O Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree was lying on the truck bed, bristles poking out of every branch, as my sister and I stood in front of it. Sister clutched at a blue saw. I clutched at my cellphone and checked out my manicure in the yellowing  night lights.

We'd assumed that our parents would be home already and thus could help us chop off the bottom and stick the tree in water. AKA Dad would do it. Instead, it was just the two of us freezing in the driveway.

Sister wanted to get it cut now, before it could dry out anymore. She stuck the saw against the thick bark and went to town, hustling back and forth, little bits of sawdust bouncing out.

She got an inch in before the saw got stuck. Then it kept getting stuck. I kept getting colder. I helped by looking for the camera because that's what you do in awkward situations, right?

I couldn't find the camera and when I came back, I was promptly handed the saw and told it was my turn. I stared at the tree. A sawdust crust had formed around the cut.

I texted Dad to see when he'd be a home.

The saw felt light and flimsy. After twenty seconds of flailing, the weapon was taken away. Good move, Sister.

"We should flip it over." She said.

I regarded the honking, prickly bush. "...How?"

We exchanged looks. Sister went to work again, and I texted my brother.

Ten minutes later and we'd only gotten another inch in. We ended up both grabbing an end of the saw and pulling back and forth.

I'm pretty sure there was a challenge like this on Survivor. We definitely would not have won immunity.

Miraculously, the stump finally fell and we grabbed onto the tree at both ends. Well, she grabbed, I gingerly avoided spiders. We heaved it into the garage, plonked it into water, and stepped back to appreciate our feminist accomplishment.

Success!

This is what I keep telling myself.

Your midterm results is not your personal identity, your midterm results is not your personal identity, your midterm results is... uh... are not your personal identity.

Whoops.

Dear Dentist,

Thank you for trying not to scare me when I was younger. It didn't work 'cause honestly, those tiny magnifying glasses you wear are terrifying, but I appreciate the effort.

That said, I hope I never see you outside of your office.

Never, ever.

I'm sure you're a decent man. But see, you've studied the inside of my mouth. That's...awkward. There is nothing I can wear, no jewelry I can buy, no pithy comment I could make that would ever make running into you at Starbucks less awkward.

You've seen me drooling. Nothing can undo that.

If I do accidentally make eye contact with you one day in the middle of Safeway, please pretend you didn't notice me and continue examining cereal boxes until I successfully scoot away. I apologize in advance.

Really, it's not you. It's me.

The knowledge that I have worn the standard sunglasses your assistant provides--that are only slightly less geeky than 3D movie glasses--with a hunk of green plastic covering my puffy, numb lips is just too much for me to bear. Hell, you've even seen my lopsided attempts to smile before the anesthesia wore off.

I'm cringing right now. It hurts my soul just to admit that that's ever happened.

I hope you understand. See you next cavity, and not a moment sooner.

Sincerely,
Your 11 o'clock

Five by Five

1) I'm getting an EEG. That's the test where they stick wires to your skull and turn you into a zombie. Or monitor brain waves. Something like that.

2) Psyc class would be so much easier if Freud had just gotten laid. Seriously, dude. I have a flashcard that says "anal stage."

3) A massive, purple bruise showed up on my knee and I have no clue how I got it, but the cat looks suspicious.

4) I learnt how to sew. I wish people would understand how crazy momentous this is for me, and stop asking, "wait, you didn't know how to--but how did you...don't you learn that in, like, grade eight?"

5) Did you know the cop shop is only open Mon-Fri, 9-5? The libraries have longer hours than that. And, despite my bookworm status, I'm rarely in desperate need of a library on a Saturday night.

Capital A-pocalypse

Have you ever had floss get stuck around your fingers when you're standing in your fuzzy bathrobe and wondered if there was a zombie apocalypse right now and the only weapon you had was the Glock you keep beside your toothbrush, and you got rushed by your newly undead neighbour, would you die because your trigger finger was trapped in spearmint?

PS: I spellchecked "apocalypse" and got "Apocalypse." Nicely played, Spellcheck.

The RCMP needs an editor

Dear RCMP,

Don't take this the wrong way, but you need a make-over of the extreme variety. I know, I know, you have better things to do, but your workload will be lessened over the longterm the more the public believes in you.

Personally, I don't believe in anyone who doesn't proofread.

Exhibit A:

What you should do before, during and after
a robbery.

Where does one go for "robbery training?" Will it make me a better
robber or a smarter robber? And can I write it off on my taxes?

