TiLT: short but fucking hilarious edition
I had forgotten about this video. Man. Heeeee. A bit wrong, but too funny.
Edited to add supercuteness! Squee! (Now to discuss with the hubs the possibility of adopting/rehabilitating baby pandas in need…..yes….that’s the ticket….)
Edited AGAIN to add: I just CANNOT get enough of this fucking song. Hope Sandoval and Massive Attack? YES, PLEASE! (And it’s the theme for Luther, brilliantly.)
Putting the world on notice.
If you read this blog, you probably already know the stigma surrounding mental health issues is a HUGE deal to me. Shit, if I haven’t pissed you off with my opinion that that stigma is BULLSHIT, it’s a fair bet you agree with me. But some shit went down recently (right here, in fact, if you want to see for yourself), that is UNACCEPTABLE and beyond fucked up. So I’m putting bitches on blast, and putting the world on notice: if you think behavior like this is anything other than hateful, prejudiced, vile, inexcusable, and unacceptable, well, you and me gonna have some problems with each other.
Now, a common refrain I’m seeing these days when drama blows up on the internet is along the lines of, “That was meant to be a private email, between *two people only*, and so-and-so is completely in the wrong for making that private email public.” This is my response to anyone who feels that way in this case:
So what I hear you saying is, that it is PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE and BEHAVIOR THAT YOU ENDORSE AS MATURE AND REASONABLE to publicly act one way, and then IN PRIVATE behave atrociously? Just wanted to make that clear, because if so, there’s another group I think you’d get along with JUST DANDY. Maybe you’ve heard of them, they’re called THE KKK. “Hey, y’all, did you know it’s PERFECTLY FINE to be a hateful, prejudiced, vile cunt? As long as you do it from under a sheet (or in a “private” email), it’s ALL GOOD! The more you know!”
Fuck that noise. Just fuck it.
Liveblogging panic?
It’s 5:06am, Wednesday morning. For about half an hour now, I’ve been in the throes of one of the *worst* panic attacks I’ve had recently – which, this time, is actually saying something since I had a really bad one a couple days ago. That one seemed to be honest-to-god uncued; this one, the more my meds start to kick in, and more of my mind is calm, I’m pretty sure can be laid firmly at the feet of hypoglycemia.
It’s such a fucking ungraspably weird thing for the vast majority of your mind to be freaking the fuck out – I mean, full-blown screaming meemies – while some part of your mind is in the background going, “Fuck, there’s no way this is real. This HAS to be a panic attack.” It’s actually kind of good, because when I pay attention to that voice, and listen to it, and think through what it’s got to say, I’m at the very least distracted from panicking for that moment. The problem is, I’m tired as dogshit, and my eyes are soooo heavy, that the minute I try to let myself go back to sleep the screaming meemies part takes right back up again.
So, while I continue to not be able to let myself go back to sleep, I’m going to distract myself from the panic by going over the events that likely resulted in it. We went to Papa Mojo’s Cajun Roadhouse tonight, to see our friend Jay play accordion. It was fucking awesome, and a great time was had by all. My mistake? Having a drink. Actually, let’s be honest, I had two. And while my tolerance for alcohol is pretty small, I am not suffering any hangover or long-lasting effects other than this: I had a Papa Mojo’s Hurricane. It was goddamn delicious: like froot loops in a glass. My new favorite drink, and I want a box of froot loops like WHOA.
*Panic attack check in, since I *seem* relatively with it, and I know that: my entire body is numb and tingling; my skin in crawling; and my abdomen has this gross creepy-crawly feeling that if I think too long about, will probably send me running for the ER, when in all likelihood it’s a combo of gas/bloating and low blood sugar.
