PR Week 2 - The Fashion Farm

[yes, posting late again]

Week 2 on Project Runway brought us The Fashion Farm. Under the premise that “she would look good, even in a potato sack,” the designers were challenged to use a potato sack to design an outfit. One little caveat: Their models got to choose the designers and would be the client!

Apparently, less than 10 minutes into the Project Runway episode, the following phone conversation occurred:
[Paulie Neutz] Hey Merisel, it’s your manager.
[Merisel] Sshh sshh, girls! It’s Paulie. Tweets, manager guy.
[Paulie] Uh, yeah. So, babe, this thing with the potato sacks. Not exactly your thing, is it?
[Merisel] Um, is it?
[Paulie] Yeah, so, you have nice, youthful skin. Remember we talked about getting a L’Oreal skin care gig—
[Merisel] I got a commercial?
[Paulie] Focus, babe. Let’s talk about the potato sacks. Don’t want to be roughed up by burlap, right?
[Merisel] Um, I guess. But what does that have to do with the potato sacks?
[Paulie] No, yeah. Babe, a potato sack is made of burlap.
[Merisel] Burlap. And…?
[Paulie] So, babe, it’s rough. It’s—
[Merisel] Sshh sshhh. What? What!? The girls are saying burlap feels worse than wearing fishnets wrapped in cheap wool! Is that true?
[Paulie] Pretty much, babe, not that I’ve ever—
[Merisel] Cheap wool, Paulie! Like I’d be some vampire’s victim in that Bonton place on HBO!
[Paulie] Yeah, babe. So, how do you feel about—
[Merisel] Sshh sshhh. What? What!? The girls are saying I have to wear the outfit to an industry party! I have to go out in public in cheap wool, Paulie! To an industry party with endlessly cool people!
[Paulie] Yeah, babe. So, you probably should—
[Merisel] OMG, I can’t be a Bonton victim at a party with cool people, Paulie! Edwards and Jacobs are supposed to fight over me and seduce me. Edwards and Jacobs, Paulie!
[Paulie] Yeah, babe. So, you’re saying—
[Merisel] I am not doing this challenge!
[Paulie] Right, babe. Good chatting with you.
[Merisel] Tweeter, Paulie.
click
ring...click
[Merisel] Burlap! Edwards and Jacobs. No, can't. Cheap wool! OMG, like a rough Bonton victim. NO!
[PR Producers] Right, so, we'll find another model.
click

The producers found a highly experienced – if a tad more curvy and less tall – model named Annette. A model who actually likes to wear burlap. Or, possibly, who wants to restart her flailing career and go to the industry party.

Meesh couldn’t find any burlap (or possibly didn’t feel like spending $$ on a yard of it). Instead, she used cheesecloth…an infinitely more evil form of fabric. A fabric that unravels if you breathe upon it, that refuses to maintain a sewn seam, and that resembles sterile bandages just a little too well. Annette actually liked it – must’ve been the reference to bandages.

In any case, Annette as the client wanted a sporty look, one that showed off her curvy figure and toned abs. She wanted the outfit to incorporate her favorite color, orange. Oh, and she kinda liked the fishnets-and-burlap idea one of the models sniggered about while they waited for the designers to show up.

So, Meesh designed a bandeau-type top in cheesecloth overlaid with mesh formerly used to contain a bunch of cherry tomatoes. The pencil skirt starts at Annette’s hips to expose her toned belly.
Instead of placing the usual sporty vertical stripes on the outside of the skirt, Meesh applied a vertical mesh panel in the front. In the back, she angled the panel to emphasize Annette’s sexily curved hips.



Annette's carrying a drawstring purse made of mesh-covered cheesecloth. The strings are beaded with orange beads, of course.


The night of the party, the following occurred:
[Merisel] Sshh sshhh. What? What!? I’m not wearing burlap so I can’t go to a party with cool people! But Edwards and Jacobs, Paulie!
[Paulie] Yeah, so, I gotta go. Tweets, babe.
click


In the models' suite before the party, an enterprising photograph caught an interesting vignette.















