restaurant review

I am right at this very moment engaged in attempting to write up a review of the place where I used to work.
Not ten minutes ago the owner, who was not present when I showed up and had my meal there, called the editor in a panic: "Your reviewer is a girl I fired!"
"We know," the editor said. "But she's the one who said your food was so good you needed a review."

i am smart

Today I did a grand total of two things.
But, they were both concrete accomplishments, so that ought to count a lot.

1) I wrote a review for Z's magazine, and it will be published this Thursday. (Well, Weds at midnight. I'll link to it.) It is 990 words, and I'm a little worried it sounds too ad-like, but oh well. I was being overconscientious.

2) I sewed a thing, start to finish, for myself to wear, and it works.
I made a chemise, roughly based on a 17th century pattern, with some 18th century features (namely, the sleeves don't go down to my knees, because I can't stand long sleeves). It also has a lot of missed seams and dropped stitches and what have you, and one armpit has actually got a patch pieced into it because I sort of effed up the connections of all the seams. I also managed to stain it while ironing it-- apparently the ironing board contains evil humors that have dyed one shoulder pale brown. It's, um, an antique effect. I cut the sleeves like eight inches too narrow for my fat sausage arms, and so had to piece in an extra bit all down the undersides of them. But I did it, and have just finished putting in the drawstring for the neck. I am resolved to sleep in it, just because I can. Also it is comfy-- I found a soft white plain cotton fabric for like $3/yd at JoAnn's once I abandoned the sewing section, and happened upon the quilting section which is in another zip code entirely in the megastore.

I also determined that I am very definitely mentally handicapped. It is nearly impossible for me to read and follow directions. Some weeks ago I purchased a pattern and some fabric, because I was Going to Learn To Sew, and I have opened the pattern and stared blankly at the instruction sheet and determined that... I can't even figure out where to start. Too bad!
But, I can follow directions from the Internet!! If I am very, very, very careful and focus very hard on only one thing to the exclusion of all others.
I also have a disability about determining inside-out from rightside-out. This is a problem. I sewed one seam inside-out and had to unpick it-- and instead unpicked the other, correctly-sewn seam.
BUT.
I did almost all the sewing on the sewing machine, and despite my terror, it was nearly effortless.

So, I am mentally handicapped, but I am stubborn, and that means that after about ten years of saying I was going to learn how to sew, I actually think I've managed to at least nominally do so.

Now if only I could read a pattern.

(My end goal, have I mentioned, is that I want to make my own foundation undergarments, most specifically bust-support garments, because the Fashion Industry has FAILED ME. But I have confirmed that I have Much to Learn.)


The only other thing I did today, which wasn't so much something I did so it didn't make the list above, is that when Z came home we went down to Niawanda Park to get weenies at Old Man River, and ice cream at Mississippi Mudds. We ate our ice cream down by the Niagara River, on the broken chunks of concrete they have lining the water's edge to slow the erosion. Seagulls fought to sit on the rock beside me, and a lone female duck stood ankle-deep on a broken concrete slab and groomed herself as she watched me from the corner of her eye: when she dove into the water, the water beaded on her back and collected in the depression behind her neck, rolling around like a bead of mercury. Z resurrected an old conversation about how every region does hot dogs differently, and how he wants to write a book about it, and this time took it further to incorporate my idea of bumming around the country in an RV. "I'm gonna do it," he said. "I'm gonna save my money, and one of these days I'm gonna tell [boss] I'm quitting, and he'll ask me where I'm going, and I'm going to say, 'to find myself,' but I'll be lying. I'll be driving around the country in an RV eating hot dogs."

The only thing giving him pause is that he doesn't know if anyone but him would want to read such a thing.

I assured him I'd come with him, and I'd write a novel about the writing of the book about hot dogs, and we'd publish them concurrently.