Man Crush Monday

MCM or Man Crush Monday is everything I stand for. I don't want to be boastful, but having creepy crushes are kind of my thing. I think I even blogged about this in 2013, before MCM was even a thing on Insta....so hip. (here!)

Let's talk about this majestic man bun my baby brother is rockin' in this ^^picture. ^^ I'm pretty on the fence with the whole trend. On one hand I'm like "hmmmm....you are just so edgy and you probably like to travel and eat thin-crusted pizza.. I can deal." And then on the other hand I'm thinking " BOI. YOU BE STEALING MY THUNDER. THE BUN ON TOP OF THE HEAD IS MY THING."

#dreamcatchersforlife

Struggles.

Stop me! I already titled this post Man Crush Monday, not Alex's Thoughts On Man Buns. Let's get off this detour and back to the point. 

The crux of the matter is that I am constantly falling in love with the most random people in existence. It's actually quite concerning. I can have a different crush for each class of the day. Crushes on people I see at the bike racks. On boys who stop at the same stop light as me... The list goes on and on. 

Actually. Let's put some examples of extremely strange crushes I have. And you will see that this is why I am still so desperately single. 

• The Anatomy TA with red hair who is nice and doesn't make me feel dumb. 
• The red head in high school whose house I would run by and always tie my shoe right next to his mailbox. 
• Okay, let's get real. ALL RED HEADS. 
• A highliner who was more than 10 years my senior and probably looked at me like he looks at hyperactive squirrels at the park, mildly entertaining but not something you want to keep.  (Hi Ryan! Marry me please!) 
• That kid who was really good at mountain biking. His class got out the same time as mine did and he would always walk past my bike rack. So I did what any level-headed adult would do. And this makes me blush...I would linger. For a while. Taking my time getting the lock off, adjusting my helmet, rummaging in my backpacking, texting.... all so I could see him as he walked by and say hi. It wasn't too surprising when he stopped walking that way after a while.... *sigh* 
• The now-pro skier who took me to one of those trampoline places.... ah. It was doomed from the beginning. I hate those things. I always get the foam dust in my eyes and I can't do flips and I'm afraid I'll suffocate in the foam pit. But that didn't stop me from loving him for years...Rephrasing that. I still love him. Dang trampoline place ruined everything.
• My best friend's stepbrother in high school (Hi Christopher!). I started listening to country music so I could sing along with him when he would give me rides home. "Oh! You like this song too?!? Let's date!" Nothing came of it besides an awkward Prom date and a never-ending love for country music that lives on. 
• Every LAX bro in existence. I literally hate these people and their coolness and flat brimmed hats and weird haircuts. And why do all your girlfriends have stick legs and fake eyelashes and super straight hair that always looks good in a beanie? Seriously. It's like I loath them and their culture so much and yet, I want to date all of them. Is that weird? It's weird. Moving on...
• Not moving on. I am in love with the LAX bro in my anatomy class. I love/hate his arrogant face and how he never uses the aisle but steps over the chairs.... Today it seemed that he almost paused at the door so we went out at the same time. And then we walked side by side to the same building. All without speaking a word to each other. *breathless* 
• Everyone that is good at skiing. 
• The Asian Australian from this post. I forced my room mate to set us up and then I realized accents aren't everything? We had nothing in common? meh. 
• The hipster in my Human Development class who I swear WINKED AT ME the first day of class. Or he has an eye twitch... it's really all debatable. 
• Most men I see in the library...until I see their girlfriend come in and start making out with them. 

My goodness. That was longwinded. But oh my friends, it is just the tip of the iceberg. I think we can all sum this up by saying I have problems and am doomed to love from a distance. In the creepiest way possible, of course.

Happy Man Crush Monday. And let's discuss man buns sometime? 

Korean Pedicures And An Existential Crisis

You know those discreet comments that in reality are not all that sly at all and usually insinuate or indicate that something needs to happen? The typical beat-around-the-bush-to-scare-the-rabbit-out kind? You didn't understand that poorly constructed sentence? Example time.

Comment: ''My oh my, those brownies smell DELICIOUS. Wow. I have been craving brownies for w e e k s."
Insinuation: Give me the brownies.

Comment: "Have you ever thought about the benefits of getting a job? I mean, they're pretty great! Let's talk about jobs."
Insinuation: You're a lazy idiot and I am tired of paying your credit card bill.

Comment: "You have the cutest style. So many clothes. You probably give them away to poor people who can't afford such attire. You are the sweetest. Seriously, I just want to be you."
Insinuation: I am poor and you are not. Be charitable and give me hand-me-downs.


