Notes Before The Road

I got in to L.A. late last night. Some sort of flight delay, but the plane was empty and I was more then fine having a row to myself and dozing off as I stared out the window in to a mass of lights and fog. It felt beautiful just to be GOING somewhere. All I could think of was how happy I was to be moving, doing, LIVING.

Skipper picked me up at the airport, we drove back to her place and straight for the haze. I had been up since five, and Skipper had put in a full day as well, so a little after one in the morning I passed out on her couch, thinking of a way to convince Skipper to go to Vegas. I woke up this morning, later then we planned, to a sky of gray and not so perfect weather.  Skipper made coffee, and now I type as she showers. I wish I was feeling more gunned, but this coffee is strong and I put spoonfuls of sugar in it, so I hope with time and the first spliff things will get rolling.

We have no real plans. We are picking up our rental car and driving to Palm Springs for the night. After that we got time, wheels and a very large expanse of desert and freeway. I don't care all too much where we head, just as long as we are going somewhere, driving away from the shit that has been logged in my heart and my head. I want liberation, rejuvenation and the feeling that I am not just stoned at home thinking the same old thoughts. I want a goddamn adventure, a sprinkle of danger, and an epic story. 

In to the desert abyss we go, let's see what it will hold. 

Straying From The Preset

I am pretty resolved in the way that I live my life. In today's world it seems like our lives are almost pre-planned. Each culture with it's own preset path, expectations, goals. Money, beauty, education, power, etc. Go to school, get good grades, go to college, get a job, make money, get married, have children, have grandchildren, become old, die. That's the path that I see in my own world. It's the norm, the life sequence that a girl like me is suppose to live by. At twenty-five it would be right to be in a substantial relationship, think about marriage, hope to get engaged, get married, have a couple of kids, be on my way to "starting a life." Or at least that is the vibe I am picking up.

I barely graduated from high school, if it weren't for the fact that I was good friends with most of the faculty and administration I might have not gotten by. I dropped out of college and moved to Europe. I am single and have no plans of getting married or having children before I am in my thirties, if then. Give me a path and I promise to not follow it. I find nothing interesting about normal, and rather have to deal with the odd bout of insecurity for not following the norm, then live any differently. The thought of being put in a generic box of society's expectations for a middle class white girl does nothing but make me want to rebel and stray. You get one life to live, I want to make mine my own.

Next weekend I am flying down to L.A. to meet up with Skipper and drive into the desert. We have a slight whisper of a plan, but are trying to keep it as spontaneous as possible. The question as to why we are doing this has come up a couple of times, as is the fact that I am not really in the financial position to be making a trip like this right before the holiday season. My answer to that is sadly very simple: why not? Because I am just suppose to grind out each week like the last? Because my reason for going isn't clear? Because we don't posses a solid destination? Those questions are reason enough for me. 

My life isn't for everyone, and I learned to stop expecting people to always understand my decisions a while ago. It's just that now that I have been back, I've been able to experience first hand how easy it is to be sucked into a funk that the daily grind provides with time. Over time, that funk can cause anyone to forget that there is a large world out there full of adventures and wonder. That you have control, that you can live differently, better, filled with more. Different, better, more, they aren't for everyone. I want greatness though, I want adventure, I want different, odd, growth, experience. It's what makes my heart beat, and it's what makes me feel golden. Most of the time.

Turning the voice up in my head and turning others down is something that I am getting better at with age. At the end of it all you are left with yourself. You enter this world alone and you exit it the same way. The people who love me and allow me to love them, put my life in context and give it worth and loads of goodness. But as is life: when the shit hits the fan, it's you that is going to have to clean it up. People can help, but it's up to you to make things clean and right. Opinions, judgements, advice: they all boundaries, breakable at a cost. I just find it too expensive not to. 

Expensive Candy

I went to the movies yesterday with my beloved sister, and ended up sitting next to one of the most horrific first dates I have ever seen. Totally decent looking guy, not-to-special girl, obviously on their first, maybe second date. Now I can judge these to fairly freely, I have been on MANY a bad date, and am pretty sure I can spot one when I see one. From the moment they took their seats she was texting on her phone. Every few minutes he would make a very valid attempt to initiate a conversation, and try to get to know her. The conversation was something like.

Guy: So, what does your family do for Christmas? 

Girl: We go to Florida.

Guy: What part of Florida?

Girl: South Beach.

Guy: I've never been there but that sounds nice. Must get humid though?

