Tales of the Misled

I like clothes.

2010-09-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

While at Sakuracon this past year I saw the most beautiful costume I'd ever seen; it was a black and purple corseted dress, with a small fascinator on her head. It was a random version of Miku Hatsune, a vocaloid character. The amusing aspect of it all, was that prior to working on costumes for Sakura-Con I had no idea what Vocaloid's even were. It wasn't until a distant friend-of-a-friend asked if I'd be interested in doing a dance group together for a skit, and suggested vocaloid songs and dances, that I had any idea what strange characters they were.

Considering the fact that I'm now working on costumes for Vocaloids you may assume that I fell in love instantly… However, the truth is that I absolutely abhorred vocaloid songs. To be completely honest, I still fail to fall in love with them. Their voices are electronic synthesizers that only sing in Japanese... In case anyone here hasn't realized this fact, I am not Japanese, nor do I have much interest in being Japanese. That, however, is besides the point.

I love their costumes… Sometimes. I know that some people get upset over this, but I'll be honest, I make costumes because I like the outfit, not because I love the character... and I go to the conventions because I like wearing costumes, not because I'm a raging anime fan.

But back to the story; at Sakura-con, I saw this beautiful Miku costume; for months I searched for a picture of her online with information to see what it was from. I found nothing. A couple of friends and I were trying to think of a group costume to do since we've only ever done Bleach together(which is very boring, and not challenging for me in the least), and Vocaloid was a natural suggestion since there are so many characters, and so many of us. I made it my goal to find the outfit that Miku wore, and finally, I found this. 'Sandplay Singing of the Dragon' or '龍ノ啼ク箱庭拠り' in Japanese. I've found that searching for it in Japanese yields much more beneficial results, albeit slightly unintelligible since my Japanese is a joke at best.

The pattern for Kaito's(blue haired guy) jacket is almost entirely cut out and once I find the material I want to make them all out of I'll be ready to make it. I've mostly been searching for wigs, and suitable embroidery prices lately. Since I will be making everyone's costumes with the exception of Gakupo I want the embroidered designs to be uniform, though unfortunately I do not have an embroidery machine, nor do I have an interest in getting one. So I'm looking to outsource it and have someone else do the work for me. I've yet to have any real luck.

I have, however, gotten very lucky with wigs. I found wigs for Luka, and Kaito both at fairly cheap (relatively speaking) prices, so it will be up to them to purchase them whenever they can. And I somehow stumbled upon a pair of very cheap, but very nice new blonde wigs for Rin and Len(blonde twins) that are absolutely perfect. I bought them hastily without bothering to even ask if the two people wearing them were okay with it. (They were fine with it.) It was less than $30 with shipping for both of them; it really doesn't get any better than that.

The things I miss most about living on my own...

2009-10-11T03:31:00.000-07:00

     I'm 23 years old; and like a growing number of people in my age bracket I am relatively unemployed and rely solely on my family to provide a roof over my head. I say 'relatively' because I do odd jobs. I take care of kids, give lessons, tutor, sew commissions, and a variety of other odd jobs. Yet none of these jobs pertain to anything that I've gone to school for.

     Though to be quite honest, I went to school for a lot of things. I was a very indecisive undergrad student. I took classes in nearly every field. I enjoyed Philosophy, Anthropology, Biology, English, Music, Linguistics, and any other course I could get myself signed up. I'd be lying if I said I went to college for a degree; as a product of a total hippie mother I was more interested in learning about life and existence than in having a piece of paper to prove said knowledge. It wasn't that I didn't like school, on the contrary I'd be there still if I could afford it... simply that I think there is more to life than books and paper. A piece of paper can't make you feel any better about yourself at the end of the day, and it definitely cannot make your problems go away any easier.

     However, part of me wish I had gone through with the whole "responsible student" line and continued with school on something. Living with my family is sort of a pain in the butt to put it lightly. I am not very emotional and friendly, I value personal space. Yet living in a cramped house gives me little room for anything personal. I've got various temporary closets set up throughout the house, small tubs filled with random sewing supplies wherever I can stuff them, and a makeshift bookshelf on the kitchen windowsill.

