Program: I SUFFER.

O pizza, o Twinkies, o barbecue sauce: you will have to wait just a little while longer (THREE MONTHS THREE GODDAMN MONTHS) until we can reconvene.

I am on the program. There has not been blogging because, despite my abuse of the Caps Lock key above, the program has been fine. There has been much working out and eating of lean protein and vegetables and fruit. There was rejoicing in the land last week when I got cheese back. Lentils are next, I think.

But Diet Coke with Lime, wine, beer, and any kind of refined white anything - including my mother-in-law - these are all off the menu. That's been fine until now, Week 4, when PMS hit like a Mack truck toting a load of Cadbury bars.

I'm talking galloping PMS, people. The noticeable kind. The unpleasant kind. The kind where your nutritionist does not believe you when the scale doesn't move, even though you can show her the water-retention marks in your skin and explain that you can handily tuck two or three pounds of water away in your skin, that in fact if she were to pop a tap in your forearm, out would come fresh spring water.

So I am a little obsessed with the program these days, such that I am not doing anything but rocking back in a corner, trying not to eat sugar.

You'd think I would want to blog about that, or to blog about something, anyway. There are other things to blog about - this new bellydancing class I'm taking with my friend Homeskillet; the fact that I lost 6 pounds, apparently all in my face; the new stone patio C and I built out back over the weekend. I even went to Minnesota and met my parents' fantabulous neighbors, one of whom BLOGS and who is totally funny and dry and who I expect my mother to adopt any day now. She even has a tattoo, which will make my own that much easier to explain to Mom.

But all that will have to wait. For now, you people are going to suffer along with me. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

Although I have started writing fiction again.

That's a lie, actually. I am brainstorming fiction, which seems like the most useless of all endeacors when you are not actually doing anything with your storms of brain. But it's a step. I am marshalling my forces. And not eating sugar.

Shower for the good of all mankind.

Where have I been? Trying not to breathe on the bus home from work while a foul-smelling 25-year-old plugs himself into his iPod next to me, that's where. Feverishly sewing pareos, none of which made it onto DailySkirt. And paying strangers to rub me.

That's right, you heard me. A land where you can drop by your gym for a massage on the spur? That land is America. Let freedom ring.

Today I start an 18-week odyssey of weight loss. This is me trying to be tactful. For the last few weeks, I've been calling it "the program." Now that I've started, I notice it has become "the fucking program." Who knows what it will become?

It started last night with a women's support group, at which I and another girl were immediately pegged as troublemakers when she discovered no wine--no wine at all--was allowed on the program, and then I asked if the meeting organizer was put off by open weeping.

At least I didn't have to stand up and say, "My name is Brooke, and I am fat," although that is certainly true. I did have to cop to where the last 30 (OK 40) pounds have come from: namely, vodka and cappuccino-chip muffins, bought on the sly and consumed by the pound.

Anyway, expect regular updates, such as these:

• Dude, what the fuck? Can you not smell that?
• Jesus fucking Christ, you mean I can't eat anything but shakes for two weeks?
• Oh my fucking God.

That is all.

Now I smell like a whorehouse

I ordered some moisturizer from Sephora the other day, and in the box when it arrived was a sample of perfume - Kenzo Amour, some floral musky thing. I thought, "Hmm, nice," and decided to try it out. The cap on the little sample tube thing was stuck, though, so I pulled hard and ended up spraying myself in the face with Kenzo Amour. Now I smell like a professional.

In other news, my friend Jen and I have decided to build a wooden sloop and name it the SS Goat's Balls. We figure we will be the darlings of the cruising world. People will buy us beer just on our charm alone - and the way we say the name of our sailboat, as if we were saying champagne cocktail or garden party. We will give hula lessons in exchange for diesel, and we will live off conch and shrimp, as our skin tans to leather and our husbands search in vain for us.

All of this, of course, will take place in the Bahamas.

That is all.

Candy cigarettes

In between working for Company A and The Mothership, I headed down south for a couple days to see Molly and meet Maggie and then cruise around the desert with my husband.

My life: awesome.

So I inflicted myself on Molly and Jon (Molly's the gorgeous blonde in the photos below), and we camped out at a friend's place in Big Sur. Most of the photos below were taken there.

From there, we road-tripped to LA, where I toured the Fashion District and met Maggie, who showed me the General Lee (no shit!) and snuck me through the Gilmore Girls set. I walked across the town green! Bitchin'.