Girl: Not really.

Two minute extremely awkward silence.

Guy: I don't know what I am going to do for the holidays. My mom and dad moved up North, so I'll probably just be alone. Blah, blah, blah.

The guy tried, I mean not just with his very heartfelt attempt at communication, but you could tell he had taken time and thought about what he was going to wear. You could tell he put on his nicest casual button down, jeans, clean sneakers, he had tried. She continued to text as the movie started. I had over heard her complaining about something to the guy, something about her eyes couldn't stop watering or something. Through out the movie she would mumble a complaint and he would say stuff like, "Should I take you home?" or at one point, "Do you want me to rub your shoulders?" to which she would respond with, "No, please, don't touch me." It was PAINFUL to sit next to. I noticed that she was eating those strawberry sour belts, you know, the expensive candy. I wanted to stop the movie, turn the lights up and just turn to this sad duo and say to the girl:

Who the fuck do you think you are? Here is this totally decent guy who most likely bought your ticket to this piece of shit movie (that we both know he probably has no interest in seeing), not to mention your five dollar coke, and that rediculously priced candy. If you were so uninterested why did you agree to go out with him? Because you didn't want to hurt his feelings? How the fuck do you think he is feeling right now? Put your phone away, sit next to him, and occasionally smile. Say "thank you" and mean it, ask him questions in return, tell him that he smells good, and try to laugh at at least some of his jokes. You are not that cute, really, he's probably a little out of you league actually. 

I haven't been on a date like that in a while, one where the guy took time to pick out his clothes, and really tried. I just wanted to thank the guy for trying. The fact that he didn't just take her home and go get a beer with his friends. He stuck it out and was a gentleman. I mean, he should have shown a bit more back bone, but I got the feeling he had liked this girl for a while. What a bitch of a date though. I have gone on a lot of dates with guys who were just not what I was looking for, but never did I behave like this girl. I smiled, and I made conversation to the point that I applaud myself. If the guy was a complete dick I would obviously act accordingly, but if I guy tried and was sweet I would never be so rude to dismiss his presence so blatantly. 

Thanksgiving weekend gives me far too much free time. It has been delightful to have friends in town, and shop, and drink, but it's only Saturday afternoon and I am ready to go back to work. I am lacking stability at the moment, and would gain more from a point of focus than copious amounts of free time spent doing whatever it is that I do. I did however purchase a ticket to Los Angeles, so at least that brings me one step closer to living. LIVING. 

Intentional Break

I have absolutely no plans to live my life grinding it out five days a week at a job I hate, in a life that I am not passionate about. Comfort is for when you die, you only get one chance to live each day. I've been in a cloud of confusion for a month now because of some tangled heartstrings, and pride is telling me it's time to break free. All of this poetry brings me to the desert, with Skipper. If I boss agrees, I will be jetting down to L.A. to meet Skipper, and then the two of us will be driving into the desert. Backgammon, martinis, some Nupro, and if I can keep my shit together, a blog. It smells of Gonzo, and I kind of like it. I mean, this is why I signed up for that credit card right? 

Auto-Type

Ok, try and stay with me here, I am not in my right mind and my fingers seem to be on auto-type. I had a conversation with Skipper last night that gave me a good slice of that clarity I was looking for. Indifference is in hopeful sight and every thought that slips me up I put in my mental waste bin and flush. Big picture, bricks in a house. Skipper, it was your best pep-talk yet, and that's saying something. Life is short, but sometimes it feels huge. The role that people play in your everyday life. People that you might see day after day over coffee creamers only need one "Good morning," and next thing you know you are putting a little chocolate on their croissant and talking about where you get your tattoos. It scares the crap out of me how much I enjoy those sometimes superficial, mundane interactions. Adore it. Glow from it. Smiling, smiling, smiling. 

I went to Target this evening and bought a bunch of crap I don't need. A pair of boots, hand cream, a  top, gingerbread Pop Tarts, candy cane Hershey's Kisses, Jumbo Nerds, popcorn, macaroni and cheese (which was nasty, I had it for dinner), and a new car freshener. I'm helping the economy. The things I do for my fellow Americans!

Chef Doug is being a bitch about Christmas this year and has announced that Dr. Sylvia has been put on a tight budget. You can only imagine how I feel about this, especially after having him tell me he found his dream grandfather clock for a few grand. So I am going to be buying my own Christmas presents this year. I am in the process of writing my list. 

