Review – Lucky 13 Lacquer ‘Last of the Time Lords’


Today, in snazzy things, I have three nail polishes from Lucky 13 Lacquer’s ‘Last of the Time Lords’ collection. Doctor Who nail polish, people. You have no idea how exciting I find this. As a delightful bonus, these are also gorgeous and 3-free and they last like BOSSES. These suckers all clung to my nails with the grim determination of limpets, and it was glorious. Glorious, I tell you.

Okay, first off we have ‘Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey’, which (as you can see) is a translucent blue with a bunch of star glitter and moon glitter and dot glitter and other dot glitter. It’s incredibly pretty. The depth is really neat and it sort of seems to glow from within, which I would categorize as Raw Awesome. I could not stop staring at this while I was wearing it. So. Cool. It also didn’t stain my nails, which blue polishes tend to do (winning!).

The only downside is that, due to allllll the glitter used, it’s mildly stick-uppy on the nail. Let me stress the mildly. I put a top coat on it and had a couple of star points sticking through the top coat, which wasn’t bothersome to me at all. Plus I probably could have applied it so as to fix that. But I’m lazy. So there you go.

Witness the glory! =D


 (Nail polishes used: One coat base coat, 2-3-ish coats Lucky 13 Lacquer ‘Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey’, one coat Seche Vite top coat).

Next up is ‘Hey, Who Turned Out The Lights?’ which I pretty much had to buy for the name alone. It’s a glow-in-the-dark nail polish called Hey, Who Turned Out The Lights, you guys. HOW AWESOME IS THIS? (Substantially less so if you haven’t seen the Doctor Who episode it’s referencing, but bear with me, non-Doctor-Who-watchers). Anyway, as one would expect it to, it glows in the dark! Really well, actually.

I don’t have pictures of it doing its thing (sorry), but trust me when I say that it glows exactly how one would imagine it to. The glow doesn’t fade over time. In fact, I painted my toes with it, forgot about it, and was mildly alarmed at toe-glow when I went to bed a week later. I officially declare it glowy.

I put it overtop my existing nail polish so you can see what changes it makes to the finish. Here my ring and index fingers are matte, while everything else is shiny.


And afterward, with two coats of Hey, Who Turned Out The Lights? on all fingers:


As you can see, it’s very faintly cloudy and it gives you a decently shiny finish. The glow also works fine if you put top coat over it, so that’s nice, although it works excellently as a top coat all by itself. (I can also say that it works fine on bare nails, because I put it on my friend Dean. In the interests of research, naturally).

Last (but not least!) is ‘A 51st Century Guy’, which is /swoon

Okay, I’m back.

This right here was the reason I absolutely had to buy nail polish from this collection. I saw a picture of it, made vague whimpering sounds, and started foraging for money to throw at the seller. For one thing, I adore Captain Jack Harkness (handsome, witty, ‘omnisexual’ man of mystery who looks great in a military-styled coat—-if you don’t watch Doctor Who!), and, for another, this is so darn beautiful and versatile. It’s red heart glitter, hex gunmetal glitter, and white squares in a clear base. I didn’t have to fish for the heart glitters at all, although I did maneuver them about a bit on the nail.

It’s fantastic! ❤ It looks very clean and clear-edged, and I love it. I’m going to put it over EVERYTHING.


(Nail polishes used: one coat base coat, three coats NYC ‘Tribeca Silver’, one coat Lucky 13 Lacquer ‘A 51st Century Guy’, Seche Vite top coat).

Aieee, so pretty. I love all of these. The application is very good on all of them (trifle tricksy on Timey Wimey due to metric ton of glitter, but not bad at all!). I seriously cannot stop fangirling. And they’re great fun to answer with when people ask what you’re wearing!

The shop owner is also very nice, which bears mentioning. I’m an international order due to living in the moose-ridden wilds of Canada, so I had to message her about shipping and she was extremely kind and helpful.

Anyway, these all turned out wonderfully, and I’m overwhelmingly pleased, incredibly happy, and downright chuffed (which is a word I encourage everyone to use more often). I absolutely recommend them, especially if you’re a Doctor Who fan and are currently cackling in delight at the names.

You can get them all over here, if so desired:

*all nail polishes purchased by me, I was not paid for my opinion

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So I Was In A Drag Show (Part 2)

Part two of our strippilicious drag show extravaganza! (Yes, that’s TOTALLY a word).

The day before the drag show itself, we got together in my kitchen and did the routine a few times through in full costume and makeup.

