Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Muffins, poetically .

Song of the Glob: Heart by Swollen Members

Dear Globlets,

It will seem like I'm turning this into something it's not, making a big issue out of nothing, etc. Maybe I am? A little? I'm just using it...

Muffins were mentioned on a forum on DH's Facebook status and DH brought up how he believes "Muffins are just ugly cupcakes," and being a muffin-lover and baker, I stood up for them. Muffins don't have legs, you know.

Me: You're a dick. Muffins are not ugly cupcakes! They're just... not ready to go to a party.
And you know what? You don't deserve muffins. I'm going to bake an army and when you come to get the spoons, the house will smell like delicious, fresh, sweet muffins... and I will take one and say, "I'd offer you one but it's not a cupcake so I know you won't like it. Muffin-hater." And I'd bite into it and unleash the muffiny scent into the air and you will smell it and see it's still warm and you'll think to yourself, "Shit, I should have been nicer to the muffins."

DH's friend replied: We have an intense muffin war going on. Simon, I'd be more than happy to give you a muffin, because you are great and deserve to partake in any pastry you want.

I did not agree.

Me: Oh, I think pies and cakes and cookies and brownies and everything else will be fine for Simon-feeding. Sure, he deserves them, because he hasn't called them names. But, "Muffins are just ugly cupcakes" sounds mean and... :( maybe muffins have feelings too.

DH's friend: Well, in retrospect, muffins are like the cupcake's lame sister, because they're not sweet enough to have colourful icing!!
It's all about strudels, anyway!

So she's really taken his side, eh?

Me: Or maybe muffins are so sweet that they don't need icing?
Maybe they're beautiful because they don't need it.
And maybe cupcakes are just pretty because they've got icing?

I stopped there because things could get nasty. I like to make things nasty. I'm a nasty little girl. Okay, that's sounding nasty.

But really, I love muffins. The huge ones at work, especially the blueberry-cinnamon ones(!), are amazing and they always look delicious. (And the smell... >.< ) The tiny little ones are super cute and bite-sized and you just wanna pop 'em in your mouth, especially if I make the special ones with secret yummies inside.

Do you see what I was saying before, though?
"Maybe muffins are so sweet that they don't need icing? Maybe they're beautiful because they don't need it. And maybe cupcakes are just pretty because they've got icing?"
You can make crab-pickle muffins and slap on the snazziest pink icing and rainbow sparkles, and call it a cupcake, but no matter how much "makeup" you put on it to make it look pretty, what's underneath will taste like crap. It's the same for people.

Take a muffin,
A simple muffin,
Be it chocolate chip,
Even carrot or lemon-cran.
Baked with love
And ingredients
So secret to you and me
No need for icing, No, Sir. E., just remove it from the pan!

Omigoodness I'm like Digital Cuttlefish. <3

A muffin can be beautiful because of many things; its smell, not hidden by the scent of icing; its open promise of what there is inside; its purity, unmasked, and its simpleness brings back memories of home-baking and a sense of, "Hey, I've been here before... and I like it." Since, when will we find the time to bake sweet things with our busy schedules tying us down? It is much easier to pay $4 for a muffin than to make it on one's own.

People wear these cupcake icings and sprinkles that are our cars and brand-name accessories, but what is it worth in the end?

You can look pretty but be incapable of accepting, loving or appreciating anything, and that will make you an ugly person.
You can BE beautiful, and love and appreciate all things, and that's what will make you shine brighter than any sparkle, and taste better and sweeter than any food colouring + sugar + water mixture.

I'm all for change and creativity but it's always good to remember the classics - the originals.

Kind of a strange post.

Monday, June 29, 2009

A Post of Many Posts.

Dear Globlets,

I stand on my tippy-toes a lot. When I'm stirring something in the kitchen or cutting up pecans, for example, I have a tendency to stand on my tippy-toes. I don't really know why. Maybe it would be more comfortable for me to have an extra inch? I wonder if people notice.