I'm kinda embarrassed for you right now. You should probably stop actively distributing these pamphlets, and by probably, I mean I will mock you if you don't.

Thank you for listening. Now go back to work.
- Me

I try so hard

These are the shoes I planned to wear with my red dress on Day One of the festival:


Note the bows.

 These are the shoes I planned to wear with my white dress on Day Two:

Note the polka dots.

These are the shoes I actually wore both days:

Note the mud.

Sigh.

legitimate conversation with my sister

Sister (via text): Can sheep swim?

Me: I don't know. Throw one in and find out.

Sister: I thought you were smart. What about mountain goats? Badgers?

Me: ...

The funny thing is that I know for sure that minks can swim. And that armadillos got leprosy from humans and that polar bear mamas will fast for over eight months (that's one way to get rid of the baby weight).

Hey! Apparently, sheep can swim!

Five by Five

1) I got called "Ms. Canada" and felt important. This is now my stagename. Take note.

2) My friends are dorks. Three of us got lightning bolts painted onto our foreheads. However, we realized after that we're dumb dorks because we got them on the wrong side. And in blue.

3) There's something appealing about stomping in mud, sinking into it, hearing it squish and spit, while wearing a white frilly dress. I felt like Alice in Wonderland.

4) Chapters was playing their Spice Girls playlist (awesome!) and my friends are I broke into the dance number of 'Stop Right Now' as soon as the chorus hit. We remembered all the moves. People looked at us funny. I can only assume they were insanely jealous.

5) I read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo series by Stieg Larsson and have come to the conclusion that that guy was messed. Also, I could never live in Sweden because too many names start with the letter 'B'.

First time my best friend of 9 years saw me cry was when Snape found Lily's body.

Did anyone else see the last Harry Potter poster, read it as "itallends," wonder why they misspelled "italians" and then quirk your head and make a funny face 'cause you thought the Italians were from Twilight?

No? Just me then?

Five Things That Made Me Go (^_~)

1) I successfully put on mascara in a moving vehicle the other day. That's Step One to becoming Superwoman.

2) I had a work meeting in the Executive Boardroom of City Hall. It was all very formal and official and everyone was addressed as Mister, Miz or Counsellor and no one used words like "like" or "whatevz" the whole time. I sat in the corner and munched on miniature cucumber sandwiches and hoped no one noticed my flipflops.

3) At Shoppers, I bought tampons and a KitKat bar. It felt ludicrously stereotypical so I added a pack of gum. Is that more stereotypical or less?

4) I stalled my Mom's car in the middle of a roundabout. I'd noticed the yellow light in the dashboard but hadn't worried because it looked like the State of Texas. Apparently, I do not know what either the state of Texas or the engine looks like. After it stalled, we got home quick and I found out that even though I didn't really think it was my fault, everyone else did. It totally wasn't though. So there.

It kinda looks more like a submarine now. Possibly a videocamera.

5) Today, my boss plonked a role of florescent yellow tape on my desk, told me to "guard it" and walked away like everything was totally normal. I do not understand but it's shiny.

this is why you should go to school, kids

My new goal is to take a camera absolutely everywhere so that I never miss an opportunity to digitally mock people. Um, I mean to remember those special moments.

Like this one, at Walmart:

Maybe it's really for lads.

PS: Can I just say how awkward it is to take pictures in/near a bathroom? People kept looking at me.

(we're gonna pretend I'm not a day late posting this, 'kay?)



My cat's Canadian. And drinks Starbucks.



rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb

I made Strawberry Rhubarb pie today because I was woozy on blood loss and it seemed like the right thing to do.

We have two patches of rhubarb in our garden, one of which is around the side of the house. Right in the centre was an extra long red stalk jutting out just above the rest, with a huge leaf the size of a pizza hanging off it. I grasped the stalk and pulled.

Nothing. I glanced around to make sure no one could see me and yanked as hard as I could.

Nothing. It felt like I was pulling on Excalibur.

I planted my feet firmly on the cement sidewalk, gripped both hands around the stalk, threw all my weight behind it and--

Fell. On my ass. Without the stalk.

I scrambled up, brushed off the dirt, and glared at the stupid red vegetable. Fruit. Fuck.

And that's how I got beaten up by rhubarb.

I win because I cut it.

 

And two mango juice boxes. UPDATED!

I donated blood today and as soon as my iron level was approved, I immediately sent a text saying "Iron score!!" to which one person responded and the rest just deleted me from their contacts list.

