I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away. I don’t know where my soul is, I don’t know where my home is…

I’ve finally done something cool.

For once in my life, I have engaged myself into a trend that is actually cool.

For once in my life, I have done something cool to my hair.

And putting sun-in in my hair in sixth grade with a girl from school and getting grounded for doing so does not count.

There’s this new craze that’s all about feather extensions.

I’ve been hearing about it for at least a couple months now and I finally decided to be brave and get some feathers stuck all up in my boring brown hair.  Now, I’m fine, fresh and fierce with my fancy flying feathers.  Oh em gee, that was probably one of my most successful almost-alliterations.  That was a fuck-ton of f’s up in that sentence.

Also, the birds in my backyard and I have something in common now, so that’s pretty sweet.  I’m sure it’s not long before I sprout some wings and fly far, far away from here.  I’ll fly all the way to Hogwarts and become friends with the post owls in the owlery and if Hogwarts won’t take me I can fall back on being a post-owl/weird flying girl with feathers in her hair.  Clearly I have my life all figured out.

Anyway, it took like three whole seconds for Wen to put the little metal bead/clipy-thing onto my hair and to seal it with the three feathers I picked.  Picking my feathers was the thing that took the most time.  In fact, I changed my mind like 4 times.  I was originally going to be a pansy-ass scaredy cat and get all brown tones but then I was like, wait, you should get a light colored one so it’ll at least show uppppp. But then I saw a black and white one and was like Dude, that is MINE.  And it was Wen who told me I needed to have the purple one because that way I have something fun, awesome and colorful but it’s not so overpowering and it still will blend in a little bit.

So, yeah, I ended up choosing a black and white feather, a two-tone brown one, and a purple and black one.  As you can (kinda) see here: I took a picture to show you how it’s clipped in my hair.  I should note that I got all three of my feathers clipped in the same metal clip thing, but Wen really tried to get me to put each feather in separately all over the place.  I was much too chicken-shit to actually do that, so I clipped them together in the same place, somewhere it would show when I pin my “bangs” back.  It goes in this metal bead type of thing, and it holds the feathers and a tiny, tiny section of hair and then gets tightened so it can’t move.

See?

You can hardly tell!

It’s super cool!

The other thing that’s cool about these feather extensions is that they’re supposedly super low maintenance.  I can wash my hair just like normal, and blowdry and flat iron the shit out of my hair like I normally do.  They curl right along with the rest of my hair, too; I tried it out today.  Wen and what’s-her-face who owns the salon I popped into today to have them done told me that they last for a really long time also.  The lady who owns the salon had two in and she’s been wearing them for six or seven weeks and they looked fab.  So, if and when I’m ready for them to come out, I’ll just pop back in and they’ll take my feathers out for me.

Except, fat chance because if I lose my feathers there goes my plan of flying away to Hogwarts and my future as a post-owl.

Here’s what they look like when I don’t do shit to my hair:

Ps. How awkward is this pic of me?! Lolz

Peach out, lovers.

Quick to the point, to the point no faking, cooking MCs like a pound of bacon, burnin’ ‘em

I didn’t make any resolutions for the New Year. I never do.

But something I do want to work on is learning how to cook.  My mom’s a really great cook and I really love The Pioneer Woman and she cooks.  I feel like it’s something I should learn to do.

I also don’t think I can get away with being a terrible cook my whole life.

Perhaps it’s not that I’m a bad cook, it’s just that I don’t cook. And lately, every time I attempt to do anything in the kitchen, I might as well just put money in the trash or light it on fire.  Either way, it’s a waste.

Well, friends, I’m about to work on that.  I’ll be fending for myself for almost two weeks and that means that I asked my mom a fuck-ton of questions on how to prepare food.  I have a feeling I’ll probably try to bite off more than I can chew and end up setting the kitchen on fire. That, or I’ll just end up eating cereal and cheese for two weeks.

I can’t be a baby forever, I guess.

Oh, and on an unrelated note, I had a complete nerd-alert moment last week.  I gave two grammar lessons on split infinitives. Each time, it was like I might as well have been talking to a pile of sweaters. I only mean that both parties were neither excited to learn about split infinitives nor were they particularly impressed with my knowledge of split infinitives.  Talking to a pile of sweaters would have elicited the same response: silence.

Now, split infinitives really aren’t a big deal. In fact, they’re not frowned upon like they used to be. But I encountered one in the group project I was working on last week for my finance class.  In one of the sections of our paper that one of my group members had written, I found one. I saw it and was like, oh heeeellllllll nahhhh.

So I changed that shit.

But the cherry on top of this story is that the next day, after I had provided my co-worker with a grammar lesson on split infinitives, I was watching Peter Pan. At the end, Captain Hook is surprised by something Peter does and shouts an exclamation.  Can you guess what his exclamation was?

“Split my infinitives!”

Ohhhhh yeahhhh.

I’m using that from now on.