My previous PR attempts:
Week 1

My PR competition:
Becky

Go Take a Leap!

This morning, Shadowfax finally did what I've been worried he would do...he fell a good 15-18 feet. And, of course, it wasn't intentional.

My bedroom is a loft, with a 5-inch-wide ledge atop a waist-high wall separating me from plunging to the first floor. About 2 to 2.5 feet separate the bed from the wall. Shadow has been fascinated by the ledge, cautiously stepping onto it from my bedside table. Once on the ledge, he'd wander down its length to the dresser and then leap to the bedroom floor. If I responded fast enough, he'd immediately jump off the ledge and curl up on the bed while I scolded him.

Well, he finally found out why I yelled at him. He took a flying jump from the bed onto the ledge, but his momentum carried him right over the edge! I heard a tremendous crash from below.

I took off down the stairs, expecting to see him impaled on a dragon or sprawled broken on the brick hearth -- which both rest immediately below his jumping point. He wasn't there. I couldn't tell where he'd landed, although the dragon's pewter horns had been scattered. Angel looked flabbergasted but provided no clues. I called Shadow's name several times before he darted out from beneath a chair to scurry up the stairs.

I say scurry because he kept low to the ground and the bell on his collar didn't make a sound. (Now that I think about it, perhaps the bell got damaged?) Back upstairs, I found him cowering near the bed...with his tail tucked under and his ears flat.

I checked him for injuries, but he never made a sound or twitched in pain. So I hope he simply was scared. He stayed in the same spot for a half-hour. Eventually, while I put on my make up, he jumped onto the bathroom counter like he usually does. But when I stepped away, he looked uncertain about getting down again. So I put him on the ground.

I hope Shadow learned his lesson. But I fear he'll forget and try this again.

Project Runway - Week 1 Challenge

Introduction / Explanation
Last Thursday, we witnessed the beginning of a new Project Runway season. Well, at least I witnessed it! Anyway, I decided to join the design challenge...I will design a dress as part of the current week's training. I have a competitor (Becky Cochrane), who has participated in multiple Project Runway seasons, so don't be surprised if her weekly results are better with mine!

A final comment...yeah, I'm several days late in producing a dress for last week's runway. In future, I plan to post my results on Monday.

Feel free to comment / vote on each week's challenge.

Let's Get Started!
For Week 1, the designers had five minutes to grab a set of fabrics. Then they had to choose just five fabrics, and produce a dress that represented who they are as a designer. I had to shop for fabric, but tried to head to the remnants sections so I could pick from what was available, thus being the spirit of the game. The dress should represent the designer's personality and design style.


Model: Merisel*

I love evening wear, so I chose to create something a woman can wear out to the opera or a formal event. Since I'm not fond of dresses (off-the-rack dresses never seem to fit right), I designed a top and skirt, with a coordinating cape.

I love fluttery, floaty, girlie, skirts because they feel so romantic - hence the satiny skirt. The deep, rich mulberry shade is close to a formal black without being predictable or traditional.



Despite my penchant for romance, I do enjoy sexy clothing. So, I created a fitted top with a plunging back. I used a lovely brocade material with a gold, brown, and pink pattern.












The cape conveniently keeps that bare back warm and allows her partner's hand to wander discreetly (in case her boyfriend is watching). The velvet cape coordinates with the skirt, and provides a feeling of elegance and affluence.


*Merisel's new to modeling, so play nicely, little kitties!

Relocated blog

So, I have a new website that includes a blog. If you're interested in reading more of my postings, please go here.

6-Week Update

It's been six weeks since I started my workout training.

• -12 lbs
• -3% body fat
• my dockers and jeans can be removed without unbuttoning them!
• cardiovascular still needs work
  

I definitely am making progress!