One of my problems at work, I am told, is that I don't do certain things as fast as others. Dishes, in particular. I am faster now, I know, but the others are still faster. The problem with being faster, though, is that it's easier to miss things and it's harder to clean accurately. I've found quite a few dishes with food still on them, a hair in a few things, and so on.
Hair is the most repulsive thing you can find on a dish or in your food. It's also un-FoodSafe - staphylococcus and all.
If you do it right the first time, you don't have to do it again and that can save you more time in the long run. The key is to combine speed and accuracy. Hopefully I will. I am getting faster, I know it. It just doesn't always seem like it when you keep having to stop what you're doing.
It sucks when you start doing something, your boss leaves for 5-10 mins, and in the meantime you only get to do a little bit of what you were doing because you had to go help customers, and then when you're finished dealing with customers she comes back and sees you've hardly done anything. But she didn't see the customers...
Oh well.

I got an iPod. Well, I actually got my mom an iPod Touch and she got me an iPod Nano, and that counted as my share of camp payments. I got a red one, not only because the colour is great, but because it only cost a few dollars more to get it online from Apple and by doing this, money is donated to the (RED) Campaign. I had "Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them!" engraved on it. 16GB and I love it. I'm not used to it though. I took a chance too since I couldn't see the red iPod before I bought it. Colours on the computer screen can be different from the colours in real life. They were, for some of the other iPods I looked at.

I got a new do:

You should have seen how much hair my poor hairdresser had to cut off. I have a lot of hair. He's been a hairdresser for a very long time and he told me that he doesn't think he'd seen so much hair on the floor from a cut. He said he was going to make a carpet out of it, jokingly, of course.
He cut a bit and reminded me of how I have random curly strands of hair. I told him I think curly hair is happy, it makes me happy. You can't think that someone with curly hair is an asshole. If you look at someone like Victoria Beckham who has super straight, layered, short hair, you think she's a total bitch. Curls = happy and fun.
Later, he said to me, "So, Michael Jackson... he uhh... is gone now, eh?"
I said, "Yeah... he kicked the bucket." We kind of looked at each other like, "Well, whatever." Neither of us cared, but we started discussing celebrities and their crazy lifestyles. Then he said the best thing ever:
"They all get involved with the drugs and alcohol and happy pills... all they really need is some curls!" And it was just so cute and perfect.

I'm sure I'm forgetting to write about something but this is long enough, I think.
Off to the shower!

Friday, June 26, 2009


Dear Globlets,

Scanning my Facebook friends' status updates, I came across this one that I found exceptionally sweet and loving:

Morgan Djuna Sorais Guion Sometimes I think I am to in love with life, the universe, and everything around me for my own good. I know that I am here to love as the wind loves dancing in the trees, as my cells love breathing in this orchestra of life. We are truly blessed to be alive and dancing within this amazing synchronicity of breathing, alive, love! (So where are you my friends? And where are the snuggles?)

And then I wondered, would a Christian or other religious person ever feel this way? I guess not since they'd thank their lord for these things. Funny how they don't thank him for not being able to find a cure for cancer. I can't say "thank him for cancer" because he didn't have anything to do with that, oh no. That came from man once we tainted ourselves for eternity by eating something.
It's like a dog and its owner:
Owner says, "Don't eat the sausage we're having for dinner!" They leave it in plain sight, accessible to the dog.
The dog eats the sausage. Do you blame it? The messages being sent to the brain telling it of the yummy smell and flavour of the sausage must have tricked it! Satan's doing, no doubt.
So I guess we're just being continuously beaten by a newspaper for "something we did" a long time ago.

Off to work!

Pretty Dead Thing takes over.

Dear Globlets,

Jacko the Wacko is dead and there's no way you wouldn't know about it. Like I said on my Facebook, the "angels" must be dancing to P.Y.T (Pretty Young Thing), but instead, are singing "Pretty Dead Thing."
Yes, he was relatively young but he had a good run in his early days. Recently, he hasn't produced anything good and the only publicity that was seen of him in his last years were negative. Need I remind you that he dangled his baby (though I don't think it's really his because he's not actually human) over a balcony, that he paid a small fortune to the court for bail in the child molestation/Arvizo case, and that he had secret passageways throughout his Neverland Ranch leading to private rooms...?

Heath Ledger was 28 when he died. He had talent and a lot more left to give to the world. That was, in my eyes, a much more tragic and needless death than MJ's.