My wig was a long and involved process. I had to wet my hair and braid it all up tightly, then pin it to my head and stretch the wig over it, risking the odd (and they were ALL odd) pin-shaped lump. I have very long hair, making the time progression of all those steps turtle-esque in nature. Meanwhile, Dean persisted in putting his wig on with the bangs fringe chilling out somewhere over his right ear—-less sexy secretary (sex-cratary!) and more recently-escaped-from-the-asylum secretary. It was not fabulous at all, and he had to endure my pursuing him grimly about with a wig brush before we could continue.

After finally getting wigs and makeup sorted out, it was time for the practice. We filmed ourselves for future reference with Dean’s cell phone propped up against a canister of tea. My mother watched our strutting and gyrating gravely, offering periodic advice, (‘Connect more!’ ‘Be more creative with the whip!’ ‘Stop SMILING!’). I have smiling issues. I usually did okay up until the end, where there was booty-shakin’ aplenty and I’d just start grinning. It’s very difficult to remain stern while workin’ them hips and trying to prevent one’s sock bulge from hitting the road.

Despite all the little glitches, everything was tripping along as planned.

The evening before the show, I scratched my jaw while transporting lumber. Damn, I thought. I don’t wanna have that there for the show, I thought. I slathered it liberally in polysporin and went off to bed.


It turns out I’m allergic to polysporin.

Alllllll around my jaw turned red and generally ouchy. I messaged Dean. “HELP! I HAVE FACE HERPES!” I freaked out about it all day while Dean and my longsuffering mother tried to convince me that it wasn’t THAT bad, and probably makeup could fix it. They had their work cut out for them. I was extremely disappointed with my facial mutiny. I covered myself in cold packs and aloe vera and was firmly crabby.

Before the show, I dipped my face in concealer and was pretty pleased with it all. It looked fine from a foot or so away. (From closer than a foot, all bets were off). We met at the venue for a sound check that didn’t end up actually happening and Dean strode manfully off to inflate his balloon-breasts in the washroom while I tried to surreptitiously shove a sock into my underwear without people nearby noticing. The backstage area was crawling with drag queens, drag kings, and their various friends and attendants. The women’s bathroom was filled with earnest moustache-and-stubble artists.

I adjusted my tie, leapt about to ensure the security of my wig, and then trickled out to watch professional wrestling on the lobby TV and wait for Dean to strap his tits on. I lent him my tank top for the show, because, as we’d discovered in the kitchen the other day, if he leaned over without a tank top his breasts would fall right the hell out and bounce around the floor. SEXY. (Actually, if you’re one of those people interested in balloons . . . I suppose it might be. Touché, Wikipedia. Touché).


                                     (Mr. Clozoff says hi and is vaguely confused).

When Dean emerged, bodacious and triumphant, we had a run-through quietly in a corner. Absolutely everything went wrong. “I forgot to take my skirt off!” Dean announced wrathfully. I grumbled about my wig, which was trying bravely to secede from my head—-despite veritable armies of pins. My tear-away shirt was . . . er . . . tearing away. Prematurely. And when I tightened my shoelaces, one of the loops tore right off.

There was a bad moon rising, folks.

But, after a few more times, everything started to go right. We were feeling good. The event was sold out, almost completely full with people having to be installed on bar stools in the back. We watched the other acts before us and realized something: the stage was in blocks pushed together.

Uh-oh. Heel sinking a possibility. We stared at it. It sat there. Nobody else sunk a heel in it. We left off staring at it and rehearsed some more, practiced our walking, went over our entrances, and straightened Dean’s boobs. This was it. We moved over to camp out backstage, waiting for our turn to go on.

“If you lose a breast,” I suggested, “drop kick it into the audience.” Dean refused to grace my helpfulness with a reply.

The announcers read off the intro I’d written, which went as follows:

“A young woman has been rising rather quickly through the ranks . . . a Miss Ida Tappthatt. Her exact occupation is unknown, something in business, although a hint could be provided by the fact that she has been occasionally referred to as a sex-cratary.

Her new boss is an uptight man, working long hours—-a Mr. Clozoff, Oliver by name. And Ida just hates to see such a man overworking himself . . .”

People laughed. I felt validated. And then . . . it was go time.

It went snappily.

The crowd enjoyed it greatly. Besides a couple of minor things, it was smooth. The booty-shaking went over spectacularly, and the crowd screamed gratifyingly whenever we removed a new item of clothing. After our finishing pose, we scooped up whatever garments we could grab on short notice and retired, half-naked and joyful, to the backstage. We high-fived, performed some small dances of winning-ness, and struggled back into our clothes.

Friends of ours took turns posing beside Dean’s water-balloon ‘dirty pillows’, which were almost more popular than us. We were the only balloon-wielding folks there, and those suckers were fine.


(This has nothing to do with Dean’s chesticles, but it’s an entertainingly blurry picture of my afterparty outfit. I cast off my wig and shirt, although was sadly unable to ditch my compression bra. Sigh).