Lessons Learned

I just finished watching The Guardian again. And it got me to thinking about why we always have to learn a lesson at the expense of someone's death. I can immediately come up with 3-4 movies / stories in which a primary character dies so that another character (usually the protagonist) can learn a lesson / become a better person / grow a backbone / come of age / whatever.

I find this trend quite annoying -- as if our emotions and perceptions are so poor that we must be beaten over the head and forced to bear the utmost in unhappiness before we can understand that we should be better. Moreover, it isn't confined to one genre; rather, it transcends them.

Please feel free to add to this list of such tales:

The Guardian, as previously mentioned
Bridge to Terabithia
Message in a Bottle (ok, so maybe it's just that Kevin Costner has to die)
Where the Red Fern Grows (ok, so it's a dog that dies in this one)
V for Vendetta
Starship Troopers
Love Story
Lord of War
Terms of Endearment (ye gods, the guilt-tripping tear-jerker)
The Sons of Katie Elder
My Girl
The Cowboys
Little Women
Navy Seals

All of this has me wondering: What does it feel like to be the person whose sole purpose in life is to teach someone else a lesson?

Snow!

Another winter has begun here in New England. A nice snowstorm got us started yesterday. I was happy to have been home all day, as the snowfall immediately built to heavy proporations and traffic was snarled for hours. I watched it on TV from the snug comfort of my favorite chair, with a cup of hot chocolate it at my side. And then I went out to play.

I made my first ever snow angel. And if you click on the title of this post, you'll get to see all of my pix.

Men Men Men Men...

While at the mall today [yes, shockers! I was at the mall today...Macy's had quite nicely sent me some coupons, and I really do need a new dress for Scottie's wedding even though there is an unworn little black dress in my closet, but it is a year old, so I thought perhaps I should have a new one. Which means that I went shopping. As usual, I didn't come home with my primary objective, but I'll get to that later.]

As I was saying, I went to the Mall today. And wow! what an event! So many men. So many kinds of men: tall ones, short ones, skinny ones, fat ones. Old ones, young ones, ones that looked fantastic in jeans! [Just recalling the experience has me almost bursting into song.]

Yes, I know that men do shop. But never have I seen so many men in the mall at the same time. And carrying packages, lots and lots of large plastic and paper bags. One fellow departed Finish Line with four bags full of sporting goods, I assume. But I was more impressed by the guys sporting Limited, Talbots, and Macy's bags.

Of course, the overall winner was the unaccompanied man [in his 40s or so, with just a touch of gray at the temples] who carried a Brooks Brothers' bag out of which peeked the ubiquitous pink and white striped paper of Victoria's Secret. Now that's a man!

Such a joy to be the Mall at Christmastime. All the men men men mennnnnnnnnnnn.

Texas Accent vs the World

I was chatting (online) with a client about how and when I use my Texas accent. She commented that I hadn't sounded like Texan while I was at their office. Probably because I was in work mode. The Texas accent comes out naturally when I'm with friends, or if I'm tired. Of course, I can deliberately switch it on and off, particularly as a defense mechanism against the obnoxious Yankee accents I encounter. Or for work, when I need to speak clearly and professionally.

Then the conversation segued to Christmas music -- because I happened to be listening to Andy Williams trilling It's a Wonderful Time of the Year. Usually, I start listening to holiday music in October each year, a habit developed during high school.

I was in chorus back then. Me and the 100 other choir students would start practicing Christmas carols almost immediately after Labor Day. And when that many people sing simultaneously, they kinda need to enunciate words in exactly the same way so they'll be understood.

Hence, the birth of my proper diction. Then, for a couple of easy courses in college, I took Public Speaking as well as Voice & Diction. And there began my work mode voice. In which I no longer express my Texan heritage. All based on my high school chorus experience.

