Cuz I Rhyme Tight

I used to read Word Up magazine.

(No, I didn't.)

It's really no secret that I think I'm kiiiiiinda gangsta. Before you have a chance for rebuttal, I'll help you (I'm aware; I just like my delusions):

• I grew up in the middle-class suburbs of Ottawa.
• My dog wears a little tartan coat.
• Clueless is, like, one of my favourite films.
• I like Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" and I'm not sorry.
• I'm into yoga. And lattes.
• Sometimes, I have to use the Urban Dictionary. Like, for real. 

But guys, can I puhhlease get some props for my latest sorta-gangsta gig? I was in a muthafuckin' hip hop video, yo! Canadian hip-hop, but STILL. You can read more here about how any of this is even possible considering the facts above.

Well, this is it:

Directed by the ever-lovely and talented Dan Jardine, pulled together by a cast and crew of some of the awesomest people around, this is the newest vid for Muneshine's track, There is Only Today. Check him out! (Ignore that snarky bit about "Canadian hip-hop". I was being facetious.)

It's been a fairly ridiculous and (almost) completely unattainable goal of mine to dance in a music video. Janet Jackson was my longtime spirit guide. My friend Vivek cast me in the never-released video for one of his tracks, and Sweet Thing pretty much stopped making vids before I could weasel my way into a bit role.

But this finally happened. It's not dancing, I know. And I requested minimal camera time because I felt a bit drag in all of that makeup. Whatevs. I'm close to being "mid-30s" so these kind of opps are rare, amiright?

I also have wardrobe credits on the vid for the Pan Am looks I pulled together for the fly girls (including me)!

ISN'T THIS AWESOME!?

Now I drink champagne when I'm thirst-ay? (Nope again.)

p.s. I will also have you know, in an effort to gain additional gangsta points, that I once lyrically KILLED Bust a Move at Hip Hop Karaoke. Like live DJ, no-bouncing-ball-stylez. Only looked at the lyric sheet once. Wut-wut. That is some hard shit, you guys. Also received a high-five from a HHK veteran with some spot-on Dead Prez rap steez. I haven't been brave enough to return to the stage because it got all profesh somehow, but I could pull out some mean Salt N Pepa lyrics in an emergency. Just so you know.

City of Craft!

I'm in! I'm in!

Waited oh-so-patiently and it paid off! I was accepted into City of Craft's holiday show and I'm just so thrilled! I was neglecting my little Etsy shop over the summer. I shelved it to attend to more pressing matters like: patios and brunches and music festivals and mojitos and canoes and picnics and outdoor movies and hammocks, of course. Then I spent early fall recovering from those hardships.

I'm back, puppies.

Now I need to get motivated to cut and sew and design like crazy. Probably I should set aside some weekends, but they're filling up so fast. Yikes. It's only, err, 3 weeks away; that's closer than it seems. And it seems close.

I'm in trouble. Especially because I can't say no to anything! 

Luckily, I somehow secretly slipped a clause into my marriage contract that basically means hubby must (by law!) cut fabric shapes and iron seams until his hands bleed. Anytime I ask! JK, you guys! OK, it's not a law. It's just a reeeeealllly big debt accumulated over years of band-wifely support. JK?

Stop by and see me December 8th & 9th, won't you? It's one of the best holiday craft shows of the season and I'm so stoked to be a part of it! 

(Aside: can I get away with saying "stoked"? Like, am I too old?)

p.s. Eventually I will need an awesome graphic designer/web-wonderperson to help me revamp dudleyandbea.com and this blog. Barter, anyone? I have to stop pretending that I know what I'm doing. I have other talents. Sewing, I mean, SEWING. Geez. (That's enough out of you.)

virgin (tattoo) diaries pt. 3

I did it.

You wanna say I'm all mouth, yeah? OK, sometimes I talk a big game. Sometimes I sissy out. But this is my year, remember? I'm just doing it. All of it. Bunce wondered aloud if we really do "get things out of our system". Maybe we just scratch the itch and enjoy some temporary relief. I think I'll always be itchy.

(Like my 5-day-old tattoo. Oh, the itching.)

There are some people in my life who share my affliction. 30-something going on 16? You know who you are. I guess I'm just trying to figure out how to satiate my inner irrational teenager while staying within the confines of my responsible adult existence. Cabin in the Woods of the soul. Spoiler alert! I'm making sacrifices to my demons.

My demons are happy.

