My Disney Princess Moment

Today I got to experience something every woman has dreamed of since she was little: I got to have a Disney princess moment. What exactly is a Disney princess moment, you ask? It's what happens when women watch Disney movies like Cinderella and Snow White when they're little girls, see scenes like this, and decide they want to commune with wild animals in the same fashion. They want random birds to perch on their fingers. They want wild deer to just come up and nuzzle them when they're outside playing with their friends. They want wise old owls watching over them, so when the evil hyenas come and try to fuck shit up, the owls will orchestrate a plan of attack like this and save the day. ALL WOMEN WANT THIS. Right after meeting their Prince Charming. And today, I got to experience it.

This morning, I met my friend Arleen at Target, our meet-up spot before heading to the beach. On the pavement next to where Arleen parked was a puddle of something red and incredibly sticky, like a melted lollipop. And stuck in that sticky red mess was a bird. No doubt it flew in to check out the puddle, see if it was edible, landed on it, and found itself in a whole heap of trouble. The poor thing kept flapping its wings and getting nowhere. I couldn't very well continue on my merry little way and just leave it like that, so I bent down, grabbed it, and gently pulled its legs out of the puddle. I then turned to Arleen to see if she wanted to pet it--I mean, how often do you get to hold a wild bird?--but I didn't have a good grip, and it flew out of my hands, narrowly missing Arleen's face.

YOU GUYS, I RESCUED A FUCKING BIRD. That is some Cinderella-type shizz. Jealous?

Me, this morning

Ali's and my Super Special Mystery Date

When Ali and I went to Target on Saturday, I swore I would not succumb to its crack-like beckoning and get sucked into its lair of rock-bottom prices on shit I didn't need. I was on a super-tight budget because of spending more than I intended on booze the last two Friday nights, so I couldn't afford to make any impulse buys. I resolved to ignore the voices coming from the $5 DVD shelf that said, "Come on, only $5 for The Goonies! $5 is nothing! $5 will not send you to the streets! Did I mention that it's The Goonies? It's a frigging classic! AND IT'S ONLY FIVE BUCKS!" I would tell myself that all the clothes on clearance were crap. I knew Target's wily ways, and I wasn't biting.

But then we wound up in the toys section, and found a game that shared a place with such favorites as Dream Phone and Girl Talk.

"Oooh, Mystery Date!" Ali squealed, grabbing a sparkly box.

"WHAT?!" I grabbed the box from her and examined it. "That's so awesome this game is still around!" I started reading the back description. "It's the game of Mystery Date all dressed up in sparkles and glitter!...Spin the knob and open the door...will you meet your matching date? Or will you meet the Nerd--oh no!--and lose your cards--"

"--Hey, what's wrong with the Nerd?" Ali asked.

"Nobody wants to be with him. He'll make you lose your cards."

"But the Nerd is the guy who will grow up and go to MIT and become rich because he's smart. These other guys will be the type who will end up working on my car."

"Ali, this game is for girls who are, like, eight," I said. "They don't have the life experiences we do." I turned the game over and couldn't help but notice the little red clearance sticker in the corner: $7. Only $7!! Really, what was $7 in comparison to a night of cheap thrills and silliness and revisiting childhood? It was practically highway robbery!

"I'm getting this. I have some Jack Daniels at the house, we're gonna get some Coke, and when we get home, we're drinking and having Mystery Date night." Ali was on board, but I didn't have any doubt that she would be. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend a Saturday night consuming alcohol and playing a child's board game? It's a recession-friendly activity.

And you thought I was lying.

Checking out reaffirmed that I was making the right decision by buying the game, for even the check-out guy got excited. Well, actually, I thought he was excited for the same reasons we were, but in retrospect, I think he was just making polite conversation, figuring we were buying it for a younger sibling or a young niece or something. Sometimes, I forget that outsiders "don't get" Ali's and my quirky senses of humor. We can come off as being downright weird, actually, and this is exactly what happened with the check-out guy. I mistook his enthusiasm as coming from the same place as our enthusiasm, so I decided to let him in on our plan: "We're totally drinking Jack and Cokes and playing this tonight!"