But on contemplation, perhaps this was a deliberate ploy of the chorus teacher. Maybe she had an nefarious plot to eradicate the Texas accent. After she'd destroyed her students' ability to speak like a Texan, she planned to subtly remove the Rs from words like park and car, then insert those lost consonants into words like wash. She would punish anyone using y'all unless addressing an individual. Next, she'd slip the treacherous aks into songs so students would aks a question.

Because, of course, a Texan wielding an aks really would herald the end of the Republic.

But I'm happy to say that I've escaped her reprehensible clutches. I have learned to control the diction. I don't aks or pahk or warsh -- not even on demand.

But I can say Howdy or Good Morning, depending on my audience.

Random Comments

Scientists seem to agree that the Earth is warming. Because of this, they’re concerned about the accelerated melting of glaciers and sea ice around Greenland and Antarctica. This event is causing sea levels to rise higher and higher at a faster and faster rate, with an expected rise of almost 20 feet by the end of the century. If this is so, just why are we rebuilding New Orleans?

Since Friday night, Angel has haunted the kitchen looking for the mouse that got away. She seems to have missed the part where I put it out the back door.

It’s such a dilemma, I just don’t know how I will survive making the decision. And what if I choose poorly? What if it doesn’t work out? Or –gasp– what if I have to change everything I’ve already gotten used to doing? I just don’t know which to buy: iTouch or iPhone?

I watered my plants on Saturday afternoon. Naturally, it's been raining ever since then.

It's just Terrible here

But, then, you can see for yourself...this is the view from our cabana on the beach at the Marriott Ocean Club on Maui.

Senility starts at 15

Angel just woke me up.

Her meow sounded strange almost close to a howl. Given that she never meows above a mew, I immediately startled out of bed. I flicked on the light expecting to see her dying or at least partially maim for her manic bouts of grooming --only to discover that my 15-year-old Persian was meowing loudly to capture my attention and approval. She had brought her latest captive and placed it at the foot of my bed.

A book cover.

The cover of a Nora Roberts romance novel, to be precise. One which she had ripped away from its bindings earlier today. Apparently, Ms. Roberts has offended Angel in some heretofore unknown fashion.

As I left the bedroom to write this post, she pursued me -- book cover in her mouth. Yes! She actually picked it up, jumped off the bed, and followed me to the other room! Then she proceeded to start the howling meows all over again. When I looked over at her just now, she dropped her prize, pawed it, then looked at me for approval.

Yes, I'm duly impressed that she has captured a dastardly book cover.

However, I'd probably be more impressed if she'd kidnapped one with a handsome prince in the picture rather than this one with pretty blue flowers.



The hunter and her prey.

A new version of Survivor

Which Survivor of the Impending Nuclear Apocalypse Are You?
A Rum and Monkey joint.

I'm pretty sure that I fell into this category because I chose the "Pillage" option for the last question.

HP: 7

I finished Book 7 of the Harry Potter series just now. Only took 9 straight hours. My eyes are blurry (I really need to see an optometrist!).

Here's my review, then:
-- Characters were killed off.
-- I even cried at one point.
-- Loose ends got wrapped up.
-- I knew I was right.
-- An acceptable ending.

Follow-up edit:
-- I also was right about the identity of RAB.
However, the 2nd half of that equation caught me by surprise.

What? Me, Creative?

During a chat with Rhonda yesterday, I got to thinking about why I stopped writing creatively.

I have ideas constantly running through my head. And I come up with great beginnings all the time -- usually while driving to/from work or on the treadmill.

But I haven't put much effort into writing beyond that initial idea or opening paragraph. I used to feel compelled to write. And to compose anything: bad poetry, those openings that would go nowhere, commentaries. What happened to my impetus to publish? When did I stop wanting to write?

Sure, I had to write in college as a journalism major and be creative as the opinion editor for the college newspaper. And I was part of a critique group in my 20s, so I had deadlines to meet and others to answer to when I didn't do my work. The only book I've written resulted from my critique group's deadlines.