     I don't actually miss my own space as much as one would think, nor do I miss having a large closet to keep all of my clothes without wrinkles. While the fact that I once more smell as though I were a 60 year old chain smoker bothers me, as does the fact that my almost healthy lungs have once again returned to second hand smoke victim status, I overlook this a lot. The thing I miss most about living on my own is having my own bookshelf and desk. I miss the satisfied feeling of looking to shelves filled with various books I've read, or would like to read. Having little trinkets, and cups holding art supplies. I miss that more than any other thing about living on my own.
     One day I'll strike it rich, or simply get a regular job, and then I'll be able to get my own place... then hopefully I'll make enough to afford a bookshelf since I destroyed all of mine in an attempt to annoy the hell out of an old roommate in college when I moved out. (It worked flawlessly, she hated me afterwards even more than she had while we lived together, though that's a story for another day.)

"Sometimes Goodbye's the only way."

2009-08-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

     I have a pile of new designs that I could start working on: a couple of dresses, a skirt, bracelets, and a few purses for that nice leather I got last year. I even have a couple of projects that I should work on. _{(i.e. the patio cushions for the ex and his family.)}
     I have a few plot ideas that I've jotted down ideas for. I need to organize them better. I've been meaning to start an idea book for my story ideas. Heaven knows I've got enough random half completed stories that I get bored with, or that I lose interest in it for any variety of reasons...
     Yet, am I doing anything remotely productive with my time? NO! All aboard the fail ship. I am watching one of the million mtv/vh1 channels on tv, it's a rock flashback playlist playing a song for every year between 1996-2008. I also gave myself a french manicure to match the pedicure I got last weekend.
Naturally, being that I am in the habit of thinking things through... I realized after I had finished my pale pink coat that I didn't have a top gloss polish. I have nearly every color of nail polish imaginable... and I don't have clear. win!

     It gets stranger every day to think that I don't have my other half. I sincerely hope that we can be friends once our waiting period of mourning has passed. It makes me subconsciously depressed, and strips me of motivation to do much of anything. However, I have accepted that it is all part of the grieving process. Things can get better now.

What is Undefined?

2009-08-12T19:21:00.000-07:00

     For some reason, the layout on my page has an "undefined" feature. I searched the coding for probably an hour trying to find what it was. I looked over the layout, looked through the html, the css... I've searched it from the proverbial head to toe, yet there is nothing there to point to this random undefined feature.
     I was struck by how much this simple "undefined" object on a webpage is like the undefined problems that we encounter in life. You never realize that something is wrong until it stares boldly at you in the face and you are suddenly faced with the issue of solving said problem. Yet, you are met with a plethora of questions: Where did it stem from? What is the real issue at hand? Is it really that important to solve? How did you not foresee it happening?
     Like most problems in life, you never fully consider that it could happen until afterward. Even after you've worked hard to find the source of the problem, to solve the issue and resume life normally, it can still pop up at inopportune times. Someone says something that reminds you of it and you feel frustrated all over again; You endure a similar issue, or someone else close to you is hit with it.
     It's not that you haven't gotten over the original event. It's simply that remembering it is painful, annoying, frustrating, aggravating, or any other cocktail of negative emotions.

     I was reminded of something like this yesterday while talking with my sister. I'll let anyone reading this in on a secret: I never knew my real dad. My other siblings have, but between he and I we have enough pride to drown the rest of the world out. I viewed him as a failure that couldn't handle a simple marriage, and when I told him (at the age of 3) that I hated him and never wanted to see him again, we both took it very seriously.
     Growing up, my real father paid child support, at at times I was curious about him, but not enough to make the call. My godfather was my "Dad." If I needed something, he got it for me. If Kids made fun of me (which they didn't because I was somehow the bully) then he was the one to make it better. I spent weekends with him, and he would take me on these great vacations where we would go clam digging at the ocean, or strawberry picking in open fields. The sole reason my childhood was so great was because of him.
     However, he didn't really take my younger, or older, siblings out. They all had fathers that were actively in their lives; and he was my dad. He died a few years ago, and I dealt with a lot of drama from his family. He hadn't been close to his own family, and they only reconciled with him towards the end of his life because of his money. That's a story for another day.
     Yesterday, my little sister called him a "Bastard" because he never took her out. He bought her Christmas and Birthday presents, but she was jealous that he and I had bonded so closely. I yelled at her, and we both said things that we shouldn't have. But in our argument, it reminded me of how much he had meant to me, and how hard it was to think that I would never see him again.
     I'm over the fact that he is gone, and 98% of the time I am completely fine with it. But somehow, the argument triggered something. It was as though he had died all over again. I've read many books and articles stating that if you still cry, you're not over it. If you blah blah blah, you've not successfully moved on... and you know what?

