Loner

Loner Girl

Bored, fidgety, harbouring a gigantic crush on a sketchy English moppet and in possession of coloured greasepaint pencils – what could possibly go wrong here?

I’m seriously so obsessed with this Yungblud kid.  He’s got a twenty one pilots-by-way-of-Stone Roses kind of vibe going, with a pit stop at the three-way junction where My Chemical Romance, Oasis and a Hot Topic warehouse intersect.  He’s a bizarre little munchkin with too much hair, and I’m delighted to now be aware of both his existence and music – with Keith Flint of The Prodigy now off bouncing around the afterlife, I was in need of an inexplicable crush on a transient-looking Englishman in too much guyliner, and Yungblud is providing in SPADES.

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And when I’m obsessed, well, I kind of start to dress like them.  Already working out our Halloween costumes for this year’s Mickey’s Not So Scary.  Can’t wait to see Mr. Finger Candy in pink socks, creepers, chipped black nails and nine pounds of charcoal-coloured eyeshadow.  Um, actually, wait – YES, now that I think about it, I’d kind of like to see that hot ass look right NOW… 😉  I love rock star cosplaying at Disney – in a sea of Little Mermaids, it’s fun to be an Ursula.  If Ursula was into sketchy English yobs with insanity hair and a major set of crazy eyes.  Which she might be.  I mean, I don’t know her life.

But for right now, I’ll content myself with this test run on a Loner-esque look, complete with face paint and my best approximation of Yungblud’s batshit, gravity-defying coif (it’s like Robert Smith got his hair did by Edward Scissorhands.)  We’ll revisit this at Halloween – d’you know what I mean, yeah?

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Naked and Afraid: Reno Anecdote of the Day

No photos to accompany this little tale, but you’ll thank me for that shortly.  So, as I’ve mentioned a time or 80, we are undertaking some fairly major renovations in our condo apartment – new bathroom, new flooring throughout, so absolutely everything is torn up right now and we have no access to proper plumbing.  We do, however, live in a building with an indoor pool and attached change rooms, so we’re able to nip on down there when the nature need strikes.  We’re really, really fortunate in that regard – bathroom renovations are such a bitch, man.

But it’s somewhat difficult to plan a biological function that generally does not wish to be planned, which means Mr. Finger Candy and I have been running down to the change rooms at all hours of the day, including last night at a quarter to midnight when I walked in on two of my neighbours having sex in the change room sauna.  Had the two trashy perverts just stayed IN the sauna, I never would have seen them.  There’s a tiny little window notched in the wooden sauna door, and by principle, I never, ever look through that window, because I know what I’m most likely going to see – one of my very elderly neighbours sprawled out on a towel, schvitzing in the altogether.

But these two panicked when they heard me coming through the outer doors and tried to bolt for the pool doors, unsuccessfully.  That’s when I come around the corner and find the male half of the couple, equipment not remotely covered by his hands, frantically jigging across the change room while his lady screams, “THAT’S JUST MY HUSBAND!!!” at me.  Just?  Yes, sweetheart, I can now confirm that that is indeed “just” your husband and “just” his rapidly departing winky all up in my legitimate bathroom business at a quarter to freaking midnight on a weeknight (weeknight, weekend, it doesn’t really matter, but I guess whenever and wherever the urge strikes, huh?)  Although as I queried a friend this morning, who decides that the very best time and place to get yer freak on is a ladies room sauna in a condominium run by a bunch of uppity 80-year-olds at a quarter to midnight on a Thursday night?  Have some standards, people!  And please to be removing your nut sack from atop that wooden bench, thanks. 😦

Reno life, friends – I don’t recommend it!  Now I’m going to return to the mind-numbing task of just sitting here “supervising” the contractors, which is actually me joshing with the plumbers in between developing an intense, dirty old lady-ish crush on this 20-year-old British scuzzbag named Yungblud who looks like walking syphilis (this video for a song called 11 Minutes, featuring Halsey and Travis Barker, is INCREDIBLE; I miss the golden age of videos, and this one delivers.)  He’s got that real ugly/handsome, Adam Driver-esque thing going on, and I’m obsessed with staring at his interestingly imperfect face.  He’s also not a bad musician.  Seriously, 22 years my junior or no, I just want to haul him down to the change room, toss his sketch ass in the shower for a good de-lousing and then bang in the sauna.

