Not so sneaky.

A tidbit of a conversation I just had with my mom:

Me: It's a good thing you finally bought me more honey, this way I won't have to fix my sugar cravings by drinking your vanilla coffee creamer.

Mom: You drink my coffee creamer while I'm at work?

Me: What?

Mom: ...

Me: No.

Intoxicated Pirates.

I got harassed by a drunk pirate tonight, and I'm totally not joking, and you're probably really confused. So let's start from the beginning like we always do.

My mom has this best friend who always wears her hair in a french twist and cusses like a sailor, and tonight she took my mom and I out to this gorgeous seafood restaurant overlooking the harbor.

It was absolutely enchanting. I had the best coconut shrimp and rice pilaf I will ever have, and loved every second of being able to see the twinkling city lights in the distance.

So after we left my now favorite restaurant, we decided to walk along the pier because we all agreed that we looked too cute NOT to walk along the pier.

And we wanted to scope out the rich guy situation.

And can I just say that there were SO many yachts. So many yacht parties. So many people smelling like cigarettes and beer.

So anyway, to the point. And I know you're probably relieved because this is the soonest I've ever gotten to a point. We walked by a restaurant entitled "Jolly Rogers" (classy, right?) and as soon as we did out came a group of people dressed as pirates.

"Arr!" Growled the tallest of the bunch, who was obviously intoxicated. "We be lovin' the Jolly Rogers!"

My mom and her friend burst out laughing, and I just kind of smiled and nodded at the pirates. I've always liked the idea of pirates, even intoxicated ones. Because all pirates are alcoholics. They can't help it.

BUT WHY IS THE RUM GONE?!

Anyway, a shorter pirate with his arm slung around a fellow female pirate's shoulders pointed a wobbly finger at me and said "Yarr! We do, we do! But you wenches be dressed funny!"

I don't know which insult was worse, the fact that he called me a wench or the fact that he didn't like my outfit. But my mom's friend quickly thought of a reply faster than I could due to her lack of speech filter and said, quite loudly "Well your hat looks like you need to feed it!"

And it DID look like an animal. It was a bunch of huge feathers clumped together and looked like some kind of shaggy creature. But continuing on with my love of pirates I said "Yeah, but I kinda like it," with a shrugged shoulder.

But the pirates didn't care about my optimism regarding their fashion, they just stumbled over to a nearby sweet shop and probably proceeded to infuriate the poor employee working there that night. I still feel bad for whoever they are.

And then this next part has to be one of the most exciting things to happen to me EVER. I saw this guy who happens to be Kai Kalama who happens to have been on AMERICAN IDOL.

I know you think I'm crazy and that I imagined it, but I stand firm in my belief that I didn't. Here's why:

1. He sang "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted" and made the crowd clap on the show, and that's one of my favorite oldie songs EVER, and I don't forget someone who is able to sing so well that the audience is actually in sync with their clapping. Even if he did only make it to the first round.
2. I just looked up his information because I'm a celebrity obsessed stalker, and I found out he lives in SAN CLEMENTE. Which is like 5 MINUTES AWAY FROM THE CITY I WAS IN. And therefore the city he was also in.

So of course it was him.

I realized it was him just as he was walking away after talking to a crowd of friends, and after I had done about five double takes to make sure it was him so that I wouldn't get teased about it later if it wasn't him, I tugged at my mom's friend's shirt sleeve and whispered "I think that guy was on American Idol!"

But it took her awhile to hear this as she was so engrossed in a conversation with my mom, and when she finally did pay attention to what I was saying she pretty much shouted "WHO? WHERE? REALLY?" which was followed by a round of shushing from me.

Just as she caught a glimpse of him, he was already too far away to chase down, and when my mom's friend desperately asked me his name so that she could obnoxiously yell it out in the hope that he would turn around and we could have an experience that would later result in stories about how we actually TALKED to someone from American Idol, I couldn't remember. Not even the first letter. I went blank.

But I know it was him. No one has hair like that.

And on our way back to the car we saw another group of pirates, a different group from before, and one of the guys even yelled out "Look, Wenches!"

What is with this wench stuff.

It kind of makes me lose a little bit of love for pirates.


.....

Actually, no. That's not possible.

Long lost curls.

I HAVE CURLS.

One thing you have to understand about me is that I NEVER HAVE CURLS.

Since I was about 5.

When I was 3-5 years old I had a head of huge ringlets. And they literally looked like they had been perfectly perfected for hours with a curling iron when I had actually just woken up that way.

But then when I turned 5 years old they all just fell out.

And I was left with very unpredictable, very frustrating, and very frizzy waves.

Not pretty waves.

And I had to live my life quite miserably like that until I discovered the miracle that is the straightening iron when I was 12. And since then, it's been sleek all the time and every time.

Until yesterday.

I was long overdue for a haircut and beginning to look kind of like a stringy hippie, so my mom took me to the cousin of one of the women she works with, who works at a super chic salon.

The kind of hair salon you walk into and instantly think your outfit is all wrong because everyone in there looks so much better than you.

And can I just say, the process was AMAZING.

She literally asked me stuff about my hair the whole time.

How do I like my bangs, do I want the back more layered, do I want her to cut it so that I have more body, what kind of shampoo do I use because this shampoo would be so much better, do I want her to cut it like this so that when I style it it'll look like this, do I want her to part it how I usually do, and then, the question that changed my life:

Do you want your curls to go out, or in?

I honestly thought that I had heard her wrong.

"What do you mean?" I asked her, adjusting the cape thing around my neck because it practically had me in a chokehold.

