Sew Dressy

July 22, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

My apologies for the poor-quality selfie. I took this picture in my middle niece’s bedroom and I’m too lazy to try to stage a proper one.

Behold my latest creation! It’s my t-shirt dress.

My roommate buys enough clothes at Old Navy to keep that place in business. She ordered some t-shirts last year, but decided she didn’t like the way they fit or the fabric. So, she gave them to me. Since she’s a couple of sizes bigger than I am, she thought that maybe I might like them to sleep in or something. I do like sleeping in one of them, for sure, very comfy. Great on hot nights when I don’t want to wear pants. But when I tried them on for the first time, I thought, “As big as this is, if I added a little more fabric to the bottom, I could call it a dress.”

So, I did.

I cut off about seven inches of the bottom of the gray t-shirt and sewed it onto the bottom of the navy blue t-shirt. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do and I’m sure if I tried it again, I’d probably figure out a better way to make it come together. But for a first attempt, it wasn’t bad. I’m not thrilled with the stitching, though. I’ll probably redo it at some point just for my own satisfaction. It holds just fine and nobody else would notice it unless they were a seamstress inspector looking to make my life hard. But it would make me feel better if I did it up a little better.

Also, the dress ended up being a little bigger than I’d normally get and even with the belt, it’s not as structured as I’d like it to be, BUT! It’s actually quite comfy and makes for a nice, lightweight dress on a hot day that doesn’t look shabby or lazy. Also, beggars can’t be choosers. It’s a two-sizes too big t-shirt, for crying out loud. I can only do so much with my limited skills.

In the end, I’m pretty pleased with the effort.

The Benefits and Disadvantages of Cottage Cheese

July 15, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 3 Comments

“I’d never date a girl with cottage cheese thighs.”

Back in my early twenties, a friend of mine said this during a conversation. I can’t remember the exact conversation, only that this sentence was said in the presence of me, a girl with cottage cheese thighs.

My first thought was, “This guy has no idea the prevalence of cottage cheese thighs.” Because seriously, if this is your criteria for dating a woman then let me inform you that something like 80% of women have cellulite and even skinny women can get it. So, just try to hang in there as bet you can, fellas.

My second thought was, “Did I inadvertently send him a signal that I was interested in him and he had to be sure to shut me down before I became overt with my attraction and embarrassed him because nothing is worse than attracting the amorous attentions of a fat girl?” Because, though I didn’t have any interest in him, I’ve been known to unintentionally “flirt” with people.

My final thought was, “Well, if he thinks that, then that must be what they all think.”

That’s the thing. It’s very easy to take the opinion of one person that you know and consider it a validation of the consensus, particularly when that consensus only acknowledges something when it’s the butt of a joke, object of ridicule, or target of shaming. And since I’ve had this dairy condition on my lower appendages since the latter years of puberty, well, I’m just unloveable, now aren’t I? Thanks for the confirmation, friend!

I still think about that cottage cheese comment all these years later. It’s both a burden and a blessing. On the one hand, it’s a quick answer about any sort of appearance questions I might have about myself.

Should I wear this shirt? Is it flattering? Should I get my hair cut like this? Will I be attractive if I do? Should I wear the red lipstick or the nude?

Then a voice reminds me that I have cottage cheese thighs and I’m like, “Hot damn! It doesn’t matter because I’m hideous by default. No pressure! What do I WANT to do? Red lipstick it is!”

Other times, I wonder if I should wear something like shorts or a shorter skirt or dress and that voice reminds me about my cottage cheese thighs and then I have to debate on if I want to deal with the venom that may be slung my way because I’ve got dimples on the wrong body parts. Do I have the fortitude to deal with the looks, snickering, and/or nasty comments if I go out in public?

And then I put on Capri pants because I just don’t feel like dealing with my cottage cheese thighs that day.

I can’t deny that their existence does make my life easier sometimes. People can just look at me and my dairy laden legs and go, “Oh no. I want nothing to do with that.” They don’t bother getting to know me. They don’t even have to ask my name. They don’t waste their time.

More importantly, they don’t waste mine.

Cottage cheese can be pretty tasty for those who enjoy it.