At the end of the night, Dean and I took his breasts out the back door and victoriously burst them, one by one, on the concrete. It took a bit of doing. I stuck close to the warm indoors and watched while Dean ran up and down the walk outside, enthusiastically applying balloon to sidewalk.

It had been a highly satisfactory evening.


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So I Was In A Drag Show (Part 1)

So you may have noticed I haven’t posted for about a week, which horrifies me as much as (I’m sure) it horrifies you internet peoples. This is a pretty horrifying blog, really. I try.

Anyway, I haven’t been posting because I was in . . .


It was awesome.

It all started when my best friend was in a theatre production of The Full Monty. He probably doesn’t want this to pop up when potential employers google his name, so, because he looks strikingly similar to an 18-year-old Jensen Ackles (who plays the character ‘Dean’ on the show Supernatural), I’m going to call him Dean.

(Everybody say hi to Dean).


Due to being underage at the time the play was cast, Dean did not get a stripping role. Being an attractive and exuberant fellow who once cosplayed as Capt. Jack Harkness—-which should tell you everything you need to know about his personality—-he was disappointed by this lack of opportunity to cast clothing aside and be adored by the multitudes. I sympathized. Yet there didn’t seem to be anything to do about it until, dun-dun-dun-dun . . . I saw an ad wanting more performers for the upcoming drag show.



We could go take our clothes off on stage there! Stripping! In drag! Decently. Tastefully. To ‘It’s Your Duty (To Shake That Booty)’ by Lene Nystrom.

Oh yes. That was happening.

‘It’s Your Duty’ is one of our favorite songs, partly because it’s absurdly catchy, and partly because Lene is absurdly hot. Go look it up. I’ll wait. No matter what gender you are, I doubt you can actually tell me what the lyrics (other than the chorus) actually were, because she is so darn attractive. Also the chorus will now be stuck in your head all day. You’re welcome. Don’t hum it at work.

We had about a week to get a routine together. Dean was going to be a sexy secretary (sex-cretary!), complete with fishnets, wig, high heels, cat o’ nine tails whip, and disturbingly large water-balloon breasts. “I feel like Nicki Minaj,” he said thoughtfully, poking his chest. “Look at these things!”

They were like torpedoes. They bounced like drunk teens on a trampoline. If Dean stood in front of a webcam and jumped, we would never be nexted on Chatroulette. They were almost as big as my head. Despite them occasionally trying to leap wildly from his bra, Dean refused to downsize them.

Meanwhile, I was going to be The Uptight Boss, with a wig, tight boob-squashing bra, undershirt, tighty-whities stuffed with socks, and glasses to change the shape of my face a bit. They worked. I was delighted.

“How do you like my penis?” I asked my mother, having adjusted my sock accordingly.

“I dunno,” she said, contemplating my bulge. “I think you need a bigger penis. Maybe add another sock.”

I ended up sticking with my original one-sock bulge. It’s not the size of the craft, it’s the motion of the ocean. Plus two socks just looked wrong, like I was trying to smuggle some kind of exotic fruit onto a plane. Or maybe a really sleepy miniature mongoose.

Either way, you don’t want that shiznit in your pants.

As you can guess, we were not by any means the classy portion of the evening. We were the trashy-yet-entertaining-as-hell portion of the evening, a responsibility that we took very seriously. We practiced, alone, together, and at our nonplused martial arts group. Dean practiced his lady dancing, which he ended up being extremely good at. I practiced walking like a man, with mixed results. We bought supplies. Fun fact: we bought Dean’s booty shorts and bra from the Salvation Army, which probably means we’re going to hell. Sorry about that, Salvation Army. I hope you can move on.

We were also not the most convincing crossdressers known to humankind. Dean has a six-pack, wide shoulders, and is almost six feet tall. This made him The Largest Secretary Ever. In five inch heels, he towered over 5’8 me in my businesslike flats. Meanwhile, my hips persisted in their hippiness and my face kept on being decidedly ladyish. With my wig and glasses, I looked like a slightly masculine version of Velma from Scooby-Doo. Picture that, but sexy and corporate.

Now stop laughing.

Thank you.

Now before you start thinking we were going to have some kind of drag orgy on the stage, let me correct that. I was stripping down to tighty-whities and my tank top, and Dean to fishnets, shorts, and a crop-top. It was a pretty tame orgy. Also there was very little touching, because we’re such good buddies that it feels mildly creeptastic. Lack of drag orgy.

(Sadly, no other act included a drag orgy either).

Dean’s drag name was Miss Ida Tappthatt, a name thoughtfully provided by my mother.

Mine was Mr. Oliver Clozoff. It was between that and Mr. Randy Johnson, but Oliver ended up winning out.