Back to Papa Mojo’s. The Hurricane. Damn, my new favorite drink – except I’m only just now, six hours later, realizing how VERY MUCH SUGAR must have been in that drink. Probably why I loved it so much. Lots of sugar, and some not negligible amounts of alcohol (I mean, two drinks, one Cattywompus and one Hurricane, but I am a fucking lightweight, so I was well and truly in that happy-talking friendly tipsy/drunk phase) ON AN EMPTY STOMACH. THAT was my mistake. I was hungry when we got to PM’s, but their kitchen had already closed. We stuck around until Jay stopped playing (Cajun music – woot! I realize that encompasses a lot, but it was brilliant), and at that point, nothing was open, nary a Taco Bell to be driven-thru. Went home instead, and decided I was too tired (and, let’s be honest, a smudge too tipsy) to bother with eating food and went to bed. MISTAKE #2. I should NEVER be allowed to ingest that much sugar on an empty stomach, and then not compensate by eating protein or complex fiber or fats to help my blood sugar not freak the fuck out when all that sugar hits it. Alcohol is not that great for hypoglycemia, but my understanding is that it’s the sugar content – not the actual alcohol – that’s the problem. Gin & tonics? I’m fine. Throw in some simple syrup or sour mix, and while my tastebuds are enjoying the extra “flavor” (read: sugar), my hypoglycemia is going, “BITCH, you done fucked me UP.” So, for me, it’s not the alcohol, per se, but the sugariness of the drink I had. Boo on me for not being wise to that mess from the get-go. (But honestly, the other cocktails sounded like they’d kick my ass, and it would be the alcohol that did it: Sazerac? Pimm’s Cup? My puny ass can’t handle that shit, and I know it. I would be utterly shit-faced and on my ass before I was halfway through the drink. And I’m not really a huge fan of being utterly, utterly blitzed and on my ass. I know, I know: I’m a party-pooper. So be it. Chalk it up to my control issues that I don’t really enjoy drinking to the point of, say, losing control. Even if it’s just something like, “losing control of my ability to drive myself home, and having to arrange someone else to drive me home.”)
What did I dream about? A birthday party for myself gone horribly wrong. First I couldn’t find clothes to wear, and people kept walking in on me while I was changing. Then I’d fucked up the guest list and invited people *I* liked but who couldn’t stand each other, so I had to run interference and try to keep the drama down. (Pretty sure I know what my subconscious is trying to tell me there.) THEN, one of the student workers from Greg’s job (not an actual real student worker, just some amorphous face my mind created and gave the role of “student worker at Greg’s job”) semi-crashed the party with some friends of hers, and decided what I *really* needed was a couple surprise birthday jolts from a taser. And no one was around, so in my dream, my ass got tased twice, and I fucking felt that shit. I have zero idea how that works, since I’ve never actually been tased in my life (although I have played Lightning Reaction once, never again!), but holy shit it was supremely unpleasant and painful as fuck in my dream, and it kept happening.
Finally, I woke up, in a panic. I suppose, even, in a bit of a fugue state, since I had been in deep, REM sleep, and abruptly woken up to physical symptoms of panic attack/low blood sugar and didn’t know WHAT THE FUCK was going on. That’s a nice head state to be in: where you’d too exhausted/too close to having just been asleep to stay awake, but too terrified to go to sleep. And by “nice” I mean “it can piss right off.”
Physical symptoms: skin crawling badly; nausea; “weird” sensations in my abdomen, sometimes bloating, sometimes something more akin to light cramping (I am due for my period), mainly just weird, weird sensations of stuff inside me moving around, or just being generally “off.” (Hard to pin down what that constitutes, but it just feels “off” they way I felt “off” when I had pancreatitis that time.) Head is fuzzy as shit, can’t think straight, can’t see straight. Realize pretty early on I must be panicking, but can’t muster the bravery to get out of bed – at this point, I’m just terrified by the bodily sensations and the fear that something is “really wrong” and I’m going to die, or that I’m already dead and am hallucinating “all of this” (yeah, it isn’t logical at all, but that’s the thing: panic is irrational; plus derealization and depersonalization are common symptoms of my really, really bad attacks); perceptual impedences: can’t see straight, can’t seem to hear things properly, got a bit of tunnel vision as well as whatever the auditory version is. Basically just curled up into a ball in bed, afraid of *everything*, until that one part of my mind that was remaining sensible was like, “Right, sod this, go take some clonopin.” And then another ten minutes of self-convincing later (that there was no bogey man waiting to get me – really, y’all, a 31-year-old grown ass woman is scared of the bogey man when her panic gets a hold of her), and I managed to get out of bed and get my meds. Abdomen still felt hella weird and upsetting (like, the sensations I was feeling were very distressing), so I took my temperature to reassure myself that, say, my spleen hadn’t exploded, nor was I having appendicitis. Yes, this is really straight where my mind goes when I have a panic attack: I feel weird, therefore I must be dying. Or possibly, am already dead, and am hallucinating “reality.” Like I said, panic is NOT EVEN REMOTELY rational. I spent a good portion of my panic attack solidly convinced that I’d stopped breathing – even the parts of it where I was talking to Greg, which requires breath. You can’t talk without breath, that’s just a fact. Does it reassure my screaming meemies? Of course not, that’d be too easy. (And as I type this, and shit’s calmed down considerably, I still am not aware of my in- and out-breaths, and am trying hard not to get sucked into that and start freaking out that I’m not breathing. Trying to just stay calm, and keep in mind that it’s an *involuntary reaction*, that as long as I’m alive, my body is pretty much going to make sure that I’m breathing. As long as I don’t hear any “bad asthma attack” wheezing, I’m good to go, even if I’m fearing otherwise. Just chill out, Jacobs. Everything is going to be fine.)