Sorry for the TMI (did you really need to know that I want to jump some jailbait who looks like a chihuahua with its face smashed in?) but I also may be round-the-clock high on off-gassing flooring materials.  So you might be getting Extra Truthful Blogging Action Figure Sandra today.  Hmm, best scamper on out of here before I start pontificating on politics or something else that will get me in trouble.  Happy weekend, friends – may your change rooms be free of naked neighbours and your YouTube playlists filled with sketchy British musicians. 🙂

The Umbrella Academy

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LOVED IT – zero surprise there.  As a one-time disciple of the Church of My Chemical Romance, I’m required to love anything that comes from the mind of Gerard Way, MCR’s enigmatic front man and co-writer of The Umbrella Academy comics from which this charmingly weird Netflix series was derived.  (As a huge aside, yes, before twenty one pilots there was My Chemical Romance – and before both of them, and still, always, there is Green Day – and oh my, did I have it bad for their whole goth dork theatre geek screamo thing.  I joke about the Church of MCR, but I had the next best thing to a bona fide religious experience at one of their shows, one of those top 10 moments of my life sort of deals.)

So I was probably predisposed to love The Umbrella Academy, which is a beautifully filmed and acted distillation of MCR’s entire musical catalog, vibe and aesthetic.  You’ve really got it all here, from repeated references to the hardships of war, to the prep school uniforms worn by the kids of the Umbrella Academy, to the Victorian-by-way-of-the-1950s office wear sported by the employees of the Commission.  There’s also Wes Anderson-level awkward family dynamics, an opening montage scored to the Phantom of the Opera (dope), a lot of commentary on the ethics of medicating children, multiple dance scenes, and a caffeine-jonesing 58-year-old man in a 13-year-old’s body who’s in love with a mannequin torso named Dolores.  Oh! also a robot nanny and a monkey butler.  For real.

If I didn’t lose you with Dolores, Grace or Pogo up there, there’s really so, so much to recommend this gorgeous show; don’t let its on-paper weirdness freak you out, if only so you don’t sidestep the ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE soundtrack, which features lots of Gerard Way tunes, of course (covers of Happy Together and Hazy Shade of Winter), rock classics of the 60s, 70s and 80s (see above re: the Turtles and Simon and Garfunkel songs, as well as appearances from the Kinks, the Doors, Heart, Nina Simone, Queen and the freakin’ Bay City Rollers!) and two brutal fight scenes scored to They Might be Giant’s Istanbul (not Constantinople) and Lesley Gore’s Sunshine and Lollipops.  It’s also filmed in Toronto, and boy, does it look it – I can pick out specific intersections, one right down the street from a friend’s old apartment.

Umbrella Academy Collage

Here’s the basic setup for the show: In 1986 46 women the world over, none of whom were pregnant when the day began, give birth.  An eccentric billionaire by the name of Reginald Hargreeves comes along and buys – let’s not mince words – seven of the children, all of whom bear superpowers ranging from incredible strength, to teleportation, to the ability to speak to the dead.  Assigning each child a number, but no actual names, Hargreeves begins to mold the kids into a crime-fighting unit by the name of The Umbrella Academy.  But Hargreeves is a distant, exacting and cruel father figure, and Nos. 1 to 7 – eventually christened Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Five, Ben and Vanya by their robot “mother” – all bear a not-so-healthy resentment towards the miserable old bastard, though the siblings all care deeply – if not awkwardly – for one another.

One day, many, many years after the children have fled the nest and scattered to any corner of the globe not occupied by their father (one went as far as the moon, for pity’s sake) the old man kicks it, and this weird, fractured family reunites to finally put their demons to rest.  Except time travelling assassins and one-eyed bandits and the apocalypse.  As you do.

It’s awesome, please watch it.  Really, get thee to Netflix post haste, friends.  And I hope you like this manicure as well, inspired by The Umbrella Academy’s graphics, and the umbrella tattoo each member of the Academy has inked on their inner wrists.

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Tyler Two Pilots! Or How We Spent our Halloween Anniversary

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Hey!  Lest some of you mistakenly think that a poor resort stay at Pop Century was enough to completely undo our precious Disney vacation goodwill, allow me to reassure you that no, it did not.  We are remarkably resilient Disney travelers, and when the overall cruddy vibe at Pop Century began impacting our moods – seriously, who wants to be a grumper puss on holiday? – we got the heck out of there and got on with our trip.  No surprise here, but Disney vacations are expensive, time-consuming and require a ridiculous amount of what I call managerial oversight.  I realize how awful that sounds to those of you who prefer to vacation in “set it and forget it” mode, but once again, allow me to assure you we like these kind of vacations; if we didn’t, we wouldn’t have gone to Disney World four times in one year.  We always have a great time; we’ve just never had to work quite so hard at ensuring that great time.  But things got markedly better – and absolutely calmer – once we moved over to our new resort, in part because Coronado Springs is a really wonderful place to stay, and also because we just refused to allow the crummy time we were having at Pop Century to negatively impact our entire trip.  Ain’t no one got time for that on holiday!

