Denouement.

2 weeks of illness. 

2 weeks of hard work. 

20 yards of cloth. 

2 fat spools of thread. 

5 meters of boning. 

2 Seasons of RuPaul's Drag Race.
1 Season of Drag U. 
3 Ali Project albums on the mp3 player.

Hours and hours of working late into sun-up, 

not to mention tensions running high with frustration, anxiety, nervousness, and sheer dumb determination. 

Was it all worth it? 

taken by Francis Botavara. 

taken by Cay Camarillo. 

Yes, I do believe so. 

I'm very happy to say that the Atelier Boz replica for the company Halloween party is finally finished -- petticoat, underskirt, over-skirt, corset, and peasant top. While I do admit it looks nothing like the original, I can say that I have notes a mile long on things I could have improved on or done better, and I'm happy to say I've learned from the whole experience. 

It was great receiving the oohs and aahs of fellow trainers. The exchange that often followed was this: 

Co-trainer: So, where did you buy this? 

Me: Oh no, I made it myself. 

Co-trainer: Wow, really? Like, the skirt?

Me: No, all of it. 

Co-trainer: *stunned silence* All of it?

Me: *turn around to slowly show everything*

Co-trainer: *stunned silence*.... seriously? 

Me: Yes. 

Co-trainer: Even the corset? Is that a real corse... Oh my god. 

Me: Yes, this one too. It's real; here, touch it. *takes co-trainer's hand to touch the boning and the lacing*

Co-trainer: Can you even breathe in that thing?! Seriously?

Me: Oh yes, certainly. See? *brings co-trainer's hand to feel my midsection moving with breath*

Co-trainer: Oh god. Well, If you collapse, we'll have an ambulance ready, okay?  

When asked who I was, I simply said, "well, I'm not sure. Give me a name. What do you think?" I've gotten the most interesting responses and reactions to that question throughout the night. I've been called an evil doll, a vampire, a noblewoman. Friends have asked me where my broom was ("because it's going to be cuter with a broom!"), and where I hid my whip or riding crop. AJ told me I reminded her of Hildegarde from the manga Beelzebub. Moki, my distant cousin and good friend, told me I was the vampire Queen Sophia of New Orleans. (a pox on me for forgetting about Vampire: The Masquerade lore.) My gal pal Joanne were either playing with my overskirt, poking the poofiness of my skirt in glee, or checking every now and then if I was still alive, well, and responsive in the corset! Haha! 

Jandy, another good friend and married man, gave me a playful low growl hen I gave him a curtsy. On our way down to pick up snacks at a nearby 7-11, he took my arm, looked earnestly into my eyes, and said, "will you please bite me?" Haha!  

I am very thankful I have great friends. Aj helped me lace up my corset properly (and I thought, "oh, so that's how tight this corset ought to be. I can still breathe, good. I think."). Anna lent me some of her black eyeshadow, encouraged me through the night, and dragged me to the makeshift photo studio Francis had set up to have our pictures taken. (I really am grateful she insisted I go with her; I might not have had the guts to do so if not for her!) 

I'm thankful to Ditas for pointing me in the right direction, and making my corset leaps and bounds easier to draft, and helping me to freak out less over it. I'm thankful to James Asis for helping out fix the computer, and doing everything in his power to jimmy up a makeshift grommet-setting system, even when it wasn't a part of the day's itinerary. I am also thankful to Cindy, who has been the most supportive and encouraging boss through this entire endeavor. I feel so happy and lucky to have wonderful friends like Clair, Ligaya, Oui, Jac, and more for all the encouragement, notes, and love. 

And there's James, who has been silently cheering me on in the background, giving me strength, taking care of me when my body gave way, and who gave me space and time to work on my own. I am thankful, and I do feel very loved and cherished. 

After the party, I decided to surprise my grandmother by showing up at her front door in this ensemble at four in the morning. she usually wakes up at that time, and I thought it'd be a nice surprise for her. It felt so good, seeing her face light up in surprise. Mama S is a seasoned Theater artist, and knows the ins and outs of on-stage and off-stage work. She saw and appreciated the entire costume on so many different levels in one viewing. She didn't care if I didn't win the Best Costume prize that night. She told me what was important was I finished what I set out to achieve, and that I made all of this myself. "This is creativity right there, that's Theater" she said. That made my heart swell.    

