Quick update to prove that I'm still alive or at least a zombie or something.

My hands...they're completely covered in cake. I scrub and scrub, but it won't. Come. Off. I feel like a modern Lady Macbeth, screaming at this damn spot cake that just won't leave. My keyboard is currently glaring at me as I leave tiny pieces of confectionary droppings everywhere, but it's not like I'm going to let a mess get in the way of my internet fix. When I need a hit, I need a hit.


The weather is incredible right now, and does not feel like February whatsoever. It's warmish and sunny outside, and I should really be enjoying it; instead, what am I doing? Sitting inside in a sweatshirt, covered with a blanket. I have a problem, I'm realizing. And by a problem, I mean a whole slew that should probably be addressed at some point, and sooner would be much more beneficial than later.


I'm taking a quick break from the cake that has dominated the last few days of my life, and I guess I should take advantage of this opportunity to do something like homework or exposing myself to the sunlight for the first time in four months. Nah.


I'll just keep listening to Born This Way with the blinds closed and scrub my hands until they're raw and no evidence of cake is left.

This post really serves no purpose.

It's 10:30 AM and I've already been up for nearly three hours. During this time, I've accomplished absolutely nothing, despite the many things I have to do this weekend. In fact, the only things I've done are listen to Lady Gaga's new single Born This Way over 50 times and eat French toast.


In case some of you don't know, I'm kind of amazing in the kitchen. And no, that's not a euphemism or double entendre or whatever else your sick and disgusting minds have come up with. I do a lot of cooking, but most of my time is spent baking, and I've been enlisted to make a few batches of cake pops this weekend for Valentine's Day. What are cake pops, you ask?


Welcome to the best dessert in the world.


Any type of cake and frosting, coated in chocolate, on a stick. It sounds morbidly obese, but even with the addition of chocolate, they're a lot better for you than eating a whole slice of cake. As long as you only eat one, of course. After all, they're only two to three bite desserts that make you feel like an astronaut while you're eating them. I didn't come up with the idea, but I make them for nearly every holiday, birthday, or major event. And by major event, I mean weekends and sometimes Wednesdays.


So, at some point today, I'll need to take a trip over to the hell that is Winco--a discount warehouse-type store with a horrid name--and brave the crowds of soccer moms, screaming children, and screaming soccer moms. It's the cheapest place in town to get things like flour in bulk, so I set aside my personal fears and reservations about places like it and make the long journey only when it's absolutely necessary.


For now, though, I'm just procrastinating and listening to ~Born This Way~ in my pajamas. I was talking to a friend of mine and found the perfect description for the new season of American Idol. And I quote(myself):

"American Idol is like the straight-A beauty queen that got in an accident because it was texting behind the wheel and now has serious brain damage."

-Drew Meier, February 11 2011

I know this is completely irrelevant to everything else I've written in this post thus far, but seriously, sometimes I just look in the mirror and think, "Dear God, where did this gift come from? From what fertile soil did your genius spring forth?" while stroking the face of my reflection. My uncanny ability to deliver mediocre, nay, ridiculously nonsensical one-liners is truly a gift from God, Shiva, Allah, Vishnu, Chairman Mao, or whatever other deity/communist Chinese dictator you worship/are oppressed by.

You have to know where I've been to understand where I'm forcibly taking you, part 1.

January 21st was the last day I remember being in the real world. I've been struggling, fighting even, to get back since then; I think I might have finally done it. Either that, or someone with more free time than me is playing a very elaborate prank. Normally I enjoy pranks, as I've mentioned in previous posts, but this one could just be a dick move.

You see, I was inspired. I had an idea. I should know by now that the inner mechanics of my mind are dangerous; starting that post was the worst thing I could have ever done. Or maybe the best. Who's to say?

Oh, right. Me. I'm the one writing here.

Back to the adventure I've been on. You see, I started this post; it was about toothbrushes or whatever, I don't really remember. I live my life by the philosophy that if I can't remember something, it probably wasn't that important to begin with, so I don't feel bad for forgetting things like which way pants go on(party in the front, zipper in the back) or if my bank account has any money left in it(the bank just doesn't understand that it's not overdrawing if my purchase is something I absolutely need, like a Chocolate Moose Pillow Pet or blood diamonds).

