Mamihlapinatapai

There's a word in Yahgan, the language of Terra del Fuego, that means: "a look shared by two people with each wishing that the other will initiate something that both desire but which neither one wants to start." Adorable, right?

Mamihlapinatapai.

[photo cred here]

The French Converse

I've wanted a pair of Bensimon sneakers ever since I read that they're the French girls' Converse. That's the best marketing ploy ever —just throw the word "French" in front of anything and I'm sold. French fries? Check. French toast? Yep. French braids? So pretty. French kisses? ...I don't kiss and tell. But yes.

I was exceptionally loyal to my beat-up, classic red Keds until last weekend, when they managed to bore a hole through my ankle. It was a highly unpleasant experience, and ever since I dedicated my column in Prep Talk to the merits of a cool, laid-back pair of kicks, I've been gazing lovingly at this pair of Bensimon vintage sneakers (available here):

Hello, lover. It's like Carrie Bradshaw with her Manolos, but for the lazy girl who wants neither to try too hard nor stumble into a gutter on her way to class. My issue (I always have an issue) is that although grey is my favorite color, the black pair is tugging at my heartstrings. I can't decide. Help a terribly indecisive girl out — which do you like?

[photo cred here]

Farmers' Market

How was your weekend? I went to the farmers' market on Saturday morning, where I found fresh eggs, bunches of lilac, and plump mushrooms. I then promptly swept past the kale and spinach and instead, bought my first chocolate cake ball ever (a hunk of chocolate cake smothered in chocolate frosting and perched on a stick ... yep). I went back for a second. And a third. In total, I ate three and a half. They were so good, moist and crumbly and sweet and delicious. A foolproof proposal would be to hide the ring in one of these babies (I don't care if I accidentally eat the ring). I'm having a meltdown just thinking about them. I love you, chocolate cake balls.

Here's a tip, though: it's vaguely awkward when a boy meets you at the said farmers' market and you have to skirt around the chocolate stand because people recognize you and say things like, "Back again?" instead of telling you about the spot of chocolate on your nose. And then HE buys a chocolate cake ball and you stand there trying not to rip it out of his hands.

In other news, I've found what seems to be a foolproof recipe for chocolate chip bacon biscotti. I'll be back with updates on their development tomorrow!

[photo cred to 1 and 2]

Say Yes...

...yes to breezy days and light jackets.

Yes to first kisses.
Yes to Saturday morning farmers' markets.
Yes to the house from Home Alone, which is on the market...
...and already has a DIY security system in place.

Yes to mothers everywhere...

...and to mine, who has a conveniently long layover at O'Hare on Sunday!

(I'm so excited to see my mom. So. Excited.)
Happy mother's day!

[photo cred here]

About Last Night

I'm dying to show you pictures, but I'm torn (they're embarrassing). My camera fizzled out an hour or two into the crush party and I failed to get a proper photo of the dress. However, I did snag an embarrassing mirror picture with my cell phone to show my handiwork to my mother. First, here's a vaguely respectable photo of myself and my roommates (the theme was Get Your Game On, and, from left to right, we're White Sox fan, Sporcle, Princess Lolly from Candyland, and Jigglypuff), in which you can see my new haircut:

I LOVE IT. The layers are a little funky at the moment, as the stylist completely failed to acknowledge that I wear my hair with a side part (even after I mentioned it) and instead, cut it with a center part in mind. I'll get them to behave eventually. I've had several variations of short hair ever since seventh grade (pixie, bob, grown-out bob, rinse, wash, repeat), and I feel so much more like myself without having eight pounds of wild and uncontrollable curls on my head. Plus, when your grandmother says you look like a "sexy hussy" and doesn't mean it as a compliment, you know it's time to snip.

Here's a picture of the dress, the notoriously MySpace-quality one that gives me horrible flashbacks to high school. I decided that if I Tweeted it, I'd might as well post it here:

Unfortunately, I'm sorry to report that Jigglypuff lost an eye in last night's festivities. Then again, I misplaced my dignity, so I'm calling it even.

Crush Party

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have noticed that I've been spending an awful lot of time sewing. My Italian grandmother was a seamstress and my dad sutures gum tissue for a living, so I'm not terrible with a needle and thread. For my sorority's spring crush party, called Get Your Game On, everyone dons a pair of sneakers or an oversized jersey. I thought about it. It bored me.

And then I realized that I should purposefully misinterpret the meaning of Get Your Game On and apply it to one of my most beloved pastimes: Pokémon. To be specific, I'm dressing up as Jigglypuff, because she's fairly well-known and easier to recreate than, say, Ampheros. (I'd be embarrassed, but I can pin this on the Asian half of my gene pool). So I bought an adorable dress at American Apparel (though I still loathe Dov Charney), picked up a few scraps of cloth and got to work. Here's the nearly-finished product:

I just have to stitch the details on and adjust the placement, but it's not too shabby, right? I promise I'll post pictures afterwards. Plus, I'm getting a haircut this morning (finally! I decided on a grown-out, shoulder-grazing bob with side bangs), so throughout the next few days, Mellow Fever is going to be inundated with amusing photos of the shoddiest quality.

A Day in May

May is my favorite month — daylight lingers, the breeze is warm but not sweltering, the trees burst into whites and pinks, crickets begin chirping at night again. May had better not have an identity crisis and resign itself to weeks of rain, though (cough spring in Chicago cough); on the bright side, I get to practice my willpower by walking past tulips and not bolting back to my apartment with a stolen bouquet in hand. I used to do a number on my parents' landscaping handiwork and blame it on the rampant hordes of deer that live by my house. Mom and dad weren't amused... plus, it was pretty obvious when their Dutch tulips somehow found their way into a vase and onto my dresser.

Days in May should always consist of:

Milkshakes. Particularly the kind made with crushed Oreos
from Edzo's (the place I'll miss most when I leave Evanston). 

Laying in the sun, preferably on something soft and luxurious.

Or outside, somewhere new but no less luxurious.

Fresh-cut flowers. You deserve them, damn it.

A chic haircut... particularly this wavy bob.

[photo cred to 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5]