blue skirt directly from their factory. Then I got a haircut. On the same day, my mother and I went and bought a pattern for this jacket, the material, thread, and some white stuff to go around the edges. We hunted down the darkest shade of navy blue cotton that we could find and the squarest jean jacket pattern and I think some pins and then we ran home and felt fashionable because of our hair.
Monday, Tuesday, and today, mom went, uh, fucking berserk on the jacket. Monday especially was crazy. She pieced a LOT of it together (and even the collar came out right), and then late in the day, the skirt came in the mail. We were overjoyed to find out it was too big, because it was also too long, and I could just roll up the waistband to adjust it. Then there was the problem of the French Toast people apparently being colorblind, because their idea of navy is something a hell of a lot like black. Mom went tearing out to buy dye to change the color (something that we've done before), and the next morning, we had a
Today I made some Important Decisions about where that flap on the front would go (having a seamstress to boss around is fun). Then I went and bought a lot of snacks for Otakon. Like, a lot. Like, I paid like $150. And that feeling that the cashier hates anime fans and
I got a bag of little crabs. Like, in their shells. I bet they're crunchy.