Figure Happy

So I saw Alice In Wonderland 3D today with McPal and his boyfriend. We had a delicious time. The Cheshire Cat made the movie for me, particularly his attendance at the tea party. It was nice to get out. In particular it was extra nice because a new dress came in the mail today!

This dress is a work of art.
It's the things dreams are made of. *swoon*

I pretty much adore this dress like no one's business. It makes me all curvy 'n stuff. I threw on some brown fishnetty knee socks, black heeled Mary-Janes and hit the town like a sexy secretary. 'Tis also perfect for the height-lacking short-torsoed woman. Life is good.

Every month I treat myself to a new online little number. I'm thinking this one next, which is so very different from all my other more floofy dresses. But it's still mod and retro:

Plus it's got a high waist. Very promising.

Or potentially this adorable cardigan below. You can't see them too well from here, but in the cuffs of the sleeves are thumb holes!
You know, when I stopped fighting my body and trying to wear things I liked on the mannequin or the model, I became more more enthusiastic about fashion. My fashion. My style. I never really paid attention to my figure's quirks, other than the small breast part, because that's not something that escapes your attention. But actually taking a good look at my shape, the one I was born with, my frame, my bones, everything, makes me feel better.

I mean, it's the control thing, right? You think you can manage your appearance totally and so you try. And you invest emotional effort in it, physical effort and time, and denial and tears and worry. After taking stock of everything, most of the stuff I realized I had a beef with was out of my control. Most was nothing diet and exercise would fix for me. Short of drastic or impossible surgery, this was it. It was actually kind of freeing.

I've become a much better shopper for it over time, and a happier woman. That's not to say I don't use clothes to create an illusion about my body. It's just now I know what to buy to create said illusion. You know, rather than being trendy or lazy and hoping for the best and moping over the worst.

My bathing suit is still in the works. Round two at the tailors. It's now the right length and the cups are inserted into the chest, but... the neck strap is too long. Which means the cups are not sitting pretty at my boobies, but weighing heavy on my ribs just below my boobies. I told the seamstress that I was too young for my breasts to sit there. It was a glimpse into the distant future, actually. Grandma tits.

Soon. Soon it will be wearable. And then I can hurry up and wait for summer to come so I can actually wear it.

Bathing suit 2.0

My bathing suit hath arrivedeth. And it is charming. And adorable. And good quality. And... too long! How could this be? Well, I know how it could be. I have the torso of a child dwarf, that's how it could be.

But! A saving grace! The red panel means easy alterations. Not for me, oh heaven's no. I can't sew worth a damn. I'm taking it in to the pros. But thar be a second problem with me sailor pinup suit, matey. And that be that me chest is flat as ye olde plank.

Well, not that flat, but flat enough. My bust lives in A town, close enough to B town to smell the flowers, but not enough to get a permanent address. Now, this suit is padded in the chest for modesty's sake. No free nipple flashes. No paid ones either, for the record. But there are no cups. Granted, I don't need the support, but I'm a young small chested woman and I am accustomed to being able to harness the powers of modern tailoring to lie to the general public about my body. No cups equals no shape. No shape means my girls flatten against me under the crushing weight of spandex.

So I have my work cut out for me, because this suit is too close to happiness and perfection for me to wear it as is. I'm going to Fabricland and buying some bust cups. Then I'm going to Stitch It to have the red panel shortened and the cups inserted. Conveniently these two establishments are five minutes from each other.

And then when it's finished there will be choirs of angels singing praise to my bathing suit. Mostly in my mind.

This will be an expensive item by the time I'm done. I so don't even care at this point.

Bathing Suit of dreams

I've done some calculations and I have spent almost $1,200 on clothes online this past 12 months. The tally?

4 pairs of socks or tights
2 accessories
2 jackets
10 dresses

And I'm want more. MORE! I basically don't shop for things in person anymore. I can't remember the last time I bought something in a mall or a real person store. It's all a part of my growing hermitism. That and I adore wearing neato special items that can't be found locally.

Take this little item. I was whining earlier about my short torso and this puppy with its unprecedenteded lack of length is the answer:

For the low, low price of $130 I can be a pin-up sailor girl.

I read the negative reviews and knew it was the suit for me:

"i was very excited to be able to order it. unfortunately, it fits very short. the bottoms and top are fine on my body, but the waist is not long enough for me."

Ooh, tell me more!

"the waist is not long enough, resulting in the halter strap pulling painfully at my neck."

Dare I say it, I think I'm in love.

Byatch, you're mine. My ass will fill your spandex. Come to Jendra.

Bathing beauty

The mad insomniac strikes again. Well, it's only 1:30 a.m. as I'm writing this. Really, it's not an issue till 3:00. That's how I roll.

I love Lost. I <3 Lost. I watched it tonight, all glorious two hours of it, plus the hour-long recap, which was much needed. Usually when I love a show, I hate for it to end, but I'm digging this last season bit. I respect a story arch that reaches an appropriate and timely end. And I want closure.

I don't remember TV being this awesome when I was younger. I really don't. I mean, the late greats are always sited as M*A*S*H*, Cheers, All In The Family, Dallas, I Love Lucy. And in my youth there was the much too short My So-Called Life, plus Seinfeld, Friends, and the big hit 90210. And the Simpsons are still going strong, though they kind of jumped the shark back when Homer probably actually jumped a shark out of lack of better ideas five years ago.

But let's be serious. Cut to the now and the not so distant past. The Tudors. Dexter. Sex and the City. Arrested Development. Lost. Glee (fuck yes). The Office. Six Feet Under. Curb Your Enthusiasm. Mad Men. True Blood.

HBO has improved TV. They're not behind every good show, but they set the bar high. And despite the fact I loathe raunch, relaxed censors make for better almost everything. And I do so enjoy good storytelling, which can only be done properly when you don't have to work around too many off-limit words and subjects.

But enough rhapsodizing about TV.

Allow me instead to wax poetic about this bathing suit:

I can hear an angel's choir at the thought of possessing
and wearing this hot little number.

I've wanted it for about a year now. Frankly, with such indecision, it's a wonder it's still available. The only thing that is holding me back is my unfortunate short waist. My torso and a dwarf's torso have a lot in common. I've come to embrace empire waists. For the most part I'm A-OK with this. However... One-piece bathing suits have always been a great desire and the bane of my bathing suit shopping existence because there's always an extra 2-3 inches of fabric that has nowhere to go.

And how returnable are bathing suits anyway? My guess is not at all returnable. I don't care to purchase a bathing suit from any company that would allow returns anyway. Once a bathing suit has known some strange woman, I don't want it knowing me.

Those happy little straps are adjustable, which is good. But that torso do look a wee bit long, dontcha know. Le sigh. But maybe I should risk it. Maybe there'd be a way to alter it in some fashion. I don't care if there's weird zig-zaggy cuts so long as I can wear the damn thing.

I am no fan of the bikini. It's all well and good when you're standing up in good light, but the second you sit down, even if you weren't sucking in before, you're screwed now. I've shed tears in dressing rooms trying on bikinis, and I don't even hate my body. I've posed nude for artists. I've belly danced in public with an exposed stomach. There's just something about a bikini that brings out the worst in my shape, or in my feelings about my shape.

So fuck it. I'll just go ahead and get it.