I was super pumped (ha!) until they stuck the needle in a bad vein and no blood came out. A second nurse was called over. They wiggled the needle a bit and blood sluggishly pushed through the clear tube.

"Are you feeling alright?" the nurse asked, untaping and retaping the tube to my foreman for the third time.

I mumbled something positive. I was watching Ellen. It was the episode with Audrina Patridge and Tony from when they were on Dancing With the Stars and I had to squint to read the captions.

The nurse gave up on the tape and held the needle in place the entire time, while the first nurse peered over her shoulder and tried to look reassuring. I watched Tony get in a dunk tank.

When I was done--and Tony was soaking--they wrapped a blue gauze/bandage/thing around my elbow which annoyed me because I totally wanted the pink one. Pfft. At the snacks table, one of the volunteers was a high school student who turned pale the moment he saw my bandaged arm, which is a neat trick considering he's brown. "What did it feel like?"

"Huh?"

"Did it hurt?"

I frowned. The other--more experienced--volunteer jumped in. Apparently do needles make you squeamish? is not a question on their application form. We tried assuring him that it hardly hurts and isn't that big of a deal, but he remained unconvinced and kept glancing uncertainly towards the nurses area.

"The worst case scenario is that you pass out, and that when you wake up, they give you cookies." I waved a crinkling packet of Oreos around. "Worst case scenario is cookies."

UPDATE: Big ass bruise. I look like I got punched in the elbow.

Two years ago today...

This blog is now a toddler.

Things I Never Ever Do Because I Am a PROFESSIONAL

1- lock my office keys in the office
2- jiggle the doorknob
3- frantically search the building in hopes that my keys have been teleported into a different room
4- get a headache from mentally trying to teleport my keys
5- jiggle the doorknob
6- find a telephone in the kitchen and whoop with joy!
7- realize that the telephone can't unlock the office either
8- jiggle the doorknob
9- realize that the phone number for the only other person with a key is locked in the office
10- kick off my stilettos, slump to the floor and wail at my failed teleportation attempts
11- jiggle the doorknob
12- hail the Caller ID list saved in the telephone!
13- explain to my co-worker that I'd just wanted a doorstop so I'd taken the one from the office to hold open the upstairs door and hadn't thought twice when the office door had clicked shut behind me
14- jiggle the doorknob
15- profusely thank my co-worker for coming in on her day off to unlock the office door
16- write a list of things I did not do this morning because I am a professional

Show 10 and 11: The End of The World and The End of The Show

In the darkness, there lurks...

a maze of looming passages, secrets unknown...

cross, if you'll risk it...

and, uh, ominous stuff and thunder and... More darkness?

Okay, so the theatre's not that dark. But it is scary!

During the final matinee performance, one of the biggest and most obvious flubs of the run occurred. On stage right, there is this cute little table with wine and bread and a candle...

and it got knocked right over. Luckily, the wine was corked because there's actual liquid in it and hoo boy that would have been bad. (I'm bringing back the phrase 'hoo boy'. Spread the word.)

During that same opening sequence, I put my mask on and, for the first time, got a ton of hair stuck under it, rubbing against my face! Distracting! I guess it's still better than what some of the other girls had to deal with: one ate a feather.

Between shows, we had a potluck and drank 5 hour energy shots and I finished reading Harry Potter 5. There's a picture of me, in costume, with my head down, reading in the greenroom. I think that's what I looked like for most of the run.

We also took cast pictures onstage. There were two honorary cast members who joined us, the lead couple in both HMS Pinafore and Pirates of Penzance. The last time they did Gondoliers, they were just engaged. This time, they brought their newborn.

Finally: the last show. Like every year, it's bittersweet. I never have to wear that tulle floral skirt ever again! But at the same time, I'll never get to perform List and Learn with the girls ever again.

The show went quite well, nothing got knocked over, and no one crashed through the set. During the middle of Act I, most of the girls were mulling around the dressing rooms, chatting and taking pictures. It was the last time our two leads would wear their wedding dresses, the last time we would wave good-bye to our men during the finale.

We were reminiscing so much that we were halfway through our cue song before someone piped up, "oh shit, we're on next!"

We ran. Out the dressing room, down the hall, up the stairs, down a looming passage behind the stage, all the way to stage left.

Some of the cast, including the male leads, were already there. "Nice of you to make it."

We did not miss our entrance, but hoo boy it was too close for comfort. Of course, it was the last time we'd ever have to worry about that entrance.

