I’d like for you to meet my good friend, Shakira.
Sorry…not that Shakira. Not that I have anything wrong with the Latin songstress and her peanut butter voice of wonder.
It’s just that the Shakira I was referring to is far more glamorous.
There’s a She Wolf in the coffee.
Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
So how did this jewel-encrusted coffee goddess come to be?
Shakira was not born. Shakira was forged. Forged from a perfect storm of heartbreak and recycling.
It all started when my phone rang a few Saturdays ago. I picked up only to hear the solemn voice of my younger sister Hayley on the other end. In a calm and composed tone, she simply asked, “Can I come over? Justin and I just broke up.”
For those of you who don’t speak “girl”, this roughly translates to “Let’s eat, drink, and bedazzle the heck out of something.”
Luckily, I minored in bedazzling while at college.
Alright, technically I didn’t have a minor…but if I did, it would have definitely been bedazzling.
Or possibly over sharing. Whatever.
Once Hayley arrived, our first order of business was a trip to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner. I had been dying to make these miniature chicken pot pies I spotted on Pinterest, and tonight seemed to be the perfect occasion.
And then it happened.
On our way to the cheese section, there was a miracle on Aisle 3. In a serendipitous turn of events, we happened to stumble across the Holy Land of holiday pastries.
I give you, “The sample table so magnificent, I thought it might be a mirage”:
This just may have been the most glorious display of simple carbohydrates and refined sugars I had ever laid eyes on. It was as if the fine people at QFC somehow knew about the breakup, and had offered this spread to us as their own personal way of saying “It’s OK with us if you just want to eat your feelings.”
The best part? The table was unattended, meaning no one would bear witness to the carnage that occurs when a member of the W. family encounters a spread of free samples. We were free to have all of the glory, with none of the judgement.
Hayley wasn’t actually hungry, but I made sure to try two of everything. You know, just to make sure the pastry paradise wasn’t a figment of my imagination, or something.
And that’s all I’m going to say about Hurricane Katrina’s destruction of the QFC bakery section.
We arrived at JoAnn Fabrics (Scott’s favorite weekend destination), with a mission.
A mission to prove, once and for all, that rhinestones are better than boys.
After deciding glitter-ized birdhouses were kind of lame, and decoupaging craft letters is so 2009, we stumbled across these bad boys.
Scott has been hounding me for months about how wasteful it is to use a new cup every time I visit Starbucks. He’s kind of a recycling Nazi. I never knew why he cared so much about recycling and composting, until a visit to his mother’s house a few years back.
She showed me a home video circa 1997 of him performing a rap (complete with choreography and school-appropriate gang signs) about recycling during a junior high school assembly.
Suddenly, I understood why Scott makes beat boxing noises while chanting “Turn it off! Turn it off! Saaaaavvveeee the power! Turn it off! Turn it off! Ruuuunnnnning water!” every time I’m in the shower.
Or as mix-master Scottie would put it, “Errrtime I’m in da shower.”
Arapahoe Public School District, I blame you for this.
I soon realized that by transforming a reusable coffee cup into a marvelous array of rhinestones, I would:
1. Save the planet
2. Look just a little bit more like the 27-year-old version of Rainbow Brite
3. Get Scott off my back about the whole paper coffee cup thing
4. Breathe new life into Shakira’s lack lustre musical career
So really, everybody wins.
Fueled by the miniature pot pies, Hayley and I began to bedazzle.
Hayley’s cup turned out slightly more
subtle tasteful than mine.
This cup is like Shakira’s younger, sweeter, more innocent sister who wouldn’t dare shake her hips in someone’s face or crawl dramatically through a pile of mud while singing a semi-generic pop song.
She would on the other hand wink, gingerly hand you a giant lollipop and then blow a kiss over her shoulder before tap dancing into the sunset.
It is for these reasons my brother Janss suggested we name her Shirley Temple.
Technically, his exact words were “You should name her after that really annoying girl from a hundred years ago with the curly hair who likes to make faces.”, but we knew who he meant.
Side Note: I still want Hayley to drink an actual Shirley Temple out of the Shirley Temple cup (genius, right?), but apparently she’s too good to ingest a little high-fructose corn syrup. I suppose that means the lollipops are also out.
I just want to say that in no way shape or form do these coffee cups represent the personalities of my sister and I.
Okay, okay, fine. So maybe she’s the Shirley, and I’m the Shakira.
At least I’m not like, Lindsay Lohan, or anything.
I wish I could say the same for my coffee cup.
Let’s be honest — this cup is one reality show away from a not-so-ladylike photo shoot.
I suppose this means it’s back to the disposable Starbucks cups.
Snoop Scottie Scott won’t be too happy about this.
Although every legitimate rapper does need a blinged out pimp cup.
UPDATE: Scott and The coffee cup formerly known as Shakira were BFFs for about ten minutes. Then she went all Lohan on him (removing all of her
clothes rhinestones) and was promptly returned to me.
Not gonna lie, I kind of like her better in her “naked” state. The rhinestones might have been a bit…um…much.
So, it looks like I will end up saving the planet, one latte at a time.