So when your very own MOTHER comes up to you and says, "Such a rainy day. I think we m.u.s.t. go get a pedicure. The car is started, no other options, we are going."
Insinuation: You have nasty feet from endless walking in dirty streets for 18 months. It is time we get those things polished up.

aaaannnndddddd. She had a point. I think I spent my first two weeks at home in socks. Constantly. Like, I went out with the sister missionaries and gave a post-mission presentation in socks and sandals kind of problem. I mean, I had fungus and in-grown toenails and callous' the thickness of double stuffed Oreos. I was in desperate need for a pedicure.

So! Off to Studio Spa! Sounds like the end of the story, right? Wrong.

We are forgetting that this is the same person who ate week old bread and took bucket showers for an overly long period of time on her mission because money is money and who has that anyways? In other words, I was not ready for a pedicure and Studio Spa. We walk in, I have muddy mountain biking shorts on and of course, the socks and sandals combo. My hair has not been washed for several days, flaky and crusty poison oak blisters on the face....the usual. A tiny Korean man comes swooping out of the crimson curtain in the back and yells, "Pedikerr? Peek yur cula." (That is an extremely bad attempt at writing in a Korean accent. Mark Twain and Huckleberry Finn are way out of my writing forte.)

I sit down in the plastic massage chair that rattles my spinal cord as the man starts rolling up my dirty pant legs. BRO. BACK OFF. He attacks my blistered little foot with his sharp toe tools, leaving little trickles of blood to taint the peppermint water (over-exaggeration). My mother tries to start a conversation, ''my daughter just finished her mission in Peru. Cool, right? That's why her feet look like ostrich talons." The Korean man nods and says, "nice weter. not much rain. nice weter."

And then it happened. My Existential Crisis at a Korean Pedicure. It was like my whole world crashed down and I am choking back sobs. SOBS I TELL YOU. What am I doing here? How can I spend money for a man to touch my feet? People are starving. Why do we live with such unneeded and silly little luxuries when millions of people walk around worrying about what they are going to take home for their kids to eat? What is the point of it all? What is the purpose to live so fancy when others have nothing at all? Why??

That is when I realized how much of a culture shock it is for me to be in The States again. We have so much. So much excess and abundance in all things. So much commercialism and this greedy need to have and buy everything. Like, come on Google! The whole, "how much time do you have to buy presents count-down? Is that so necessary? How lucky we are and yet, how blinded we live, thinking that everything should be easy and comfortable. Badly done America! Badly done! (Emma reference..Jane Austen <3)

My mother, the kind, wise, and angelic person that she is, took me home, comforted me in my existential crisis and lovingly rubbed and filed my rough feet. I didn't need to pay her a single dime to feel that she truly loved and cared for me. It made me think of the Savior and His infinite love for His Apostles when He too washed and anointed their rough and dirty feet. Life is so much more than indulgence and pleasure; my little melt down at Studio Spa taught me what really is important. It's service and love and modesty in all things. Also, not reading too into small things like pedicures and stuff. Deep thoughts are so dangerous my friends.

And a Merry Christmas to YOU.

P.S. My feet are now fabulous. Sock free indeed!

To simpler times, before I had the mental capacity to have freak outs during post-mission pedicures.

The Mullang

Hermana Ostler’s Update – May 26, 2014

The Mullang. The mullet bangs. Or in other words, I got a haircut in Peru.

Why would I do that? WHY?!!?!?! Well. I did. I told the nice young lady to give me a little bit more form. A little less volume. AND, to not cut a ton. And now I have bangs and my hair in a mullet. This resulted in a full on panic attack (not being helped by the cab driver who confirmed that really, my hair looked really reeally bad.) About 10 minutes after the hair tragedy---we were called to the offices. THE OFFICES. Full of blood sucking Elders who laugh at other people’s pain and are bullies! I was being called to the flippin’ wolf den of the mission with an atrocious haircut! AHHHHH.

So. I naturally wrapped a scarf around my head and went. Naturally. Because looking like an Old Russian Lady does NOT call attention to a bad haircut. Of course, President Harbertson just happened to be in the offices as well and forced me to take off the scarf so he could see the bad hair. AND HE LAUGHED. LAUGHED!

I now look in the mirror sometimes and see that guy from Aerosmith with the big mouth looking back at me. I am officially scarred. 

