New ‘Do, New You!

Sometimes I get confused.

When looking at online sources or magazines for potential new hair styles, I sometimes think that by getting the same haircut as a celebrity or model, that I will look EXACTLY like that celebrity or model. The delusion was a bit thicker in my younger years and that is why I ended up with misguided hair styles and/or colors at times.  For example:

Blonde, short and curly? Really? Brilliant.

2003 blonde, short and curly? Brilliant. Also – nice roots.

And I was PROBABLY trying to look like this:

Because I adore Drew Barrymore.

Because I adore Drew Barrymore.

Or sometimes I have grown my hair out super long to try to get what I now refer to as that voluminous Adele look…a look that my hair will never accommodate for. Such is life, I suppose!

I’ve gotten a bit better about this and now tend to at least make sure the hairstyle I’m drooling over is displayed on someone with a rounder face…or a “moon face” as a dear old friend once termed it (it’s cool – she has one, too!).

That being said, I am getting my hair cut tomorrow and am feeling the pull to do something a little different than what I’ve been doing just to have something fresh going on. New ‘do, new you!  However, with that pull comes ridiculous ideas. Like bangs.

Exhibit A: Jennifer Lawrence

Do I really want bangs? Or do I just want her face?

Do I really want bangs? Or do I just want her face? And that body? And that dress?

Exhibit B: Zooey Deschanel

Do I want bangs? Or do I just want *her* face?

First off, my hair is not that long, not that thick, and not that color. Second, having Zooey Deschanel’s bangs will *not* magically give me a New Girl situation. So, while I’m at it, I should stop looking on Craigslist for apartment openings with three dudes. I don’t really want to go there.

Exhibit C: The Last Time I had Legitimate Bangs

Do I look happy about those bangs? NOPE!

Do I look happy about those bangs? NOPE! There is a reason.

Other styles that I am considering that are probably not achievable without a significant amount of work, product, and selling parts of my soul to the devil:

My skin is not nearly that luminous.

I think I just want her skin? (is that creepy?)

A bob AND bangs? Do we HATE ourselves? Why is this even on your Pinterest board?

A bob AND bangs? Do we HATE ourselves? Why is this even on my Pinterest board?

So here’s the thing. I write all this now knowing full well that there is a 50/50 chance of me doing something a bit ballsier/playing it safe when I get to the salon tomorrow. And I will continue to look at pictures tonight and tomorrow morning but most likely I’m going to go for a long, angled bob.

But in my heart of hearts, I will always want my hair to look like this:

Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements? Even if it leads not to this hair?

Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements? Even if it leads not to this hair?

What do YOU think? What style would you like me to try? What style have YOU always wanted to try but keep yourself from doing?

Happy Found Ya, Got Ya, Takin-Ya-Home-Without-Thinkin-Bout-It-Much Day, Fabs!

Four years ago I was touring with a theatre company called Wandering Souls in a production of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. Part of what made Wandering Souls brilliant is that its purpose was to bring shows to underserved communities in DC – nursing homes, homeless shelters, etc. – and so on September 14th, 2010, my castmates and I found ourselves in SE preparing for a show at an after school program for at-risk youth.  A group of us were chatting before entering the venue when one of my colleagues saw a kitten (surrounded by young kids) about to run into a road. And she was NOT having that.  So she politely excused herself and came back to the group with the kitten in her arms, curious as to what to do with it; the kids had told her that their mom had thrown the cat out and my castmate already had two cats at home herself so could not take another.

Without thinking much, I said: “I’ll take it!”

I’d never had a cat before – let alone a kitten – but have a bleeding heart and was a few months out of a messy romantic situation feeling that I needed some sort of anchor and source of affection. So I took home a semi-feral feLion. And thus began the epic adventures of Fabian Raven Ittameh Bittameh Kittameh, The Duchess of Things and myself.

First night with the Faba - curled up all cute-like on my lap.

First night with the Faba – curled up all cute-like on my lap.

Fabs is by no means the easiest cat.  She’s gone through phases of extreme violence-against-people (mainly me) and stretches of peeing on my bed – which is the *last* thing you want to come home to at the end of a long day. She is not friendly with others, yet asks for their attention and I have to give warnings to anyone who enters my home regarding her erratic behavior.

And I leave notes for repair men that look something like this:



And have created a way to track attack patterns.

I can't even really excuse this...

I can’t even really excuse this…but 41 days is pretty good!!