I’m At That Age

July 8, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’m at that age…

-where I don’t have time for unpleasant people. You’re a raging asshole with bigoted tendencies. I do not wish to associate with you or your kind. Same goes for the drama mongers, the politically ignorant, the sports jerks that take the fun out of the game, and most adults that post cryptic messages on Facebook.

-where I’m intolerant. I prefer to live and let live, but when you come at me with your “how can you be tolerant of my intolerance” bullshit, then darling, I have no trouble showing you exactly how intolerant I can be. Yes, dear, I am intolerant of you and your trollish, asshole behavior and I’ll say so. So tolerate THAT.

-where I’m unapologetic. Not going to apologize for being fat, being a woman, being bisexual, being a Cubs fan, listening to any and all kinds of music, not watching movies, not being religious, not believing in your God, being intolerant to your bullshit, not putting up with your ignorant ass, caring about what I care about, being a writer, etc.

-where I will sing and dance in the grocery store if one of my jams from “the nineteens” (as my nieces would say) comes on.

-where I’ll wear whatever the hell I want to you and you all just need to cope as best you can.

-where I don’t know who most of these new bands and singers are and I have to ask my nieces.

-where I’m tired of hearing about what you eat, how often you exercise, how great your husband/wife/kids are, etc. because you act like if you don’t mention it five times a day I won’t know how much better you are than me.

-where I don’t give a shit if you’re better than me. There’s no prize for being the loudest braying jackass.

-where I’m still going to dress up for Halloween and silently wish I could still go trick-or-treating while I pass out candy.

-where I’m not going to settle.

-where I’m going to point when “new” things have really been around for a while.

-where I’m going to refer to people as “young folk”.

-where I’m going to keep dreaming, reaching, striving, and hoping for something better.

Because, you see, I’m at that age where I’m realizing that the years are piling up behind me, leaving fewer in front of me. The less time I spend messing with the petty and shoveling the bullshit, the more time I can spend enjoying my days.

Sorry if that ruins yours.

Five Weird Searches That Led Here

July 5, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’ll be honest. If it weren’t for Starsky and Hutch fans, Randolph Mantooth stalkers, and folks in need of fat girl nudie pics, my blog wouldn’t get much action.

A lot of the searches that lead here are pretty run of the mill and make sense. As a Rerun Junkie I write about old TV shows, so searches, weird or not, relating to them make sense (hence all of the Starsky and Hutch/Randolph Mantooth folks ending up here). I write about being a fat girl (sorry, no nude pics), belly dancing, being tactless, breast reduction, the Cubs, the CornBelters, writing, bisexuality, etc. and getting tangent searches related to those keywords make sense.

Even so, some searches make me raise an eyebrow.

Here are five of the weirdest searches that led people here (and probably disappointed the hell out of them):

1. “magical plants to deter unwanted visitors”–I can understand the deterring unwanted visitors part, but I’m not exactly sure what’s intended by “magical”. Like Harry Potter magical or pagan magical or “Hey, my mother-in-law hates azaleas! Plant them everywhere!” magical?

2. “huge titties weightless enviorment”/”boobs in weightless environment”–Either the space station is cashing in on a very specific porn market or they’re missing out on one.

3. “stuff i just figured out about scooby doo”–More questions than answers here, folks.

4. “burnt popcorn smoke inhalation”–If this is a medical emergency, you should really contact a physician. Also, give up cooking for life.

5. “jesus zombie chocolate fertility bunny”–This sounds like the best Easter mash-up celebration ever and the only thing that makes it better is that this exact search hit my blog twice.

The Internet is an interesting place.

The Reality of “Let’s Be Brave”

July 1, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Last year I posted about a dream I had in which a young Michael Nesmith came to me and said, “Let’s be brave”. And I decided that it was a great idea and these were words I should live by.

I declared it my new motto.

Almost a year later I can safely say that I haven’t been too good about living up to those words.

In some ways, I have. Little ways. I bit the bullet when it came to my sewing, pushing aside the idea of making a mistake and wasting a shirt or a pair of jean or a handkerchief and turning those things into bags and skirts and dresses.

