What happens when you have a wig?

Why do we celebrate Halloween? Most people do it to dress up as sluts (shout out to Mean Girls), to get drunk or dress up as the opposite sex (mainly the men). I did it this year to wear a blonde wig. I am a brunette but I have always wanted to be blonde (well before I became confident in myself). I had blonde highlights since 7th grade until the end of high school (I hated getting them done... just like I hate getting my manicure, pedicure, facial, eyebrow, blow dry done but I do it all because of stupid societal standards which I will not escape because I want to impress people). Therefore, I wanted to be Cascada (if you have not heard "Evacuate the dance floor" then you have been living in a cave) but maybe I just wanted to be blond and famous (I want to be famous... it has always been one of my dreams that has been constant despite the constantly changing careers). Therefore in my deepest dreams I have only wanted to be blonde (because everyone in Puerto Rico is dark-haired... as they say: BORING) and become famous (maybe then can I have a Fifth Avenue apartment in front of Central Park, or if all else fails in front of Hyde Park in London).

Therefore I go with my roommate to shop to become blond and famous for a night (she is blond but not famous so she is closer to that reality). We go to various stores to buy dresses, accessories and sparkly eye make up (because I just also need to be the center of attention as well... I will do anything to get to talk more). I did not find my wig which is essential for the costume (I repeat: essential). Therefore, it was imperative to go back the next day (I repeat: imperative). Anyway how can I be blond and famous and not be blond? I am not that smart sometimes but that makes no sense . However, I found it after wrestling between two blond wigs (wigs are so much better than genes). After I found my wig I was all set for the weekend (I repeat: set).

Therefore, that Friday I have a birthday party. I have a dilemma. What is my dilemma? I have a blond wig but I cannot dress as Cascada because it is not Halloween (Cascada is my Halloween costume and socialites cannot repeat dresses much less repeat costumes). Therefore, I decide to be a spoilsport and wear my wig with my skinny jeans and a retro-looking top without any idea of what I really am. I ask my roommate what can I pass off as and she says I could be a 70's girl expect for the jeans which are not loose fitting (but they make me look skinny... there I go again). I leave my room dejected to go to the party when I ask my apartment mates what they think I can be and they give me a brilliant idea: Anna Nicole Smith (perfect). She is blond and infamous (and I was not even dressed in skimpy clothes to look like her).

The next day is finally Halloween and I have a party at my house (it is not an unusual occurrence). I finally get to dress up as someone blond and famous (as opposed to being infamous). There were some interesting costumes, including my blond and famous homey Taylor Swift and a princess (fictional but I believed she was a princess as well as blond and royalty). I will admit I had the most fun when they put "Evacuate the Dance Floor" because I was actually the center of the party (partly because I was on a table... what can I do when they put my song?).

Despite my blond and famous adventures I am glad I am back to being brunette (it has actually been proven by studies that billionaires are more likely to marry brunettes... maybe gentlemen do not prefer blondes but diamonds are still a girl's best friend). However, if my bid to stay brunette fails maybe I should really go put on a blond wig and marry a rich New Yorker (or a rich duke or count in London) and become a socialite (I do not know how that would work with all the constant partying considering that I sometimes even get tired of our own parties). However, maybe this is not the best idea if I do not want to risk becoming Anna Nicole Smith or worse: Paris Hilton (I run away scared without saying farewell).

To my friend: the "former grand squire"

So nothing interesting has happened this week. I have been studying (or attempting to do so). There is nothing much that can happen while studying. Unless you are in the library on a Saturday night eating pizza in the social floor of the library when no one is there (there is no one there because it was SATURDAY night). Then you ramdomly start dancing to "Everytime we touch." However, this did not happen this week but it is sometimes interesting to do flashbacks when there is nothing else important happening in your life (we constantly have flashbacks and it seems to be the author's best friend). Therefore, I have decided to make up for my uninteresting week by having a flashback. So bring out the time machine cause we are going to rewind time to find out why my blog is called awkward beached whale. We have heard about awkward turtles and upside down ackward turtle (such overused references!). All I can tell you before my flashback is that anyone ever sees an ackward beached whale you would probably die of laughter (I have not had that experience but I can so imagine it). Also why would anyone ever use these references again? (EVER!).