Ok, I am beyond the point of being able to process any kind of real thoughts. I need to be in to work early for some bullshit staff meeting, and then bake some shit. I don't know how long it will last, but I fucking love my job at the moment. I so probably am jinxing it by typing this. 

In Search Of Lassitude

I drove to the ocean after work today. I tried to get there before the sun went down, knowing that even if I made it for sunset I would probably not be able to see it through the fog. Fifteen minutes from my house and I was already under a thick gray blanket. There is something so comforting about driving through fog and being so close to the ocean. The ocean is such a massive being and fog has a tendency to press down all around you and enclose you within its self. I never got out of my car, I just drove. There wasn't much to see and my real purpose was just to be alone with my thoughts and feel whatever I might have been suppressing this last month. I should probably explain what I mean by that, but I am pretty sure that if you are reading this you already know.

If I try, I can see a lot of things in a logical light. Sometimes it takes me time to put aside preconceived notions or fear, and even longer to push aside my feelings. When I can avoid it I try to never get my feelings involved. I don't often feel things on an even level, it's either euphoric bliss, or bleak despondency. Black or white, plaid or polka dots. I don't do gray, I am not patient, I am drastic: yes or no. If life (or worse, a man) put me in some sort of gray area, I have a hard time finding a logical level for my feelings. It's like constantly bumping into walls, trying to find a door out. 

I didn't drive to the beach in search of logic though. For nine hours a day I try not to allow my personal thoughts effect my feelings. I actually am thoroughly enjoying my work at the moment. It allows me to focus my thoughts somewhere else, and more importantly, forces me to interact with people in an almost completely superficial manner. I go to work, I bake, I smile, I laugh, I bake, I banter, I smile some more, I charm, I bake, I joke, I complain, I smile, I bake. No one knows me, no one needs to. I feel better when I smile, and in my free time I don't find myself doing it nearly as much as I do when I work. I produce things, things that make people happy, even if only for a few minutes. When I wake up in the morning I feel good about going to work, and when I leave I feel good about myself, which is extremely rare to say about one's job. When I get home however, all the superficial interaction is gone and I am allowed to feel what I have been thinking. Driving allows me to think one thought at a time (obviously not the road).  I drove and drove under that thick cover of obscurity, and once I made it out the other side I find myself not completely sorted, but a little more at peace.

So that's today. Who the fuck knows what tomorrow has got going for it. 

Mayakovsky

It's early morning on a Saturday, and once again I find myself sitting in bed, in the dark, with the candle burning. I'm thinking. Thinking about someone, thinking about something, thinking about people and places I miss, thinking about places I want to see: thoughts are running free. I have so much coursing through my brain sometimes, I forget to breath. I sit in the dark and let them go. So let me grab my fishing poll and try to catch one...

I have started to tell people at work that I went to Harvard. I applied as a joke in my Senior year of high school, just to see if I could get in, and I did. I think it was because of my personal essay. The topic given had been "Who are you?" Not at all broad or daunting, but seeing as I wasn't even interested in Harvard, I let loose. I think at one point I even likened myself to the great Malcolm X, and definitely sprinkled a couple "F" bombs in for flavor. I was proud of the six pages I sent them and can recall dropping it in the mailbox with a light heart. 

Suffice it to say, I wasn't really that surprised when the Dean of Admissions called me personally on a Saturday, to offer me an early admission. I thanked Bart, but told him I would have to think about it. I was not all to interested in going to school back East. I had already been accepted to Parson's in New York and declined, and so I really wasn't considering Massachusetts. 

I had a dream that night though. I was in a room, surrounded by gold statues of myself, all from different periods in my life. There was my infant self, my toddler self, my child self, my teenager self, my college self, my adult self, my middle age self, etc. I walked around the room and looked at each statue. As I stood in front of my college self I noticed an "H" on the lapel of the corduroy blazer my statue was rocking. As I reached out to touch the "H" my phone began to ring, it was the Dean calling to see if I had made a decision.

So yeah, it wasn't that hard getting into Harvard, I am not too sure what everyone is always talking about. I didn't make a 3.0 all of high school, never played any sports, lied about my community service hours, wasn't a part of yearbook, and never belonged to any clubs. But they loved me. I don't know if it was the fact that I had no real academic right to be there, that I hadn't put nearly as much effort into getting in as the others, but I can safely say, Harvard welcomed me with open arms, and open hearts.