So here I am, writing about oral hygiene--that's what she said--when everything goes black and I suddenly smell grapefruit. My first reaction was, oh great, I'm having another stroke; I guess that all-salt diet isn't working out. But what could have been seconds, hours, or days later(keeping track of time isn't my forte; that would be sniffing out truffles), I find myself laying in the sand of a beautiful beach, with grapefruit trees as far as the eye can see. "Why grapefruit?," I ask myself; it isn't until much later that I get my answer. I sit up, and while looking out over the water, decide that I should probably get moving.

I can't draw sand. Also, I'm Jack from Lost.

Because I watched every episode of Lost, I realized that venturing into the thick jungle of citrus trees probably wasn't the best idea; if there had been some kind of smoke monster living there, it wouldn't leave the forest for at least the first four or five seasons, which meant I was safe near the water. So, in order to save myself from the main cause of fictional smoke-related death that has nothing to do with cigarettes, I walked along the beach for a while.

Smoke monster or rip in the time-space-grapefruit tree continuum? You decide.

Since I forgot to mention that it was daytime during all of this, I'm telling you now. It was daytime. I'm not going to lay on the imagery here unless it's absolutely necessary, this isn't a J.R.R. Tolkien novel. Deal with it.

As the warm sun began to set, I realized I had no clue what the weather would be like in this place after nightfall. I'd need to find shelter, and soon. Looking at the long stretch of beach on either side of me, I failed to see anything but sprawling dunes of sand. There weren't even any seagulls shitting on everything and annoying me or crabs scurrying across the sand; this place was completely devoid of life. I then wondered, holy shit, was I sent to this place for my complete and total lack of life back home? Is this some kind of punishment for perfecting the art of not moving? Maybe I was to spend the rest of my days alone on this beach, devoid of the things that helped sustain my life on a daily basis.

Out of fear, or perhaps courage, I decided to venture into the jungle. If there's some kind of smoke monster, maybe I can pull a John Locke and stare that thing down like a motherfucker; never mind the fact that it later inhabited his dead body. Don't pay attention to that aspect of the show. Oh, spoiler alert I guess. The show is over, and if you haven't watched it yet, then that's not my fault.

There wasn't really much of note in the first part of the trees; rotting grapefruits, and eventually oranges and lemons, dotted the ground around me as I trudged forward. Why citrus? I didn't understand. I don't even like grapefruit. Oranges are okay, though I love lemons. What if I'm in a coma? Is this my dream? What is wrong with my subconscious that all it can think about is citrus? I had so many questions, and no answers.

The farther I walked, the more I began to question my choice of going into the jungle. Nothing was changing, and I had gone in pretty deep--that's what he said--and there was no way I could find my way back to the beach now. Tired, I sat against a huge tree with grapefruits the size of...I don't know...a baby or something, and began to rest my eyes. It had been a long and confusing day, with the biggest question now shifting from "Where the hell am I, and how did I get here," to "What the fuck is up with all these grapefruits?" I started to doze off, hoping that a grapefruit might fall off the tree and kill me in my sleep, when I heard a huge booming sound. Boom. Boom. Boom. With each boom, the ground shook harder, notifying me that whatever was making that sound was getting closer and closer.

The first boom was so loud and terrifying that I had to consciously stop myself from losing control of every orifice on my body, a harder feat than any of you might expect. The impact of the boom was powerful enough to shake my bones, and I jumped to my feet like a monkey ninja and further adhered to that description as I managed to claw my way up the tree I had been leaning against only moments before. Somehow, despite never having the ability to climb anything in my life before, I managed to scramble to the safety of a low-hanging branch. In my hurry, I had forgotten that standing on a low ladder rung terrifies me, and I was now literally sitting in a tree. My fear of heights being compounded with my fear of the boom monster, for lack of a better name, sent me into a sniffling and crying fit. Clinging to my branch, I began to whimper, which then scared me even more because I realized making noise would probably draw the creature closer, and I basically fell into a huge spiral of fear and involuntary urination.

All the while, the booming grew closer, and the shaking had grown to the point that I was clinging to my branch like a rhesus monkey to a fake mother; the soft one, not the wire one. If you don't get that reference, let me Google that for you. As I held on for both dear life and comfort, the source of the boom revealed itself.

Holy shit.