Production pics will follow soon. For now, I'm just really happy that Halloween Night was a success -- pictures were taken, everyone had fun, yummy food was a-plenty. My heart and thanks go out to Francis (or Fleeb, as we fondly call him), for making everyone look grand that night. 

Here's more of my friends, and Fleeb's awesome work: 

Jump shot. 

Elluz Macalinao as Spartacus: Redux.

AJ as Rorschach. She painted that mask of hers with poster paint. She had some difficulty seeing her way through, but wow! What dedication!

 Moki as a soldier. For some reason, This shot makes me think of Street Fighter. 

Mon being awesome as Oddjob. 

Anna as Stitch, deciding to have a plump truffle in black and burgundy for dinner. 

Mon and I, beating up a poor, defenseless Moki. 

"The Bourgeoisie reign supreme! On your knees, military dog!" 

Thanks for looking. Stay tuned for the production photo-dump and notes for improvement next post. If you liked this post or have something to say, let me know in the comments section below. Have a great one!  

It Gets Better.

The Night before Opening Night.

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Or as we call it in the business, Hell Week. That's what it feels like for me now. 

Hell Week was the climax of the entire pre-production process. The rehearsals, prepping the costumes, the props, the sounds, setting up the lights and the set, checking and double-checking everything, throwing lines... the works. 

This was also the week of Dress Rehearsal too. The night before Opening Night, the entire play was run in full makeup, costumes, lights,and sounds, everything on and and played as if the audience were seated right in their seats. Everything had to be taut, impeccable, and final. 

The Night before Opening Night. 

That's what it feels like for me right now. 

The entire costume is finally complete. In order of completion: The petticoat, underskirt, corset, peasant top, and over-skirt. the last two pieces were cobbled each in a single sitting. I still don't know how it happened. 

Last night was the first time I got to get a full night's sleep and an hour more in a long time. That felt good. 

So, all that's left now is to set and rehearse the hair and makeup. And deciding on the accessories. and prepping underwear -- tights, in particular. And preparing the costume for transport. the petticoat will provide a very interesting problem to be solved. 

Here goes for Opening Night. 

Wow, CBCP, seriously?!

I'd like to take this chance to address an issue that's been seriously infuriating me for the past weeks. This involves a current political issue our country is facing now. If that's not your cup of tea, that's fine, there are other non-political blog posts here to entertain you, but or now, I've just got to speak my mind.

The issue of the Reproductive Health Bill.

About a month or so ago, the Church threatened the our president Noynoy Aquino with excommunication should he further push the bill to being passed. And later on, denied they ever did so.



Also, from one of the blog posts of Tobie, a good friend of mine:

Already, one protester against the Church's ineptitude has been thrown in prison under grounds of, get this, civil disobedience, and if found guilty can he locked up for up to 5 years.

Let me repeat that: The Church had a guy who protested against their views locked up.

This bill does not stop at distributing condoms and oral contraceptives to women who need them, regardless of economic standing. This bill also intends to educate people on smart sex education and women's rights.

Now, it seems the Church is set on committing civil disobedience if this bill be passed, and will not hesitate to spill blood if need be.

This is enough to make my own blood boil.

I was raised a Catholic, and although I am now an atheist, I am deeply ashamed and incensed that the Church that taught me what it is to be moral and human has now turned into this. It appalls me to think of the garbage that it teaches our children and budding young women. For shame!

Pass the RH Bill!

Caveat: This video is an opinionated view of the current situation -- but it nonetheless expresses how I feel about the issue the best.

Here's what could happen if the RH Bill is allowed to work in positive ways.

Hello, 27.

Happy birthday to me.

Hello, world. I am now twenty-seven years and a few days old.  I am also very proud to introduce to you Dining Table and Co. Dining Table and Co., say hi.

Hi!

Good, let's continue.

Dining Table and Co. were commissioned to Mang Julio at the beginning of the month. After two weeks, he delivered, and how.

The set itself is a rather large investment, one I'm still paying for, but I'm sincerely very, very happy with it. :)

The dining set design was based on the "Stubborn" design by Davin Larkin. James and I later decided to add backs to the chairs. Backs always need resting every now and then. It's good for your sitting posture, too.