Flashback:
Time: Two years back as an unsuspecting sophomore
The Players:
Me- Just call me Gabs (pretty easy!).
Former grand squire- Tall guy with glasses and a distinctive walk. Affinity towards houka, alcohol flasks, and Ignatian spirituality.
My little cute housemate- Very short but extremely huggable aka definition of cuteness. Probably wearing black boots. Does not like chocolate (tell me about it!)
Future Kenyan passport holder- Also extremely tall with long blond hair (very long blond hair!). Likes to wear black and scarfs. Wakes up at insanely early times and drinks lots and lots of coffee (like lots and lots). Other than being a jet-setter in the future will probably end up being a workaholic.
Former director of the COC-The definition of being a cloud of stress. Cloud 9 is for hapiness but the stress cloud she is in is completely different. We can call it Cloud 23.
Future female Yeats- Parents are from Northern Ireland who has been all around Ireland except Dublin (we know there is a rivalry between Northern Ireland and Southern Ireland but there is no excuse for why a Puerto Rican has gone to Dublin and she has not gone). Drinks even more coffee that the "future Kenyan passport holder." Does not carry an alcohol flask but would not be surprised if she did do it in the future and filled it with Baileys.
Toadbear- Name given to him by the "former grand squire" but I have never called him that despite his fluffy curly black hair.
Ginger cookie- Ditto but insert "red hair" into the equation.
Our Siberian-loving buddy- One of those persons that studies Russian and actually went to Russia despite not being Russian. I will keep on mentioning the Russian connection.

Scenario: Outside of the chapel after daily Mass (give it up for Catholic nerds!).

Future Kenyan passport holder: Remember this weeken when Gabs started dancing in the library?
Former director of the COC(laughing): I remember that. You were not going to let us study.
Me aka Gabs: I am a good study partner. Pizza does that to you.
Future Kenyan passport holder (looking at me skeptically): Do you eat pizza everyday because you always do stuff like that.
Me aka Gabs: Good point. I also like chocalate.
Toadbear: Wait a minute. When did this happen?
Me aka Gabs: On Saturday night.
Former grand squire: This Saturday I was drinking from my vodka flask with people while playing Wii. You guys are such losers.
Me aka Gabs: WOW. Next time I am just going to invade that party. I will start dancing like this (I start dancing).
Future female Yeats: It sounds like a great party (everyone laughs).
Our Siberian-loving buddy: Well at least cannot beat the ackwardness of dancing in the library. Gabs is the definition of an awkward turtle.
Future Kenyan passport holder: Nope. An awkward turtle is not enough.
My little cute future housemate: You mean an upside down awkward turtle.
Future Kenyan passport holder: Gabs is like an awkward beached whale.
Everyone looks at her dumfounded.
Ginger cookie: What is an awkward beached whale?
Future Kenyan passport holder: Is it a whale on the beach
Ginger cookie: Ohhhhh. It makes sense. She cannot really be explained by our traditional popular conceptions of everyday culture.
Former grand squire: Clearly. I cannot even pick her most awkward experience. There are so many.
Future Kenyan passport holder: This is why awkward turtle is not enough. She needs a special category.
Everyone laughs. We disperse to go back to our respective obligations. I went to the library but did no dancing (rule applies only for after midnight on Saturday nights).

Fast forward three weeks. The players are in the sacristy after the daily Mass (I reiterate I am a Catholic nerd) having chocolate chips cookies (or brownies... just pick your favorite baked good with chocolate). I had baked them (they were unfortunately not homemade but nevertheless delicious). As were we eating them and chatting away the "former grand squire" suddenly falls on the floor and start shaking. We start freaking out. I thought he was having a seizure. I tell the "future Kenyan passport holder" to help him (she was in the middle of EMT training so she must have known something... at least more than myself who cannot even see blood without freaking out). Everyone looks at the "former grand squire" concerned when suddenly he starts laughing. We all look at him as if he is a mad man (Why was he laughing in the middle of a seizure? Is that normal?). Suddenly he stands up and says to me: "You made a very awkward comment so I made an awkward beached whale." We all start laughing and nearly died from the laughter (I think that should be your reaction to seeing an awkward beached whale... however, a special shout out to the "future Kenyan passport holder"). It was such a priceless moment that everyone forgot my own awkward comment (Is that even possible? I guess so).

Anyway I must leave. Hopefully I will get some story to tell from my daily life and not continually pull out my time machine (Can excessive time travelling have bad effects on your health?) but before I must say: "Evacuate the dance floor."

Wait....

Bring out the time machine and forget "evacuate the dance floor." Instead as I leave I must say:

"Evacuate the computer room,
I'm infected with the silence,
stop, this typing is killing me,
Hey librarian turn on the sprinklers and let us stop this study party"

Why are there Italian flags on our floor?

