Archive | September, 2011

Jazzed Up!

26 Sep

As the weather turns cooler (seriously, it was like 75 yesterday) and the sun sets sooner, there’s a little voice inside you that says “Go enjoy the outdoors while you still can, sucka fools!”

Our version of “being outdoorsy” is NOT hiking some remote location where you get your arm pinned under a boulder and end up drinking your own urine for survival. Although, that can be a good time…

We prefer walking 4 blocks to LACMA (the Los Angeles County Museum of Art), pinning down some tacos for under 5 bucks, and drinking wine for our survival. No need for rescue helicopters here…unless Jenn has too much chardonnay…again.

Below we are doing something local Angelinos rarely do: walking. Don’t these pictures look like a sexier urban version of “Sister Wives?” That’s our friend Jen in the stripes walking behind Nic.(Yes ANOTHER person named Jen) She’s one of the sweetest, prettiest girls we know. She has a baby inside her. It will probably be the sweetest prettiest baby we’ll know.

During the end-of-summer/fall season, LACMA hosts live outdoor jazz concerts on Friday nights at the Grand Entrance of the museum complex. The museum is itself a work of art, comprised of modern and art deco architecture built within Hancock Park – home to the La Brea Tar Pits – where a whole bunch of fossils have been dug up. By the way: trapped in hot tar = bad way to go. If I were a Mastedon (and sometimes I feel like one right before my period) and I knew the asteroid was coming, I would rather take a boatload of Advil PM and call it an era. The tar pits are still hot, and bubbling. And sometimes at the corner of 6th and Fairfax it smells like farts from the sulfur. In fact we refer to 6th and Fairfax as “the corner of fart and egg salad.

Lola in the stroller and Sofie the dog watch as we eat tacos and discuss the problems of the world. I wonder if Jenn’s husband knows how dangerous it is to wear a shirt with a target on it while Jenn has PMS?

Brandon can’t believe the veggie taco tonight is green beans! Karl (on the right) can’t believe Brandon is so exited about green beans. And check out the man-camel toe to the left of Brandon. Wow! Those jeans are right up in there! We should have done a “jean intervention” with both of these people.

Jenn’s daughter Lola has a deep rooted love for jazz.  Basically, she can’t help but dance as soon as she hears it. She will also dance with her stuffed dog and maintain eye contact with him while they dance – out of respect.  So, with apologies to my Mom and Dad for the ridiculous amounts of money they wasted on my dancing career, but I was out-shone by a baby.  Clearly I’ve been a little over confident in my abilities to pull focus.  Maybe I should get my boobs done?

Then the sun finally set, we recycled our plates, and strolled home. Not a whiff of fart in the air. Except for actual farts from the tacos.

PS. Dear readers, we want to thank you for all your support over the last 8 months. And we’d like to ask you, in a very meek and Canadian way, to SUBSCRIBE to Society Finch. Over 400 people read our blog every week yet only 29 of those readers subscribe. It’s free, no salesperson will visit your home.

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Hair Extensions – Part Deux (The Reckoning)

19 Sep

The theory behind the Butterfly Effect is that something as small as a butterfly flapping it’s wings is enough to cause a ripple effect that could change major events in history.  Forget butterflies, I altered history big time flipping around my new long hair on Saturday afternoon!  Friday I’m a short hair gal.  Saturday I’m a long hair gal. It’s pretty weird I’m not going to lie.

The hair on my head is Russian I’m told, and the method used to apply was Extend Tubes. A tiny piece of my hair and the extension get threaded through a little silicone tube that looks like a bead. The bead then gets squished, thus holding the hair and extension together.  I felt like I cheated the universe. In 3 hours I had hair that would have taken me 3 years to grow.  Then my new hair got caught in my seat belt and I realized, like with superpowers, with long hair comes great responsibility.

The first night, NO SLEEP! Those little extensions hurt like a son of a bitch. It felt like a hundred tiny ponytails that you can’t take out. And since they were all over my head I had to sleep on my stomach…. face down.  Starfish float (face down).  I tried to put my head on the pillow but it felt like I was lying on one of those beaded seat covers taxi drivers use.

Woke up day two, and looked like an extra from FuBar. My short hair has separated from the long hair creating a super rocker dude effect. I panic, fluff it up, and curl the ends.  Go for breakfast that morning and a woman compliments me on my beautiful hair. Because I am me and always have to “tell it like it is,” I  enthusiastically reply, “Why thank you! It’s fake… and Russian!”

My partner at Society Finch, Nicole, has also gone for extensions. Like animals in the wild we are adapting to our LA environment.  We are merely fitting in with “the locals”.

It’s a choose your own adventure in the wild world of weaves, and Nicole has opted for clip ins. Nic’s hair is longer and more suited to clips ins.  With that bit of extra length, she can wear clip ins and not look like a cracked out drag queen. (P.S. there is a cracked out drag queen named Sharone who frequents our local library. Literacy is for everyone!)

The great thing about clip ins, is that Nic can remove her extensions when going back east, avoiding the statement, “LA has changed you.”  FYI she wants you to know LA HAS changed her. In her words “I no longer look sad and pale, and guess where I was this morning? The mutha fuckin’ beach y’all!”

Nicole can remove her clip ins, wash them, and put them away in a cute little pink bag…kinda like a diaphragm.  I on the other hand am permanently attached to my extensions that I have nick-named, “The Wendigo” (due to the massive amount of hair involved).
Despite our fake hair we’re still the same salt of earth, Steel Magnolias, tells it likes we see it kinda gals. Here are some photos to prove that we’re still just everyday people….with extensions!
We wash dishes.
We clean toilets.
We barbecue. (With caution.  Extensions are flammable.)
We do our own gardening. (She’s actually just holding dirt.  She doesn’t garden.)
We wait for the mail.
We pick up our friends dog poop.  (We’re so average.)