The bench would have to be my favorite part of the set. Isn't she a beauty? 

There. Perfect. 

The table itself is six feet long and three feet wide, which means: 

• No more drafting and cutting cloth on the floor 
• More sewing space
• A better kitchen working space
• More space to serve meals and entertain guests with. 

Without saying, I put all this lovely space to good use the morning of my birthday. 

Clockwise, from the bottom: two bowls of hot rice, a glass of ice, soy sauce platter, a pitcher of white iced tea, steamed curry beef dumplings, my first birthday gift from PJ, and a mocha roll cake from Anata. 

I've said it on my Facebook album, and I'll say it again here. I see better sewing and crafting days to come, as well as warm, happy dinners and lunches and breakfasts shared with family and friends. .^_^.*

James said my birthday was more of a practical home-centric birthday, and I agree with him. there's a certain comfort to staying home and relishing a home-cooked meal between the two of us, watching our line-up of shows and cuddling against the chilly winds. 

A new, pearly-white wall clock now hangs from our dining room-living room wall. It has glow-in-the-dark numbers and hands, and the font is quite elegant. Hee. 

I rarely post pictures of myself, but here's what I wore the next day to go shopping with James. 

Purple-pink-pearls-petticoats is <3. 

Happy window, happy room

Pretty blankets can go a long way.

My bedroom, despite having only one window, is easily flooded by daylight. Having the head of the bed right under it (feng shui aside) is not a fun place to sleep in. This gets worse when (1) I have less than seven hours of sleep, and (2) The sun's blinkin' high, filling the room with light.

Well, we fixed that.

That up there is a flannel blanket fixed to the metal window frame with two powerful hard-disk magnets. We used this trick back in the day when we enjoyed sleeping on the cooler first floor of the house.

I like our bedroom now, I really do. It gives the room a nice warm glow. It's also not too hot in the afternoon. At night, the room is pitch-black. It keeps the room pretty dark even at five o'clock in the morning, making it easy for me to get some decent shut-eye.

I think the only puzzled member of the household would be Mink. Here she is, puzzling over how to get to them fun climbey grid window irons.

Curries, cookbooks, and memories

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It's 5 minutes to three in the morning. Five more minutes, and my three-day sick leave will officially be over. The ceramic crock of the slow cooker will cool, and the pork & apple curry in it will be stored and kept. I'm just sitting here, remembering the aroma the first floor smelled of a few hours ago. 

The rich, warm scent of Indian curry takes me way back to when my age was still counted in single digits. 

I remember -- back when we lived in New Manila, dinner felt like a special event at home. I have now very faint memories (but memories, nonetheless) of torta, tortang talong, fish sarciado, sinigang, accompanied by either plain or garlic fried rice.There were steaming tureens and oval platters piled high with food on the circular dining table, prompt at 7:00pm. Looking back, I'm not sure if it was because the table seemed terrifically wide to a six-year-old me (I now realize the table must have been seven or eight meters across), dinner was always a grand sight to see. At the end of every Sunday dinner, maja blanca always brought the week that was to a close, and heralded the beginning of a new one. Now that I think about it, perhaps I could say Sunday dinners held so much more meaning for me, much more than Sunday mass.  

However, there were nights when I felt there must be something special going on, or something to celebrate about. I felt this, because Mama would come down to cook something special.

Indian curries. Savory, exotic dishes. Asian food. 

Paneer Matar. Kofta balls -- in particular, Chotte Kofta. Vegetarian Nut Rice. Stuffed bell peppers and capsicums. Gado-gado (say it quickly, like gadogado).  Chicken Satay. (I would be such a greedy little girl, slathering my mother's peanut sauce generously on rice -- not the veggies or the chicken skewers.) If we were lucky, there might even be some Indian sweets for dessert. 

It was always Western food for Christmas -- the large roll of ham carved up, served with mint jelly or sweet applesauce, refreshing fruit salad, hot rolls, and perhaps the occasional Pâté, an office gift for my grandmother, "wishing the warmest holiday cheer to you and your family from ****." It boggled my six-year-old mind why anyone would want to add waxy, syrupy, colored gummy pieces to fruit cake. "Shouldn't they be a bit more fresh or soft if it they're to be in a fruit cake?" I often mused. I now confess to having a terrible weakness for the infamous cake, now I'm all grown up. (and now you know who to send your fruit cakes to, hehehe.) 

