Cassie Stephens: coco chanel quotes

Hush. Don't even say it. I know what you're thinking:

"This Cassie-person things she's classy and fabulous? Wait, didn't I just read in her last entirely-too-long-post that she dropped a food processing blade on her foot that she bandaged up with a, what totally classy thing was it again, oh yeah, a tampon?! AND isn't she the one who makes fun of New Zealanders and their pronunciation of "decks"? I bet she punches puppies and eats food off the floor (um, no! I love puppies! And, well, yes, sometimes. Gotta get to it before the puppies do. Even if I don't have puppies.) Classy my a--" (hey! This is a family friendly blog, try to keep it clean, would ya!? Geez.)

Dude, I couldn't agree more. In fact, dear ole hubs occasionally refers to me as "Classy Cassie" because he likes to be ironic (at least I think I'm using that word correctly. Alanis Morissette has confused me for life. Canadians, I swear. Oh, crap, did I just offend another country?! Sorry, dudes). In fact, I hesitated to even share this DIY with you in light of all my recent moronicness. Seriously. And, if you can believe this, I've even managed to step it up a classless notch since last chatting with you which was, oh, 36 hours ago. Because if it's one thing I've got down, it's the classless bit. It's called perfectionist, people. You outta try bein' it.


What you see here is one classy babe. I mean, who just wakes up one morning and decides, "Yeah, Ima gonna wear my necklaces backwards," and bam! does it with a look that says, "What?! You not fabulous enough to pull this off?!" Why Coco Chanel, that's who. Oh, not believin' me? You're only saying that because you want more examples of what an idiot I am. Well, I always come prepared, so here you go: So our house is full of critters and creepy crawlies inside and out. Why just the other night I found Asha the Cat running, leaping and body-slamming the front door in what I thought was a feeble attempt to escape the Haus of Food Processing Blades. Turns out she'd spotted this wee one and was just dying to get her kitten mittens on him. Probably so she could turn him into a chew toy and leave him under my side of the bed as she's done in the past. Which is yet another reason not to clean: discovering you've been sleeping just mere inches away from a fresh kill. Sometimes it's best not to know.

Don't you even say, "awww." This is the same cat that demands to be fed each morning at 5:15am, including weekends. So determined was she to get me outta bed that she once stuck her claw inside my nose and when I pulled away it raked the inside of my nostril which bled for the rest of the day. When I told hubs, he said, "well, you should have gotten up to feed her." Humph.

Anyway, frogs are just the tip of the creepy crawly iceberg at Casa de Cassie. My least favorite are spiders, right after silverfish (which hubs SWEARS do not exist and that I'm making them up. What?! Back me up here, they're the ones that when you step on 'em the other half crawls away. More than likely, up your leg, disappearing inside your shorts causing you to do your best dance moves ever).

And it's because these things make me super jumpy that the following happened: while changing the bandage on my foot, I saw the stitches out of the corner of my eye, mistook them for a spider and smacked my foot.

That's right.

Classy? Why, yes.

Fabulous? Would you really expect any less from me?

So when my mother-in-law gifted me this estate sale find, I just knew it'd be the perfect surface for Coco's quote. But first I had to remove that warped and fugly paper design. Which I did by stabbing and slicing it repeatedly with an Exacto-knife. It's really surprising that I've not injured myself before. Because I actually come from a long line of limb-losers (okay, just my mom. And, alright, she's just big-toe-less due to some freakish toe-in-bicycle-spoke accident. My fave part of that story is that her brother had to hold the detached toe all the way to the hospital. This also ended her foot modeling career.)

After tracing the paper circle onto a piece of paper, I wrote out the quote in sharpie and traced it onto some sort of linen-y fabric in pencil. Which is totally not how you are supposed to go about doing embroidery. Something about pinning it to your fabric, sewing through the paper design and later removing the paper with tweezers. What?! No. That sounds like time better spent doing other things. Like eating food off the floor.

When I was all finished embroidering (which, by the way, have you seen the embroidery on this dress?! Now I look more chump-y than normal. Thanks, Lauren), I busted out my fave glue. Have you ever used this stuff? I like to imagine the creator, Aleene, being some big bouffant'ed and bejeweled Southerner who was all like, "Elmer's glue?! Pshaw, honey, I need something much tackier than that if Ima gonna glue all these here shells to this here lamp. I'll just make my own glue with some Crisco and boiled down opossum." See? And you thought I was only pickin' on the Kiwis and the Canadians. Oh, naw. I'm an equal opportunity picker-on'er.

After slathering my Aleene's Tacky Glue all over the backside of the mirror, I placed the embroidery on top and used the aforementioned Exacto to shove the stray bits of fabric under the lip of the mirror.

After hanging the mirror on my sewing room wall, I felt it needed a little something more. So I added the little candy cane stripped ribbon and called it finished.

Coco Chanel sprinkling her fabulous classiness on one of her signature dresses.

And there you have it. A little embroidered reminder for me to strive toward the classy and fabulous. Which I totally forgot to do during my Multiple Doctors Appointment Day. In an attempt to be efficient, I scheduled both an eye and, ahem, a lady-parts doctor appointment in one day. This being the day after the Food Processing Blade Incident. So, imagine if you will, an eyes dilated, limpy and bandaged foot goofball stumbling into, for lack of a better term, the legs-in-stirrups room. The alarmed look on the nurse's face caused me to blurt out:

"I swear to you I'm not all jacked up on bath salts!"

"Uh, okay. What happened to you?"

"Oh, I just, you know, dropped a food processing blade on my foot that, you'll appreciate this, I bandaged with a tampon. I had to get a couple of stitches. And I was just at the eye doctor so my pupils are all coke-head huge."

"Uh, okay. I'm going to get the doctor now."

Aw, don't act like Coco Chanel wouldn't have done the very same thing. Chat at ya soon, ya'll!