Also bitchin': Maggie, who was sporting a fabulous pony skirt. I coveted it immediately, and if my closet was not already overwhelmed by skirts, I might just have wrestled it off her and taken it home. As it was, she made me a bottle cozy in the shape of a skirt! COOL. Also, she took me to the Warner Brothers museum, where I really really wanted to hump the model of the Pie-Maker. It's true, I wanted to get down on his leg. The pie-maker: sigh.

The museum, see, has outfits from the show on dummies that are, more or less, the right size and shape. Who knew charisma rubbed off on clothes? Between Ned and Keanu I was in hormonal overdrive. Mmm, starlet boys. Hellllo.

Sadly I do not have any pictures of the whole Glamorous LA Experience because I am lame and my phone was full of Molly smoking candy cigarettes. But C took some fantastic photos in and around Sedona, so watch for those soon.

Now, on with the show.

Morning in Big Sur. Subtext: Must... befriend... Tad! (Tad owns this place. Tad also is in his late 20s and, for a time, took to training as a ninja by spending hours "sneaking" in the woods out back of his place in, like, Beverly Hills. Tad: Clearly my soulmate.)

Molly's leg in the jammies I made for her, coupled with another killer view of the Big Sur ridge atop which we were perched.

This is Molly being Sister Immaculata, sans candy cigarette. One of the reasons I love Molly is because she is ham on rye, baby. This was what the entire trip was like: us out-goofying the other one. Molly: Totally priceless. Also? Really flirty with road construction crews.

This is me with a candy cigarette, channeling my dad circa about 1982. Note the squinty eye and the cig planted firmly in my teeth. I really nailed him and my uncle both. By the end of the day I was saying, "Well, shit" in a full-on Texas accent and railing against Commies.

Now I miss my family, though.
Miss Molly, again in Brooke (TM) Jammies. Isn't she fabulous? Is it any wonder I can't take her anywhere? Would you not deliberately stop traffic to get that girl smiling at you?

We took a tiki god along for the ride, because you never know. Here is the tiki man bumming a (candy) smoke off us. He didn't even offer to pay for gas. Rude.

Elephant seals: the highest form of life on the planet? I feel fairly certain they've reached nirvana.
Big Sur again - a color photo, even.

I am too tan to write

Eh, blog schmog, I've been too busy getting a tan and screwing around at work. Over the last month, I went to Maui, quit my job, and laughed with evil glee as my husband quit his job. I've been lazing around with him and the dog ever since.

There has been no writing. No sewing. No running. But there has been a lot of reading, goofing off, and a number of DVD and iTunes purchases. Ah, credit. In the meantime I have become quite the little butterball, so when I start my new job - at Ye Old Software Factory back in Redmond, don't you know - I also start at the fancypants gym again. I have dreamt of this gym, in my two-year hiatus from That Place. Mmm, gym.

Anyway, regular posts will resume at some point. For right now, I'm having too much fun goofing off and going drinking with friends. Tra la! It's like I'm on strike from the regular world. And you know what? I like it.

Skirt!

Is this not thoroughly adorable? I made it.

That was dumb

To cut to the chase, a couple years ago, two people I thought were friends snubbed me. It hurt, a lot. So last fall, at a party, I returned the favor.

I cringe that I am admitting this at all, it seems so ridiculous now - but it looks like I may be working with one of these people again, and frankly, it's past time to mend the rift.

So I am wondering how to crawl back up from that pit, to make amends and move on. Well, not to make amends, exactly, because we were both in the wrong. But I do want to explain my part of it, explain why I acted the way I did. I want to apologize for my own behavior without expectation of any reciprocal move on their part, so we can hopefully move past it without rancor.

But how do you pick up the phone and do that? Or do you send an email saying "Glasnost - let's have coffee"? How do you apologize for something without completely turning your back on yourself? There's a lot of history here, which is part of the problem. Glasnost or no, we'll never be what we were. But does that mean we can't have any relationship at all?

Am befuddled. Do comment or email. Thanks.

Sewing stuff

Hey folks! Three items of business first: there is much more sewing goodness to be had at my sewing blog - DailySkirt.blogspot.com, including a run-down of the lost weekend I just had with five yards of linen and a busy husband.

Second, the pattern for that dress below was KwikSew 3576, and the next time I make that pattern, I'm sewing in far bigger darts, and using a square neck instead of a v-neck. Here's a different take on this pattern from a blogger I'm going to have to befriend: http://twoontwooff.blogspot.com/2008/02/kwik-sew-3576-sheath-dress.html She speaks the truth when she talks about how easy and fun this dress was to sew.

