So this mom walks into a bar...

Every few months, not nearly often enough, my mom comes down to San Diego to visit and relax. This time was extra special for two reasons: she was going to meet my boyfriend and she was lucky enough to deal with the aftermath of my little sister's car accident (she's fine, it's funny, I promise). My initial plan for when she arrived on Friday afternoon was to have a nice relaxing night drinking wine, eating mexican food, and watching Friday Night Lights. 

She raised 4 girls. She's seen it all.

Because Friday must've been International Opposite Day, instead of relaxing Friday night we ended up out in Pacific Beach at the request of my little sister's boyfriend. PB is where you go to get drunk or get laid. Not necessarily where I wanted to take my mom. Luckily, she has a great sense of humor and adventure and willingly drank beer, took fireball shots, and laughed at the skanky humans in the disgusting nightclub we ended up at.  There was also some sort of ladies soccer team there. In their soccer gear. Dancing. At one point, one of the more masculine soccer players started battling a guy on the dance floor and I (ALLEGEDLY) shouted, "Go, Lesbian! YEA!" Which was apparently the most offensive thing of the evening.

The next night after a lovely dinner in Old Town in which mom got to meet my boyfriend and approve of him (naturally), we got to help Brittany fill out her claim for her car accident. This is important because: my mom learned how to draw, Brittany learned how to spell, and Brittany learned that we do in fact live in Southern California (not Northern...seriously. We live 20 minutes from the Mexican border.)

As if that wasn't overdramatic enough, my precious JMEOWW decided to act like my mother was a third-class citizen. You see, since the invasion of the fleas (which that nightmare is finally fucking over and I can go back to being a normal human that isn't vacuuming and crying and scratching every second of the day) the meoww hasn't quite been herself.  When my mom has visited in the past, meoww has been very excited and lovely. This time, she was an absolute fucking terror.

Laser eyes prove she is not a real animal.

My mom, like a good grandma, always brings a few little toys for J. When she presented them to her, J looked at them and walked away. Like a true spoiled asshole. Then in the morning when my mom wanted to lay on my bed, J literally refused to move from the spot she was in. So I scooted her and she hissed. Naturally. Not once, but THREE times. Then she sat on the end of the bed and glared at my mother as if she was plotting her painful death. Then, because apparently she felt she wasn't getting her point across, she moved swiftly and violently back and forth between the windowsill above my bed and this nice little spot in the closet where she could keep her eyes on mom. Nice work, JMEOWW. 

After a nice breakfast and a little walk through one of San Diego's finer beaches, Ocean Beach (home to hippies and crackheads galore), mom headed home. Although it was probably not as relaxing as she hoped, it was a very lovely weekend and I truly hope that we didn't scare her away with venereal-ridden nightclubs and sociopathic animals.

Linking up with the lovely ladies of Join the Gossip, Sami's Shenanigans, and five30three for their weekend update bloghop.*

 *not featuring Jimmy Fallon, Amy Poehler, or Norm MacDonald.

Pacific Beach on Dwellable

Fancy Fridays: Stripes & My Summer Uniform

Today I'm guest posting for Miss Christianna of The Girl with the Blue Bow while she is on a fabulous vacation that I'm so jealous of.


Let's be honest here for a moment. This is a safe place, right? So I started browsing for items based on the FF stars & stripes theme, and I was mildly appalled. Is there no other way to express your pride than a string bikini with stars on the nips?

So, I opted for stripes and found all of these lovelies which I would wear every day of my life. Which leads to my next point. You guys, I'm getting a little chubs. My friends have called it "the love weight," which I know sometimes happens, but refuse to accept that is the problem here because I haven't changed my eating habits (only an increase in my drinking habits...) AND I quit my 4-a-day diet soda habit (because my boyfriend was convinced it was killing me but I still haven't lost any of the bloating that diet soda contenders claim happens) and I spent about 5ish weeks in a bootcamp. What the hell is happening, body?

Therefore, it's the middle of summer and my pants are bursting at the seams and the best outfit I can come up with is a sheer, loose top, pants that have some forgiving stretch in them, and a shitload of obnoxious accessories to distract from the fact that I am growing more quickly than Violet in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Ask me about the time I ripped the crotch out of my favorite gap jeans. I DARE YOU.

Sheer top / Sheer top / Sheer top / Striped tunic / The Breeze Knees Top

Linking up with {av} of Long Distance Loving for Friday's Fancies!

DIY Fireworks

Not DIY like make your own and then display them in a mason jar with some colorful tissue paper poking out the side, Marth Stewart. DIY meaning light those fuckers yourself and hope that you don't start yourself on fire. This is the core of July 4th in my hometown of Chino, California. For some reason, fireworks have not been outlawed. So you can buy a wide variety of "legal" fireworks and create a lovely show in your cul-de-sac. Most of the legal fireworks create pretty showers of color or spin for like 6 seconds while everyone pretends to be amazed. There's also the most annoying device ever created, the Piccolo Petes, which release an ear-piercing screech for a good 45 seconds while setting off car alarms and pissing off dogs. These must always be on sale because you can't escape the sound all damn night.