New Year in our household, however, always had a balance of Asian and Western dishes, that same balance constantly being on the brink of an upset in the war for cultural food supremacy. (Needless to say, I always silently cheered on for the curries and the peanut sauce entrees. The Chinese members of the assembly -- being round fruits, pineapples, and persimmons -- could well enough fend for themselves. They had center stage in most our neighbors' homes, anyway.) Amid the loud whistles, booms, and rat-ttat-ttat-ttats, the golden showers of fire and house-shaking booms (quite literally, too), the polka dots, the jumping, and the shouting, I knew the coming year would be one grand adventure for me. Why? 

Because the dinner the year was greeted with was excellence beyond words. 

 Right now, I still sit here, typing the morning away when I really ought to be snoring in bed. The pork and apple curry is now put away in the fridge. The tag hanging out of what was a mug of steaming lemon green tea now waves limp like a worn soldier. there's also a fork and saucer beside me, the yellow remnants of a curry tidbit to be soaped and rinsed away in a few. The pork was soft, and albeit too reduced for my liking, the sauce was worth licking the platter. 

It will now officially be a week from my birthday, and I do feel as if I've begun taking baby steps celebrating it. 

I do consider myself nothing short of lucky and immensely loved, that my mother decided to leave her Indian cookbooks in my care. Thinking about it makes my heart swell. I'd dare think she passed down her legacy to me, and I cherish the thought. Decades, heartache,  growing pains have come and gone, and still, her love reaches me and hits home for me through the memories and the books. It's rather like an Amy Tan novel, only it's more real for me. 

Mama, I hope this reaches you once upon a time in Washington State. I love you. 

I still honestly don't know what to do on my birthday. No big plans. Nothing, really. But the curry certainly makes for an excellent start. 

I can't believe this. No, I *can* do this.

I am officially challenging myself again.

This is why I have kept quiet all this time. (As well as a need to rest, but well.) Ever had one of those times when you challenge yourself with a more difficult project, excitedly tell everyone about it, then you slowly end up losing steam and abandoning the idea altogether? Well, that.

 Long story short.


This is what I'm making a replica of right now.

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I am planning to replicate this ensemble from Atelier Boz in time for the company's Halloween party. The ensemble will be composed of four main pieces -- a full, black petticoat, the maroon underskirt, the black ruffled corset overskirt, and a peasant blouse (not shown, because that's just my idea.) Other items I plan to coordinate with this will be opaque black tights, black heels (or boots), and... that's all I can think of for now.

If I am insane enough, I will try to line this baby. 

A headpiece or gloves might be interesting additions, but the outfit must come first. 

The first bunch of stiff black tulle and lacoste cotton for the petti is all cut and hemmed, and the pattern for the overskirt's corset is already drafted. (I now realize that the front figure of the corset dips a bit below the waistline. Um. Must remedy that on the pattern.) I still have two other sets of tulle layers to hem. The maroon material -- which is actually rather light upholstery material, and I say so because of the diamond-flower embroidery -- and the tulle are all washed and prepped. 

A lesson learned: It's rather important you wash your material before you start cutting and sewing. It helps to bring out the real texture of the cloth, and may perhaps save you from future heartache from running colors on a dress you slaved over.

Case in point -- I bought my tulle from three different establishments (whose names escape my fuzzy memory right now). They were all quite similar texture-wise, and they all stood up the same way with a pull. After a run through the washing machine, and (some lolitas may hate me for this) some fabric conditioner, Only one type of tulle retained its stiff texture. Ah. 

Maybe I'll try using organza for my petticoats next time.   

Having finally said all this, I can still hear my brain say "Holy shit, I am crazy". I am doing my best to counter the omgomgomgthisisbatshitcrazy feeling and take to heart a response from RuPaul: "Thank you for sharing, that was nice, but I'm just going to do this over here." 

I don't know if this entire number will be ready for the halloween party, but I'm just going to do what I can.