Which leads me to wonder whether I'm so lazy that I can't write unless I'm forced to do so. And if that's true, then one could conclude that I'm not really a writer at all. Not like I was before I turned 30 or so. Somewhere along the way, I became so wrapped up in career and house that I lost my creativity.

So, as a result of my chat with Rhonda, I started a new blog. One that forces me to think differently. It's a bit of stretch: I've absolutely lost my ability to write humorously. But it's gotten the creative juices shifting, if not flowing, again.

Is that Blackberry in your pocket...

Last night, while waiting endlessly -- or so it seemed -- for the fireworks to get underway (for a second time) in Danvers, I downed way too much water and Dr Pepper. Big mistake when we're sitting in the parking lot of a local elementary school. In the dark. Without flashlights.

After an hour's delay in the fireworks, I desperately needed relief. So I stood in line for the port-a-can. Several people ahead of me had those glow-in-the-dark necklaces. One person had a flashlight. These items were shared with those before them. But by the time I had a chance at the door, no one in line had any form of illumination.

Yes, I came prepared for a port-a-can. I am my mother's daughter: I had a packet of baby wipes and another of facial tissue. But at the moment I stepped into the absolute darkness of that port-a-can, I mostly was grateful that I had a Blackberry in my pocket.

Beware! makers of hand-held lanterns. The hand-held mobile phone may take over your industry!

Short Shameful Confessions 3 & 4

I am eating a healthy breakfast for the 10th day in a row.

Which leads to SSC #4: There is no shit under foil in my refrigerator.

A Shaving Dilemma

or How to Shave in the Dark When You Don’t Have Hair

I never thought I’d complain about shaving. After all, I have the advantage of baby-fine, pale-colored hair on my legs. And those hairs are few and far between. Which means that I can go a week or more without shaving before anyone could possibly notice hair on my legs. Ergo, I don’t shave the legs any more often than that.

However, that advantage also can be a problem, as I discovered yesterday. Because Sunday was very sunny. I had chosen to catch some rays on my patio. I had shaved on Thursday. Yet, the very bright sun showed that I had missed a couple hairs on my right knee. Then, I noticed one or two down the shin. And another four or five scattered across my left leg. None of these errant hairs were beside each other or in any noticeable pattern. And since they’re baby-fine, I can’t feel them when I run a hand up my leg.

Tell me I’m wrong, but usually I just run the razor up my legs, assuming that I’m getting everything. After all, there’s soap in the way. And dim bathroom lighting in an apartment-style bathroom. Add to that my almost non-existent leg hair. E voila! now I have a very bad shaving job.

Sitting here in my sunny dining area…and I still can’t see those hairs. So, should I shave again, or just let them grow until this Thursday?

Complications

Yes, serious complications that have nothing to do with wardrobe worries for my eminent vacation. Actually, it's really just one complication: Angel.

She's sneezing, snuffling, and with raw lips from having rubbed her smash-faced nose too frequently today. Yes, I intend to take her to the local vet first thing tomorrow. Unfortunately, the very close veterinary clinic (just a block away) also has some very bad reviews online. So, I gotta find some places further away.

So I'm going to worry all night about her health, and what I should do if she needs meds while I'm away.

Well, hey, maybe there's a silver lining: If I can't sleep tonight, then maybe I'll have a better chance to sleep on that long flight! Ok, so that's kinda selfish of me. But at least for a moment I stopped worrying about Angel.

Too many decisions

So, this afternoon I began to organize my packing for Wednesday's departure. Since I'm the woman who takes four pair of shoes and at least six outfits for a weekend event, I find I have way too many clothes put aside for this 8-day trip.

Too much to choose!
How many shoes?
How many shirts? What if it's cold and all I have is short sleeves?
What if I bring too many long-sleeved shirts and its hot even at night?

I hate this indecision almost as much as I hate discovering, once I'm there, that I've made the wrong choices.

I might need to bring more than one suitcase!