My actual 16-year-old self didn't rebel with a hasty, amateur Daytona Beach dolphin ankle tattoo. I experimented with hair colour and pierced my nose on a New Year's Eve dare, offering up my guinea pig face to a beauty school freshman. My folks weren't especially strict about that stuff but I remember them being pretty anti-tattoo (until, at 50, my mother beat me to the punch) and I wanted to be a good girl. Also, I was quite self-aware at 16. I was fickle and flighty and pretty uncomfortable with being me. Not an ideal candidate for permanence, right?

I never wanted a dolphin. I always wanted a bird (see? I'm not being impulsive). It doesn't mean anything. It's just pretty. And while that might sound like a silly reason to choose a specific tattoo subject, I think it's smart. An aesthetically pleasing representation of nature will never cease to be relevant.

{ get ready... }

I'm 33. I feel 16 (angst and all) but I know who I am now. I'm comfortable in my skin (itchiness aside). And I decided I might be – well, I AM – the kind of girl who chooses a full-forearm tattoo on her very first go.

My first of two sessions at Archive was last Thursday. I was hella nervous but I was pretty sure that it was the good kind. Like first-date-with-cute-boy nervous. Not STD-test-after-unprotected-sex nervous.

David was a total pro and just an awesome person. The atmosphere (non-pretentious, clinical-but-cozy) was ideal for a first-timer like me. The pain was probably hiding under adrenaline and good conversation, so it wasn't as excruciating as I'd been made to believe. I also told myself that it was less horrible than roller coasters and and PAP smears and job interviews. It was. The last portion of the shading started to get to me, however, and I realized that 2 hours was probably my threshold. No matter – David finished a beautifully-executed starling perched among wispy freesias (a whopping 7x4" piece) in time for me to be home for dinner.

In a month, I'll get my colour done. I can't imagine loving it any more than I do, but I'm a sucker for colour. All of them. RAINBOWS!

 { this guy will be making a lot of cameos in my photos. forever. }

In the meantime I'm trying to ignore the fact that I am molting. Molting! Yeah, like a seagull or a tree frog. JUST PIECES OF MY BODY FALLING OFF. I would generally be inclined to pick at and "encourage" this process. I'm a picker. But I have been strongly advised against it. Forbidden! Put me in a straight jacket. Please.

I blubbered "It completes me!" after admiring it (again) in the mirror tonight. Hubby was surprised to learn that he hadn't already been the last piece of my wholeness. I'm sure he and ink-bird will learn to live harmoniously.

And if they don't? Tattoos are a lot more permanent than marriages, so you can guess how that will go down.

(Totally kidding. He loves it.)

More non-iPhone photos when I start looking more like a girl and less like a reptile. 

---

Read more about my adventures in ink here and here.

The $0 Wardrobe Re-invention Project: UPDATE!

[ highly suspicious outfit activity... ]

Technically, I should have successfully completed my shopping diet almost a month ago. If you need to know more, read here. Basically, I've grounded myself from shopping for anything frivolous and unnecessary (ermmm, clothes and beauty). Cold turkey, baby. I can only function in extremes.

But guys, I'm going to be totally honest here.

I cheated.

FOUR TIMES.

My "diet" which officially began on June 11 was slated to end mid-August. But bad behaviour  landed me back in the slammer. I added another month to my sentence.

I'm sure it would have been much, much worse, except that my birthday conveniently landed smack dab in the middle of my ban. Mom treated me to a little shopping spree at the new Marshall's (apparently a very big deal in Ottawa, though it's pretty much exactly like Winners). I scored the a denim shirt, ikat/geometric skirt, and green leather clutch. Gifts. Not cheating.

[ yay, mom! ]

Then, my lovely friends lavished me with beauty essentials (girl-crack) and bought me gift cards for Philistine (umm, YEAH, I link to my own articles) and MAC. 

 [ my new philistine "tunic" is a dress on normal-sized humans ]

But still, I fell off the wagon.

FOUR TIMES.

Here are my crimes, petty as they may be:

1. Bowling trip to Vaughan Mills on our July staycay ended in innocent "poking around" in some of the outlet shops. I resisted a French Connection Maxi and deeply-discounted tees with sassy slogans. But a cute pair of on-sale skinnies (photo above) at H&M broke me. I even ignored my "no cheap denim" rule. I was in a bad way. Damage: $20

2. Konad polishes. Cathie bought me the kit, and it kind of became a new obsession. My mom also bought into it (she thinks she's 17, mostly) and we were possibly both a little high on acetone. I beefed up my kit with a new colour and design plate. Damage: $25

3. Joe Fresh. Gets me EVERY TIME. Mom (bad influence!) and I went to grab groceries at the SuperStore while I was in Ottawa in July. In the 'burbs, the Joe Fresh shops are RIGHT INSIDE THE GROCERY STORE. As in, next to lettuce: moderately priced pants. Oy. I genuinely needed new sweats for camping, and I was lured by $6 tees. Damage: $30

4. Maybe I shouldn't even count this one, but in the interest of full-disclosure, I thrifted a like-new J.Crew gingham top for $7 at Value Village. 

