I am so in love with the dress in this picture right now! I'll just have to make it when I have a little more money...

On a different note, Riksteateret will be touring the country playing tolvskillingsoperaen by Berthold Brecht. Someone please, please say you'll come with me when they play in Oslo? I've wanted to see that play for like, forever!
( Nov. 15th, 2006 02:36 pm)
Oh, china fashion week just started and here are the gorgeous wedding dresses: http://www.dagsavisen.no/bilde/article2413609.ece?start=1

I´m jumping on the band wagon and want you all to take a shot at how much you know of me. Do think of this as a competition with one winner and a bunch of losers. And please, please comment. It will be no fun if you don´t and I want to know what you know of me! If you don´t comment [livejournal.com profile] 45hasle, [livejournal.com profile] aj_stalin, [livejournal.com profile] mirazandar and [livejournal.com profile] akselwestlund I will be very cross! Oh, how cross I will be! Fear my wrath!

how much do you know about me? )

And the winner is:
*Drum solo*

[livejournal.com profile] mirazandar! with a full score.

Sorry borry the rest of you, you´re losers!
So here I am again, sitting at my work, alone, with charming music blasting out throughout the store and strawberries in my tummy. This guy I work with has a band that I can never remember the name of who's cd I am currently playing, and I acutally rocks! Totally feel-good factor. The Victorian dress is now finished. When I say finished I mean that it is a bitch to get on, I have dropped the fancy backline, part of the innerfabrics shows on the front, and the arms are too thight. But I am resigned to accept the fact that it is finished because I'm running out of time.

I'm also resigned to sit alone at my work because the other girl had to go to a meeting, and never returned. I am resigned to not do a good job, but instead surf the internet, I am resign to not eat anything except an old salad because I cannot leave the store, and I am resigned to be drinking water instead of soda because I cannot buy anything from inside the store.

This feeling of resignation creates a comfort-zone where I do not care what happens and thus it helps me relax. I do nothing and I don't care. It is of course possible to argue that this is not a good attitude for a lowly worker to have, but it does keep me from working my ass of and getting to tired to sow when I come home, and it makes sure that I don't have to wash shelves even though I can see that they are filthy. I simply do not care. The way towards a happy life is at hand.
So, I'm firmly behind my lovely boyfriends statements that the world is ending. I mean, this has got to be biblical or something, cause this heath can't be natural. Anyways, I work full-time now, in my lovely airconditioned store with delightful customers who ask me, in engrish, whether or not our silicone boob implants can actually be fitted surgically into breasts. Can anybody really think that? I mean, did he believe that he would go to a surgeon and ask for a boob job and the surgeon would say: "Sure man, anything you say. But hey, why don't you pop out for a minute and buy the silicon implants for 399'- at the local sexshop"...yeah, that makes sense...

My evenings is spent with this victorian dress I have already told you about. It is to hot to work with, I get cranky and tired and take it out on my boyfriend who is actually nice enough to help me, and the dress is slowly but dreadfully nearing its finish. I am now ready to accept that it will not be perfect, it will wrinkle and the arms will be a little too small. Tough titties for me.

Here is the curse: Now that this dress is over, I'll have to start over again on the next one. It is unfair and unkind. It will be lovely, I've bought five meters of dark green silk that will look smashing on me, now the only problem is my skills...ain't that a good sign. Then, I will have to have Victorian underwear, and nightgown, and purse, and I should have another hat, and the larp is two weeks away. This is not working, as it never is...cursed by the gods to fail I tell you! No, I will probably look okay, as long as noone checks under my dress.

It never seizes to amaze me how much stock I put into other people's opinion of me. An entire day can feel better just because a person told me my article for an in-larp newspaper was fantastic (still get a fuzzy feeling inside just from writing it down). Suddenly the fact that my house looks like its been robbed by someone looking for a magic rock and thus ripping my house to pieces in the process, the fact that I arrived at work an hour late, the fact that today's style looks like a mix between a 40yrs old mom and a fashion-geek, doesn't seem very important since someone told me I write fantastic...someone could call it sad, I choose to call it charming...

On a different note I'm making a 1887 dress in a lovely white flowered cotton fabric. I hate it. It is absolutely impossible to work with, and my days are spent at work, with evenings trying to fit the dress on me, with help from my lovely boyfriend, but it still doesn't work. BUT: yesterday the arms were fitted, and today I'm starting on the skirts, and soon it will be done...I'll be sure to post pictures before I burn the dress...It will be dead and I will be happy...




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