Sasstacular!

No one is joining me in my friday night study party so I turned it into my friday night update my blog and futz around the house in an attempt to dodge homework party.
I found this clip and absolutely adored it. Who doesn't like snappy 8 year olds?

I'm a punk rocker, yes I am.

Band Practice is almost as good as Cupcakes

Everyone should join a band. It doesn't really matter if you have musical talent just trust me on this one and go for it. Sure, you may be the person playing the triangle but you are playing the triangle in order to help create a massive wall of sound that will temporarily engulf your very being. It's as good as eating cupcakes and I mean that. This isn't just the sleep deprivation talking.
Speaking of sleep deprivation, remind me to never ever book a show the night before a school day ever again. When I book a show the night before school, it apparently means that I will be going on an hour and a half late and thus getting little to no sleep before classes. This means that I will spend the first hour of class thinking about how I could potentially exit said class so I could sleep or how to discreetly sleep in class or how to kill myself becaue I'm not asleep. I will day dream about doing anything that involves sleep or making out because both of these things relax me. Talking about OCD while thinking about making out lends itself to great confusion.
Speaking of confusion, it's baffling when exes kiss you. Just when you thought it was safe to assume you were a rebound fling that inspired ongoing socially inept interactions, your assumptions are proven to make an ass out of you and....him. The whole situation is made tragically comical by the fact that you got multiple requests to sing the song that you wrote about your break up at the party he attended and so, with relative bemusement, you sang the lines "if this wasn't meant to be/then why do you keep kissing me" in front of him only to have him indeed kiss you. Is this irony or does my life just redefine sick humor? Don't try this at home, kids. Cape does not enable user to fly.

For real?

I just got an email from one of the djs over at Indie 103.1 informing me that they are going to play my song "Falling Down" on Head Trip within the upcoming weeks. After I stopped squealing (this took a good 5 minutes) I emailed back asking how to best promote this sort of thing. I also am utterly paranoid and was briefly convinced that the entire thing was the cruelest prank that anyone would ever pull, but that would mean that someone would have had to create an email that matched the name of the dj that I sent the cd to months ago, and would have selected one of my songs and found my email and....basically, it's far too elaborate and so I MUST HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO BE ON THE RADIO SOON. More information pending as I haven't heard back yet regarding details and I've given myself a headache from being so freakin excited. My god I am a huge nerd.

I'm spontaneous and full of books

Mary and I are going to start a blog about Los Angeles. This is just an avenue for us to rant and rave in our joking serious manner about fashion atrocities and where to find good mac and cheese. I want it to be like a real life Go Fug Yourself, as that blog delights me to no end, mixed with some helpful hints from LA natives. We'd explain things such as the artful left turn on the almost red light and how to not act like an ass in the Grove parking lot (though this seems to be an inherent trait of the Grove parking lot, making people act like asses).
I'm really full of english toffee and cinnamon rolls and coffee after snacking with reckless abandon with Mary. I want to work out but I feel like I'm in a sugar coma and will likely not even want to eat dinner tonight. Sugar binges are fantastic things to have maybe once every few months, particularly when they are coupled with a good cup of iced coffee from Bob's (Bob's is so gonna be mentioned in our LA blog). Once my food settles I will hop on the elliptical. I just got myself all psyched up for working out by putting on my yoga pants...these pants never fail in making me feel like I am remotely in shape for some unknown psychological reason.
I'm finding a good free time/music/tutoring ratio. This was my first week not working during the day and I found myself slightly depressed, as I tend to get when I have more idle time than structured time. This means I need to structure my own time, which is antithetical to my lazy personality but it means I won't mope around the house staring at random objects indulging myself in self-pitying thoughts. Maybe I should get a white board and make a nerdy art project out of my schedule. When did it stop being cool to get gold stars when you finished a task? Star charts are the best.
I'm really excited that I got three new books. I ordered them from Amazon so I could experience the thrill of getting something in the mail and the anticipation of new reading material. I think I'll order a new dress online soon so I can get all excited about spring time. I love being easily amused because it's so rare that I am bored.

Climb every mountain, scale every firewall

Today is my last day at the old interwebs company. Apparently, I did my job so well that I thought of too many ideas for our programmers and I have proven myself to be too intelligent for content management. Who cares how intelligent I am? I need the money. Damn me and my big brain and my big mouth for showing off at every unwitting turn. This is my first time getting fired from a job because I was too smart for my own good. At least my boss bought some Red Bull for me because he kept drinking mine from the fridge. That's my consolation prize for losing my 2 day a week brain-free job...a 4 pack of Red Bull with one missing.
I'll miss spending time with my coworkers, who come up with such gems as "we are from the tribe suckacock" and "mobgolians: we can scale any fire wall." I'm listening to Eli laugh his dirty old man from Brooklyn laugh as he listens to streaming comedy online and Steve is grumbling about how our phone site isn't working and randomly giggling, Clint is stoic as usual and Sheiva is now asking a question about a comment she designed. Soon I'll leave here for the last time and relinquish my ideal parking spot for my Saturday tutoring lessons.
I want a boyfriend to take up my remaining free time and give me back massages. Mainly, I just want someone to give me back massages, preferably while exchanging witty commentary. I met two interesting guys this weekend and given my luck, they are probably carrying on a torrid hipster writer affair with each other and only talked to me for their own deranged amusement. Aside from having delusional fantasies like the one above and the desire for back massages, I am actually rather happy being single for the first time since I've been back in LA. Prior to now, I wasn't driving myself crazy with activities like I am now so I felt the need to make boys my activity. Now, I have my music, a new band, school and tutoring. I'm excited to be losing this job simply to gain sleep.
On an unrelated note, I am very proud of myself for clearing up that entire brake light ticket incident in court yesterday. I managed to dodge more than $1000 in bail and fines by pointing out that I had a piece of paper that said that the violations on my ticket had been cleared. IN AUGUST OF LAST YEAR. Who doesn't love Kafka-esque experiences...and ellipses...and self conscious writing styles...

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.