People Watching

I read this lovely post on the Hairpin, and decided to semi-copy it because I am so thrillingly original. In case you’re too lazy to click the link you love my blog so much you can’t bear to be away from it for one second, it’s all dreamy descriptions about girls the author remembers in these poetic little slices of time. Which is nice, and a good read. But since I’m me, I decided to ditch the poetry and the love, and write accurate descriptions of people I have noticed recently.

Bus Lady. I am waiting for the bus and a tall, thin woman is bouncing up and down and shivering. She asks a girl near her when the bus is coming, and shakes her head and laughs when the girl says it is late. I think she seems normal until we get on the bus, and she spends the next twenty minutes pulling chunks of hair and systematically ripping the ends off. I almost puke.

Stupid Bar Guys. I am sitting alone at the bar, waiting for the Man to come back with drinks, and two men sidle up. They “casually” move closer, then closer, like I’m a cat they don’t want to scare away, and then one of them finally sits in the Man’s now-vacant seat next to me. “Hey, how are you?” he says,and his friend leans in and whispers, “He’s a predator, watch out for him.” I almost puke.

Ghetto Mom. She is standing in front of the Laundromat with two little kids. They don’t want to go inside, and she shouts, “Fine, then stay out here, you little [racial slurs]!” I saw her two weeks before at Wal-Mart,and she said the exact same thing. I almost puke.

Awww, aren’t these sweet? What lovely people I run into! (No, you gorgeous city-dwellers, I do love lots of you, but I didn’t want to totally rip off the Hairpin post so I couldn’t say anything nice. Really, it’s that, and not because I’m a total bitch. No, REALLY. Fine, just to prove it I’m going to do one nice one.)

The Boy. He is sitting in the hipster coffee shop and I see him through the window, reading a Steig Larrson book in a cozy flannel shirt and faded jeans. I can’t tell what he’s drinking but I decide to pretend it’s hot chocolate. He smiles at a part in the book (which probably means he’s a psycho, since 90% of those books involve rape and murder) and it is nice. I don’t puke.

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Let’s Hate Ourselves

If you live in America, you probably hate yourself. Don’t feel bad, it’s just a thing, like knowing the Pledge of Allegiance or owning Levi’s. (I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all! Is that right? I typed it out of memory, okay?)

Anyway, people react to this whole society-makes-us-hate-ourselves thing in two ways: they either pretend they love everything about themselves and that their every flaw is a precious adorable diamond, or they keep a secret mental list of everything they would change about themselves if they could. An easy way to find out which type of person your friend is is to ask one simple question: “If you could get plastic surgery, what would you get done?” Absolutely everyone is going to swear they would never get it and they don’t want it, but the fine folks in sector two will then say, “But if I had to…” and then launch into their I-Suck List.

I am fully aware that this is kind of depressing and sad and blah blah blah, but it’s also totally fun if you still generally like yourself but have some things you would like to change. It’s like a game, except you can never win! Me, for instance: I would have thicker hair and perfect skin with a perennial tan and a ten-digit bank account. You just have to be careful not to play too much, or you might find yourself sobbing on the floor and slowly cutting off sections of your eyelashes.

This uplifting message has been brought to you by the WildHearts! And, big disclaimer, whatever you hate about yourself, someone else probably stalks you taking photographs of and wants to lick (your big feet, for instance). So just roll with it like our hippie-dippy friends in Sector One!

Trannies and Spies

There is a most fabulous website where you can go and see what you look like as a hot tranny mess different celebrities. Usually, the end result is that makeup appears to be dripping from your eyes while you’re wearing a bad, brassy wig, but sometimes it turns out pretty well.

For instance, even though I’m a blonde, I don’t look half-bad with black hair. Which makes me think, wouldn’t it be awesome to be a spy? Forget the sneaking-around and life-risking parts and focus on the fun stuff: you get to change how you look all the time. I would do short red hair and curly brown hair and long long sexy black hair. And possibly a mustache.

And I would wear one of those awesome catsuits, and have magic powers, and be a billionaire! I forgot what I was talking about.

Girl of the Week: Daisy Lowe

Okay, I have a teeny-tiny confession to make: I don’t do a “Girl of the Week” thing on the Wild Hearts. If you’re a regular reader (ha! Regular readers? What are those!) you probably read that title and thought to yourself, “Oh, shut it. Stop trying to be cool and pretend you have features on your blog. You just ramble.” (Wow, did you really just think that? You’re kind of mean. Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on me, and then I would do features!) Oops, this is spiraling out of control. What I’m trying to say is that if I did do a “Girl of the Week” column, I’d pick Daisy Lowe.

That’s her. If you’re not familiar, Daisy is a model-slash-one of those people who’s famous for being attractive and quirky. Her mother is Pearl Lowe, and her dad is that guy who’s married to Gwen Stefani, which is weird. But why am I writing about her, you ask? BECAUSE I LOVE GWEN STEFANI’S HUSBAND AND ANYTHING TO DO WITH HIM, OBVIOUSLY. Just kidding, that’s a lie. I don’t even know his name (although Wikipedia does).

