Fendi, Fendi, Prada

"...basic (expletive deleted) wear that (expletive deleted) so I don't even botha'."

The Cosmo. I added my own flair by attaching a pocket for my iPhone.

As Kreayshawn poetically explained in her song about the rampant ownership of designer bags, I decided to make my own. Ok, it's not a stand against consumerism - I just like to sew. Yes, I like to make handbags. I make aprons, baby dresses, and even dolls. My sewing machine is part of me and I am part of it. We complete each other.

Jon says that sewing is a gateway drug to hoarding cats. Lots of them. Naturally, he has become afraid of my new hobby. The hurricane Cyndi level mess that's created when I start to cut my patterns is kryptonite to his need for neatness. There is a reason they sew in studios and sweatshops, not kitchens.

This bag was created in a class I took is Pasadena.

The thing is, I don't really use anything I make. I parse it out as gifts or barter them at Trader Joe's when I'm low on cash. Some of the things I make are simple (at least they are now), but others take quite some time. Take bags for instance. My last one took me a week. It was a Chapter 1 bag in the sewing book that's supposed to be easy. They don't know me. If I were to actually sell these things, I'd probably charge Neiman prices because of the time and nicks they cause me.

But for some reason I finish a project, gift it away, and look for a new mountain to climb. Research and Jo-Ann, iron and cut, stitch and sew - all over again. So if one day we're at lunch and I happen to bring a bib for you, just know that it's from the heart and not a critique of your chopstick skills.