I started out as a U.S. history major, I adored U.S. history in high school. America's power was established in lies, and I wanted to learn the truth. Unfortunately, it didn't take me long to figure out that a BA in U.S. history from Harvard wasn't going to offer me a whole lot of job opportunities, and logically switched my major to Russian literature. 

After a year and a half of Tolstoy, Bulgakov, and Gorky, not to mention J. Crew miniskirts, and twin sets, I started to think that Harvard wasn't all it was chalked up to be. I mean, give me a break, it's a college. Do you know how many douche bags go to Ivy Leagues. It doesn't make them smarter because they went to Harvard, and it definitely doesn't make them a better person. So I said, "Fuck Harvard," and left. That's it, no hard feelings, but "peace out." Simple as that. It just wasn't meant to be.

Shortly after I moved to Switzerland, became a lady baker, and then moved back to California, and am now sitting nice and cozy in bed, with a book of Russian Fairy Tales at my side.

Tether Ball

I have had potential blogs running through my head these last few days, but as I finally sit down to type, nothing comes. I am sitting in the dark, Aloha Orchid covering the herbal scent in my space, thinking. I type a paragraph and then I delete it. Now I find myself writing about not being able to write.

Freon

When did my weekends start to be so boring? This weekend was not nearly as bad as last weekend, but that's only because my sister came home yesterday. If it wasn't for her I would probably be banging my head against the wall right now.

Once again, it is early on a Sunday morning. I've been up since six, and have already enjoyed my first cup of coffee and Sunday-morning bowl. I got my new slipper-socks on, and my "Aloha Orchid" candle lit. Inside my chest my heart is beating, and outside my door the wind is blowing. My space is a mess: clothes, books, drawings, captain's logs, shoes, Glenn's socks, dvds, pens, magazines, un-opened bills. I am waiting for Glenn and my sister to wake up so I can have a bagel.

I am reading a book of Russian fairy tales. They make absolutely no sense to me, but I continue to read them. That's how I feel about Russia in general though. Twenty people suffocated on a Russian nuclear submarine today. It's not as bad as the Kursk, but it still doesn't help Russia's track record ith submarine malfunctions leading to mass deaths.

I have been racking my brains for a new adventure. Something small, that I could do over a weekend. I just need to do something, seeing something, anything. I'm open to ideas.

I think they are up! I so wish we were having French toast instead of bagels.

My Nutshell

I'm sitting in bed, in the semi-dark, typing and grooving to the new John Legend. I'm not that big of a fan of John Legend. I love his sound, it's just his lyrics. They are all about cheating, not being able to choose between women, how he can't keep it in his pants, blah, blah, blah. I get it, that's awesome for you. Now can you sing about something else? But I am too gone to really pay attention to the lyrics. This was a bad week, and I am choosing to spend my Friday night alone and numb.

Who's ready for Mind Vomit?!

I went shopping for a candle today. I like to write in candlelight, although I can safely say it is fucking with my eyes. It's easier for me to organize my thoughts in the dark (not to say that my posts are organized). Either way, MFP had gifted me a really nice Tuberose candle that I burned down today. It's hard to find a candle that doesn't smell like coconut-German chocolate-hazelnut-mocha, or a basket of strawberry bubble gum. Luckily I really needed to drive, so I took my time and headed over to Anthropology in Palo Alto. Anthropology has got some classy shit, over priced, but classy. I wandered around the store, and was more then pleased with the extremely large assortment of candles. I ended up shelling out twenty-five dollars for a Blue Capri "Aloha Orchid," antique-looking candle. I am now typing in it's odor and I can say, I am pleased.I goes with my sheets (If you could smell it, and see my sheets, you would understand).

How long is it appropriate to wear my Obama pins? At both Anthropology and Trader Joe's people commented on it. I like my pins, and I am stoked about our 44th president. I think I am going to at least wear my pin until it's all good and official. Man did Tuesday night feel good. It was surreal, and although polls had been predicting it, I was shocked and awed that he actually got it. I am just so use to it going to "the other guy." So I got some Happy Hope. It feels good, and I am super glad to hopefully not have to hear the word "change" so much. I hope. I am holding on to hope.

The "No on 8" people kept choking me up on Tuesday. I don't know why, but seeing people in the streets, showing their support for equal rights, and just as importantly, love. It's just nice, and makes my heart swell. It upsets me greatly that Prop 8 passed, it leaves me sad and very disgusted. Heterosexuals are horrible at marriage, especially in the state of California. There are probably more heterosexual people in this state who shouldn't be allowed to get married than homosexuals. This shit gets me heated. Fucking bigots.