No, I love Daisy Lowe because of her style, and the fact that she has an adorable British accent and is weird. I like weird people. When I was looking her up to find photos for this thrilling post, I found a spread in i-D magazine where she was posing, topless, with her then-boyfriend, and in like 96.8% of the pictures he was sucking on le nips. Not that I’m saying that’s so awesome, but it’s cool that she just doesn’t really care.

I mean, to be honest, I’ll probably like anybody with odd boho style and bangs, but Daisy Lowe has some extra sprinkling of cool dust. (Okay, I think it’s just the bangs. But still.)

Also, I like her versatility (and that, for a model, she’s not a bone). She can look all normal and cute, and then she can model for Agent Provocateur and it’s like a completely different person. But the whole time, she still seems like the same person. Does that make sense? I’m not sure. It was kind of hard to think of things to write in between photos, since this post was basically an excuse to be like, “Gahh! Look at Daisy Lowe! Don’t you love her clothes and her hair?” Anyway, that’s why Daisy Lowe got the prestigious “Girl of the Week” award! Yeah, whatever. Here’s another picture.

DIY (Unless You Hang-Glide)

I’m not sure if I’ve ever written about this before, but I have never gotten a manicure. Or a pedicure. Never ever ever. Even for prom, I did my own nails, and at a friend’s wedding recently I was frantically sticking on Lee Press-On Nails (because I’m just that classy) in the car on the way there.

Not only that, but I can count the amount of times I’ve gotten my hair professionally done on one finger (read: once–also for prom), and I would be surprised if I’ve gotten my hair cut at a salon more than ten times. Which is admittedly really weird. Especially coming from me, a Girl Who Loves Prettiness and Clothes and All That Stuff.

Somehow, though, I have just become the do-it-yourselfer of beauty. I cut my own bangs (and pretty much just let the rest of my hair flow free and wild like a majestic lion’s mane) and I paint my own nails. I highlighted my hair by myself for the first time when I was thirteen, and I haven’t looked back since. And I am pretty great at doing my own makeup.

So, what is my point? I don’t have one. Except that I was thinking it was weird I’ve never had a manicure. But given my extensive hobbies (playing the Wii, scraping my nails on a chalkboard, getting into fisticuffs on the regular, hang-gliding) I know I’d just chip my nail polish in four seconds anyway, and then I would be out $20 and have chipped nails.

Girls Just Wanna Have Pun

This is pretty:

Also, there are no puns in this post. I should just tell you right now. The title was a blatant lie.

Now, can I just say, I love being a girl. I FUCKING LOVE IT. Boys really drew the short stick (well, not boys I mess around with, but you know what I mean). You know why? Because I get to do pretty makeup like that, and I get to wear dresses (so freeeeee!), and I get drinks–gratis!–when I go to the bar.

I mean, there are other good reasons, obviously. Like, um, blah blah blah something about female empowerment. But seriously, dressing up and getting all hair-done-nails-done-everything-did is pretty fun. Especially since there are just so many options. What can a guy do to change his look? Grow a beard, cut his hair different, maybe switch it up with some man-jewelry (gauges, not bling, for God’s sake). But girls? You can practically paint on a whole new face if you’re so inclined. Which is always a good time.

In fact, my makeup skills are so good that I robbed the same bank three times in a row thanks to just a tube of mascara and a lipstick! (No, not really. It was four times.)

A Post About Shannyn Sossamon and My Hair

I did it! I made the cut. I am the proud new owner (wearer? Haver?) of side bangs. Which I cut all by myself, thankyouverymuch! All it took was a YouTube video and some special haircutting scissors lent to me by the roomie, and violĂ ! I actually like it, although I felt like I was in ‘Nam while I was doing it. I was shaking and breathless with each snip, like I was doing open-heart surgery on my head, and I was hyper-aware of every sound because I was afraid someone was gonna come knock on the door and scare me into chopping off a giant piece. But it was worth the war flashbacks because I really like it.

In other important Wild Hearts news, I, um, hmmmm, well fuck. I don’t have any other important news. It’s kinda sad that my hairstyle is my only important bulliten. I guess I’ll have to make some things up.

I saw a three-headed duck eating a pastrami sandwich! Toddlers have overrun my campus and are now teaching all the classes! Shannyn Sossamon and I are now best friends!

I kinda wish that last one was real. I don’t really know what me and Shannyn Sossamon would do if we were besties, but I know it would be awesome. (One of my friends just told me they got to interview her over the phone, and that was my question: Was she awesome? I don’t even know why I asked since the answer is obviously yes.)

I’m off to buy thousands of textbooks and waste all my hard-earned money, so th-th-that’s all for now, folks! I know you’re really upset that my nonsensical ramblings are done for the day, but don’t cry, there’s always more crazy.

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