"Uh--okay," he said, the light of his excitement becoming noticeably dimmer. At first, I couldn't figure out what the hell his deal was, but then it hit me: it probably looks really strange for two grown-ass women to buy a little girl's board game and use it for their own entertainment instead of buying it for a little girl. Then I remembered that I didn't really care how we looked to him, and just paid for my purchase.

Later on that night, after eating way too much sushi and getting a couple of McFlurries (we decided to forego the booze), we played Mystery Date. We were actually pretty hard-core about it; we didn't talk much during game play because only one thing was on our minds: getting our date outfits together and finding out if we matched our mystery date. For the record, I owned at this game, winning two out of three games. So I feel pretty confident in saying that I can kick pretty much anybody's ass at Mystery Date.

You can't see it here, but all the playing pieces are girls in their PJs. I was concerned, but then I realized they were in their PJs because they were getting ready for their dates, not because they were huge whores.

Mystery Date is so awesome, even Ava wanted to play. And she's a dog.

I Might Have a Problem

I've never been a makeup junkie. Growing up, my friends would all bust out their makeup collections at sleepovers and experiment with different looks and application techniques, pictures of pure concentration as they rimmed their eyes with eyeliner and dusted eye shadow on their lids. I would usually just watch, until one of them wanted to make me over. Then I would oblige, put myself in the hot seat, and let them do whatever they wished to my face. Truth was, makeup and I got off on a shaky start, and it was something I didn't fully understand.

It all started when I was thirteen and my friends Lauren and Meagan came back from a trip to the mall. They had gotten makeovers at the Clinique counter and looked like improved versions of themselves. Their complexions were evened out. Their eyes were just a bit more defined. Their lips showed just a hint of color. It was pretty and natural. After seeing them, my mother started encouraging me to try makeup. To this day I have no idea why, as I had never indicated to her that I wanted to wear the stuff. All I can figure is that maybe she was realizing that I was getting to the age where I'd want to start experimenting with makeup and was trying to be proactive, or maybe her mom never allowed her to wear makeup and she was living out some sort of adolescent fantasy through me. Either way, following in the footsteps of my friends, we headed out to the mall so I could get a makeover. But the Clinique counter couldn't take me because I didn't have an appointment, so I ended up going to the Elizabeth Arden counter. Instead of winding up looking like a naturally prettier version of myself, I looked like a Twilight-esque vampire hooker.

Lord, have mercy. I sparkled. You could ice a cake with the amount of foundation I had on my face. Ladies and gentleman, this was my very first experience with makeup. It just went downhill from there. Attempts at trying to create smoky eyes resulted in me looking like the victim of domestic abuse. Trying to create the cool, smudgy eyeshadow effect on my sister's lower lash lines made her look like a raccoon. Eventually I gave up and resorted to wearing a bit of foundation and powder purely as zit cover up, and a little mascara, blush and gloss. And, until recently, that's more or less been my makeup regimen.

Then one day, bored at work, I remembered a story I had read about Michelle Phan, a Bay Area YouTube makeup guru. I decided to watch one of her makeup tutorial videos, just to see what they were all about:

Then I watched another:

And another:

And another:

Before I knew it, it was 5:00 and I had learned how to create everything from smoky eyes to homemade pore strips. I was hooked. She made makeup application look so simple and fun, and I had the urge to get back in the saddle and experiment. So the following weekend, I tried her technique for smoky eyes. To my surprise, IT WORKED. Instead of looking like the business end of someone's wrath, my eyes looked dark and seductive. I was finally wrapping my mind around the mystery that was makeup, and discovering a whole new world.

But I think I have a problem. Ever since my success with the smoky eyes, I haven't been able to stop buying makeup. I got a new Caboodles case and tons of E.L.F. products at Target. Today, I got this baby at Sephora. I'm hoping that this recent purchase will satiate my hunger for all things cosmetic; otherwise, this addiction might prove to be as big as my perfume addiction.