My feet are asleep.

Strep

The last couple weekends have always ended with me being thankful to go back to work. It's extremely hard for me to wake up, have nowhere to be, and not reach out to embrace The Haze. The cold that my Halloween plans caught traveled over to my Saturday night plans as well, and I found myself too shit faced to stop my thoughts. I spent the night tossing in bed, yearning for a couple of Nyquil and some peace of mind. I woke up at a quarter to five and finally gave up on the notion of sleep and went and had coffee with Chef Doug and Doctor Sylvia. Chef Doug and I talked about Christmas, making some marzipan holiday gifts and sung a couple of Christmas carols to annoy Doctor Sylvia to the point that she smoked her morning cigarette outside in the rain.

After coffee my day lost direction. It's been raining and gray, and it seems that most of my friends are away or busy. So, I found myself with no other choice then to make cheesecake. Pumpkin cheesecake to be precise. Last night, as I was incoherent, I got a hankering for pumpkin cheesecake. I just recently discovered the audacity that is cheesecake, and now find myself yearning for a taste of that sweet, yet tangy pie of a cake. If anything, I will be able to spend this Sunday afternoon eating my insecurity and feelings, once again wrapped in the thick gray Haze.

One thing that really made me smile today though was the fact that the grocery store was planing Christmas music as I took my time walking down the aisles. I had to get some stuff for the cheesecake, and found my self surprised to be hearing "Have a Holly, Jolly, Christmas" as I grabbed some Nyquil (better to be prepared). It made me instantly think of my sister, and if it weren't for the fact that I am avoiding my phone at all costs, I would have called and made her listen. I was known for pumping Christmas music in July when I was younger, so I am one of the few people who really enjoys Christmas displays in September. You could give me the whole, "It's such a commercial, materialistic holiday" spiel, but that's exactly what I love about it. I LOVE Christmas, and if I could have the feeling that Christmas gives me year-round, I would be thankful. So I would heartily like to thank Lucky's on Woodside Road for making my morning a little less painful. Your awesome.

Juicy Caramel Apples

I'm not big on Halloween, hence I am in bed writing a blog, in no condition to drive. My plans for tonight got a bad cold and I am so tired after this last week I happily climbed into my bed. I am 100% certain that when Dr. Sylvia gets home from the movies, she is going to ask me to hand out the candy. Thank God it's raining so there might not be as many kids, because I have no intention of putting my pants back on. Although, if I do pass out candy it would allow me to have the bowl next to me, and Dr. Sylvia bought some good shit this year. So that's my Friday night. It's nothing exciting, but I am enjoying just laying in bed typing my thoughts, warm under the covers.

I saw this seven year old girl at Trader Joe's yesterday as I bought my enchiladas. She had the word "Juicy" written on the butt of her sweat pants. Now, I get the whole Juicy Couture thing, it's not my thing, I retired my track suits a while ago (although I stuck to Addidas tracksuits, but I'm Hip Hop like that. I will admit that they have some nice handbags, but I would never go as far as to recommend one to a friend, let alone buy one for myself. But how fucking inappropriate is it to put the word "Juicy" on a seven year old's butt? I mean really? REALLY? The mother of the girl was exactly what you would expect, thirty-eight, blond, and trying too hard (Hello, Atherton!). Just by her Escalade alone I could tell that this woman's judgement was faulty. "Juicy," it's just so wrong.

I as making Halloween cookies at work the other day, when a male customer started to talk about how he wanted a caramel apple, but just not one with nuts, which was what we had displayed. He kept going on and on about how much he disliked the chocolate and nuts, going as far as to say to his friend, "If I buy a BMW, I don't want the world." I then proceeded to actually tell the customer that I had indeed just dipped some plain caramel apples that morning, to which he got all huffy and said, "I don't even want one," in a very pissy tone. He actually reminded me of a candy apple himself, with that stick up his ass. "If I buy a BMW, I don't want the world?" Again, really? Who says that? I mean what a telling statement of the man's character.

It all makes me want to grab a sheet pan and smack these people in the face. Wake Up! Look at the reality of who you are and ask yourself if you are happy. If I asked for a cookie, and you gave me a bakery, I would love you. If I ever find myself with a seven year old girl of my own, she wouldn't even be wearing sweat pants in public. She'd have on some jeans and a t-shirt, little Chucks and some kick ass accessory, not some velour billboard advertisement for pedophiles.