I’ve self-published a couple of novellas in that time and I’ve been less shy about being a writer, though I’m still pretty restrained when it comes to bugging people to read what I’ve published.

I’ve given fewer fucks about what people think about me and I’m embracing who and what I am and I’m less afraid about being that person in front of everyone more and more.

But in a lot of important ways, I’m still a coward.

My life has advanced very little. My need for security keeps me petrified. My ability to make money being tied to my self-esteem, my inability to be more creative about making money, the constant berating that goes on in my head about not having a “real” job and how everyone judges me as a failure for it, those things I haven’t been brave enough to even face, let alone conquer or let go.

I still can’t ask for help; my ego won’t allow it. I’m not brave enough to admit that it’s okay to ask for help and that, maybe, people would be willing to help me. I’m not a failure for asking for help, even if I feel like I am and like I don’t deserve it.

I’m still ashamed of so many aspects of my life. The bravery that I feel when facing them falters when I have to admit them to other people. I still have too many fucks to give in that department.

And don’t even get me started on the downright terror that complete paralyzes me when it comes to matters of the heart.

Who would have thought that turning brave from chicken wouldn’t happen overnight? Or even in a year?

I acknowledge the progress that I’ve made and I hope to keep making more, but I can’t help but be disappointed that I haven’t gone farther in a year.

I’ll never be able to stitch “Let Be Brave” on a sampler if I don’t live up to those words.

“Are You Really Writing Books?”

June 24, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A friend of mine posted that on a link to my Amazon Author’s Page that I posted on Facebook, my meager attempt to try to drum up a little business.

People who frequent my blog on Wednesdays or happen to catch the appropriate Tweet on my Twitter feed might think this is a stupid question. But, actually, it’s valid.

Yes, I am writing books. I’m also writing short stories and novellas and blog posts and journal entries and non-fiction blobs and episode summaries of a TV show that doesn’t exist. Some of these will be published by a real publisher, some will be self-published, and some will never see the light of day. It’s a thing that’s happening whether I talk about it or not. Like my exercise routine or specific food intake. Even if I don’t feel compelled to tell people about it, it’s still happening.

Now, I talk a bit about my writing on the Internet, specifically on Wednesdays. I mention it on occasion on my Twitter. I post about my stories getting accepted and rejected and my self-publishing ventures in between. But I don’t talk about these things much off the ‘net.

Why?

Well, because.

Because I don’t want to answer all of the questions that inevitably come up after I mention that I’m a writer. “What do you write?” is always the lead-off and then it goes from there, down the rabbit hole of awkwardness because, see, I don’t make a living off of my writing (yet) and I’m not at all a best-seller (yet) and I’m definitely not famous (I’m cool with that). You’re not going to find my stuff on the shelves (yet). And the conversation sort of fizzles and dies because, well, how can I possibly be a REAL writer if I’m not making a living off of it?

The lead-off question has another pitfall. I answer that question honestly by saying, “Horror fiction mostly”, which leads people to say, “Oh, like Stephen King?”

I adore Stephen King. We all know that. But the answer is no, not like Stephen King. Stephen King is an educated, literate, well-read man who can craft eloquent sentences and amazing imagery despite his sometimes gruesome subject matter.

I, on the other hand, am a three-time college dropout, who doesn’t read anything she’s supposed to and definitely not as much as she’s supposed to, and only by virtue of chance can string together a few words to form coherent sentences that sometimes illustrate her bizarre and sometimes horrific imagination.

I am nothing like Stephen King and neither is what I write. Our genre is the only thing that connects us.

The other reason I don’t talk about my writing is simply because I get the feeling no one is interested. It’s not like a regular job. It’s hard for other people to relate to what I do. And since I don’t like to talk much about works-in-progress, the conversation is pretty short if steered in that direction. As for talking about the works I’ve done, well, horror isn’t everybody’s bag. It isn’t most people’s bag. And if they don’t like to read it, then they don’t like to talk about it.

I guess I’ve become accustomed to not discussing my writing life outside of the Internet. Which is a problem when it comes to me trying to get people to read my work, but the funny thing is, I don’t look past the Internet for readers either. In fact, when it comes to my writing life, it only seems to exist online.