 [ cute shirt, right? ]

For me, $82 in almost 2 months wasn't bad. But I'm disappointed that I couldn't make it through. Alas, early parole DENIED! 

Then: I didn't buy a THING in August and most of September. Yay, me!

Today is my new release date. 

Correction: was. 

I almost made it. I could almost smell the mall-smells in my imminent future. New leather and Cinnabon and heavily-perfumed sales ladies. Then, I spied an adorbs pair of cherry-red vintage bowling shoes (in my size!) on Etsy yesterday and just HAD to have them. I don't bowl a ton anymore (I was a league kid), but I'd like to, and maybe these kicks will kick it off. Damage: $40

I need a support group.

Besides my slip-ups, I'm pretty happy with my restraint, and otherwise, my wardrobe reinvention has been coming along nicely. I've tinkered with some jewellry repairs, tie-dyed some tees, reinvented an out-of-date skirt, and altered a pair of pants. I also took home a sweet haul at a clothing swap last month. My biggest projects are still sitting untouched on my sewing table and I'm putting myself on house arrest for most of the month to get things done.

 [ church rummage size-16 midi skirt gets a new life as an above-the-knee size 6 ]

As thrifty and crafty as I may be, though, that last little shopping infraction just cost me another 2 weeks. I'll need the busy-hands distraction.

Plus: I'm currently putting myself through a month-long detox AND Alex and I just drafted up a pretty aggressive budget plan for the next year. Yeah, all at once. Because, well, I enjoy torture, obviously.

As of October I can spend (and drink and eat junk!) again, but I think the break from my toxic ways has been so positive that I'm going to be smart about falling (purposely) off the wagon. Using my credit card for anything other than emergs? Never. Doing shots on a work night? Rarely. Midnight burritos? Well, sometimes.

You know how much I love getting into trouble. This is hell. But worth-it hell. 

(Right?)

(I need a bloody drink.)

Face palm

 [ crime scene / exhibits A and B / today, 6:37 PM ]

Guys.

Oh my god.

Out of pure humiliation, I would take this information to my grave, but there are two problems with this strategy:

1. It's just not my style #oversharingforlife!

2. You would inevitably figure it out the next time you saw me on my bike

And the bike in question? Yes, the one that was "stolen" 5 days ago. Read more here.

So today, after popping off the subway one stop earlier to run errands (I'm taking the subway due to my stolen bike, you remember?),  I caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of turquoise. Sure enough, there was my bike locked to a post right there on Bloor Street only a couple blocks from my house! 

The nerve of this bike thief! The effin' balls, man! 

Then I realized that the bike beside it, sharing a lock, was Alex's! Aha! Caught! As I prepared to wait it out, conjuring up an epic shame-on-you rant for the glorious moment when I would confront this bold character, it sunk in: the bikes were affixed to the pole with Alex's lock. The only person who could possibly be responsible: Alex.

I couldn't decide whether to be overjoyed or mortified. (I'm still undecided)

It's something we've done before. I'll paint it for you. Typical summer Saturday: bike almost all the way home from boozy night out, realize we are craving post-party greasy snacks, lock up our bikes outside the burrito joint, procure burrito, and start to walk home before remembering that we were, of course, avec bikes. "Oh haha, silly us." Honest mistake, though: BFB is walking distance to our house, and not somewhere we would normally cycle. AND, under the intoxication of refried beans and chipotle hot sauce, we're bound to lose our heads a little. This time, though? We left them there, walked all the way home, went to bed, and came to the only conclusion that made sense when our steeds weren't in their stalls the next morn. Stolen!

I'm a sharp tack. A bright bulb. I am! And I have a crazy-awesome memory. I'll remember a face forever. I can still recite the Manitoba phone numbers of childhood friends I haven't seen since the 80s. I will regurgitate with perfect accuracy the he-said-she-said of our marital disputes (of course to prove that I am right, as usual). It's just so out of character! Dumb. If huge amounts of booze were a factor, it would make sense, but we had, at best, a mild day-drunk at the Jays game that had a good 9 hours to mellow before our trek home. If I could use that as an excuse, I'd feel better.