I call that BS.

We're not robots, and crying/acting remorsefully is a healthy thing. I think it's perfectly fine to look at something and say "That hurts, but I'm okay with that."

Musicians, please stop sucking.

2007-12-15T18:04:00.001-08:00

There are a number of frustrations that one encounters while dating a musician. One frustration in particular is when you yourself have studied music for just as long as they have. The phrase 'too many cooks in the kitchen' rings truer than ever with musicians. Having been trained in classical music and having been trained to having perfect pitch I have naturally become somewhat analytical of music. Generally when going to shows one must attempt at turning this mode off, as to avoid sounding like a complete jerk when telling the poor soul who can't help that their guitar went out of tune before starting the second song, or that they are slowing down.

Perhaps the most annoying aspect of watching bands play is when they play a cover of an older song, only to not necessarily butcher it, but rather do something wrong. When playing old upbeat rockabilly songs I wish that these newer bands knew how to keep the pace pushing. It is not that the meter has to be sped up from the original, just that these musicians are making it all fall behind so that it is akin to the sensation of watching marathon runners through thick mud which they sink in to. Nothing ruins a performance like slowing down drastically part way through a song. Being out of tune may be bad, but if you're playing to a bar crowd very few will notice, however by slowing down the crowd will naturally become less involved. Slow music tells bar goers that they can get something to drink, fast songs tell them that they need to dance. Balads are nice, but not at all venues, it depends on the crowd. So please, musicians, plan your playlists accordingly. If you're playing to a bunch of people who look like romantic saps, go ahead and play the setlist full of balads, however if it's a younger crowd chances are they want to have fun... and playing a 4-5 minute version of "Whole lotta shakin' going on" does not count as an upbeat dance song.

The ails of being a wimp.

2007-12-14T06:11:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember I've had adverse reactions to a lot of foods. As an infant I couldn't eat corn products, and amongst other things the worse problem has been with lactose. It isn't so much that I have allergic reactions to foods, rather that my body seems intolerant of them. Despite knowing that I can't eat many foods without getting ill, I suppose I try to tempt fate by eating it in abundance.

One of my favorite foods is Ice Cream, as well as yogurt, and cheesecake. I've tried 'vegan' alternatives that use soy products, or that are more animal friendly. It isn't that I want to be some horrible animal killing monster, but I don't like soy, and it just doesn't taste as good as the original. I've also tried taking pills to lessen the effects, though it rarely works that well. The most depressing idea of it all is the fact that simply having fresh cheese grated lightly over a salad or pasta is enough to make me feel ill.

Growing up I never really understood that it was what I ate that made me feel ill, I was always a somewhat sick person. It wasn't until I got older that I realized I wasn't just getting sick a lot, but that I had bad allergies to nearly everything around me, and I wasn't just getting upset stomachs because something was wrong with my stomach, but rather because I couldn't digest the food I was eating. I just now realized how depressing this fact is.

In high school I tried birth control, as many young girls do. Upon receiving the pills, my doctor warned that it may take a few weeks to a month or so for my body to get accustomed to them, and my friends who had taken the pills explained no real problems, making it out that the natural ill feeling accompanied by the excessive hormones released in the pills is very short lived. For months I took the pills, and for months I was ill. I would be sick all morning after taking the pill, and after 6 months I was still feeling very ill with it. I was just looking in to the drug information for the pills I had taken, and I realized that it has lactose in it. Not to say that the entire reason for my adverse reaction to it is due entirely to the lactose, but that as of yet I have displayed a somewhat severe intolerance to it and it could have been somewhat to blame.