Third, In terms of taking things in at the waist, look for darts you can make larger (that is, wider). Get a towel and some binder clips and experiment with this. Watch how the towel drapes differently when you take it in at the sides vs. in the front and/or back. If nothing else, take it to a tailor - or your dry cleaner.

I feel you, girl. The curvy have a tough time of it, bombshells or not. Remember the 80s? When every jacket was blocky and square, and you felt like killing yourself whenever you put on anything by ESPRIT? (Which I still call E-Spirit by mistake.) Ah, youth. I'm so glad I'm ancient and crafty now. I cackle like nobody's business.

But on to more important things: purses, and next weekend. Here's what's on tap (well, this and a busted neck):

I think I'm going to make a longish jacket out of the violet fabric (from KwikSew 2736), if I can figure out the right interfacing to use. It's a very soft, floppy fabric, and it needs a little body. I was thinking about making a 1930s-inspired dress with it, but... that's a lot of flowers to splash across a lot of body.

So I'm still thinking that one through.

The Hawaiian print is a lightweight little stretch fabric that will either become a skirt or a shirt, my reasoning being, it can be a big splashy print as long as it doesn't cover my entire body.

And this - well, this is how I spent last weekend. I made two skirts, a pair of pants, a pair of shorts, and the dress in the post below. For more photos, see my sewing blog: DailySkirt.blogspot.com.

Doughnuts, 1,000,000; me, 1

So this morning I finished this dress:

It took a dog's age to sew because a) interfacings still confuse me - sewing should be a mandatory part of any college-level physics class - and b) because once again, my curvy body has stumped modern patterns. The hips fit fine; the waist was baggy. I must have taken in a full three inches around the side seams and the bust darts before it would fit.

Of course, once it did fit, my husband made one of those great male-appreciation noises. That was worth it.

Still, I think my doughnut days are over for a while. I have made the leap from acceptably voluptous to just plain round.

Dysfunction Junction, Quash That Gumption

OK, so work's been shit, and I can't talk about it lest I lose the job I am trying to... well, lose.
But there's a new post over at Daily Skirt.

And if you're looking for something good to read, well, have you bought Eileen's book Unpredictable yet? It's gorgeous and fun, and it is also in stores under the original name (In The Stars), so if you haven't yet, off you go!

Mmmmm BEEEEEF

We have this fascination with the voice of the Washington Beef Council's spokesman, Sam Elliott. And maybe he's the National Beef Council's spokesman - whatever. The thing is, he has this great, hilarious deep Western voice and he's always saying unlikely things like "Steak Diane" where "Diane" lasts a full 5 seconds.

C, my husband, can imitate this voice perfectly. The other night, after I made him a top-round pot roast (simple) with a port wine reduction (fiddly), he turned to me and said, in the Beef Man's voice, "You complete me."

Maybe you had to be there. Whatever, wine came spurting out my nose all the same.

I now have 24 hours to come up with the next 5 pages of my novel for my UCLA class. Bad, bad little writer.

Go buy this book!

My friend Eileen wrote it (Eileen of the Skirt #15: The Eileen). Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/Unpredictable-Eileen-Cook/dp/042521396X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1201551718&sr=1-1

Yep, that's right, my friend wrote a kick-ass novel about a girl who fakes being a psychic to get her ex back, and winds up finding love in the most unexpected of places. Aptly titled, Unpredictable is a romp through love in this cynical new century. Jenny Crusie lauds Eileen as one of this generation's great new voices, and I could not agree more.

This book is a hoot - Eileen let me read it before it went to print - but don't take my word for it, go buy the book!

Fuel your passion

Poking around the Interwebs today looking for someone to give me money just for being me, I found several interesting grants for writers, among them:

Journalism grants, including investigative journalism (like say you're writing a book) http://newswise.com/resources/j_grants

The Fine Arts and Writing Center in Provincetown has a 7-month fellowship that sounds amazing: http://www.fawc.org/winter/index.shtml

Of course, there's always the Fulbright (http://www.cies.org/), the NEA (http://arts.endow.gov/grants/index.html), and the Stegner (http://www.stanford.edu/group/creativewriting/stegner.html).

A Room of Her Own (http://www.aroomofherownfoundation.org/home.html) looks great, too.

More grants for writers are here: http://www.fundsforwriters.com/grants.htm. It's crazy, what's out there if you just look for it.

Stardust

Have you seen the movie "Stardust"? I want to hump Neil Gaiman's leg.