I would have lied my face off about this. But you'll most likely see me whooshing around the city on my little blue flame and I'd have to sheepishly explain myself in person. Which would be worse.

After putting on colourful and excessively dramatic pouting and self-pity performances all week, you are no doubt having a pretty good laugh right now. You're welcome.

p.s. While I'm relieved that I don't need to shell out unplanned dough (or grovel pathetically for early birthday money from my parents), I was really starting to buy into my silver lining. Gotta say, I was kiiiiiinda looking forward to pretty new wheels...

(Oh, I am a treasure.)

I'll never love again (yes, I will)

 

Look at how happy I am – ignore that it was a put-on smile, flashed between barking photo-taking directions at hubby and trying not to have a head-on collision with a garage door – but yes, HAPPY! Did I know then, though, that my love-affair with two wheels would be so fleeting? Serves me right for being trusting. Oh, no one would ever come through our back yard and into our garage to steal our bikes in TORONTO. Never. But yes, of course they would. And of course they did.

Alex and I had our babies stolen this weekend. And while my bike was bought for practical no-fuss, gettin'-around reasons, and not lust-at-first-sight like my current crush, I became quite attached to the old girl. She didn't fail me. Not once. Except that she went and got herself stolen. Girl, didn't I teach you to be wary of strangers?! Deaf ears, man. Sadly, a salesperson with atrocious handwriting is the reason that I will never see her again – a completely illegible serial number is no use for the police report. She's gone. 

While I mourn and eat ice cream in my favourite sweats (the appropriate reaction to any break-up, yeah?), a girl's gotta move on at some point.

The time is now.

I'm at the acceptance stage already, I think. A girl with a penchant for dramatics has a lot of history with (self-inflicted) grief. Man, I just roll through the 5 levels now, and I don't even think I stop on denial anymore. Express train.

Bright side? It's an opportunity to get a bike that's maybe more "me". I picked a Norco hybrid for budget/practicality, but I'm not really doing much in the way of serious cycling, so I can afford to play the style-over-function card. I'll bike to the moon (the moon!), but I'm not racing. I just need something pretty that can handle a 50-minute round-trip commute. Something light, so I don't almost die when carrying it. Something that puts the whoosh back into my life. I fall in love easily, so that part won't be hard. But as hubby says, my eyes are bigger than my wallet. So is my heart. And my wanderlust. And my bucket list. Sigh. 

I used to think being simultaneously broke and in love was impossibly romantic. Kinda over it.

The Mister has back-up wheels secured, so because he thinks I'm meow (and wants an end to the pouting) he's helping me with my own search. It resulted in a Craigslist-related fight after I vetoed 600 of his picks. It's not my fault though!!! On my way home, I was wooed by Mikey, an adorable sales-creature at Curbside Cycle and this:

This!

I very nearly swooned when I perched atop this minty baby. Sex. Just sex. But oh, $650. Hrmm. Not crazy-expensive in nice-bike world. But nuts when you're trying to be a good girl on a budget and you had a perfectly good bike just 4 short days ago. Dolla-dolla-billz, y'all. I could find ways to justify it then heap it onto credit with an audible gulp. I'm a master at justifying my terrible choices. A fucking Jedi.

But no. I am resisting her intoxicating lure. I'm back on Craigslist (with a much less eager helper-bee) hoping that I don't crack and just buy the first thing I can find. I'll hit desperation very quickly. I'll wither without wind in my hair. I will.

In the meantime, let's engage in a little self-torture, shall we? Bike porn, baby:

From top: 1) Bobbin Birdie 2) Abici Primavera 3) Bobbin Firefly 4) Public Bikes 5) Public Bikes

Check out more here, on my Pinterest board! 

virgin (tattoo) diaries, pt. 1

This. Is. Really. Happening.

I've talked about this thing for, oh, 7 years. In that time, my mother managed to think about a tattoo, decide to get one, then actually do it. My mother! Egads! OK, if you know her: not surprising. She's impulsive and weird (weird-good). So maybe I come by it honestly. But I'm also my father's daughter. My measure-twice-cut-once dad. He's responsible for my lists, my logic, my over-planning. Because I'm a product of these two sides (oil and frickin' WATER, I tell ya!), I want my first tattoo to be huge and right out there on my forearm, but I'm also gonna take 7 years to make it happen.