Besides, by the time we decided to leave our resort, we had already been having a ton of goofy, good times fun, and we weren’t inclined to step off the party bus anytime soon.  And some of the most fun we had across our entire 11-day vacation was during an actual party, our second run at Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party on October 31st, which also happened to be our 14th wedding anniversary!

We attended Mickey’s Not So Scary in late August during our Labour Day trip, and it was an experience.  Bowled over by the oppressive heat and bonkers humidity, we didn’t attend in costume, and just sort of stumbled around from meet-and-greet to parade to fireworks to midnight stage show in a sucrose-enabled haze.  The whole thing is a blur of too much sugar and too much damp and not enough sleep.  We vowed to do better during our Halloween to Christmas trip.

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And so to celebrate 5110 days of wedded bliss and our second Mickey’s Not So Scary, we decided to don our first ever couples costumes, and spent the day – and the long party evening – bombing around the Magic Kingdom as two different video versions of Tyler Joseph, the lead singer of twenty one pilots.  Why two Tylers and no Josh Dun, the drummer?  With all adoration for Josh, neither one of us is confident enough to show that much sideboob – the man loves his low-cut tanks, if he’s wearing a shirt at all (never change, bro.) 😉

Mr. Finger Candy, resplendent in Tyler’s Stressed Out ensemble (complete with meggings and a whole lot of black gunk about his neck and hands) was being a terrifically good sport, but he was also convinced that absolutely no one would know who we were.  “Husband of little faith!” I mock-admonished him, in the act of smearing my own hands and neck with black stage makeup for my Lane Boy getup.  “Okay, so not everyone’s going to know who we are.  But the RIGHT people are going to know!”

Twenty One Backpack Collage

Turns out we were both a whole lot right and a whole lot wrong.  Virtually every cast member working the evening party knew exactly who we were, prompting much on-the-spot fanboy and fangirling over TOP’s new album, Trench.  In a park full of incredibly costume’d guests (wowza, some people turn it out) we had people running up to us to tell us how much they loved our outfits, and you could hear people all over gleefully shouting out, “Omigod, twenty one pilots!”  It was completely awesome.  I also think Tigger may have been a TOP fan – he kept enthusiastically gesturing to his neck and giving me delighted, double barreled thumbs up.

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Of course, there were also the people who had no clue who we were (“Are they video game characters?” was a common refrain, followed by a dismissive, “Oh, they’re that band”) and I still chuckle when I think of the little girl I overheard in the bathroom stage-whispering to her mortified mom, “Mommy, mommy, did you see the dirty girl with the black stuff all over her neck?”  Heh.

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Anyhow, that’s the story of how much I love twenty one pilots, and how much my husband loves me, and I him – I wouldn’t ask just any man to don meggings and a toque in 90 degree weather for me. 😉  And it’s not every man who would wear them for his wife either (though if we’re being totally honest here, he can go ahead and dress like that every day of the rest of our lives, because he looked hot as hell!  Nearly got us bounced out of the park after I tried to drag him behind the little Dutch kids on It’s a Small World to snog.  Joke, joke – although that is the number one way of getting kicked out of the parks.  Turns out Mickey’s not so down with the guests trying to bang behind the animatronics.) 😉  We had a blast, and it was a great party, Halloween, anniversary and day.  Can’t ask for much more than that.

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Cupcakes by the Ocean

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Well, that’s a terrible pun based off a not-so-great song (Cake by the Ocean by DNCE) that was nonetheless a total ear worm, which is how I wound up doing these nails yesterday when I was in a funky bad mood and could think of nothing better to cheer myself up than some nail art and a bit of bad punnage.  So mission accomplished?  Because I’m feeling much better today, and these nails are pretty funny, and maybe even just plain old pretty. 🙂

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Jumpsuit

Jumpsuit

I was about to wax all poetic about twenty one pilot’s searingly killer new song, Jumpsuit, and then I just decided to go with what I wrote on Instagram last night, after five days of naught but TOP jamming about my brain for as many possible hours as the people around me can stand – I’m so freakin’ in love with Jumpsuit, I want it to carry my books and take me to prom in a baby blue tuxedo.  Happiness is new any twenty one pilots music. *contented sigh*

Lightning Crashes

Lightning Crashes

Fun fact: The song Lightning Crashes by the band Live is my least favourite song of all time. And by that I mean I f*cking LOATHE it.  No song should ever, EVER, contain the word “placenta,” especially if that word is sung all lustily by a slithery, rat-tailed proto-bro.  Not that I have any particular feelings on the matter!  Although my husband likes to tease me about my Lightning Crashes reaction time when we’re listening to music in the car – unlike the song, it does NOT suck, and it takes me maybe 1/100th of a second to shriek and snap off the radio in disgust.

I’m not disgusted by these nails, though, because they turned out really well!  I particularly like the sponged-on, ozoney bits. 🙂