So, now that I’m a bit calmer (panic attacks, on average, tend to peak 10 minutes in; after that, they can dissipate over a bit more minutes, or last up to several hours, but the worst, on average, kicks in around ten minutes in), and my meds seem to be kicking in, I can look at the constellation of physical symptoms, and it seems glaringly obvious to me that that fucking delicious but sugary Hurricane spiked my blood sugar. Normally, I get a resultant crash about four hours later; this hit about six hours later, as far as I can tell. Or maybe it hit four hours later, while I was sleeping, and then, when it wasn’t resolved, just got steadily worse until it woke my ass up in the throes of hypoglycemia-induced panic. Who knows.
What I do know is this:
-I had sugar and alcohol tonight. I felt like it was in good moderation, but given later/more recent events, I’m having my doubts. May need to stop focusing on “in extreme moderation” and cut sugar and alcohol out completely and permanently.
-About six hours later, I wake up in the middle of a full-blown, nasty-ass panic attack – and yet, once I’m calm enough to catalog them and really think logically about it, my physical symptoms (and it’s almost always the physical symptoms that spur the panic in the first place, rather than just anxiety, and in turn lead to the mental/emotional symptoms) are pretty much *exactly* the symptoms I can expect to experience during a blood sugar crash. I’ve got that well documented from my five hour fasting glucose test – which was hell, but at least I’ve got the write-up now, and can, when I’m more presently placed firmly in my “right” mind, run through the list and realize that the vast majority of my “panic” symptoms are low blood sugar symptoms.
Pretty much convinced the crucial blood sugar drop tonight happened while I was sleeping (which can be dangerous, for, say, diabetics, or people with more severe blood sugar issues than I have), and two hours later, I am jolted out of REM sleep (and a fucking gnarly nightmare, no less) to be faced with the brutal reality of 1-fuzzy-headed-ness (due to interrupted REM sleep; fuzzy-headed-ness of this nature decidedly does NOT help me soothe myself in the middle of panic) and 2-a raging panic attack already in effect. Or at least, an inundation of physical, low-blood-sugar symptoms that conveniently mirror/mimic the physical symptoms of panic that I experience that most freak me out. (To clarify, there are some physical symptoms that I’m pretty good at quickly realizing for what they are and squishing them and not panicking and getting myself back in hand. And then there are the symptoms that blindside me utterly, and leave me reeling and panicking. THOSE symptoms were already in full effect when I woke up. NOT a very nice thing to wake up to.)
Skin crawling like a son of a bitch? Check. Wanting desperately to jump out of my own skin? Check. “Weird” sensations of things “moving about” in my abdomen? Check. Heart pounding like a motherfucker? Check. (Bless you, propanolol, for getting a hold on that and ramping it down.) Hallucinations? Check. Delusions? Check. Abdomen cramping (that – once I’m already panicking – indicates something far worse than the period I’m already expecting; I’m catastrophizing here, people, so it’s *obviously* appendicitis or something similarly severe, duh)? Check. Bloating? Check. (Another thing that sets me off worrying about appendicitis.) Absolutely, 100% convinced fears that if I so much as turn my head or do anything other than pull the covers up over it, I will see B.O.B. peering at me from the bottom of the bed, or that godawful latex creeper from American Horror Story trailers staring at me? Check. (Nonetheless, and I KNOW AHS is going to severely fuck with my anxiety, I can’t not watch. It’s right up my alley. They’ve got me pegged, hook, line, and sinker.) Legs shaking so bad that I almost collapsed in the bathroom when I went to get some water to take my meds? Check. (“Saved” by pretending I *meant* to lean on the wall, in a kind of lopsided, low-to-the-floor kind of way. No, I didn’t just collapse against the wall as my legs gave out and slide down towards the floor, why do you ask? And obviously my meds are kicking in properly now, if I can be sarcastic.) Utterly convinced, besides 1-being able to talk and 2-paying attention to my own breathing and finding it fine, that I’m not at all breathing? Check. Bursting out crying out of inexplicable fear? Check. Turning on the tv and every light source I can in the house? Check.