I have so much going on in my heart at the moment. So much trepidation and anxiety and straight up fear. I'm in some sort of controlled freak-out, and just trying to breath. I worked so hard to close off wanting any of those good feelings and snuggles that come along with meeting someone new and actually hitting it off. I find myself having flashes of "Oh shit"- fear, analyzing and thinking to the point that I have myself wrapped in negativity as opposed to the beauty of affection. I feel like I am running while dragging my feet. Wanting it, but being so terrified about what could happen. A little too much honesty? I'm too thick in The Haze to care. Fuck proof-reading.

Wellfare

I've been up since five this Sunday morning. I went to sleep drunk, I mean straight up having a hard time taking off pants, had to leave my car behind a WaMu (love that name), with just one and a half Saddle Room Vodka sours on an empty stomach. I am not a fan of getting drunk, one sip too many and I will get anxious to the point that I need to be held down. So, it wasn't really my plan to get that boozed, but I laughed a lot and magically am not hungover (that's where the juice comes in). Yesterday was all around, a very good day (I even got The Stage washed).

Around 5:45, Chef Doug came downstairs and asked me to make him a cup of my nasty flavored coffee. Sundays use to be the one day a week Chef Doug and I would talk while I was away, so I was happy to find him chatty. I had spent yesterday afternoon with someone I had been wanting to meet for a while now, and found myself sharing "Doug-isms" more then was probably necessary. I can't imagine that a twenty-five year old woman talking about advice her dad has given her, is very attractive, but the old man is so dead on and it was pertaining to the conversation, so hey, I've said worse. Chef Doug and I just have a tendency to talk about life in a way that always ends up with him dropping some sort of prolific bomb, and I feel the need to pass it on.

This morning Chef Doug and I talked about my Grand Canyon adventure. It's funny how many people want to take the trip with me, it's a nice feeling. We discussed our plans to grab my sister and go camping, and about Chung coming for Christmas. I had seen that the Final Cut of Blade Runner was in the theaters, and knowing that it's one of his favorites, so we made plans to go see it today since we barely see each other because of work. Dr. Sylvia soon came down the stairs, a little on the angry side. Something about it's the weekend and we don't need to be keeping "baking hours" on the weekends. Koda then came and sat next to me and nuzzled my knee as I rubbed his cheek. It's only 7:14 am, and I am feeling pretty good.

I know how lame this all sounds, me spending a morning with my middle aged parents, but I don't care. I spent two years of Sunday mornings, alone and silent. A lonely Sunday every now and then is a beautiful thing, but after a while it just gets pathetic and you can only yearn to have someone to pass you the half and half. It makes me feel a lot more grounded waking up to conversation and coffee, and just having company in general makes my life feel a lot more full then I use too.

Although I have been missing Switzerland lately, it is still very clear to me why I moved back. spending years without the love and support and coffee that family provide, Europe loses some of its shine. My heart does however bleed for Frey with Chung, and coffee-talk with Grossi in her kitchen. Yes, my heart bleeds.

Wait, what?

There was a lot of roadkill on the street today. I saw at least five squirrels and three larger rodents. I braked for a squirrel yesterday, it just cocked it's head at me with a nut in its mouth. If I was a squirrel I might actually look before I crossed the street. Didn't Disney or Pixar make a movie about some animals trying to cross a street or something? I don't watch all those computer animated movies, I am sure they are cute and all, but it's just not my thing.

I went up to San Francisco to spend a small fraction of my first paycheck. I came back with a snugly mustard bag, and that fuzzy feeling that a brilliant purchase gives me. In saying that, I would like to mention that I put a large chunk of my money in my savings this week. I only mention that because I know my sister is reading this and shaking her head. Straight up, I am not going to withhold a purchase every now and then. I hear the whole "save, save, save" thing, and plan on doing that, but not while losing my "flava."

In regards to my lovely sister, we set a limit of thirty dollars for each others Christmas presents this year. We try and make our gifts for each other usually and last year she out did herself with the most awesome of scrapbooks (the thing made me cry the first three times I looked at it). This year it looks like she might be bringing out her crochet hooks and making me a blanket. When she asked me what colors I wanted, I asked for something "Kanye" inspired. Dede isn't all to familiar with the genius that is Kanye West's wardrobe/color palate, but she has The Internet, so I am sure she will figure it out. Suffice it to say, I am SUPER excited to see what she comes up with. I won't spare her the stress, there is A LOT of pressure on her for this one. I asked for, "so ugly it's beautiful," and I am hoping she has watched enough Project Runway to know what I mean. I only joke though, no matter what that girl gives me, I will love it and brag to you about it.

