I'm feeling a little bit better about the dress dummy adventure. I ended up at Squirrel's house on Tuesday and we made her antique male dress dummy into a pretty close approximation of my figure with some quilting batting, masking tape, and the bustier I wore for my brother's wedding. It's weird, but examining and measuring my torso has sort of given me a new appreciation for my figure. I am still not happy with how ample I am right now, but I didn't know before how hourglassy I was. My bust and hips are pretty much exactly the same (enormous) measurement. I had always imagined myself as either a Weeble or a Bartlett pear before.

Of course, once we finally got the dress dummy all fixed up, how much work do you think we did on the muslin itself? If you guessed "none", you win. (Get the lady an exploding cigar!) Instead, we built a campfire in Squirrel's backyard, and drank Boone's Farm Sangria, and talked about boys. It was really a delightful evening, but one that was made rather un-delightful by some post-revelry barfing when I got home. Adding insult to injury, I'd had only two glasses of the shit, and didn't even get to "pleasantly tipsy" prior to blowing chunks.

This has been happening with alarming frequency, actually: I'll have a perfectly reasonable number of drinks (say, TWO) over a span of a couple of hours, but then I start feeling seasick, my head starts pounding, and I need to find someplace close and discreet to hawrf my guts out. My system just *really* doesn't like alcohol anymore, it would seem. What makes me stupid beyond belief is that I keep trying to push it. I keep trying to find the magical drink that will go down easy and stay down, every time I go out, and every time I end up on my knees in front of the porcelain god, after nursing my booze like a miser all evening. I should probably just treat it like an allergy, I guess. I am allergic to Teh Boozeness.

In other not-news, I am in a great and airless lull with my freelance work. Nothing on the horizon, and all my inquiries have been met with indifferent silence and a lack of returned phone calls. I'm trying to use my time productively, and get the house in order for our new roomate B's arrival in two weeks. And I'm also trying to keep it all in perspective: I was running myself ragged just a month ago, cranking the shit out like it was going out of style. I need a new project, though. I'm going a little stir-crazy, I think.