Woe to the skinny girl.

2007-12-11T23:26:00.001-08:00

My whole life I've had to deal with people telling me that I am skinny, or that I have no right to complain about how clothes fit because I'm not bigger. I ignore them most of the time, and pretend that it means nothing. The other night while shopping at a cute boutique downtown with my roommate she made a good point when she said to our friend "At least we can fit between sizes; I can usually fit either a 9 or a 10. But Tami can't do that! She can't even fit the smallest size."
   It's something that most people view to be a desirable problem, and when I complain about being too small for something look at is as though rubbing it in their faces that I am so small I can't fit something normal. We live in a world that thrives on feeling small, on looking more petite than the others. However, being small, in some cases, is worse than being obese. Rather than having to shop at the shop for larger women, I am forced to purchase all of my clothing from either the children's section which provides shapeless clothing with arms and legs that ar significantly short, or by purchasing expensive designer clothing which would make even the most obese woman look great.
   I love high fashion, but being that I am a college student with no financial support from my family it is difficult to justify spending $200 on a pair of perfect jeans, or a to-die-for silk blouse that will not keep me warm, and will most definitely not be "all-terrain". Perhaps this was a large factor in my growing interest in to sewing my own clothing. I can't justify spending thousands of dollars on school for design when the likelihood of it paying itself off is near to none, however I don't need a degree to tell me that I know how to sew, or that I've got good style. Granted, my roommate may think I'm quite the slob in that I tend to jump straight in to sweats the minute I get home from work and classes, and with the weather reaching lows down to the teens I can't justify wearing cute stilettos and pencil skirts.
   One frustrating thing lately is the realization that while I have tried to hard to gain weight, I still get frustrated upon realizing that while the rest of me is slim, my butt has gotten a mind of its own and got quite large over a year of being lazy with the boy.
Despite that, I have taken no means to reaching a lower weight. One could ask anyone that has come in to my apartment on any given day and the smell of sweets baking is unavoidable. I almost always have a bag of chips, a pack of soda, cookies, cake, ice cream... the list goes on. Even when I eat "healthy" food I add a grotesque amount of fattening sides. I eat more than my younger sister who weighs nearly twice as much as I do. I am one of those "lucky" people, I suppose. But with being lucky, I still worry about my weight. A couple of years ago I got dreadfully ill and my weight dropped down to near 90lbs. I was not starving myself, nor was I doing anything to intentionally lose weight, yet it happened. The results were, as to be expected, horrifying. My ribs protruded, vertebrae jutted out like a string of beads, and you could count the bones in my feet if I moved it just right. I couldn't eat anything without throwing up, my stomach would convulse with every meal, I felt horrible... I was actually sick, as in having a horrible, long lasting case of the flu... but that wasn't how other people took it. The fact that I had a high fever and couldn't look at food without getting nauseas meant nothing to them, they simply took it that I had self-image issues and was doing it on purpose. It is insulting that when someone who is, say, a size 8 complains about how they look, it is met with laughs and a chorus of "You look great!" but when someone who can't fit in to a size 0 complains about not gaining enough weight they are met with "You're just not trying hard enough." and "Maybe if you actually ate something you would."
   School this quarter has been stressful, money has been tight... my first quarter being truly far from home and I'm quite miserable to be honest. I was excited to find that I had gained 10 pounds from the start of the quarter. The boy, however, was quick upon seeing me to note "Have you lost weight?" to which I grinned excitedly and said "No! I gained 10 lbs! Can you not tell?" I look over myself briefly to inspect myself. I hadn't looked much at myself over the past few months as I'd been busy, and lazy. He then cringes and says "I can see all of your ribs through your back." Somehow while gaining weight I've managed to get skinnier. How many people can boast that? It's frustrating. I want to gain a little weight, get a bit bigger... at least big enough to fit womens clothing.