But other than the HORRENDOUS haircut, this week was good. I got about a bajillion doors slammed in my face. No joke. We only taught about one lesson. EVERYBODY rejected us. I have come to know that some reject with love, and others... with a little less love. I am so grateful to have a companion because it makes doors in the faces, yelling, and insults a bearable experience. Without Hermana Tamariz... I would probably cry. 

I will only say one thing. PLEASE don’t slam doors in people’s faces. It is rude. I do not care if you don’t share my beliefs, but have the courtesy to listen to a message that is so important to me that I have left my DIRT BIKE and powder skis and schooling and cuddling with my mom to share it. Just give a couple minutes of your time to listen and I promise you that you will do so much good. When did sharing the same religion become the requisite for politeness and common love for all humans? Yeah. Enough of the rant.

HEY! I got rejected a ton this week, but I really did see a ton of miracles as well. We started to leave the door slammers to themselves and began to work with the members. INCREDIBLE. Also, President Harbertson talked to me this week about expectant faith. That so many times we have this wishful faith, “I hope we find someone to teach today. I hope it does not rain.” But we do not have the real firm faith in God, that he really fulfills what He says. He does not lie. If He promises you happiness and success, you will get it. If you feel that you should do something, we must do it because He ALWAYS follows through. I really felt this during the week. I don’t care if everyone says that I am wrong, I will find someone who is searching for something more in this life. 

And then we found Miguel. He is the son of Paulina (an absurdly adorable lady who is super fat and has no teeth). Miguel was baptized when he was a teenager but fell away. He started to find himself wrapped up in other things and he always wandered about for his work, without a purpose in his life. We found him one day and started teaching about the love of our Heavenly Father, and that He is always waiting for us. That there is always time to come back. I will never forget the look in his tear filled eyes as he explained to me the emptiness in his heart, the gripping sadness and bitterness inside of his soul. He then looked in my eyes and said, “I know where to find what I am missing. It is in the church.” He was in the Chapel this Sunday. In suit and tie with his little son. He has found those living waters that fill our souls with so much joy, if we but let it.

This morning we went up to the mountains of Cusco. I never wanted to leave. There is something about exploring that makes me feel like a little kid again, without worries and jumping and leaping and dancing and climbing things. I never wanted to come back to the city again.

Last of all. Hermana Harbertson told me something that will always be with me, especially in that moment when my life crashes headlong with tragedy. 

“He never makes mistakes.”

How grateful I am to be His daughter, doing His work in His time. I love you all. And I hope you will love me back after seeing this new haircut. 

Hermana Alex

Before the haircut

I love picarones.

I am offically a monster. And my companion as well. But me more so.

Peruvian Hairdresser. With her muse? Oh boy.

What did we do??

We became a lot happier when we found out how to hide the bangs. 

This is Gustavo. He told me that I was way beautiful, haircut and all. Thanks Gustavo. 

I am officially a tall person in Peru. 

The Haircut Mourning Period

Losing something that is an integral part of your identity is obviously going to be a major and heart rending experience. This is why after a full week after my haircut I am still staring off into space in the shower and closing my eyes dramatically in a crowd of people while Norah Jones croons sadly in the background...(movies people. movies make me think this way.)

The summer before eighth grade I read way too many Seventeen magazine articles about what makes the boys swoon. My mother, the sage woman she is, wouldn't allow these worldly periodicals into our home so I would greedily get my fill at my friend's houses. Anyways, I decided to drop my whole "read-books-in-the-library-and-run-around-the-track-by-myself" persona and go with a hairstyle that was sexy and different. So I went for the layered bob and straight-across bangs. It made sense at the time, okay? Needless to say it was a rough year. But by Promotion my hair grew out and I have never gone back. Really long hair became my thing and I became that girl with "crazy hair that probably has woodland creatures nesting inside".

But a haircut was inevitable. It had been over a year and a half since my last trim and I needed to look somewhat professional for my mission. So I gritted my teeth, wore my best looking outfit (brothers sweatshirt paired with socks-flip flops combo), and took the plunge.

The poor, tired old lady over at HairMasters was absolutely horrified when I took my hair out of the bun it had been in for three days straight. She did not want to get anywhere near it. Thankfully she did and proceeded to be brutally harsh with the brushing and talk about her pastor the whole time. I left with a sore scalp and a mind full of hairlady-pastor lover scenarios.

I am the master of severely cocking my head to the side and candid laughing in photo shoots.

Now it's gone and I kind of miss it. Also it seems like it's that awkward length where I look like the skater kid from Clueless. No?