Tag Archives: crushes

She was writing his name in blood

1. Congratulate me! I’ve got a new imaginary boyfriend. We’re very happy together. Here he is:

Marcus Parks

LOOK AT THAT FACE. Don’t you want to squeeze him? That is Marcus Parks from The Last Podcast on the Left, which I’ve been listening to obsessively over the past couple of months (although…do I ever consume media non-obsessively? Not really. I’m a natural born binger). He’s the main researcher for the show and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of serial killers and cults and weird phenomena, which in itself is pretty hot. He also has a goofy little-kid laugh and a slight Texas accent and plays drums for a rockabilly/alt country band called The Cowmen. On various episodes of Last Podcast, he has admitted to all of the following:

– Digging a proper six-foot grave just to see how hard it would be. DUDE. Right???
– Eating a jar of pickles for supper. More than once, I think. Pickle supper!
– Collecting bones and skeletons.
– Eating some cow feed out of curiosity to see what it tasted like.
– In high school, having had a set of badger paws strung up in his truck. (True story: when I dissected a frog in high school, I stole the eyeballs and kept them. They were like weird little marbles!) (…What?)

He’s generally adorable and the perfect combination of nerdy weirdo and laddish lad and I’m low-grade stalking him. Soon I’ll start sending him handmade collages with cut-out photos of the two of us covered with glitter and my own blood (which…actually might not turn him off). We’re meant to be together and ONE DAY SOON HE WILL REALISE THIS. HI MARCUS. HI.

2. On my walk to work I take a shortcut up a disused access road, which cuts about five/ten minutes off the journey. In the lighter seasons it’s actually a nice, pretty, innocuous wooded area, but this time of year it’s dark and secluded as hell and I’m basically ignoring all the common-sense How Not To Get Rapemurdered rules that all women absorb from birth. I call it the Rapist Wonderland, and every night as I’m navigating through it using the torch on my phone like the opening scene of a horror movie, I sing a little song in my head to the tune of Winter Wonderland. Here’s what I have so far:

In the lane, a perv is lurking
Check it out…I think he’s jerking
He’s waving his dong
As I go along
Walking in a rapist wonderland!

It’s a work in progress.

3. I saw La Femme in Shepherds Bush last month. Being at the gig made me feel very old and very un-hip (and very poor: £5.60 for a plastic cup of crap lager? Seriously, suck a dick, London), but they put on an epic show and were very cute and very talented and very very French. (“Sank you Leundeun!”) Go listen to them and give them your money.

Of course I wore my leather jacket to try and look cool (end result was probably more like “formerly cool mom”). It was cold outside but I figured I’d be hopping from the train right onto the tube and then walking like fifty feet to the venue, so I decided to risk it. This would have been fine, but on the way home there was some sort of train cancellation issue (never explained. Why bother explaining these things to the hoi polloi? They can go where they’re herded!) which meant that I got stuck at Stevenage station for well over an hour. There was no heated indoor waiting area and it was COLD. I asked the very helpful station attendant if there was a warm place to wait, and he let me stand next to him under a mini-heater in his little station attendant area, which was awfully kind, but WOW, socially awkward in eighty different ways. I made some fumbling attempts at small talk but I’m rubbish at small talk and it was incredibly painful and if it wouldn’t have been even more awkward I would have gladly gone back outside and just got hypothermia. Hypothermia I can deal with. I’ve never been more relieved to see a train in my life.

4. Christmas occurred. It was not unpleasant. I hope yours was similar. And here’s to a better 2017, right? The world has been ALL WRONG since David Bowie died.

New digital collage sheet – Vintage Telegrams

1. ‘Zoonoses’ is a word that sounds like it should mean something much cuter than it actually does.

2. Are all you UK-based folks watching Ripper Street? I am, though it does make me think a) how many more vacuous historical dramas do we actually need? and b) plenty I hope, because I will watch every single one. Especially ones starring Matthew ‘Possibly A Hotter Mr Darcy Than Even Colin Firth’ Macfayden. So far, Ripper Street seems to be basically Law & Order: Victorian London, which, yeah. If you think I’m not going to be all over that, you are insane. Carry on churning out predictable nostalgic pulp, BBC! I got a fever, and the only prescription is more bonnets.

3. New digital collage sheet – Vintage Telegrams. See my Etsy shop for details.

VINTAGE TELEGRAMS Digital Collage Sheet - no. 0207

VINTAGE TELEGRAMS Digital Collage Sheet - no. 0207

Shattered…like my hopes

Callum Keith Rennie is one of my longstanding media crushes. I first fancied him in Due South. Remember Due South? Due South was great. I used to watch that show religiously back in college (good lord that’s more than TEN YEARS AGO), and initially I fanced the jodhpurs off Paul Gross. Callum Keith Rennie came in later in the series as Gross’s partner (after David Marciano left), and was so adorably high-strung and spiky-haired that I disloyally transferred my crush away from Paul Gross, who I’m sure is heartbroken to this day. (I’m sorry, Paul. It wasn’t meant to be.)

I’ve kept an eye out for CKR ever since (though I still need to see Hard Core Logo) and was happy to see some promo spots recently for Shattered, a Canadian drama about a detective with multiple personality disorder. Which, yeah, is gimmicky, but the whole defective-detective thing is so hot right now and CKR is a talented guy, so I thought maybe it would be good and at least CKR would be yummy yummy eye candy (he’s aging well, unlike me) so I set the Sky box to record the series, and I watched the first episode last night, all excited.

For about three minutes. And then I turned it off. Because it was dreadful.

Like, DREADFUL dreadful. First of all, there is no excuse to EVER use the line, “It’s a long story.” Opening scene: CKR (hardened detective) is introduced to his new partner, Obligatory Sexy Lady Detective, who has just transferred from Sex Crimes. There’s a bit of clumsy exposition-y dialogue (see above), and then CKR and OSLD are called out to a case. Flash to darkened warehouse straight from Clichéd-Homicide-Backdrops-R-Us. CKR finds the body of a young boy. OSLD sees the body and makes a face that is probably supposed to convey ‘stricken’ but comes across more ‘mildly concussed’ and robotically intones, “How could somebody do this. He’s only a child.”

Cue CKR schizoid flashback of some sort, indicated by the phrase “…only a child” echoing over and over and a zooming closeup of CKR doing some tortured gurning. And….click. That was quite enough for me. I cancelled the series record – it’s possible that the show might have warmed up since the first episode, but it would have had to travel light years just to make it up to ‘bad’.

What a waste of money, talent and tasty manflesh. And what a crying shame that Canada seems to only export its very worst TV shows (Murdoch Mysteries, I’m looking at you) but not its occasional moments of sheer brilliance (Da Vinci’s Inquest) (Nicholas Campbell, call me!). It’s just like the beer situation. Outside of Canada, virtually the only Canadian beers I’ve seen on sale are Labatt Blue and Molson Canadian. Barf. Nary a Big Rock ale to be found. Oh, and our latest contribution to the music industry? JUSTIN BIEBER. While The Sadies remain virtually unknown. Why does Canada want the world to think it sucks at everything???? Dammit, this is modesty gone TOO FAR.

New collage sheets JUST FOR YOU! As always, check my Etsy shop or my Folksy shop for purchase details.


Marie Antoinette French Glamour


Pretty Christmas Baubles