Can I Get an Extension? (Part 1)

12 Sep

Live in LA long enough you are sure to do one of the following things:

a)    Run down the aisle screaming at a studio taping of “The Price is Right.”

b)   Be arrested for a DUI while out on the town with a former child star.

c)    Become a Scientologist and start spreading the word of galactic overlord Xenu.

d)   Get hair extensions.

Let’s address each of these:

a)    I can’t seem to score tickets to a Price is Right taping.

b)   I’m generally in bed by 10, which is when people who party START their night.  In fact I’d say a 10pm bedtime really narrows my chance of getting into trouble with the law. How many criminals are in bed by ten?

c)    So far I have resisted the magnetic lure of the Scientology Celebrity Center. Although I hear the burgers at the restaurant inside are amazing! That’s how they get you. First a tasty burger, and then suddenly you’re telling everyone psychiatry is a pseudoscience and methadone has something to do with Hitler.

d)   Isn’t the answer almost always “d”? Yes it’s true, friends! Next Saturday! Mark it on your calendars! Little missy ordered me some hair and it’s being “installed’ next weekend!

The Pixie Cut made me do it.

Growing out a Pixie Cut is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Okay, maybe it is something I would wish on someone truly evil.

Moammar Gadhafi may you have to grow out a pixie cut for the rest of your life you nasty bastard! Just when it’s almost a bob, we will cut it again and you will be stuck with bad hair forever!!! People will look at you and ask,“Is Moammar growing out his hair, or does he just not care about his personal appearance anymore?”

Growing out a pixie cut with style is next to impossible. The only people who can pull it off are those who are so stunning that all their beauty just cancels out the quasi-mullet at the back of their head. Like Carey Mulligan…

The rest of us are stuck looking in the mirror and heavily sighing for a good 4 to 6 months. My poor husband had to endure me shouting from the bathroom things like,“My hair is bullshit!”, “It’s like a giant un-workable turd on the top of my head!” or, “My hair makes me want to barf.  I am gagging right now while I’m looking at the back of my head!”

Here’s someone having a hard time growing out a pixie cut:


Vanessa Hutchens. She looks a bit like….a Teletubby. Keep smiling, sister! It’ll grow!

If it was 10 years ago, my husband would have to endure many more months of listening to my complaints.  But thankfully, today there are hair extensions! Yes, the hair that we buy from people who live in lands far, far away where hair is thick and beautiful. Then we take that beautiful hair and pretend it’s ours!

Stay tuned (That doesn’t make sense; this is a blog not a TV show!), because next week I’ll tell you all about getting them put in and I’ll post “After” pics! Here’s my “Before” photo. I made sure that I have no make up, it’s an unflattering angle, and I’m not smiling so the after picture next week will look very dramatic!

 

Stupid questions. Smart mouths.

5 Sep

Sarcasm.

A dangerous yet highly effective tool.  Paired with a delicious sense of humor, sarcasm can be the perfect end to a robust question that’s been stuffed with stupidity.  Don’t let your feathers be ruffled by uncouth company, my friend, dish it right back!  At least that’s been our mantra as of late. Sometimes stupid questions just deserve stupid answers.

Scene One

It’s early morning and I’m in the kitchen, pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee.

Anonymous: (enters kitchen) “Hey, is there any coffee?”

Me: “Nope.  This steaming brown liquid which smells remarkably identical to coffee, is actually last night’s meatloaf.  I’ve puréed it, and created a hot breakfast smoothie.  Want some?”

Though this may seem a little harsh to some, please consider the options.  Either I use our witty friend ‘sarcasm’ to assist me in diffusing the situation, or I revert to basic instinct.  Since I’m completely uncivilized first thing in the morning, especially before I’ve had my coffee, my instincts lean towards hurling the cup of coffee directly at Anonymous’ groin, ideally scalding him with the steaming beverage.  Next, I’d most likely begin openly weeping with the eventual goal of drowning myself in my own tears, thus becoming a casualty of the war against foolish questions.  Not so harsh anymore, huh?

Scene Two

Early morning…again. I’m in the kitchen (most likely enjoying a hot breakfast smoothie) as Anonymous stands in the living room.  Curtains are drawn.

Anonymous: “What’s it like outside?  Is it sunny?”

(At this point I’ve only one eye open, and a mere one fifth of my brain actually functioning.  Basically I’m still asleep.  Or mostly dead.  Hard to say.)

         

Me:  “Nope. Raining.”

Anonymous: “I don’t think so… (pulls curtains aside), looks sunny!”

Me:  “Only looks that way. Monsoon season.”

Anonymous:  “Really Nic?”

Me: “I know.  I was shocked too when I heard the news, especially since Southern California’s weather has been the exact same, every day for the last gazillion years.”

Now, I understand that this approach may not be the most mature or even appropriate for that matter, but COME ON!  The weather has been the same.

Every.

Fucking.

Day.

Just open the damn curtains.  Or are you experiencing a rapid onset of upper paraplegia, thus being the reason you can’t seem to look for yourself?

I’m not sure of the lesson that is to be learned here.  Maybe it’s that I’m a bad person, or that I really shouldn’t interact with other humans before I’ve had at least two cups of coffee, but sometimes you’ve just gotta be a smart-ass.

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