DIY: A Mid Century Mod Dress

Do you find my creepy grin as disturbing as I do? I can't decide if it's the part where I'm trying to bare all my teeth or the dead look behind my eyes. I predict this is the same creepy grin I'll be baring upon the first day back to school. "Welcome back! I am soooo happy to see (uncomfortable swallow whilst maintaining creepo grin) yoooooou."

   Holy moly, I have so much to tell you I don't even know where to begin. Despite the title of this post, I definitely will not be chatting about this new dress right away. That was just a ploy to draw you in (because "DIY: Mid Century Mod Dress" is such a great hook, right?!). We have much more pressing matters to discuss. Like dangerous kitchen accidents with food processing blades where a tampon is applied to the wound to slow the flow. Yeah. See? I told you. LOTS to discuss.

   I don't know if you know this about me, but I have a fabric hoarding problem. No, really. I know, you're thinking, "Whatever, Stephens. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, 'Tis a rule of manners to avoid exaggeration.'" Wow. You're like so well read and stuff. But I'm not exaggerating! Upcoming post, I'll prove it to you. In the meantime, this here amazing mid-century mod fabric has been in my stash forever. Because I found it at the thrift store and there was no writing on the selvage edge, I dunno if it's actually vintage. Nonetheless, it spoke to me and said "Make me into a dress. After you make me a sandwich." Ermkay.

 Okay, so I know you're dying. Tampons?! Food processing accidents?! (Geesh, why wasn't that the title of this blog post? It woulda gone viral!) Well, just hold on. If Ima gonna tell this story right, I've gotta start at the beginning. And, like most beginnings not often shared on this here blog, mine begins with a DIY fail. Or four.

 Oh, look. My lovely deck. Funny story about my deck. Last summer I was put in charge of getting some quotes to have our deck painted. Which, as you can see, I never did follow through with. But whatever, that's not the point of this here story. One of the dudes who came out to quote us showed up in his adorable turquoise mini-cooper wearing skinny shorts and Beatles boots. In the summer. In Tennessee. Which means it's like 150 in the shade. But look at the way I dress, I'm not one to judge (haha, yes I am). Anyway, dude was a super nice guy from New Zealand. Are there any New Zealanders in the house? If so, I've gotta tell ya, ya'll need to learn the correct pronunciation of the word "deck". Because my deck quoting friend referred to it as our "dick." As in, "You're dick's in bad shape. I think if I stain your dick it will look so much better." Hubs and I could hardly keep a straight face. Because we're 12.

DIY fail item #1: My deck decorating. First of all, lemme just say, we have this nice big deck (heehee) and never use it. Because it's 150 degrees outside in the shade, remember? AND it has a hot tub. Which we've never ever used because it's not 1987 and my husband isn't Tom Seleck. I hate the unsightly thing so this summer I got the genius idea to "hide" it with plants. As you can see, it's working out great. As did hanging those planters on those diagonal boards. And, let's not forget the oil cloth pillows I attempted to sew. All of which frustrated me to the point that I just dropped my tools, snapped a photo and went inside to destroy another DIY dream:

These here Anthro-inspired chairs. Which I am determined to conquer. Although, as you can see, I currently stand defeated. Because after the 56th rouge staple flew out of the staple gun, I thought, "forget this noise, I don't wanna end up getting hurt" (little did I know blood shed would come later). And, just like the deck, I left the mess where it was and did what any normal person would do. I made a dress.

 Aw, don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing. I've been toying with the idea of turning this fabric into a sort of early 1960's tiki dress for a while. And with my deck and living room covered in DIY disasterness, the only safe place seemed to be my sewing room. I used my two fave patterns, combining the pocketed and gathered skirt of the Project Runway pattern with the bodice of the vintage pattern.

 I am kinda in love with this bodice and the big band of fabric...as you may know. Because I've made this same bodice like 4000 times. Not only is it slimming but it's also a place to play with color and pattern. Which is why I've used it, oh, here, here, here, here and, um. Here.

 Now, being a pattern from the 1960's it has that close-to-the-neck fit. Which I don't totally love because it's not comfortable. And because of my gorilla neck. The other prob with this pattern is that once complete, there's this extra fabric at the at the neck. As you can see, along with my hairy gorilla neck, above.

 So, as usual, I went to get hub's opinion of the dress. And he was like, "What's with the gap in the back?" He's actually said that every time I've made this dress. And I'm always like, "oh, it's a design element" which is code for "I have no clue!" It was at the point in our convo for me to deliver my design element BS when hubs said, "wait a minute. I have an idea." Now, I have to tell you, my hubs is kinda this amazing idea man. My favorite case in point: the time he and his roommates who never ever cleaned the bathroom of their apartment were moving out of their soon-to-be-condemned place. But they were still expected to clean the joint to get a return on their deposit. Idea Man's suggestion? Buy three cans of white spray paint and paint that bathroom clean. Kid ya not. And it worked. So when he suggested I simply unzip the dress, create a v-neck line and stitch it in place, I thought, wow. This man is like a genius.

Which now brings me to the point in my post when I'm ready to share with you the Attack of the Food Processing Blade. Genius hubs was outta town and I decided to host a lil crafty get together. For which I got the grand idea to make hummus. Yeah. Even though you can buy it at the store for, oh, I dunno, 3 bucks? And I really got into it. I skinned a 30 ounce can of chick peas just for the occasion (yes, you read that correctly. It's actually kinda fun in a bubble-popping kind of way) threw 'em in the food processor with some lemon juice and tahini and, viola! Some seriously good hummus.

The day of the get together, I'm cleaning (which I only do when people are coming over...so it's like an all day event) and I drop that stupid food processing blade on my foot. It didn't even hurt and I didn't think much of it until I noticed my foot felt all warm and sticky. When I looked down, I almost fainted. There. Was. Blood. EVERYWHERE. It looked like an episode of Dexter. If Dexter was a complete idiot that dropped food processing blades on his feet. Now, I'm not a total dope, I did grab a cleanish towel, put my foot in the air and applied pressure. But it just wouldn't stop gushing blood. I convinced myself I was feeling faint decided to hobble all the way upstairs for a Band Aid. Because, in my deliriousness, I just knew that would fix it.

Oh look, an extra large photo of my veiny feet. Hawt.

In true Girl Scout Drop Out fashion, I couldn't find my first aid kit. Oh, who am I kidding, I don't even have a first aid kit. But I do have tampons. Which is what I applied to my foot before forcing my tampon'ed foot into a sock and shoe and zipping over to the walk in clinic. Thankfully, it turns out, I'd hit a vein, not an artery (which would have required surgery, what?!) and was good to go with two little stitches. Doc told me it'd leave a scar to which I replied, "What?! How will I continue my career as a foot model?!" At which point he looked from me to my foot several times before saying, "Really? No. Really?" 

"Um, my husband refers to them as 'troll feet', so what do you think?"

"No."

And that's why those doctors get paid the big ole bucks.

HOLY MOLY. This was the world's longest post. If you stuck around the for whole thing, give yourself a pat on the back. You've earned it. 

Until next time, stay away from food processors. They's cray cray.