Finally, I became more convinced that it was all due to having woken up from a deep sleep during a blood sugar crash. So I convinced myself to have a sandwich to address that, while I “liveblogged” this shit as a distraction, and that seems to have helped immensely. Well, that or the meds finally kicking in. Or both. Going to go finish this sandwich, and then see about getting back to sleep. Probably won’t be able to turn the lights and nightlights and tv off, but, hey, I’m not claiming membership into adulthood right now. I’m just trying to claw my way out of being a terrified inner child, so I’ll take what I can get.
Bonus side, I’m already feeling immensely better. Not quite back up to snuff, but miles and miles past what I was feeling, at this point, an hour ago. And I don’t want any pity or anything like that. I really just wanted to distract myself, and posting about it forces me to think about it more analytically, more logically, more rationally; pay more attention to the individual symptoms as well as the constellation they likely make up, and realize what’s really going on, and what “cued” this, rather than chalking it up as another uncued attack. And distracting myself while I gave a chance for the meds and the sandwich to kick in and calm me down and restore my blood sugar levels to ideal ones. Seems to have worked a treat. And if this has been of any help to you, so much the better – whether it’s given you insight into someone else’s experience of panic (although I am not claiming we’re all the same – but the fear and the perceived lack of options to escape that fear do seem to be a common thread among sufferers); or whether you see some of our your own experiences in this and get some comfort/reassurance that 1-you’re not the only one, and 2-when panic hits, you can get past it; or whether you just found this an interesting read – that’s just gravy on top of the wonderful, uh, meatloaf? mashed potatoes? (what do you put gravy on, in this “gravy on top” metaphor?) of distracting myself properly and fairly completely and putting my logical/analytical skills to work in my favor, while I waited out the time period for the meds to kick in and the sandwich to hit my blood stream and counteract the blood sugar crash. Seems to have worked a treat. Now, back to bed. With nightlights on, natch, because I don’t want to risk it.
xoxo, k
MUH: August Faves (late, I know! eep!) & FOTD: Concrete Flames
I needed to film my August Faves video (so! behind! on that one!) and I wanted to wear Concrete Minerals’s Flame Collection, so I did both! Only I was a little worried that the look might come out too similar to this look, so I tried to switch up the placement a bit. Looks like I failed a bit, since I put the matte red back in the outer vee again. But other than that, not too similar for my tastes, and I quite like the results. 
(But ignore that strand of hair that got stuck in my lipgloss – ugh. It is KILLING ME. Just ignore it. I have no idea how I managed to be clueless about it when I was taking photos – normally the *slightest* thing gets on my lipgloss or in my eyes, and I am going bonkers trying to get it out. Blecch.)
Faves video:
Closeups of the FOTD and details below.
Read the rest of this entry »
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Loved the books, and Noomi Rapace will forever be Lisbeth Salander for me – but not gonna lie, the remake looks pretty sick, too. And Julian Sands is in it. <3!
I was totally skeptical about Rooney Mara pulling it off – and when I heard they were removing her eyebrows (don't worry, they're just bleached, not shaven off, it doesn't look like complete ass), I was so scared it would be *hideous*. She actually makes a decent Salander. My only beef? If you can't be satisfied just marketing the ABSOLUTELY GLORIOUS original movies to Americans, and MUST remake them, why make Rooney Mara, an American actress, put on a vaguely Scandinavian accent – especially when everyone else to be heard speaking in the second trailer (the full-length one, not the one set to "Viking Song," although that one's a pretty brilliant trailer for the series, no lie) has an English or American accent? Actually, I take that back – about the accent. It looks like it's set in Sweden, still, so that makes sense that she'd have an accent. (Although, really, why even get anywhere close to Rapace's Salander? make an entirely new one or don't even bother.) But it appears to be set in Sweden, and all the characters have Swedish names – but pretty sure no one else is putting on an accent. I mean, on the one hand, I hate when actors are forced and/or choose to put on an accent and do it badly, because that just detracts *more* from the film, for me, than if they just spoke in their normal voice. I have no problem suspending disbelief and falling into a film's reality when it's supposedly taking place in, say, medieval France and yet everyone's speaking pretty much modern English, although maybe some archaic phrases thrown in, in their own non-French accents. Putting on a bad French accent? Pulls me *right out* of the movie world, and makes me aware that I'm watching a movie. Boo for that. So, I'm glad they didn't take a bunch of American and British actors and make them put on Swedish accents; it probably wouldn't have ended entirely well. But at the same time, if it takes place in Sweden, and all the characters are Swedish, and you're *not* making the actors put on accents – WHY make Rooney Mara do one? Boo to that, too.