Beautiful Absurdity

I feel happiest when laughing at absurdity, preferably my own. I have a tendency to take myself or life a tad too seriously, so I cherish those quick moments of clarity of how funny and ironic life is. Marching bands, wrongly used quotation marks on a sign, catching myself lying for no reason: they all paint a troublesome smile on my face. I squint my left eye a bit, as I grin evilly with the left side of my mouth. My sister knows this look too well. It's the same expression I make when talking about Christmas or my birthday.

I use to love dancing alone in my dark old apartment. I would make a whole night of it. Cheap champagne, weed, and a those black velvet stilettos that Chung gave me for Christmas. I had a whole playlist just for a Saturday night with nothing to do. The best music was always the music I would never admit to listening to. I NEVER want anyone to go rummaging in my iPod, there is some morally challenged music lurking in there, and you would probably come to deeply judge me. There is just something so freeing and awesome about turning up a great song really loud and rocking out, alone and uninhibited. Dancing in the dark pulled me out of so many funks in Luzern. I would smoke as I put on my heels, turn down the lights and turn up the volume. I got to give Chung props for the full wardrobe she provided me with for those solo-dance parties. A gold sequined dress, that awesome tinsel bolero, shoes, silk tops, Chung supplied all of it. The nights I was too tired to go out were spent dressed to the nine's, rocking out to some Otis Redding, or Chaka Kahn. The best cure for loneliness is to dance your heart out. "You Are The Best Thing," by Ray LaMontagne, is what got me to think about that. I'm grooving to it as I type. I love songs that remind me how great life really is.

I'm finding my point of view at the moment to be a bit lame. My positivity kind of left me after that girl tried to get me fired last week, and I am finding myself waking up in the morning with the wrong perspective. Between random drives to random places, searching for music that puts me in my place, and a lot of coffee in the morning, I am just trying to find a solution. I left work after an hour this morning because I felt sick. I spent the day in bed sleeping, watching filth on tv, and spending way too much time on Facebook. By tomorrow morning I have to get my shit together and get back in the mind set of baking with a smile. No one likes a whiner.

White Girl

Today was the first day since I have moved back to California, that I wanted to be back in Switzerland. Everything I touched today at work either burned, clumped or spilled. I was a mess and time dragged like there was no tomorrow. As much as I have tried to put the right foot forward in every facet of moving back, small hindrances keep causing me to stumble and I am now growing tired of trying. Friends who were once so excited about me coming back have ceased to call or even call back, I find myself investing time and myself in a person whom I can't even figure out likes me or not, and have put in over-time in at a job that keeps setting me up to look like an ass. I put myself out there: I move back, I try to start a new, try to make changes, start fresh. Yet, I still go to bed feeling the same way I did in Luzern: tired, confused, and just wanting to leave, get in my car and head for the Grand Canyon. At the end of the day I just have a hard time seeing the point. I know where I am, I just am not sure of where I am heading.

I am itching to get in my car and drive to the coast right now. Sitting in my room, semi-stoned and feeling bad for myself, isn't the way I like to spend my Thursday nights. I would rather snuggle and be told something that would make me feel good, or drink. Life at the moment doesn't swing that way for me, and I promise to only feel sorry for myself until midnight, after that it's a new day, and a fresh start.

If only I could wake up and stop caring. If only.

Sinking Sand

So last week was my first week at my new job. It's was long and hard, but I felt good if not tired at the end of each day. I was new to everything, and a lot of the time I had no idea what I was doing, but everything came out ok, and one way or the other I always made it out alive. I hate first weeks, and this was just one and the same: awkward and frustrating, with the constant feeling that everyone is looking at you like a leper. But I smiled, oh did I smile. I came to work with "Buenos Dios!" and left with a hearty, "Adios." I tried to stay out of the way, not mess anything up, and tried not to come off as the middle class-white girl that I am.