She just smiled knowingly, like so many people before me were oblivious to their curl preference also. "Do you want them to go in near your face, or away from it?"

"You can do that?" I asked, aghast.

She nodded as she plugged in the giant curling iron.

"You mean, you can do that with my hair?"

She nodded and smiled again. Looking back on this, she probably thought there was something wrong with me or that the part of my brain that stored hair related information went slower than the rest.

And so, after blissful half hour full of hair dryers and seemingly porcupine-esque looking brushes and big curling irons and mango scented spritzing spray, I was transformed.

I can't even describe what she did or how she did it, but somehow my hair came out looking like this.

But with my face, of course. And my color hair. And my curls were more ringlets instead of loose waves like in the picture.

She had told me while she was cutting my hair that my layers would be like Kim Kardashian's, hence my inspiration to show you that photo, and that when they were straight they would be soft, flowy layers. And then she showed me a way to make my hair straight WITHOUT USING A STRAIGHTENING IRON and instead using a lot of the porcupine brush and hair dryer.

So I sit here, my curls still intact but a little bit looser than yesterday, thoroughly happy with my hair.

I can't wait until I have to style it on my own like this.

And I don't mean that sarcastically.

I really, honestly, can't wait.

Makeup hates me now.

I keep doing that thing where I wear a tank top, get too cold, put a shirt on over my tank top.

Get too hot, take off the shirt and am once again in my tank top.

COLD AGAIN, put on the shirt.

HOT AGAIN.

This went on for a good 10 minutes until I finally realized that maybe I should just wear the shirt, no tank top underneath.

The two layers were just killing me.

Story of the day: I broke a tube of lipstick at Target.

If you're asking yourself how this is possible, ask no longer. I'm going to tell you.

My mom and I were standing in the little NYC brand alcove of the makeup section, and while my mom was calmly examining the eyeliner, comparing different brands of mascara; generally behaving like a normal human being, I was digging through the lipstick rack with a vengeance.

THEY NEVER HAVE MY FAVORITE SHADE.

So, get ready for this because it's the return of The Elbow.

As I'm sticking my arm quite far into the various assortments of lipstick, The Elbow knocks over a bunch of lipstick in the process.

And they fall to the ground.

So I sigh, bend down and get ready to reverse the damage, and I end up walking through the aisle to search for the lipsticks as they rolled in directions no where near the NYC alcove.

When suddenly, something crunches under my foot. You have to realize that today I got a little overexcited at the idea of Autumn returning, and I wore my boots. With the heel.

I think you understand what happened next. The most comical part of all though, is the way my mom looked at my expression, looked down at the now scattered plastic that was once the cap to the doomed lipstick, looked at me again, and wandered off toward the nail polish.

Is it a bad sign that she's used to me wreaking small amounts of havoc in public?

We quickly made our way to the register with our purchases and left before anyone could suspect that it was me, if you're wondering.

Oh, well. If she's used to it then I might as well be too.

I'm off to finish cleaning the heel of my boot. The hot-pink-stained heel of my boot.

Believe me, if I had to choose a color to smother on my shoe, it would not have been that one.

Multiple Personalities

I'm currently reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower and An Abundance of Katherines. AT THE SAME TIME.

And brushing my teeth. But that's like, right this second.

I just had sudden inspiration to write this, because it's so amazing to read the two at the same time and have the chance to compare their perspectives. I normally try to read one book at a time, because I'm neurotic. So this is a big freaking deal, trust me.

And no spoilers. I swear.

In Perks, you have Charlie, who's got this incredibly, almost accidental, perceptive nature. And then you have Colin. Who's utterly ignorant toward anything even resembling perception because he's so focused on what could never be.

Intriguing, right? Being haunted by your future instead of your past. I can kind of relate.

It's almost a little unsettling reading about two people that are so different from eachother. It's like I have three separate personalities bouncing around in my head.

Including my own.

And it's odd that I chose to read these two books at the same time. They're so completely opposite. You'd think I would have chosen to read two different John Green books at the same time, or The Catcher in The Rye with Perks. But not me.

I'm seriously enjoying this whole new thing that's happening. I'm not even sure what's happening.

I'll keep you posted.

I will save my cactus.

I hate it when guys act like napkins.

Is it so hard for them to say what they really mean? And then possibly give me a reason WHY they're saying what they mean?

Actually, that MIGHT be too much to ask.

But it's not if he really loves her.

Sigh.

I wonder if it's possible to overdose on Airheads.

Or not.

Either way, they can't be good for my health.

My mom decided that the two of us are going to have breakfast for dinner, so she's in the kitchen cooking bacon as we speak. It's becoming increasingly difficult to try and resist pausing this and running in there to snatch a piece off of the plate.

Oh, why not.

I'm back.

I'm sure you think it's not possible to kill a cactus, right? Think again. Mine is dying a slow and painful death. I'm doing all I can to bring it back to it's former health but I think it wants to go just to be away from me and my poor gardening skills.

Any tips would put me in the best mood ever. But I probably sound like a moron, because how hard is it to care for a cactus, right?



I love my mom and her spontaneity. She doesn't let circumstance effect her decision to do something, she just does it. And it usually turns out to be lovely.

Or a complete disaster.

Either way, it's always worth it.


I'm sorry that these are just random tidbits with no structure or particular subject, but I promise my next blog will be a real blog.

Until next time, loves.

Growth Spurt

I love it when little kids have adult names.

Like when a five year old is called Melvin or George or Phil.
Or Judy or Patsy or Nancy.


I halfway expect them to walk around in little business suits with little cell phones, checking their watch every 5 seconds and becoming impatient when they're in the elevator for too long.