"Nothing Else Happened Today

Five women burned as witches, in a western Kenya village
The authorities say nothing; it’s a common thing to do.
The reporter was a witness to the burning and the horror,
But with Michael Jackson dying, move the story to page two.

In two days, we’ve seen eight bombings, maybe nine or more are dead,
As Americans are pulling out, and fighting will renew.
And Wednesday’s count keeps climbing, from the bombing in the market,
But with Michael Jackson dying, move the story to page two.

In Connecticut, a teenaged boy who happens to be gay
Has the demon gayness exorcised, and driven from his head;
Outlandish and barbaric, yet they’re proud of what they did
But you’ll have to search to find it, now that Michael Jackson’s dead. "

From The Digital Cuttlefish

I saw some of the exorcism... poor kid.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Ew, Fuzzy.

Dear Globlets,

I don't need to justify anything. There are always two sides of a story.
So, now, look at me. I'm not caring what they think. And why should I if they don't even know the half of it? ... If they don't even care what the other half is. And even if they did... I'm happy, and he's happy, so, so hwhat?

I started talking to him last year. He wanted me but he couldn't have me because I was with someone else. I turned another boy down when the person I ended up with, SH, became my official BF as well. Actually, maybe it was two boys. They weren't wanting to really be with me-with me, though. Pants - with me.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to be with CT. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea. He lives in Langley, he's tall, and those are the only reasons I can think of anymore. Just pretend there are more. But as I got to know him and vice versa, and as we talked about our problems and learned about, and from, each other, the more I realized what an amazing guy he is. He sees things in a really great way and it feels like we click. We make each other happy without having to go out of our way. I realized this after I broke up with SH. I got closer to him. Not physically because Langley SUCKS. But I did go see him in Vancouver. I had a fantastic first day with him, which I wrote about here. (Burning eagles, sex on hobos and mattresses in alleys, straight lines, and pigeons that fly, need I say more?) The writings described barely half of the fantasticness of it.

I saw him again and we went to a lot of places. We went to Granville Island and got attacked by birds and he held me to keep me safe and shooed away the bird when it came back to get me again. My food had nothing to do with that, really. (Did I not write about this?!) We got a Limonata and I teased him with it at the park and I took pictures of him that I still have to upload. Fial. We sat on the grass in the park and did nothing.
I agreed to "see him." Like, "date him." Not be his girlfriend, officially.
He nagged me, and he nagged me to say "Yes, I'll be your woman," but I needed to feel "it" first.
Later that same day, we went to Pacific Centre. It was close to the end of the visit and we sat down on a bench. It's a strange place for a bench because everything in the vicinity was, and is, under construction. There was a hall that reminded me of those Windows 95 screensavers - a maze full of brick. You know which one. Chinese people kept coming near us because they were lost. But we sat on that bench anyway and got nervous and red-cheeked. Some more than others. He wanted to kiss me. I was afraid. He said some things and that made me want to, but I was still afraid. I kissed him on his cheek. Pussy. He asked if we could hold hands. We held hands. They got sweaty. We didn't care. We walked through and out of the mall holding hands and then it was time to leave. Hug.

I saw him again last weekend. We met at the skytrain and went back to the same bench. It was hard finding it, though not really hard to find. We just... missed it. Somebody seemed to know where he was going. Just like I seemed to know where the movie place was. (Seriously though, who put Chinatown so close to Tinseltown? I don't think Chinese people dress up their trees with tinsel in China, I think they dress them up with Ha Gow. As they should. And I'd just like to point out how much I love jokes that only one or two people will get) (Also, Mmmm, Ha Gow! >.< )
At the bench, it was like old times. The same guys were walking in and out of doors, but more Russians were getting lost this time.
He asked me again if I'd be his woman and I said yes. There were fightings over the 5 dollar bill too, I recall.
It took me forever because I was still afraid to, but I really wanted to do it, so I kissed him. I scared him because it was sudden and I took so long to decide that when I was ready it was like OHMYGODIT'SHAPPENINGNOW.

Me doing things first was the rule. I didn't before and it didn't work. I didn't want to be rushed into anything, I wanted it to feel right. It did. So I said yes. I kissed him first. I told him I love him first. And for the first time it feels like I mean it. It feels fuzzy. Like a kiwi.