You can only imagine how weird it was for me to find out that the girl I work closest with actually went to our boss and told him that she didn't think I was the right fit for the job, and that he had made a mistake hiring me. She did this on my third day. THIRD DAY! Seriously, we can't atleast give me a week before trying to get me canned? This is a skilled job, every chef is different, but at the root of it, either you have the skills or you don't. Recipes are recipes, cakes are cakes, it's one and the same if you know what you are doing. If you know what you are doing. It's just so crazy to me. There are other things that factor in to the ridiculousness of the whole situation, but it still leaves me shaking my head. I went to work this morning actually looking forward to my work. I can't remember the last time I have had that happen, so it just kind of sucks to have someone want to shit on it.

In the end I plan on keep going to work, doing the best I can with what I know and hope that things turn out right. More then that I am not paid for. I try to put the best version of myself out there, and as much as I try not to be as sensitive to people's reactions, it's something that I continue to work on.

I still can't really complain though, I still feel good. Life in The Bay is good, the weather is great and I continue to find myself with an arsenal of quality friends and family. I'm trying to make my life the best one for me, that's it. I'm still glad I moved back, everyday reassures me that I made the right decision. So I'm going to just keep going with that. Tomorrow might just lead me to the beach, I'm looking forward to it. I have to.

Cheese Puff

Sweet Jesus, I am tired. Today was my first day at my new job, and the main thought running through my head was "I seriously have to repeat this four more times this week?" It was eight and a half hours of peeling pears, chocolate mousses, lemon meringue tarts and pots of lavender cream. I love what I do, but it was a lot to take in. The chaos that is not knowing where anything is, who anyone is, and what the hell you are suppose to be doing, sucks. By the time I took off my apron and jacket, and sat in my car, all I could feel was tired, and content. That weird hovering in my heart telling me that I had once again made it through to the other side.

As I walked home this evening with Koda, I couldn't help but look up into the clear, blue, Redwood City sky and feel good about being where I am. Between the coconut shrimp I had for dinner, and sitting in a self-induced haze in the backyard, I am content with the state of my life. Well, as long as I don't start to think too much.

I am about to pass-out now, and could so go for a good snuggle. Can't wait to see what tomorrow will hold. Possibly Oreo cheesecake-bites, cheese puffs, and hopefully no more chocolate mousse.

I really hope you didn't expect me to proof read, I already have a day job.

Boob Tube

It's taken me a little while to get to this second post, but seeing as no one is reading yet, I'm taking my time. Plus, I haven't done much other then sleep, get ice tea at Starbucks, and attend to useless errands, eat amazing foods from different lands, and watching TV until my brain begins to hum. That all ends today though, or well, next Monday, because I got a job today! Yes, after over two months of unemployment, I am finally about to earn some money, and have something to do with my time other then CSI re-runs.

Even now as I type this I am watching Dancing With The Stars. I have to tell you, these Jonas Brothers kids are ADORABLE. Sorry, but it's true. That song they sing, I don't know its name, but it's catchy. And they have curly hair and neckerchiefs. I just wonder why all the dancers on the show are so fucking tan? It's like an hour long commercial for skin cancer.

I am just waiting for Project Runway to start, followed by the Season Premiere of Lipstick Jungle. I haven't had access to American TV for a very long time now, and am so taking advantage of all the Fall previews. The new season of The Office is starting this week, along with a bunch of new pilots. For the last couple of weeks I have refused to even go out later then nine o'clock on certain nights. I am so dedicated that I refuse to do ANYTHING or even talk, Monday nights between eight and nine o'clock, when Gossip Girl is on. Nothing gets between me and Blair.

Oh, you know what just came on? A commercial for Advil, with the mom from Boy Meets World hawking the mild pain reliever. That's just depressing some how. My sister, Dede, and I use to watch Boy Meets World every Friday night. I had the biggest crush on Ryder Strong, but see now that Ben Savage was way cuter. It's just sad that woman's career didn't go anywhere.

Ok, it's time for Project Runway, and I am so rooting for Jerell or Leanne.

Hi.

So here we are at my new blog, Cake and Commies. Welcome, welcome, it's nice to have a forum. Some of you may know me, some of you may not. Boring story short: I just felt too held down by the last blog and figured that a blank canvas was necessary. My main purpose with this new blog is to chart my transition from Europe to being back in suburban America. In case you are just joining me, I have been living in Switzerland for the last five years and have just moved back in with my parents (as awesome as it sounds), and am more or less trying to find my way back into the heart of California, after being away for so long.

That's my introduction, a tad lame, but I really hate introductions. Trying to impress someone into wanting to read your rambling mind-vomit is not that easy, so yeah, don't judge just yet. Plus, I got some fried chicken in the oven and I don't want it to burn.

Welcome to my insanity.