Cathie, my most refreshingly honest friend, has essentially forbade me to discuss it any longer. Until I actually did something about it. She's right. I don't want to be one of those all-talk people. I'm doing it, Cathie, I'm doing it!

Remember when, way back, I wrote this? So yeah, I'm still thinking flora/fauna and though I love-love-love bees, that's going to have to be tattoo #2. Speaking of #2, my mother is already talking about hers. I'd die if she beats me to it. Twice. (Not really, though. Mostly, I'm just pretty proud of her awesomeness.)

I found this artist, via my desk-neighbour, and he does some pretty lovely stuff. Even bees! But his birds and flowers are just so dreamy. I'm thinking a combo between these two pieces (less skull, more whimsy):

 Frank Gonzales

I have my consultation in LESS THAN 2 WEEKS! It's with this dude and he's awesome. 

David Glantz, Archive Tattoo

Plus he comes highly recommended by my bonkers-lovely friend Dawn. I yoinked this from her Instagram - it's her latest session:

And as usual, I won't do anything these days without creating a thematic Pinterest board first. Check it!

(And please tell me it won't hurt. It won't, right? 'Cause otherwise I'm getting one of these rad temporary tattoos by Tattly. Whatever, I'm totally tough.)

a handmade holiday!

This is happening. Today.

And I'm only blogging about it now at the very, very last minute because, well, I've been busy sewing my face off to get ready for it. Oops. But if you know and love me, I've already told you and you're already coming. The rest of you: go. Spontaneity is good for you.

While I had planned to write a proper post, this will have to do. Short, sweet and riddled with typos. 

So yes, stop by your local West Elm store for snacks, DIY workshops and shopping local Etsy sellers. But most importantly, visit the Liberty Village location in Toronto. That's where I'll be. Bleary-eyed from all-night sewing and baking. I'll be selling my Dudley & Bea goodies, including new products that you'll just have to see in person!

Oh, and BRING CASH. I'll accept PayPal via the iPhone app, too. Many small vendors are unable to accept debit and credit cards.

I'll be sharing the spotlight with these lovely folks - my fellow T-dot-Oh Etsy-ers:

The Penny Paper Co.

Better Stay Together

Tiny Poppies

Setsuko Studio

Every Bear Jewel

Get there: 109 Atlantic Ave., Toronto

Keep Calm.

So you know I love playing dress-up, hey?

But I also like being prepared. Like, planning Halloween costumes in the Spring (OMG, IT'S AUGUST AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M BEING!!!!! AHHH!).

Ahem. So yeah, my commitment to attend Fake Prom Goes To War went forgotten for a few weeks, until I realized this Monday that I need a costume for this Friday! Uh-oh. I take costumes very seriously. With only 3 days to spare (and a pretty packed week), I'm scrambling to find awesomeness in my tickle trunk (um, Rubbermaid costume bin) and my fruitful, high-yielding closet.

My pops was in the air force for 30 years + and I'm sure he'd have some awesome artifacts hanging about. But he's in Ottawa. I didn't plan this right.

It's in my blood on both sides, actually:

Grandma (Dad's side)


Popsy. (Mom's side)

So, I should have this in the bag.... But what version of wartime-chic should I emulate? Pin-up babe? Sexy fighter pilot? Wizard of Oz Soldier Monkey? War nurse? Mourning war widow?


If money and time were no object (which they are) these are some awesome options:

army-green corset, elizabeth and james $255


Think Sgt. Pepper. Alexander McQueen $1335 (*gulp*)

Ammo. Biko $69

Plane-jumpin' pants. marlene birger $100



Waiting for the baby boom. ModCloth.com


Serious hardware. ash $170

Recognition. ModCloth $17


Sea Legs. Biko $75

Alas, I am (nearly) penniless and just about out of closet room anyway. So I'll make do with what I have...

Ophelie military inspired chapeau. A must.



J.Crew cargo pants. OK, obvious?



Or, Club Monaco Fleur de Lis skirt. A Stretch?



Distressed Wilfred bustier top. Good, solid wartime underthings.



Vintage chain brooch ("war decoration"):





Biko Kaleidoscope (spyglass!) necklace. Not as perfect at Corrine's anchor or bullet necklaces, but it'll do.

OK, I can do this, right? It'll be a bit of a hodge-podge hybrid, but totally doable with just my closet. Just need to top it all off with some good temp tattoos (I heart mom!), maybe a dash of camo and a good dose of discipline.