If you belong to my family, you also somehow acquire illegal fireworks and scare the shit out of everyone in a 6 block radius. Over the years, this has has led to the following experiences:

2011. AMERICA. Hell yea.

• My dad starting his pants on fire. We can laugh about this now. And unfortunately I wasn't present for this moment. ALLEGEDLY, my little twin sisters were fighting over those little popper snapper things that you throw on the ground and they explode. Aren't they like little balls of gunpowder? Why is that okay? Anyways, my dad took them away from the girls and put them in his pocket. Then somehow, he ignited them by bumping into a table, lighting his shorts on fire. While the resulting burn wasn't a joke, the mental image of my dad's pants literally on fire and jumping in the pool to extinguish it will always make me giggle.
• My dad (notice a trend?) shooting bottle rockets into the area where we were all sitting with CHILDREN.
• Someone (probably my dad) lighting the neighbor's fence on fire.

Because I'm irrationally paranoid about everything, the only near-death experience I've had was lighting sparklers. Excuse me if I don't want to be showered with tiny flames, everyone who makes fun of me. Yes, the children do them. GOOD FOR THEM. 

This year, I won't be part of the madness but I'm sure my dad will light a Roman candle in my honor. Be safe out there, AMERICA.

Music: Something old, something new

Finally, something old! There are certain songs in my life that I call “Top ten all time favorite songs.” Chances are my list contains more than 10, so that really doesn’t make sense. However, these are songs that immediately transport me to another time in my life. They bring back memories that I thought I no longer had and remind me of everything I have experienced whether I like it or not. Skinny Love by Bon Iver is one of those songs.

My unabashed love and enthusiasm for everything Bon Iver baffles many. Can you understand the lyrics? Not always. And when you can they usually don't make much sense. Such is the case with Skinny Love. But you just know the utter frustration and heartbreak that is the root of this song. The passion he sings with is so powerful, and if you don't believe me I beg you to see them live. I practically forced my younger sister to go with me and then because of the overwhelming intensity and emotion of the performances I literally cried 80% of the show. My poor sister. But it's THAT GOOD, you guys. (Also, completely brokenhearted at the time. I had set myself up for complete failure that night.)

This song has been covered by so many great artists including Gavin Mikhail, and another beloved of mine, Birdy.

When Linday Pavao covered it on The Voice I cried, naturally. It was one of the most genuine and beautiful performances of the season, but I knew she had lost because as we know or don't know, who the hell is BONNIE BEAR! This has become my all-time favorite Skinny Love cover. (Also, yes I watch The Voice and yes reality competitions make me cry. Apparently everything does.)

No matter which version I'm listening to, Skinny Love makes me have feelings. Somethings good, sometimes bad. But, it will always remain on my life soundtrack.

And just for S&Gs, take a look at Justin Timberlake as Justin Vernon of Bon Iver in one of the best SNL skits of the season!

Weho, Wine, and Jean Shorts

My weekend technically started on Thursday night. If you still haven't heard, there's this small indie film called Magic Mike that changed my life in so many significant ways. Friday I trekked up to West Hollywood for some adventures with my life partner, Leeann. We relived the 90s at the Summerland Tour and drove out to the middle of nowhere for a fantastic wine tasting experience. She also told me I smell like a man that wears cheap cologne. She'll tell you all about it!

When I arrived home Saturday evening, I finally accepted the fact that the few fleas I found on jmeoww had repopulated and tried to take over my home. With the help of my very patient boyfriend, we took J to a friend's house and bombed the shit out of my apartment. We also learned from my apartment manager that they pay for flea control because it's a SERIOUS PROBLEM in my complex. I must've missed that memo.

After an overdramatic Saturday night, I was really looking forward to Sunday. Because. Because it was the day that I got to take Justin shopping. You see, one time I told him that I hated his shoes. Okay let's rewind. One time when I called him sobbing for one final come-to-jesus talk, this conversation happened:

Me: Justin, can I tell you something?
Him: Yea...
Me: I HATE your shoes! (in the most pathetic sobbing (maybe a little drunk) voice you can imagine)
Him: What does that have to do with anything??
Me: EVERYTHING. It means everything! Your shoes are awful, but I still love you!

And that my friends is how you score the man of your dreams. Apparently. Anyways, since my sobbing confession he has allowed me to be his personal stylist. We immediately replaced the shoes and last weekend we cleaned his closet. I know, right? Are you jealous yet? Because the closet cleaning left him with pretty much nothing, shopping was very necessary. He did try to get out of it by seducing me with the final few episodes of Game of Thrones. It almost worked but, SHOPPING!

I decided to take it easy on him and just visit Old Navy. Which seriously failed us. The shorts were too short. Too cargo-y. Too jean. It was very disappointing, however we picked a couple of shirts out without killing each other. I call that a success. Our failure at Old Navy only means that there is more shopping in our future. The romance is too much to handle!