I love blogging. I have not been able to do it because I have been otherwise engaged aka Bollywood. Yes I like Bollywood but I not afraid to admit it. However, this blog is not to talk about Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Jab We Met, Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna, Lamhe or Saathiya. This blog is not to talk about those Bollywood movies which you have no idea what they even mean because their titles are in Hindi. This blog is actually just to talk about myself. Myself: one of my favorite topic of conversations. Whether it is talking about my intelligence, my problems, my shenanigans or my moments I just love talking about myself. It might be very selfish but we are humans selfish is what we do best. Why would I actually write this blog again? I know you are very curious. I think it is not enough to talk about myself to just my roommate or my future housemates. However, I must credit my future roommate for inspiring me to write about my awesomeness again. All I can say it is an awesome feeling. I hope I make people laugh with this but I get satisfaction with making myself laugh. If my philosophy on life holds then what else matters than being happy myself. So I am writing this for my own selfish reasons and I do not care whether you guys get bored or laugh because I will not even know who is reading it.

Enough with chatting about my philosophy on life (I hate philosophy... I also loathe econ but that is another story) because I want to go to the practical aspect of life: living. So today I lived. I went to the diaper drive(we collect diapers and other baby supplies for mother in need... does it not make people feel better when you help others or should we remain heartless?). It just a bad day because it was pouring (I mean it has been pouring for three days before but I had the option of staying in bed in my comfy turquoise pajamas). Therefore, the getting out of bed part was bad enough. Then it turns out the van had been crashed so we were delayed (seriously I was angry because of the crash... I was ignoring my previous five incidents behind the wheel). So we finally got the van an hour late. Our "brilliant driver" got us to the first Safeway and we left a couple of people off there. Then the "brilliant driver" took the wrong turn and got us lost for thirty minutes. Then the "brilliant driver" almost makes us crash when he steals a red traffic light. So we stop promptly in front of the gate of an embassy in the middle of the intersection waiting for the traffic light to change again. All the while I was thinking to myself: "Oh my gosh, they are going to come out with their guns and arrest us." However, no one came out and we out of there as soon as possible(the light did turn green eventually despite the fact that I felt the world had momentarily stopped in our little moment of panic) because I really need to do something after college and really prefer not to even be involved in an incident where someone steals a red light (the job market is so bad that you need to be perfect to get a job that even gets you minimum wage. Otherwise, I will become like the other illegal Hispanic aliens who works for a meager salary picking up corn and if I am lucky, bananas). After we thought if could not get worse and our "tall navigator" states that fact as we were on our way to pick up a "stray knight" our "brilliant driver" gets into an accident where the passenger side mirror gets knocked off. After that we manage to get to the rest of the diaper drive but it was clearly anything but a smooth ride.

Finally I got back and changed into my turquoise pajamas and got into bed when "my roommate" told me I need to get up and get a dress for a ball for the center helping those pregnant mothers in need (double slam dunk on the magnanimous scale). I did not have a cocktail dress and finally after some hunting got it from the "hot mess." Now I was set for the ball. Well I only needed a date but circumstances brought me and the "brilliant driver" together for the ball (now the "brilliant driver" has a title change in my saga to become "my date" because we took a cab. Therefore, no driving was involved which is good because "my date" might have just destroyed the other mirror). The ball was nice but nothing that was just like I need to write about this now other than the fact that my "future roommate" actually complimented my blog so I was like I need to write again ( Bingo!).

Then we left but it was still raining and the cab took forever. We were standing out in the rain and "the newbie" had called the cab but said the wrong intersection so I ran like a crazy woman with my cute purple umbrella to take our cab before it was stolen by those ball people. So we first picked up "the newbie." Then drove the ten seconds and picked up "the prez" and "my future roommate." After that we turned a corner and picked up "my date" and "the sox guy." We were six to fit into one cab and if you wondered how many people it takes to figure out how to fit six people in a cab well the answer is that six people is not enough to answer that question. So we get into the cab with "my future roommate" sitting on the lap of "the sox guy." Then me being sandwiched in with "the prez," "the newbie," and "my date" in the back of the car. What transpired was many photo taking and remarks about the whole fitting into the cab (some remarks were extremely naughty because of the situation in the front seat!) .

I got back to my apartment to find "my posh housemate" drunk after the party she had hosted in my apartment and "my roommate" trying to get people out so the police would not bust us(then I was informed out how six policemen had come to break up the party because there had supposedly been a fight in my apartment... I thought my apartment was tame... clearly not!). The weirdest part of the night was all the rubbish on our floors. It felt like a complete war zone with all the drunk people on our couches (we put the Soccer War to shame!). The experience can simply be summarized when I asked "my roommate:" "Why are there Italian flags in our floor?"