After the show, there were lists of things to be done before the cast party. The set had to be striked (stroke?), the dressing rooms emptied and cleaned, the costumes and props returned.

"And...I've done!"  

Show 8 and 9

The set was bouncing uncertainly beneath me.

That is a really really bad sign. I hadn't noticed it during Act I, but during the second act, I spend the two biggest dance numbers--the Cachucha and the Finale--on the top of the stairs towards stage right in a particular area that had become increasingly less sturdy. The plywood--ahem, I mean marble--had developed a bit of a spring. Right where I twirled, jumped and danced.

It didn't break, but with the hot lights beating down, with the music whirling and skirts flying and a flurry of movement surrounding me, I was struggling to keep a cheerful face. Hard to do when you think you may crash at any moment.

The area had extra support added for the next night, the nineth show. Backstage, we had the most serious conversation that the greenroom has ever seen--a debate on capital punishment--which was ridiculous because we're actors and what the hell do we know.

Onstage, one of the girls had trouble tying her skirt during the overture. It was too loose and kept sliding down, so as she twirled during a dance, she ripped it off and flung it aside. So now she's a stripper. See how that works?

Show 7!

Yet another earring was lost today. I think we're up to eight now that have flown off onstage.

The second week of shows always begins a little hesitantly. We've had two days without hairspray or character shoes or Bump-its. Rhythm is gone.

The cool thing though is it shows that a four month rehearsal period is worth it because the steps, the lines, the reactions are all subconsciously there, ready to go. Yay for muscle memory!

Show 6!

There is a mutual understanding that what happens in the girls dressing room, probably remains in the girls dressing room.

So instead, I give you: the dress



they made fun of me for taking pictuures of my lap

 the make-up:
 

this doesn't show the stage foundation because stage foundation is the devil and
everyone knows only Nikons can capture the devil.

 and the props:

the purses aka the bombs

and these are actually tulle skirts with flowers on them that we put on during the overture. 

We've finally got a system for putting them on so, in theory, no one ends up naked. In theory.


I would share more but...



Sorry.

Show 4 and 5

During the matinee, one of the purses (which are more like miniature suitcases) was left onstage after the girls exit. So, during the following scenes, it sat there.

Obviously.

Taunting everyone who passed it, reminding them they made a mistake.

So when the ducal party entered with their bodyguards, swarmed by paparazzi, the bodyguards treated it like a bomb, panicked, and rushed it offstage.



The bomb.

 During the evening show, my voice was feeling a little bleh but I did the Cachucha and the Finale perfectly. That evens it out, right?

Show 3: Gala!

At the end of Act One, all the gondoliers get in their boat and sail away as the women wave and blow kisses.

But tonight, the two poles that mark the dock where the boat is...broke. One crumbled. The sphere on the top of the second one popped off and left several gondoliers scrambling to put it back. Then, as the two lead females threw their roses, both lead males missed.

The audience thought it was a hoot though.

I don't have a picture of the dock, but...

These are the easy sets. Then there are the stairs:

More pictures to come in future posts!

Show 2: Opening Night

During the first show, as all of the girls were handed beautiful red and white roses, one of the girls got a rose with no head. Just a plastic green stem.

So she sighed happily and smelled it.

Last night went much better. All the girls got their skirts on properly (um, over top of their regular dresses, I mean).

On the plus, I didn't mess up the finale choreography! And all the bags were taken offstage during Act II! And no one missed an entrance or fell on their ass onstage!

Err, well, almost. One of the chorus guys ran on late during the finale. Then, because he was on the wrong side of the stage when the choreography started, he had to rush to the other side and accidentally tripped. He was fine, just chagrined, and was up quickly.

...

But other than that!

Tonight is Gala, which is sold out, and if anyone screws up it will haunt them forever and ever and they'll never be allowed back in again. Or not. The point is it's a big deal and everyone dresses up after and pretends they're not sweaty and tired.

More importantly, it means I got new shoes.

Show 1: Preview Night!

Preview Night of the Gondoliers began with...a very stressed out stage manager.

Big accidents on multiple bridges: the musical director, the male lead and one chorus member were all stuck in traffic.

The Cachucha, the insane dance I've already blogged about, wasn't looking very good last night so an hour before the show began, four of us were given brand new choreography.

Brand new choreography. Insert moment of blind panic here.