Maybe I should consider branching out.

I Was That Weird Kid: Food Edition

June 17, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Even though I don’t get summer vacation anymore, summer still makes me think of being a kid. And when I think of being a kid, I think of how weird I was as a kid.

All kids are weird by nature because society has yet to really enforce all the rules of “normal” on them, but even for a kid I was weird because I didn’t like normal kid things, food in particular. Not a big deal, really, but my mother ran a daycare while I was growing up. Feeding eight kids was simple for her: you ate what you got and if you didn’t eat it, I’m terribly sorry for your misfortune. Wait it out until snack time. The thing is, while Mom aimed to feed us all healthy lunches, she did feed us the typical kid foods. And the trouble with that was I didn’t like a lot of them.

I hit my limit on hot dogs really young. I remember eating them as a kid, but I was still early on in grade school when I could no longer stomach them (to this day I can only eat a hot dog if it’s a corn dog for some weird reason). Same thing happened with bologna.

The kid’s drink staple of summer is Kool-Aid. I didn’t like Kool-Aid. There was only one flavor that I’d drink (it was called Rainbow Punch and just saying the name conjures up memories of the taste of it) and when they discontinued it that was the end of my Kool-Aid run. My mother could never find another flavor that I’d drink.

I think we’ve chronicled my hatred of Jell-O enough, but I’ll say it once again. I hated Jell-O as a kid just as I hate it now.

How about Lucky Charms? Kids love colored marshmallows in their cereal! I don’t like marshmallows. My mother likes to remind me that when I was three, she found me picking all of the marshmallows out of my bowl so I could eat the cereal without accidentally ingesting one.

Push-pops? No. Ice pops? No. Cream pops? No.

I realize this makes me sound like a picky eater, but in fact, I was one of the easiest kids to feed. I liked most things and I ate a lot of things that most kids wouldn’t eat, like spinach, brussel sprouts, cooked carrots, and such. And I did like a lot of kid foods like Spaghetti-O’s, fish sticks, chicken nuggets, and macaroni and cheese.

I just didn’t like THOSE foods.

Weird kid.

I Don’t Owe You An Explanation for Being Fat

June 10, 2013September 28, 2021 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

I’m fat. This is apparent. Laws knows that I’m not trying to hide it and I don’t think I could if I wanted to as that sort of cover-up would no doubt make me look larger.

But I don’t have to explain my fatness to you. I don’t have to defend it. I don’t have to justify it. I don’t have to apologize for it. It is what it is and if you have a problem with my appearance, then YOU HAVE THE PROBLEM.

I don’t have to assure you that I’m doing healthy things with my life despite my weight. I don’t have to apologize for leaving the house not weighing 120 pounds. I don’t have to argue that I have just as much right to exist as you do because my pants size is bigger than yours.

Let me say it again.

YOU HAVE THE PROBLEM.

My fat is my own. I’m the one that deals with it on a daily basis. I dress it. I touch it. I move it. I wash it. And you know what? I don’t have nearly as big of a problem with it as you do.

Because you think I should be ashamed. You think I should be apologetic. You think I should change.

Don’t tell me I should lose weight for my health because we both know you don’t really think that. You don’t give one shit about my health. You want to me to lose weight so I’ll fit into the socially acceptable appearance box. You want me to lose weight so you’ll be more comfortable in my presence, sitting next to me, talking to me, walking past me, walking around me.

Me losing weight in this context has nothing to do with me and everything to do with YOU.

So when I don’t lose weight, when I insist on existing in my fat state, it offends YOU. Because you’ve made MY weight about YOU.

YOU HAVE THE PROBLEM.

I don’t.

So please understand when I exist against your wishes, without apology or justification.

Because this is your hang-up, scooter, not mine.

Sew, For My Next Trick…

June 3, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I turned a pair of jeans into a skirt.

I got the idea from an episode of Emergency! because the 70’s call to me like that. One of the actresses was wearing a jean skirt like that and I thought, “Hey! What a great idea!”