Whatevs. I am *totally* going to watch it when it comes out, and enjoy the shit out of it. It won't replace the originals, but given my ability to love absolute dreck and the fact that the trailers so far make the remake look actually pretty good (and not at all like absolute dreck), I will enjoy it as well. Also? Styled in one way (the way it seems to be styled in most of the photos I've seen around the interwebs so far), I *hate* Salander's haircut. But after watching the full-length trailer and seeing a few pics of it styled differently? Kind of totally loving it. And wishing it would work on me. (I mean, I could probably get it, if I was willing to get a severe undercut, which…I don't think I am. Yet. We'll see. There are a couple scenes where it's styled just brilliantly and I want that hair so badly. And then…..there are the other scenes. Hm. And the undercut.)
Although I do wish the American translations (of the 1st book and movie titles) were the literal translation of the Swedish title, instead of "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." I mean, I know "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" is the sort of title that would probably do better over here and catch more attention – but "Men who Hate Women" is sooooo much better, and closer to the message in the books, and what Larsson was trying to call attention to, and what we should be *paying* attention to and discussing. From the wikipedia page about it:
Larsson witnessed the gang rape of a young girl when he was 15. He never forgave himself for failing to help the girl, whose name was Lisbeth – like the young heroine of his books, herself a rape victim, which inspired the theme of sexual violence against women in his books.
I have a feeling I’ll be rewatching the original movies, and rereading the books, very, very soon, now that I’m thinking about them again. They’re just so good. And then finally getting around to reading more Larsson – given my love for his Millennium series, pretty sure I’ll thoroughly enjoy everything else he’s written.
Edited to add: OMG, JACOBS! I know you’re not a huge Led Zep fan, but given as much as you looooooove this video, you should really be able to remember that it’s “Immigrant Song,” not “Viking Song,” you genius. Yeesh.
RIP Troy Anthony Davis
No TiLT post this week. I’m too heartsick. I know that right now is exactly when I most need to look out for joyous things in the world, and count my blessings, but I just can’t.
I always considered myself not prone to “spirit” (like school spirit) or “patriotism.” And I thought I was a bit too jaded, in spite of my hippy leanings, to have faith in the system – but tonight, I learned otherwise, when all my faith in the system was so heinously shattered. For four hours tonight, listening to Troy Davis’s words, the words of his family and friends and supporters, I discovered I was a patriot – or at least wanted to be one, to be as positive and hopeful and full of compassion and faith in the world as they were. At 11:08pm, I went back to being unpatriotic. I never would have guessed I would be so heartbroken about not being able to be patriotic.
Night, y’all, although it’s definitely not a good one. 
FOTN: Brandi & Jonny’s Wedding! (9/17/11)
Brandi and Jonny got married, and it was beautiful, and a short ceremony (the best kind!), and lovely, and just tons of wonderful people, and good food, and an awesome time. I was a little cranky when we got there, because it was at the beach, so there was a lot of highway driving, and then some getting lost – but it was soooo worth it. I love them, and they totally belong together. And they’re the sort of people who are so ridiculously fricking awesome and well-adjusted and right-on, that *all* their friends are awesome. You don’t even need to meet them, it’s just like some automatic vetting system: “Oh, you’re friends with Brandi and Jonny? [mentally puts you immediately in the 'fuck yeah' group]” They are such great people, and we got to see them get hitched! They kept thanking everyone for coming, as did their parents, and I just felt so honored to be invited, and it was awesome, awesome, awesome.
I try to tone it down at weddings, usually, so as not to upstage the wedding party, so subtle makeup was the byword of the day. So no circle lenses. 
Bleah, y’all: an apology from Supreme Leader
Ugh, today was not a good day for me. I got crabby, and irritable, and – I’ll be the first to admit it: downright bitchy, and that’s putting it *very* nicely.
