;;out of scrunchies

Candy Store Reprise (Heather Chandler)
  • Candy Store Reprise (Heather Chandler)
  • Mia again yeah hi
  • Written for Heathers: the Musical
Play

so broadway-luv requested that I write another candy store reprise but for the scene in the beginning of the movie where Heather Chandler spits at herself in the mirror and yo I was so down for that another ‘it’s not summer-time so I’m perpetually sick+I wrote it in 45 min. and recorded it in one take’ shitty song by mia wow amazing:

/Gurgles water
 spits out water/
“Disgusting! Jesus!”

God, what did I do that for?
I should have just walked out the door.
Jesus, Heather, now you’re just a slut! A dirty whore!
You’re just a walking candy store.

“Gross, gross, gross, gross–EW!”

You’re definitely not a tease!
God, I let him get me on my knees!
He’ll make sure the whole world knows that I’m just easy!

“Shit!”

Veronica: “Oh–hey, Heather, you don’t look so hot–”
Heather: “I’m fine, Veronica! Just peachy!”
Veronica: “Okay, fine, Heather, whatever. But you can talk to me, you know, we’re friends now. I’ve got your back!”
Heather (to herself): Wait. Oh–you’ll do nicely.
Heather: “No, no, really. I’m perfect. Just a little too much to drink. Go enjoy the party, I’ll be out in a few!”
Veronica: “Oh–uh–okay.”

My scapegoat’s on the loose;
so I’ll string up her noose.
Let the public execution come.
But it won’t be me up on that leash,
it’ll be good little Veronica!

Honey whatchu waitin’ for?
Step into my candy store.
Here, you can come take the brunt of my mistakes and make them yours!
So step into my candy store.

It’s my candy store, it’s my candy.
You’re my candy store, you’re my candy!
They’re my candy store, they’re my candy store!

I won’t be your candy store.

Sew What?

When I was a little girl, my parents went to antiques auctions on Saturday nights, often returning with creepy relics like cigar store Indians and wooden trunks that smelled like centuries-old halitosis and more than a hint of mildew. Every once in a while, though, they’d schlep something home for my sister and me to enjoy–a box of costume jewelry or tavern puzzles that looked like torture devices–but one time, they lumbered in with a clunky, oddly-shaped wooden box and put the rusty handle in my hand. This creepy relic was for me.

Fearful as I was of my father, I was hesitant, but still undeniably curious about what the box contained, and I was ultimately elated to discover that it was an old Singer sewing machine.

Originally posted by lifes-joys

I first used the machine to sew strips of old bed sheets together, but I soon graduated to following dotted lines on seam-and-stuff pillow patterns and making hair scrunchies out of the aforementioned bed sheet strips. It wasn’t long, however, until the ancient apparatus went kaput.

Busy as I was with beadwork and needlepoint, I didn’t think twice about giving up sewing, but my sartorial heart was reignited once I signed up for sixth grade Home Ec.

That is, until I met nit-picky my teacher.

She was such a stickler that she easily took the fun out of baking cookies, so it was no surprise that sewing failed to stitch itself back into my life under her tutelage.

While spending summers at Buck’s Rock, I took another stab at sewing and struggled to make a pair of pajama pants from some fabric I’d gleefully batiked as well as a silk tie that somehow came out better than the pants.

But again, I found myself learning little about sewing concepts and processes, instead following a closely monitored set of instructions meted out one at a time with little demonstration, little explanation, and plenty of frustration.

Originally posted by georgetakei

In college, many of my friends had learned to sew from their grandmothers, but mine was a tight-lipped potty-mouthed knitter, not a sewer, so I crocheted hats and scarves as they made themselves and each other all kinds of cute patchwork tops and dresses that hung from their necks by tiny strings. My figure required a bit more infrastructure, and my sewing attempts would require more guidance. Alas, my friends were too flaky and drunk to follow through with the myriad plans, designs, and good intentions, and so, for about ten years, I gave up on thread and focused solely on yarn.

And so on…

One day, I got a bug in my bonnet to take a sewing class at the local community college. I just wanted to figure out how to get started, learn some basics, and perhaps meet some new crafty friends.

Instead, I spent a few hours a week blinking at the teacher through her hour-long lectures and waiting to see if I would ever be one of the lucky 25% of the class to receive a one-on-one recap of her discourse. Each week, as we 75% waited, we tried to pool our notes and make sense of each other’s mistakes, but even though we were all using the same bolero jacket pattern…

…none of our garments looked remotely similar after we all made our unique errors. In time, we all just ended up screwing up and giving up.

I didn’t make the ugly bolero jacket, nor did I make any new crafty friends, but I did somehow become a favored confidant to a wealthy, unhinged woman addicted to crack, but that’s a different story for a radically different blog.

So what?

That was six years ago, and while I’ve hardly been suffering from a lack of fiber in my life

…I have wished many times for the ability to make my own clothes using some other method than the one-pixel-at-a-time styles of knit and crochet.

I’ve yearned to alter and fix the clothes I’ve owned and worn forever. I’ve eyed more Pinterest boards of “easy” sewing projects than an agreeable pirate with a flare for fashion…

Originally posted by rachiewood

…and I feel like I have finally, for the last time, left a clothing store feeling like a mutant fool because nothing I tried on fit all of my body parts at once.

Sew Your Pants

If I’m going to spend so much time, blow so much money, and sacrifice so much confidence every year to dress like I make all of my clothing myself, I might as well bite the bullet and learn to sew.

If I am truly a fiber artist then the only acceptable way to overcome my fears of and barriers against sewing is to sew and sew some more, to sew like the wind, to sew like nobody is watching because this time, nobody is.

Got any tips for a sewing newb? Share your wisdom here, or leave comments on the Lucky Fiber Designs Page (and click Like while you’re there!), on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Ravelry (and don’t forget to follow and friend!) or by email…or snail mail (Lucky Fiber Designs P.O. Box 4 Candler, NC 28715).

Fight for Me (Reprise)
  • Fight for Me (Reprise)
  • mia, who is trash
  • Heathers the Musical (LA)
Play

So I absolutely adore this song and I really wanted
to cover it while I remembered the lyrics and I’m
actually shocked by how many people haven’t
heard the reprise since it was taken out of the
show
so I’m going to tag some people so they can hear not really my singing but the lyrics because they’re gorgeous and painful h a
I hurt:
pxrfecto fxrgery astatistic teenxngstbodycount slushiie ofslushies jasxndean soveryheather duchessheather theoneinyellow alldamaged also caeduis because Vi is bae and also needs to watch Heathers

is that everyone?? I think I got everyone

youtube

THANKS FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!
Here’s a video of me in full Veronica dress singing my
Heathers Ukulele Medley
yeah I know I look ridiculous and also gross
please forgive me this is a really sucky gift

&&. yells loudly vERONICA SAWYER IS NOT A SAINT. VERONICA SAWYER HAS CHARACTER FLAWS. ONE OF THOSE FLAWS IS HER BEING KIND OF A BITCH. it’s her character development guys she learns to accept people–she’s pretentious and only talks to people she knows and just assumes the worst from everyone else please do not demote her character by acting like she a precious thing to be protected like gUY S DON’T IGNORE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT PLEASE