And then I didn’t do anything about it for a while because I wasn’t sure I was capable of turning a pair of jeans into a skirt with my self-taught hand-sewing skills. When I get ideas for projects, be they sewing or writing, I have to meditate on them a while to see if I can get them to work out. Boosted by my work on turning t-shirts into bags (I’ve got five of them now), I thought with a little research it might be possible.

I did some Googling on the subject of turning a pair of jeans into a skirt, looking to the wisdom of those that had walked this path before me and got the general idea of what I needed to do to make this work.

Then I talked myself into committing to this project.

It’s not like turning the t-shirts I was never going to wear again into bags; I only have so many pairs of jeans and really can’t afford to waste a pair, even if I hate them. Society demands that I keep my ass covered. So I had to be sure that I could make this work.

I’m happy I talked myself into it.

I used a pair of my fat-girl jeans (they’ve got a bit of spandex in them) that lost their shape after wearing them a few times. The legs were too big and rather unflattering. But, that excess material proved to be perfect for the skirt transformation. I used one kerchief for the front panel, cutting it and sewing it together so it would fit just right. I thought that would be the hardest part, but it turned out to be pretty easy.

In most of the skirts I’ve seen, there’s also a back panel, usually smaller, but since the legs of these jeans were so big, I didn’t need to put one in. Just sewed it up the back and added some slits to the side to show a little leg.

It took me several hours over four days to get the whole thing done.

It’s another ego boost to my sewing skills. And another lesson that I am quite capable of getting shit done if I put some time, effort, and patience into the pot.

In Dreams

May 27, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I have weird dreams.

Everyone does, I know, but mine are made of the stuff that people fear. One person’s nightmare is my typical night. I rarely have what I would call bad dreams because my unconscious mind has set the bar that high. It might only happen a couple of times a year that I have a dream that disturbs me enough to prevent me from falling back to sleep.

For example, in the past two weeks, I’ve dreamed of being shot, stabbed (while being Joseph Gordon Levitt no less), and set on fire. In other dreams over the years, I’ve been in plunging elevators, fallen from ridiculous heights, and been crushed. I’ve been chased, stalked, bitten, drowned, and strangled. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve died in my dreams. You know that saying that if you die in your dreams, then you die in waking life? Not true. I’m living proof of that, so to speak.

My most frequent nemesis is Michael Myers. That guy has stalked my dreams since I was seven years old, since long before I watched even one Halloween film. Funny, isn’t it? It’s my favorite movie even though the Shape terrifies me in my sleep. I guess that’s the trade off. I love his work and he kills me in my dreams. I remember the time he stabbed me with a pitchfork. That was novel.

I’m not sure why brain works this way. It might have something to do with my love of horror films and horror fiction, the steady diet of horrific things that I’ve consumed since I was young. It makes some sense. Someone who enjoys the terrible while I awake would be entertained by it when asleep.

But not all of my dreams are bad. Some of them are just plain weird. Most people can make that claim. I don’t know why Vin Scully was blind and hanging out with Keith Moreland and Aretha Franklin in a Wal-Mart softlines section while I dressed mannequins, but that’s what happened. That’s what my brain conjured up to pass the sleeping hours.

Because weird and/or bad are the norm, certain medications tend to dial that up to eleven. I avoid taking Tylenol PM unless I absolutely have to because the dreams that have resulted from its consumption are too bizarre to even put into words. The sleep I get is hardly restful because I can’t wake myself up enough to reset my brain so I can get out of the dream hell I’m in. Darvocet has the same affect on me.

I admit to turning some of my dreams into short stories. Check out “Reality Unknown”. The three stories that are told are based on three dreams I had all in the same night. I’d wake up after each one. When I woke up for good in the morning, I wrote them down because I knew there was fodder for some bizarre story there. As much as I tried, I don’t think I did them justice. I just don’t have the skill to capture the true horror and WTFness of what went on in my brain that night.

Now I don’t want you to think that my dreams are all terrible, twisted things. Some of them are fun; some are downright hilarious. Of course, I’ve been known to have a sick sense of humor.

Let’s just say that they work for me and for the most part, I enjoy them.

Sweet dreams.