I’m still all about deleting troll comments, but really, I’m just tired of this trend towards negativity and drama and side-taking and cutting people off and banning people and “meantweeting” (oh no, y’all did not just make me quote a NY housewife, the horrors!) that I see, and that just seems to be rolling and rolling and gathering mass. I know it’s sappy and cliche to say can’t we all just get along, but for reals, can’t we?
I’m sorry I lost my cool today, and pledge from now on to try and stick to the happy road. (I don’t know that I can really lay claim to the high road when I love a good dick and fart joke. Or, actually, *any* dick and fart joke.) Positivity, playing nicely with others *myself*, and happy kittens and puppies and rainbows and unicorns and bathtubs full of glitter (thank you, Helen, for that awesome idea/image).
But still deleting the troll comments – unless you pay the troll toll! And a free Morgana Cryptoria lippie to the first person to get that reference. (Yes, I’m serious.)
Just a friendly reminder from Supreme Leader of Kathylandia…
If you’ve been blissfully unaware of negative shit going down in the world of makeup blogging lately, awesome. Do your damnedest to keep it that way, because it’s so much nicer to be blissfully unaware, in cases like this. I’m afraid Supreme Leader lost her cool today, and since glittermobs seem to be all the rage these days, seems like a good time to strap on the old shit-helmet, open up the old shit-umbrella, and trot this fact out again – can’t remember the last time it saw light, but it hasn’t changed, and figured it’s better to just slap it up right here:
The only time I really give a shit about being fair and balanced on this blog, is when I do reviews (which I rarely do), and then it’s because the FCC makes me (and also because no one pays me for them; and I wouldn’t shill for anyone anyway because fuck that noise); and also when I’m talking about shit that actually matters, like, say, marriage equality, civil rights, real-world wars going on, shit like that. (I’m not even “fair and balanced” then, though, because I lean so liberal, but you know what I mean.) I didn’t pay for this-here little corner of the interwebs for you to come all up in my kittens-and-puppies-and-rainbows-and-unicorns-and-happy-makeup-silliness and shit all over it. So don’t get it twisted: I have zero problem deleting comments. If you’re mad because you think I showed my ass somewhere, you’re welcome to spout all about it on *your* corner of the interwebs, but I sure as hell am not obligated to sponsor it here. If it’s reasonably polite and has a legitimate argument that I feel like addressing, I might allow it and address it. But I turned on comment-approval for a reason, and ultimately comments are allowed at my discretion. Also, please remember that whenever I delete anything (a comment, an email, a document, a post, anything), I hear Strongbad yell “DELETED!” in my head, and that amuses me. I hate that I even have to cover this, but I’ve seen more than a couple complaints about so-and-so blogger deleting a comment because it didn’t agree with their side – guess what? Much like I’m not about to let someone come up in my house and talk shit about me while they sit their ass on my couch and eat my food (seriously, ask me about the time I kicked someone out of my house at our wedding party for *just that reason*), I’m not about to let someone bust up on my virtual house, prop their feet up, and talk unmitigated shit. I don’t hand my diary over to strangers on the bus all, “Could you just write in here that I’m a bitch? Maybe a whole paragraph about how my opinion is wrong, too?” either.
Just so we’re clear. This blog is definitely filtered through my (unpaid-for) biased opinion.
Also, poo is funny.
Edited to add: Dear fuckface@yahoo.com, trying to comment from Auckland. Not only is your comment DELETED!, but I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s dick. Thanks for the amusement, though.
NOTW: OPI’s Steady As She Rose
Which also made an appearance in my last TiLT post, you may recall. So it’s really the nail polish of half of last week and half of this week? I’m finally getting around to watching the second and third Pirates of the Caribbean movies – IKR, so late. They’re pretty good actually. And I kept wondering where I’d seen Ragetti before, and why I found him so hilarious – turns out he’s a famous British comedian (Mackenzie Crook), and he played Grishnak in the “Goths” episode of Spinechillers, which is my *favorite* episode of Spinechillers, so brilliantly hilarious. (AND apparently he’s on the British Office, so I may have to watch that.)
Anyway, I wasn’t expecting to love this color as much as I do. I mean, I figured I’d like it, but WOW, I loooooove it. I’ve been holding off putting the silver shatter polish over it, because it’s so pretty. But I’m doing it this week, once I get enough tip wear. (I’m hoping that’ll double the wear of Steady As She Rose, by covering up the tip wear and/or chipping. We’ll see, won’t we?)
