Wonder Woman


There’s no denying that Lynda Carter, as Wonder Woman or otherwise, is a total babe. What I have waffled on is whether the idea of Wonder Woman herself is sexy, or sexist. Until recently, I probably leaned towards “sexist”, if only for her get-up. She’s running around in granny panties and a bustier for crying out loud. However, I think my old age is turning me around. I mean, good for her, right? She looks awesome. She is powerful. She is kicking ass. She should wear whatever the hell she wants to wear, even if it makes some people uncomfortable.

My own discomfort likely stems from the idea of wearing such a costume myself. A person cannot hide any belly fat or thunder thighs in that outfit. What I find myself asking at this point in my life is, why bother hiding anything? I get so tired of hearing people, especially men, say shit like she should cover that up, she shouldn’t wear that, nobody wants to see that, and on and on and on. Maybe for one day, everyone in the world should be forced to wear a leotard. Maybe we would all get over ourselves and be a bit nicer, a bit more accepting, and drop all of this “she should…” bullshit.

If you’ve got a tiara, bust it out. If you’re inclined to wear a cape, go for it. And yes, even granny panties and bustiers are fair game when we are all just people, with flaws and bulges and ugliness waiting to be revealed. As noted in the stellar theme song, all the world is waiting for you and the power you possess.

David Bowie

Much like Schneider (RIP, Pat Harrington), I was hashtagging Bowie before he died. But wasn’t everybody? He was the mainstream oddity that everyone could relate to. Although Bowie was on my to-do list since the inception of my little shop, I never went there. How does one capture such color and glitter in black thread?

I received a custom request for an Aladdin Sane hankie a couple of months ago; a gift for a soon-to-be eight year old who shares a birthday with Bowie and Elvis.  I’m thankful for that request. I’m certain I never would have stitched him otherwise, especially after his departure. So, thank you, Betsy and Pete. Your daughter is already cooler than I’ll ever be.

Bowie and Clara

Three’s Company, Mrs. Roper, and a Facebook Giveaway


Sometimes I give things away on Facebook. Last week, I offered up a custom handkerchief, and the winner requested “Mrs. Roper. But classy.”

This was the result, and I have to say it is pretty hilarious. She is currently on her way to Georgia, where Justin plans to use her to “wipe his piehole”. Do I have the best Facebook fans or what?

Today’s lesson: Join me on Facebook to get some free stuff.

Chewy – What a Wookie

I made another goddamn pillow. All through this one, I sang the Chewbacca Song. Luckily, it’s just a bunch of yelling and Chewy noises, so my “singing” didn’t offend anyone. Click the link. It’s only a minute long, and it will change your life. And now I present to you, the Chewy Pillow, or “Chillow” if you will.



Saturday Night Fever

il_fullxfull.789878699_fkavIt’s all over. I have forayed into the realm of decorative pillows, and there is no return.

Actually, it’s fine. I’m not so far gone that I’ve covered the couch in plastic wrap or put carpeting down in the kitchen. Yet. I just worry about my sanity sometimes, and I always have the decorative gourd article from McSweeney in the back of my mind when I feel like I’m crossing crafty lines.

This is Decorative Pillow No. 2, the first being Star Wars themed because it made me feel safe. Due to the groovy color scheme on this sham, I had to do something more flashy; hence, I give you my first Saturday Night Fever project. I’m not sure what the hell took me so long.


This is my second Divine project, the first being a tea towel set of Divine with John Waters. I decided to go balls out with this one, because that is what Divine is all about – unapologetic and balls out. Doesn’t everyone need a vintage avocado green drag queen tablecloth with mismatched pink flamingo napkins?

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Since I have already waxed poetic about the tragedy of Divine, I’ll just say what I’m dying to say.


Freddie Mercury


Freddie Mercury is so tragic, I nearly burst into tears just looking at his overbite. He may even be more tragic than Joey Ramone, and that is a bold statement.

I don’t have much of a past with Queen. I was aware of certain hits when I was a youngster, especially Another One Bites the Dust, but I was not a fan. In my college years I had a more formal introduction due to my swift and intense obsession with Bowie. This led me to purchase a greatest hits album for access to Under Pressure. I eventually gave the entire disc a chance and it hit heavy rotation and made frequent appearances on my mix tapes. This is where Queen stayed, quietly in the background of my life.

Fast forward to 2014 when I reluctantly agreed to see a Queen tribute Band, Gary Mullen & the Works. I went into it incredibly skeptical, thinking any version of a Queen song is pointless without Freddie Mercury behind the microphone. Needless to say, this tribute band was amazing. Amazing, I tell you. By the time Gary Mullen ripped off his shirt and told the audience how sexy we were, I was smitten. Of course I never actually saw Freddie in concert, so perhaps there really isn’t any comparison. Still, Gary has the mustache, the chest hair, the moves, the voice, and the charisma. If he’s ever in your area – get tickets and go. Don’t think about it. Just go. I still get goose bumps thinking about clapping to Radio Ga Ga.

And sometimes, when I feel like sobbing uncontrollably, I will watch the video of Liza Minnelli leading We Are the Champions at the end of the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert in 1992. Have you ever actually listened to the lyrics of that song? Jesus. It kills me.

Despite all of that, this is a custom piece that I have an inkling is being given to someone as a gag gift. I thought about refusing the request based on that alone. However, I wanted to stitch Freddie, and I gave his mustache and chest hair all of the respect he deserves. If someone else thinks it’s a joke, well… screw them and their Taylor Swift album.