The show opened and, to be honest, I wasn't nervous. I was too busy going over the new steps in my head. Everything seemed to go well. One of the lead males--who did manage to arrive on time!--did not smack me in the face with his elbow like last night, and after some very stressful moments backstage trying to rehearse the new choreo in the bathroom, we headed onstage to perform the Cachucha.

Defying all odds, the four of us with new steps did them perfectly!

So of course I messed up the finale instead. But hey, that's preview night.

We're called Gondolieri

We all look like tramps.

I mean that in the nicest way though. Tonight was the Gondoliers dress rehearsal, and it was the first time everyone was in full make-up and costume, and wow, the female chorus is trash. In the best way possible.

Everyone was a little on edge for tonight's run because it's our only full run-thru in the theatre before we have an audience. The set has large stairs everywhere that make it difficult to move quietly or smoothly. They're supposed to be marble but they're actually plywood. Shh, don't tell.

A lot of minor things went wrong. Before the show tomorrow, we're re-blocking the major dance number because it looked too squishy.

Squishy, squishy, squishy.

I shouldn't blog when I'm tired. Excuse me as I go scrape off my tramp make-up.

fourteen layers later

For my momma's birthday, I made a cake. It looked like this:

And then it looked like this:

And then like this:

The end.

This is my list of words that make me happy.

whimsical.
unfathomable.
knackered.
fisticuffs.
kthxbye.
shifty.
kerfuffle.
audacity.
fruity.
the wiggins.
neon.
mischievous.
quirky.
snicker.
indignant.
shuck.
topsy-turvy.
whippersnapper.
squelch.
fruit loop.
lickety-split.
persnickety.
snark.
eight.
quibble.
wicked.
newfangled.
scowl.
snickerdoodle.
cheesy.
cowabunga.
frolic. h
anky panky.
doofus.
guffaw.
smug.
douse.
bicker.
hullabaloo.
spunky.
buffoonery.
smidgen.
tousled.

Someday, I will announce my intention to engage in fisticuffs. And then I will giggle madly and get beaten up but it will be worth it.

My Philosophy teacher liked to use the phrase "profoundly trivial." I found his class profoundly trivial.

This semestre, I had a lot of information zipping around in my head. Most of the time, I kept it to myself because no one really wants to know that Canada's first prison was built in Kingston, Ontario, but sometimes it slipped out.

Once at a birthday party, I got drunk and kept shouting "Taste aversion! Taste aversion!" (thanks Psych 1100!). That was also the night I convinced someone there's only six continents. 'Cause Europe doesn't count.

I now officially unofficially have an Associates degree in Creative Writing. That'll get me a job, right?

Three Things That Are Maybe Not Really Related

1) The other day I went on a treasure hunt to find an art show. We had to ask for directions though because the gallery was hidden in a convenience store and who looks in a convenience store for an art show?

2) My friend and I went dress shopping in a cute little boutique with swaths of tulle and beading and satin in the window.

Except I had a problem. This cute little boutique insists that people take their shoes off at the door. No! I don't want to take my shoes off, this is a store not a living room!

That lasted until I noticed the darling white and pink cocktail dress in the other window. Then we hunkered inside and slipped our shoes off. Well, my friend slipped her shoes off and I leaned against the doorframe and heaved my boots off. There was some grunting involved. And then, my mismatched socks were on display.

One had red and white polka dots and the other was olive green with little green tuffs all over.

Whoops.

3) I began reading Confessions of A Pioneer Woman yesterday. It's written by a city girl (like me!) who loves high heels and Starbucks (like me!) who married a rancher and lives on a farm (like...oh). She wrote a novel on how she met and married her husband and posted the entire thing on her blog. As of 1:48am this morning, I have read the entire thing. Can't wait for the movie.

I read it because she's funny and weird and because I wanted to understand how exactly she went from city girl to wife of a rancher. And because I know there's a happy ending. There's nothing worse than a quirky start with a weepy ending.

I'm looking at you, Jon and Kate.

I'm still a playwright. But this way I'll also be employed.

Reasons Why I Should Not Be A Lawyer:
1) Everyone hates them.
2) I'll still be a student when I'm twenty six.
3) There's a bar exam, which has nothing to do with drinking.

Reasons Why I Should Be A Lawyer:
1) I'll be called a doctor.

Decision made. Stay tuned for the revamp of this blog, soon to be called 'The Ousted Doctor.'

This post is neither witty nor whimsical nor gramatically correct.

This post is rhubarb. Specifically Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.