Ver' nice kissings at the movies. Even though the second time we went, the woman next to us told us she thinks "We should get a hotel room."

Things feel good. Like they should. Like I thought they would. And so now I'll say it. I love him. :)

I'm forgetting stuff because I'm sleepy, I think. Oh well.


Will write about srsbsns later. That how you say it? Whatever. I know "noob" because I am one at everything. :)

Monday, June 22, 2009

Mushy Fuzzy Warmy Tentacley, Ayeee.

Dear Globlets,

I have a man. I haven't told anyone much about how I feel about him so I'm going to now. I'll be Frank, and you can be Billy-Bob, and I won't care what you or your wife, Mary-Sue, think! So there.

He makes me feel good. He makes me smile all the time for no apparent reason. Sometimes it is apparent to me; sometimes I can't help it. Not that he doesn't make me smile FOR a reason, but he just makes me smile even when he's not doing anything in particular. And then he tells me I'm way too smiley and I smile more and I say sorry but we both know I'm not.
My tummy feels funny before I see him but I can be myself when I'm with him. I never think, "Well, I won't bother telling him that because he won't care" or "Maybe I shouldn't say or do this or that because..." I don't worry about everything when I'm with him. The only thing I ever worry about, really, is whether or not my breath smells and things like that.

How did this happen? Well, it started a while ago. I've been friends with him for some time now and he's... He doesn't bullshit. He's SO unbullshitful. And he's really sweet. And he's cute. And we think/say the same things a lot = hivemind. I love being with him. And I love the way he looks at me. I don't love it that he lives in godforsaken LANGLEY. But whatever! He's also kind of really, really tall. But he's not scrawny, so that's good. I like meat on my men's bones. He's like a big teddy bear that I can't wait to snuggle-n-cuddle with.
We probably look silly together. But I'd rather look silly with someone I love than look good with someone I don't. Fuck conventional. Conventionality dies when I feel the... well, the warm fuzzy feeling. I don't... think I did before. It's different. It is for him too.

I like his values. I like how he thinks. I love talking to him. He helped me with a lot of stuff and I trust him. I have trusted him with so much... and I feel like I can tell him anything and I can only hope he does too. I love the little things he does. I love the way he puts his hand on mine and how it's hard to hold hands with our fingers locked because I'm too short and he's too tall so we have to hold hands the regular way unless we're sitting. I love the way he looks at me. I know I said that already but I do. It makes me feel... >.< like... a kiwi. Not like a New Zealander, but kiwis are fuzzy, aren't they? And sweet inside. Unless they're bad. But I'm a good kiwi. Usually. I'm good even when I'm not.
I also love it that when he says something bluntly, it doesn't hurt. It might tingle for a little bit but it doesn't last. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't make me feel like killing myself. Things have been said to me before that have done that. Sometimes when he says those kinds of things, I wonder how I'd have reacted to the same words if someone else said it. Almost always, "someone else" would have hurt me a lot.
Maybe I know what he means better? Or know when he's kidding? Or maybe it's because it's coming from him.

I also love his rules.

I love how we went to the movies and kissed and stuff, and how the second time that lady got mad at us and forgot her helmet, and how the first time the guy who we thought would get mad at us too, didn't.

I love being his First Mate and him being my Cap'n Tentacles.

I love my new hoodies.

I love it when he's happy and when he smiles.

And I love how it isn't hard to...

... love him.

So he better not be a dickhead in the end. But I don't think he will be. He knows how not to be. It's rule number one.

And no, this could not get any more mushy than it already is. Well, maybe it could, but you'd die if it did.


Saturday, June 20, 2009


Well, I are of the happy. And I will tell you all about it later. But I just thought you should know. :)

Monday, June 15, 2009

Innapropriate Bugs.

Dear Globlets,

I hate getting hungry at night. It's so stupid. You don't really want to eat anything because it's late and it's ungood to eat at night. But at the same time, you don't want to ignore your tummy. I need to bake something. I should bake 5 loaves of banana bread and then just freeze it so we can have a whole week's supply of banana bread!