Don’t get me wrong. Fabs is affectionate in her own quirky way – she sleeps with me, sometimes on top of me, likes to cuddle on the sofa and be pet; occasionally I get head nuzzles.  She gets really upset if I have been away from home for too long and will want to curl up on my chest and near my face for comfort.  She loves to chase lasers and play with her toys; sometimes she’ll drag her toys into my room in the middle of the night in an attempt to get me to play. Not to mention she is more entertaining than any other animal I’ve ever met. Most recently, I switched her on a low-grain diet. I was sitting in the family room when I heard commotion in the kitchen and I went running in to find that she had dug into the cabinet and pulled out whole wheat pasta which she proceeded to gnaw on.  Seriously?!  Seriously.  She’s a smarty-pants, goofball with a slight anger-management/impulse control issue and I love her.

I mean – look at this face:

She thinks she's pretty.

She thinks she’s pretty.

Fabian – in all her semi-feral glory – has also taught me so much. It’s weird to say, but I have learned more about dedication and love and persistence and honoring promises from this KitBit than from any person. During some of Fab’s “dark times”, people encouraged me to give her up; to let her go to a different home or to give her over to a shelter.  And during one stretch, I was at my wit’s end feeling like I wasn’t giving her the right home and maybe she’d be better elsewhere. But the thing is, no matter how frustrating and difficult things got, I had made a promise that I would take care of her for the rest of her life. And I’m big on keeping promises.

Things aren’t always simple with my main kittenlady, though they’ve been better in the last two years. But at the end of the day, Fabs is my family and I would be missing out on something really special if she was not a part of my life.

So, rock on with your bad (please be good!) self, Fabian!  And happy 4th Welcome Home anniversary, you feisty feLion, you!

Seriously!?! I’m on to you,…

After posting yesterday about my hopeful purchasing habits and hinting at my weakness for bedding (it’s out of control – I love, love, love bedding) – lookey what pops into my inbox today:


You are a crafty bastard, Overstock.

You are a crafty bastard, Overstock.

Inappropriate, Overstock.  Unless you subscribe to my blog, You have no right to take the information I so innocently share and use it to pierce my Achilles heel!  No right! Except if you have some really nice sheets on sale. I ended up donating some of my old sheets to the Washington Humane Society earlier this summer and they now need replacing. Because I am going to get in the habit of changing my sheets more frequently. So you may win this time, Overstock. But I’m watching you…


The Apartments of Eternal Christmas: An Introduction

About 1 year and 9 months ago, I decided that after multiple post-collegiate years of numerous addresses and roommates, it was time to venture off to get my own place. And by that I mean *rent* my own place. And by that I mean rent my own place that I could actually afford and not be forced to subsist primarily on peanut-butter sandwiches due to the monthly price.

This means that I live in 500 square feet of glorious semi-solitude (walls are thin) a sporadically-scheduled bus-line-ride away from the metro within the brick box of a building I refer to as THE APARTMENTS OF ETERNAL CHRISTMAS.

I moved in during the fall of 2012 and shortly after, Christmas decorations appeared on apartment doors and the exterior of the building out the window of one of the ground-floor apartments.  Those decorations stayed up.  And stayed up. And stayed up. And well…

Christmas in July!

Christmas in July!

The above photo was taken YESTERDAY.

Apts 2

Candy canes and tinsel 4eva

As was this one.

I think it is hilarious. And confusing. And I’m just glad that the festive outdoor musical icicles finally lost their ability to sing.  That was kind of annoying.

The Apartments of Eternal Christmas and its inhabitants are sure to be featured in future posts – so with this, I say welcome to my home.  It is the most fauxdult of buildings and for that, it’s perfect!


What is “Fauxdulthood”?

Welcome to the beginning of Fauxdulthood: The Blog! defines “adult” as the following:



1. having attained full size and strength; grown up; maturean adult person, animal, or plant.
2. of, pertaining to, or befitting adults.
3. intended for adults; not suitable for children: adultentertainment.


4. a person who is fully grown or developed or of age.
5. a full-grown animal or plant.
6. a person who has attained the age of maturity as specified bylaw.


And defines “faux” as:


artificial or imitation; fake
So I define “Fauxdulthood” as the following:



A stage in life wherein a person is a grown adult without any of the responsibilities of children, a mortgage or a clear direction but with plenty of milkshakes for lunch and battles with her feline roommate; excessive pizza and bourbon may also be consumed and post-quarter-life-crisis meltdowns often lead to post-midnight ponderings about what the heck she’s doing – sometimes accompanied by panicked phone-calls to friends.


Welcome, friends.  Welcome to the space where I will share stories and insights from my very own fauxdulthood.