High Sugar Content

Anyone who knows me well (or at all) knows my passion for dessert. Come on, I named my BLOG after my favorite dessert. I am a huge sucker for sugar. this comes directly from my mother, who is the only person I have ever known to surpass me in her quest for tasty sugary goodness. Witness, last night...
My mom was over at my apartment and about to leave when we decided to take out the recycling. She noticed a big white box in my fridge and asked if we should take it down. To my horror, I realized that I'd entirely forgotten an entire slice of pecan pie from Thanksgiving. Being that the pie was now several months old, I was afraid to open the box. My mom, brave soul, that she is, couldn't wait to see it. We peered in and surprisingly, it looked like ordinary pecan pie. There was no mold, no weird smell, nothing. Just preternaturally preserved pie.
"Honey, will you get me a spoon?" was my mother's request.
I shot my mom a look of horror and then watched as she chiseled away at the caramelized exterior of the slice, revealing the mysteriously still gooey filling.
She managed to scoop out a bite and put it in her mouth as I watched with rapt attention. She chewed it for a bit and didn't fall over dead.
"You should really try some," she said, "It's still really good...it tastes just like it did at Thanksgiving!"
After I prodded it with my spoon for a bit to prove it wasn't showing signs of life, I tried one of the pecans on top. It DID taste normal and just as good as it had months ago. I passed the spoon back to my mom and she ate the majority of the slice as we tried to figure out what on earth could preserve it for that long. I had another few bites but really left the major work to my mom, who was much more gung ho about the pie and apparently has no fear of food poisoning.
The empty pie tin is now soaking in my sink before I return it to Sweet Lady Janes from whence it came in November. I'm not sure which will be more surprising to them...the return of the errant pie tin or the shocking shelf life of their pie...or perhaps the insanity that would inspire not one but TWO people to eat the pie that time forgot.

The restaurant told me I was the sexiest

Being a tutor, I often find myself in the homes of the fantastically wealthy and delusional. Though wealth and insanity are not intrinsically linked, it appears that extreme wealth drastically increases one's chance of being insane. This is likely due to the fact having that much money gives people the ability to alter their reality and thus live in their very own version, which is drastically different from the world that most of us dub real. By definition, this would make them psychotic which isn't usually far from the truth.
I was tutoring last night in Bel Air with a child that I shall call Spoiled Unintentional Humor Boy. See, I actually like this kid because within 10 minutes of our first lesson, he asked if he could study money in college so he could inherit his dad's business. Sure, he may only be 10, but at least the kid has aspirations to earn more money than anyone could ever need on top of a trust fund and perpetuate his status as the rich and pampered. He also informed me that the plastic psychic at a restaurant told him that without a doubt, he was the sexiest, and that explains why the girls in his class all have crushes on him. He has a crush on just one though, because he's "not a player." I informed him that he wasn't a player because he was 10. Details.
After my lesson with him, his mother came in the room with an exotic parrot on her shoulder named Ruby. She then asked if I would like to have Ruby on my shoulder and I thought hey, why not, the worst that could happen is that I lose an eye. After having Ruby comfortably perched on my shoulder for a few minutes, I felt a light peck on my cheek.
"Oh, she's hungry!" saud Ruby's owner.
Well, ok, that makes sense, birds get hungry. I asked for a piece of bread and tore off a chunk to give to Ruby.
"You have to chew it first a little bit" my student's mother suggested.
Ok, chewing I can do. I went to take the now soggy and smashed piece of bread out of my mouth when the mom stoppped me by saying,
"Just hold it out on your tongue, she'll take it from you. She's very gentle and it's a great experience."
I'm not sure what types of experiences this woman had had in the past but birds pecking masticated food off her tongue was apparently high on her list of things to do. I was caught between being rude (keeping the bread to myself) or being weird (feeding a bird with my tongue). I decided to compromise and held the bread between my teeth, praying for the best.
Ruby sweetly took the soaked bread with his beak and went to work on it, still happily perched upon my shoulder. Her owner beamed at me and told me that she enjoyed having such a bonding experience with her pet.
This is the kind of thing that really wealthy people do...they ask their child's tutor to feed their parrot with her tongue. This is the sort of thing that no reasonable person would ask but hey, if you are wealthy enough to own an exotic bird and have the time to train it to eat out of your mouth, this sort of request seems entirely normal. I have another lesson with this kid tonight and I pray that Ruby stays in her cage. There are certain things I like in my mouth and a parrot beak isn't one of them.