 Like this. Does rhubarb have a peel like oranges or skin like carrots?

 Okay, I lied. There's also strawberries.

I have several hundred versions of this shot. I love the colours! Also, I was listening to Shrek: The Musical soundtrack at the time and it totally distracted me from moving on.

I didn't take any pictures after my the pie was baked though because I was too busy stuffing my face--I mean, um, because the lighting was bad. Yeah.

If I had to live with only one maybe-fruit-maybe-vegetable, I would choose rhubarb. No contest.

because librarians are total snobs

Today, I found "Shrek: the Musical" soundtrack at the library and after I finished squealing,  I had to scramble about to find a novel decent enough to counter a singing ogre so the librarian wouldn't judge me.

Because I'm self-sacrificing like that.

I decided to make cookies to take to my guaranteed-stressful meeting tomorrow so it would be guaranteed-stressful with snacks.

My Lemon Thumbprints turned into Burnt Shortbread though. That's why I ate five of them. To be sure they weren't salvageable. Yeah.

danse la cachucha, fandero bolero, Xeres will drink manzanilla montero!

Making Mac n' Cheese at midnight after rehearsal, dancing around the kitchen going step scuff heel, step scuff heel with my arms above my heads like a rookie bullfighter (should probably close the blinds).

Cachucha, I will tame you.

This is why I pay tuition.

My world went upside-down. I couldn't figure out why my partner was dropping her arm in front of my face and wiggling her fingers like a bad mime when I recognized the Legally Blonde nail polish and, oh crap that's my arm. And it's coming from the ceiling.

The goggles are designed with a mirror to flip everything but they require you to tilt your head up to see at eye-level. Otherwise you stare at the ceiling. It's a very dull ceiling. I had to make a conscious effort to look up (down?) to my partner's face and when she offered me the marker, I reached towards her boob. Whoops. She put the marker in my hand and positioned me in front of the board.

My task was to outline the star drawn on the board with the black marker. How hard can that be?

Really hard. Really really hard. My hand was crawling along the board, looking like Thing from The Addams Family but with pretty nails.

I managed to outline one and a half points before go down, no I said down, that's the left, the point is right there, wtf Thing, you're drawing half-assed lightning bolts! became too much and I took the goggles off.

Woah. Woozy.

(Isn't Psych class fun?)



Replace the house with a star.



What? No, it's not for ME, it's, uh, for one of my...characters. Yeah. Yeah, that's it.

I just googled how to remove security tags from clothing.

Shit My Teachers Taught Me

During my third semestre of post-secondary, I took Calculus.

Every time the Prof said, 'you'll remember this from Pre-Calc,' I got scared. I didn't take Pre-Calc. I took high school math. One time Prof said this and then proceeded to use long division on a polynomial. Long division! Mind blown!

I survived this class so I'm pretty much tickled pink. It wasn't easy. I had to mingle with science majors and attempt to laugh at Physics jokes like "What's the derivative of acceleration called?" "Jerk." "Don't call me a jerk!"

Riiight. Bazinga.

This is also the guy that said, "assume a cow is a sphere."

Here are some pictures to show my dedication to this class during the semestre:



Both y and x must be defined at the point in question.

If not, shit happens.

Awww...yeah. I stopped paying attention twenty minutes ago.
Fuck, I hate snow. And handwriting. And green.



This is a diagram. That is not a daisy.
That is a man with a top hat and a smoking pipe. 



Derivatives will come up in casual conversation some day and all will be worth it, right?

Near the lonely knoll I weep...

Excuse me, I have to go change into somber clothing.

Those are bottles of eyelash glue.

I am so confused.

Darling

I woke up this morning with a focus: make Lemon Tartlets. Make them really cute and make lots of them. So I swirled my hair up in a bun, staggered downstairs in my pjs, and promptly lost all sight of my goal because according to the paper, Justin Bieber's in a movie. He's sixteen. And his hair is lame. I must go see this movie and mock him relentlessly.

When I remembered that I had a purpose in waking up an hour late early, I blared Legally Blonde: The Musical songs on my iPod and began baking. I love lemon tartlets because you make the shells yourself and they're tiny and miniature and anything tiny and miniature is darling. Just look at babies. All they do is cry and sleep and poop and eat, but they're darling because they only come in size XXS.



They (the tarts not the babies) came out lovely.

 



You know what? They tasted yummy. And you know what else? I made them entirely without incident!

Except for the fire.

But it was a very tiny fire. Some might even call it darling.