Sidewalk Superheroes

Well hey, it’s about time I showed up again. I’ve been busy trying to figure out how to pull of the Mystery Costume perfectly, so that means a lot of time researching on the Internet, looking up patterns and figuring out how to take from them and modify to make my own patterns (because I never got a degree in Fashion & Design, just took the courses), and shopping around for bulk PVC. I think I have a source.

Anyway, after the worst month ever, February, it feels good to be getting back into the swing of things. Last Thursday and Friday Catwoman and I went out to the boulevard to work, and a lot happened in the relatively short time we were there.
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It’s still slooooooow going on the boulevard, and don’t let anyone tell you differently. We went to the Joker’s birthday party last night, and while I only had one weak mojito, I hate rum and I’m still burping it up. It’s disgusting. I blame it for my mind being stupid today, even though I did have quite a lot of Jack Daniel’s last night. At least seven shots? Quite a lot. And rum cake. Anyway, you already know that after I drink I’m stupid for a day, and my memory’s not so great, so I’ll try to remember any good bits that may have happened.

I don’t think I worked Friday. Did I? My dad had surgery for his cancer on Wednesday so I spent a couple of days hanging out with him, which sort of threw me off time-wise. We spent a lot of time watching movies on cable and talked about going to China, I remember that. Oh wait, we did work Friday. Today’s Sunday. Sorry. To make up for the swiss cheese memory, here’s the best picture ever:

the DC universe

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We didn’t work very long today, so there’s not too much to report. Our unseasonable heat wave in January is coming to a close (rain on the way!), and even though today was a holiday and everyone’s buzzed for Obama’s inauguration tomorrow, there just wasn’t a lot of business going around. Sniping and slack-jawed staring when we explained how things work, but not a lot of shots. Still, we got good tips.

It’s the fake tits. Catwoman and I are slender ladies naturally, which means we’re also not stacked naturally. But though we have everything else going for us, we usually don’t do super well at tips, and what every guy working the boulevard tells us is that we need to work the boobs. The plain Janes with crap costumes do well because they flash their tits. So we did a little experiment, accentuated our chesticular area, and the tips went up per picture. Good to know . . .

Also, our sugar daddy from yesterday, the one who wanted a giant photo with every character and would pay at least $5 per person, never showed today. Damn. Well, at least I got a fiver from him yesterday.

Also, some pseudo-drama for your entertainment. Besides Confessions of a Superhero, a newer documentary called The Reinactors is due to come out on DVD soon, and the film crew has been trying to interview some of the characters from the film for some DVD extras. The characters, however, are asking for more money. They were burned pretty badly with Confessions (and are currently in a lawsuit over it, from what I’ve heard) and aren’t making the same mistakes twice. Also, some of them are SAG and union, and aren’t there rules to be followed? Eh, anyway, the film crew came around casually carrying a camera, and asked Superman how he was doing. Superman said, “Fine, but if you want me to talk to you, I’m going to need more money.” They kept walking. Heh. I suggested to Wonder Cat that the filmmakers just collect footage of all the characters holding out for more money, and make a montage of it for their stupid DVD. From what I’ve heard, the Reinactors made the film festival rounds, much like Confessions, but it was so bad no one picked it up, so the filmmakers are pushing the DVD to try and recoup their losses. I’d watch out of curiosity, but it just seems like they’re rehashing Confessions to me. I don’t know.

Also, we were talking with Jerri Blank today, and some interesting news came out. Well, we actually just asked her to keep an eye out for Superman while we ran to eat a candy apple (parking validation, I swear), and she asked, very concerned, if he was trying to seduce us.
“He does that, you know,” she said, looking worried. “He tries that with all the young girls out here. He’s very smooth that way.”
“Eh, that’s not going to be a problem,” Wonder Cat said bluntly.
“Well, he’s married, you know.”
“Oh, we know that,” I said.
“Well good, he didn’t tell me for years. I had to make myself fall out of love with him when I found out about her. I really loved him. I thought I’d marry him.” She then went on to talk about their love affair, and how quickly he can get out of his costume. It was very disturbing, like hearing about relatives having sex. Not quite as bad as your parents talking about screwing each other, but definitely aunt and uncle level of weird.

He’s so cute, a Triscuit! Apples on the table, peaches on the floor, step back, baby, I don’t love you any more! Weird what playground games will stick in your head. Anyway, I don’t really have a boyfriend, though I do have a new crazy admirer to replace Homeless Boyfriend, wherever he may have gone. I think he didn’t like Padmé as much, so he stopped kissing the ground when I walked by. That, or he was finally committed. Anyway . . . I don’t know if I mentioned this before, and I’m too lazy to go digging back through the old posts to see, but there’s a new Michael Jackson on the boulevard!

I'm white!

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Firstly, I’d like to say hello to all the people who have Googled “people in Padmé costumes having sex.” Welcome. Also, I’m sorry to disappoint, but there is no costumed sex going on here, either in my Padmé costume or in anyone else’s. Well, at least as far as I know and am concerned.

Moving right along . . . Bat A and I had a good long phone conversation last night, and while it was a great talk, I’m only going to share the backstory bits. The rest is private and will stay that way, ’cause you don’t really need to know it. So there. And here, finally, is the history of the boulevard, and how the violence started.

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Today it rained, which meant no work. Actually, it’s supposed to rain the rest of the week, with the exception of tomorrow, so that’s pretty craptastic. Instead I did my little bit of Christmas shopping, and put on a load of British invasion music and made cookies for the H&H gang. I’d had the idea a few weeks ago, when we were feeling particularly grateful to our favourites and I was trying to figure out a way to say thanks. Money is tight, as it is everywhere else, and I didn’t know anyone well enough to buy them things (I guess buying them the action figure of their character would be a little heavy-handed), so baking cookies always works. I had the idea to do chocolate chip and maybe two other flavours. Storm Trooper said, “Ooh, whatcha making?” and when I named chocolate chip and said, “And maybe something else?” he nicely suggested, “Oatmeal raisin? They’re my favourite.” I loves me some oatmeal raisin cookies, and they will always remind me of my favourite John Lennon impersonator (oh, the stories from that era of my life!), so I said yes. Besides, I’m probably most grateful to him and Vader for letting me work with them whenever I want and letting me in on some of their long-established success, so what they want, they get. Then peanut butter came to mind, and that was that.

Since I don’t have anything new to report, thanks to the crap weather, I’ll instead tell a short but infamous story that I’d mentioned in an earlier post. This is the story of The Bleach Incident.
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