So here’s me, Mr. Oliver Clozoff, sexy businessman extraordinaire. I’m doing my best Manly Look Of Manliness, which means sort of a grumpy squint-frown because I’m a terrible dude. But anyway. Feel free to bask in the raw sex.



Part two (rebellious breasts, a day-of crisis, and shakin’ it on stage) coming soon!

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Review – Delightful Rot Perfumery ‘Avengers Scents’

Huzzah! More Delightful Rot scents. I’m very fond of them—-they aren’t ‘heavy’-smelling, like a lot of the really tank florals and musks you can get in stores. None of the Delightful Rot scents I’ve tried so far are overpowering, which is really nice both for me and for the people who have to smell me (hi there, martial arts class!).

These are from their Avengers collection. It’s more extensive than these four scents (also there’s a perfume called ‘Mewling Quim’, which has got to be one of the most fun scents to reply to ‘what are you wearing?’ with), but due to general poorness I only got three from the Avengers collection. Thor was given to me afterward by a friend who got it and found it didn’t quite work on her. It is now my mission to both cosplay and wear Thor AT THE SAME TIME, thus causing some kind of time/space rift—-or at least causing me to be greatly amused. Hey, I live on a farm with sheep. I take what amusements I can get, y’hear me?

First up is Loki! Yes, this involves the return of terrible iPOD photos. Let’s all pretend we don’t notice.


From shop description: “Smoke and mirrors. Notes of deep green herbs, incense smoke and a touch of frost. NOTE: In true Loki fashion, I can’t quite figure out if this is primarily a masculine or feminine scent. I think it’s rather ambiguous, and could work for either.”

Personally . . . I didn’t like it. Which is unfortunate, both because it sounds awesome and because I’ve heard a bunch of good reviews of it. So I’m going to mark it as ‘doesn’t work on me’. On my skin any slight florals tend to leap out, punch me in the face, and then give me a headache. I do not like florals. Florals do not like me. Anyway, on me, I’m not really sure what this smells like. Sort of a deep spicy floral. It kind of vaguely smelled (on me) like bathroom air freshener. Could be cloying. So yep . . . did not work on me at all. BAH.




From website: “The scent of a thunderstorm. Rain, wet and heavy in the air, soaking through earth and trees alike, with a crackling note of ozone. NOTE: I would say this scent is primarily masculine wet, though when it dries down it’s far more androgynous.”

On me! Sort of spicy floral right off, though not cloying. A bit soapy. Not badly, though. Smells like lilies, maybe? Getting a bit of the ozone thing in the background. Fade-down is about the same. Overall, I liked it, but I didn’t adore it. Probably ’cause of the floral thing, although Thor didn’t give me a headache at all. Seriously, you guys. The weirdest things turn into florals on me.


Next! Poisonous Dream! Exclamation mark!


                 (yes that says Poisonous Dream, no my iPOD does not like small font)

From website: “The blackberry musk of a sweet dream, distorted by cool mint and black oud.”

On me . . . Yep, blackberry musk. Like a BOSS. I dunno what oud smells like (all I can think of is Ood, and they probably smell like damp snakes and inner peace). I guess there could be a bit of mint, but it’s certainly not jumping out at me. Sticks around for quite a while and doesn’t change scents. This could be a bit cloying on me, but I attribute that to my battle with florals again. Overall, I like it. BLACKBERRY MUSK, you guys.


And lastly . . . Glorious Purpose!


                                         (small-font iPOD hate strikes again!)

From website: “A majestic combination of jeweled blood orange and fiery cinnamon.”

I was extremely excited about this. Frisking occurred. I love cinnamon. I love orange. I love this scent. It is glorious and purposeful. This actually does smell a heck of a lot like orange and cinnamon. Orange is the prevailing scent here, very sharp and fresh. But also kind of homey and sort of potpourri-y. It gets quite a bit less vibrant after half an hour or so, where it promptly gets more sort of spicy incense-y. Which I approve of. DUDE. This is AWESOME. Get thee to the shops.

The shop owner is also absolutely lovely and helpful, I must add. It takes absolutely forever (by which I mean a good few months) for these bloody things to get from the US to good ol’ Canada, so the first time I called it lost in the mail after about 2-3 months and asked her to send me a new one, which she did . . . and then the first one promptly showed up. So we (I was co-ordering with two friends) sent her money for the second package currently in transit. Then the second one got lost in the mail. SOOOOO I asked her to send a THIRD one, which hasn’t shown up yet, but no doubt will whenever the border guards decide it’s not a bomb or a really small badger and send it on its way again. Throughout it all the Delightful Rot owner remained very nice and sympathetic, which I think is pretty awesome of her.

You can buy these all over here:

*all scents purchased by me/my friends

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