I promise - bear with me. I've got a lot to finish up this week before I can sit down and write up all the exciting details of my Civil War battlefields trip with Geoff, but I promise it will be worth the wait! Hopefully I will be caught up by the middle of the weekend and can set aside a bit of time to write.
Until then, gorge on Halloween candy! You know I will!
It's a blurry picture of our tintype, but as soon as I get home from the trip and have access to a scanner, I'll upload a clear one. We had it taken at Gibson's and I HIGHLY recommend their services. They were wonderfully friendly and professional. While we were there, the photographer for the Gettysburg Companion was shooting for an upcoming article, so Geoff and I were shot several times that day. We will be in their next issue, so be sure to look for us and request a copy!
Welcome to the world of Civil War reenacting addiction. I can't get enough of it!
Geoff and I are visiting Quantico tomorrow in the hopes that we can dig up some information for his blog.
Hey, folks! Just a quick note to let everyone know I'm closing up shop until November 1. Toward the end of October, we always shut down for a the last two weeks to clean out the sewing room clutter leftover from the Halloween tornado that comes through. September and the beginning of October always proves to be the busiest time of year for us, so once the time comes that rush orders aren't possible (last two weeks of October is too late to order even a rush order), we close up to hit our 'refresh' buttons and then we're able to start off November with tons of enthusiasm!
This year I'm taking off for a Civil War battlefields tour and meeting up with some reenactor friends and fellow costumers along the way, as most of you know, and much of the trip will be spent at campgrounds with shaky Internet service, so I can't be guaranteed that I'll be able to answer emails. I definitely won't be able to process any new incoming orders until I get home, so please be patient if you order while I'm closed. I promise to process all orders once I re-open at the beginning of November.
In the meanwhile, please have a safe and happy Hallowe'en! Send me links to you dressed up in your finery, and when I return, I will post pictures of me in my (YIKES!) Incredibles costume!
Only a few days more. Please, please let the spandex hold together just long enough to ensure that my lardythighs don't explode into the Halloween party and suffocate all the cute little puppy costume-wearing children.
Thank you for your wonderful advice. I knew I could count on you! I'm going to listen to you, embrace my inner Incredible, wear the spandex and wear it proudly. My greatest concern was that people would whisper things about me behind my back, but really, what's the worst thing that could be said?
"Oh dear! I hope no animals were harmed to make this outfit!"
"DO NOT PULL THAT LOOSE THREAD! For if you do, the Great Wall of Cellulite shall be unleashed and we will all perish for it!"
"Really, Heather. Really? Was that the BEST choice for you?"
Wearing spandex superhero clothing is 99% attitude, and that's an area on which I've never fallen short.
I am an Incredible and I'm damn proud of it. I'll even post pictures.
For all those people who dig all-things-80s as much as I do (even if you're not willing to admit it), don't say I've never shared the 80s love with you. This one is goes out especially to Melanie, cousin Jim and the ultimate stuck-in-the-80s big-hair babes, Shannon and Erin. I give you, 'Literal Take On Me':
Seriously. How do two kids fight over IMAGINARY lollipops? Elizabeth has two of them. THEY ARE IMAGINARY. She refuses to give one to Adam and he is screaming and crying because she won't give him one, and it's making me want to drink tequila.
Adam, being one (almost two) is going through that phase where life is so excruciatingly painful that he has to whine about it more often than Sara Palin says MAVERICK. And if you're not in the room, he will wander from room to room, dragging the sticky, matted Blankie behind him whining and whining and OHMYFREAKINGGOURD incessantly whining until he finds you, at which time he will stand there and whine until you're, well, dead from whine.
So, 1.5 minutes ago Brian, Elizabeth and Adam were all down the hall in the playroom listening to Adam whine. You know the sound. That half-hearted, "I don't hate you enough to yank your brain out of your skull through your ears, but I'll be happy to chisel tiny bits of your nostril cartilage away over the next ten years just to see you suffer" type of whine.
1 minute ago Elizabeth gave up on Adam's song and went downstairs.
30 seconds ago Adam realized nobody was listening to his whine so he decided to follow anyone who had previously validated his agony, and began the slow descent to attention.
Y'all know how almost-two-year olds go downstairs, right? They sit on their little padded bums and thump-slide their way down, one slow step at a time. Every time his rump hits the step below, Adam's whine hitches up an octave and resonates just a little bit louder.
Eating brown sugar by the tablespoonful straight out of the bag, who the hell does that?
Yeah, I do.
I told you about my upcoming trip with Geoff. Well, a few weeks ago he told me he was eating healthier and had adopted a regular exercise routine. This sent me into a bit of a panic. You see, Geoff is younger and better looking than I am, and as the American Rulebook for Shallow Girls CLEARLY dictates, one must never be seen with anyone who is younger, prettier or in better shape than you are, or thou shalt be outcast or fed to hungry gophers. I knew if I kept it up with the whole brown sugar and couch-potatoed lifestyle, I would be looked upon as Geoff's flabby, old, brown-sugar gorging friend.
Oh, her.
So, this, coupled with the fact that my gynecologist told me I could probably get away with wearing a bikini if I went to the beaches in Brazil, where EVERYONE wears bikinis INCLUDING PEOPLE WHO GORGE ON BAGS OF BROWN SUGAR, I decided to step away from the Cheetos and B&J ice cream buckets, make a solid effort to lose those last few pounds and get myself into the habit of eating better and exercising more.
Note: I will never have the confidence to wear a bikini, but I'm using it as a goalpost. "If I wanted to wear one, I could." Besides, does it really matter how I get there, as long as I get there?
I can't afford to buy 'younger and better looking' on a seamstress' salary, which leaves my only option: get healthy.
So, now I jog. Actually, I began jogging about two months before the battlefields trip was even discussed, but now I'm SUPER motivated because I have to squeeze into a curvy little Victorian corset, and trust me, if you put one of those babies on in front of the mirror and a sausage link looks back at you, YOU FIND THE MOTIVATION.
I jog every other day and sometimes every day. I'm terrible at it. My feet sound like a herd of hog-tied flailing alpacas and I stumble, MY GOURDNESS, do I stumble. And once, I actually fell after attempting to bend down (while still jogging) and oOoOhh, look at the pretty snail in the roa-BLAMM-O.
I had palmscabs for a week. Palmscabs infinitely suck.
So, well, there you have it folks, the truth behind my desire to be healthy: Competitive vanity. I think it should be added to the Olympic roster as an official sport. I might actually have a shot of winning, because I sure as hell ain't gonna win at jogging, unless you get bonus points for palmscabs and ability to be distracted by shiny objects in the road.
Oh, and because of the whole jogging/falling thing, I've lost 12 pounds. Brown sugar, I am so over you. Although, all bets are off once I earn my first million. If that happens, I'll eat all the brown sugar I want because I'll be able to pay someone to liposuck the fat off my thighs.