Work was way better today. We had more customers than on Saturday, thank Cat! I felt quite full afterwards, though. I may have eaten too many. But the tips were good! $10+ split between two of us.
I had to pee really bad at one point though. With slow days, I have more time to drink and be healthy and crap like that. I stay hydrated, but have to pee more often. Br went out for a bit and I was left there on my own and I couldn't just leave the place. People are silly about
having to wait. :P I suffered for quite a while. It might have only been two minutes, but you can't tell when you're in that kind of situation. The sound of a clock's hands ticking, hearing and seeing each second go by, makes you want to pee more. It's because you can see the hand vibrate from the motion of the second thingy and it reminds you of ripples of water and you think of water and flowing water and then you... need to go... yeah. You do.

As most of you know, I don't like bugs. I tolerate bees and flies; I stay up til Cat knows when with a flip flop in one hand and mosquito bites on the other, waiting and hunting mosquitoes until I have a post-battle war zone smeared and smushed all over my walls (just ask our old place in Vancouver); daddy long legs freak the crap out of me and I don't like killing them because I always think my shoe won't cover the whole bug and I'll miss and it'll be alive still and angry and want to crawl on me and be mean; moths are Lucy-food and she's good at getting them, provided she isn't oblivious to them, but I hate them because they're stupid and come close to me and might touch me and... I don't like it when bugs touch me; the touching thing goes on to spiders which I know are not bugs, but they're creepycrawlyMOFOS that are creepycrawly and might creepycrawl on me because they're speedy and creepycrawly and yucky and they GROW if they're little!!! And they have too many legs and are sneaky and creepy and crawly and yuckyyuckyyucky things and the only thing worse than seeing a spider... is seeing a spider... and then NOT seeing the spider. >.< style="font-style: italic;">OMGOMGOMG NO, don't do it, don't do it! Just leave me alone! Hurry up, me! What if it... goes... iNO! Quickly, now! 'Cause you're vulnerable. Things are exposed. And you have no control because you're sitting down and things could happen behind you.

TMI? TMD? Maybe, but you love me.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

So I can so I can make sandwiches that will not sell

Dear Globlets,

I can now wear my sunglasses at night so I can so I can!
Wow, I look like a bitch in that picture there. Oh well. They're "OuttaMaWayMofo-IGotSomewhereToBeAndIt'sFarAwayFromYouAndYourLittleDogToo! HEHEHEHE!" sunglasses. Still a little big, but not outrageous. Fi should have taken a picture of me wearing hers. Hers are big but look good on her. On HER. NOT me.

Work is tough nowadays.
My shifts have all changed. I'm in the afternoons now: Wed, Thurs & Fri, 3-6; Sat, 8-4:30. Except this week my boss took her first vacation in three years - since she opened Delicado's, her previous business. I've been working 11-4:30 since she left. Saturday is the same. She left on Friday. That day there were three of us working and it was really slow. When we didn't have customers, which was nearly the whole time, we cleaned. The next day, Saturday, I got there at 8 and Br told me that it had been like this all morning. And there was nothing left to clean! We only had a few customers that day... it was bizarre! They were still delicious, though. Nothing beats young, fresh, never-had-alcohol-before livers of human children, my goodness! Fried up with onions... Mmmmmmm...
But really, I could count the number of customers we had just on my fingers and toes. It was probably the worst day for One of a Grind.
This is how slow it was: On Saturdays I make fewer sandwiches than how many are made during the week because it is slowER. I made one of each and two turkey and two ham, I think. Maybe just one ham. The special was Tuna Melt so I didn't make any tuna. Guess which sandwiches sold? Two/three tuna SANDWICHES that I had to specially make and a day-old roast beef. Which means I took home ALL the sandwiches that I made that day. Lunch was better. It was what the morning should have been more like and then doubled for lunch. Maybe tripled.

Long hours and breaks are stupid. Half an hour is way too long, especially when it's slow. But then I'm exhausted anyway. And I have to miss going-away parties for epic people that I love. :( Oh well. I still like it! Even though I fail all the time.

Also, shoes SUCK. Flip-flops hurt when walking up/down hills or when walking fast, and shoes with backs cut up the skin above the heel! And frankly, cute summer dresses + comfy hiking shoes = notsogood. I already push those with shorts and capris. Oy vey...!