Don't ever go away from here

Being alone in the office makes me want to dance and sing and cartwheel across the drab floor to Now It's Overhead. I'd be my own indie circus and spectacle for no one to see but these walls would know. These strange white walls with their ugly paintings and scattered straps bolted to the wall, they've been around for each business that has passed through, each set of clacking keyboards, each phone call to Mr. So and So. The tin of Christmas popcorn is still sitting in the kitchen and I want to throw it over my head like confetti. I wonder if we ever grow up and if we do, what it feels like.

The return of the lazy blogette

Sitting at work feels rather futile. I'm being paid to cruise around the internet and think of things that other people would enjoy seeing on the internet. We don't have enough programmers in the office to possibly create all of my inane ideas (like a fortune cookie widget) nd so my hours get cut to two days of doing...the same thing I do at home when I'm not practicing or doing homework. The difference is that at work, I vocalize my weird ideas that people would enjoy instead of say, staring at the wall and thinking about them to my heart's content.
Things the internet needs more of in my opinion:
*Music filter - you put in the kind of music you like and it filters your friend requests on myspace to weed out that morons who email you with their heinous songs and expect you to love them
*John Krasinski - like Zack Braff, but not an idiot. He has yet to make a movie that panders to faux indie hipsters and so I like him better. Plus, he's tall, so as my friend Jake pointed out, if we had babies they'd average out to normal size. I should totally say this to him if we ever meet. I should also tell him about my dream that involved him and a flame thrower.
*People who love me - based on statistical research (ie pure self serving extrapolation) there should be people on the internet who love me. These people should read my journal and buy my songs like there is no tomorrow because I'm that amazing.
*Fortune cookie messages- seriously. I am going to make my company make these things. Don't say I didn't warn you.
In good news, I have ben actively picking up new tutoring clients. In bad news, one of them has already called me 3 times today and only wants to pay me $20 an hour. Things could be worse. It could be like the family that didn't pay me for 4 months. I should stop bitching about families not paying me exhorbitant amounts of money but it makes me angry that I worked for $21 an hour for *unspecified tutoring company* and they in fact charged $130 an hour. $130??! And I saw $21??? NOT COOL.
I've decided that I want a nerdy boyfriend again. I keep meeting these awesome guys by complete accident and then not following up really or writing them and then not hearing back or you know...hiding my face in a book when they are trying to talk to me at a coffee shop. I want someone to cater to my random thoughts and desire for snuggling in cold weather, who will make fun of me while worshipping the ground I walk on. I'm going through a bratty phase and frankly I want someone to indulge me so I can be level headed while working and going to school.
Ok internet, I think this is your cue to bring me John Krasinski. Now.

I sing!

This is what I look like when I'm practicing a new song. This one is called Memory. This is the best video of the bunch, as I am making as few weird faces as possible while singing. If you ever want to feel mortified, make a video of yourself singing. Enjoy!

Beware the Hot Fudge Sundae Ninja aka Ninja Hot Fudge Sundae

Steve wants to start a blog about how much he hates his dad.
Eli is convinced that the internet is only bringing out the stupidity in people.
Connection? Coincidence?
Clinton is minding his own business and working. He is slowly acclimating to the lazy ways of our office, but the fact that he is actually doing work betrays his position as the new guy.
We have a mascot however...


This is the Hot Fudge Sundae Ninja aka Ninja Hot Fudge Sundae. More information to come.

Rock out

People do not dance at shows in LA. They in fact act like they can't think of a more boring place to possibly be than at the rock show they are currently attending. I do not understand this phenomenon. You're at the show to enjoy the music! I know you dance like an idiot monkey in your own home to this very song! Why not dance like an idiot monkey with the rest of us in public? No one looks cool dancing to indie pop rock, but when we all look uncool together, doesn't that loop it back around to cool again? Isn't that what happened with all the inane fashion statements that have erupted this season? Really, skinny jeans don't look good on anyone. It makes people look like they have huge asses and lumpy hips regardless of body type and when a skinny girl looks like a hippo, I know that fashion statement must die. Everyone is wearing them though, so we all assume that they're ok. They are in fact NOT ok. They are right up there with ironic moustaches on my list of looks that no one should ever rock.
That brings me back to rock...when you go to a show, enjoy the music! Rock out with your proverbial cock out. I played a house show last night and had a few people near tears. I usually don't like going about making people cry but that means they LISTENED and ENJOYED the music. It's ok to have an emotional, visceral reaction to music. That's what it's here for.