It Is the End of Days and I Have Chosen to Write

We could be nuke dust any day. I have no pretenses about avoiding desserts in this vacation wonderland. If I die, it will be with a cinnamon roll in my belly.

As things collapse and teeter I imagine myself dirty in a roving commune. My last job won't matter, but the skills I learned at it will.

Looking ahead I wonder what I will finish. What are the last words I want to speak on a stage or send to a reader? I thought about canning my book until I feel more than 50% certain I will see October, but once I have journaled, read a chapter of Ghost Story, drank my amaretto coffee, watched Big Brother, and even fallen down the Twitter void, my computer shines like a Zelda treasure chest. I sit at the desk and kick it open. A four note victory plays.

G v G, Age 9

I'm not sure how you felt about your girlfriends growing up, but there was an intensity between mine. I did not form supportive bonds until I was probably in college. I loved my girlfriends, but we also hated each other. In hindsight, I don't know why I didn't question this more or even ask for help. Maybe because my tribe was still a tribe--despite having inward slashes? At the end of the day, we would still always be against other girl tribes (a whole different issue).

When I sniffled because I thought another girl was better at cheerleading than me, my mom said, "Well, she's a dog." Meaning, maybe she can do a backflip, but in ten years I would be beautiful and she would still be woof. I googled her two years ago to see if it was true. I don't blame my mom. It was her job to make me feel better, and in desperation that's what she landed on.

In middle school it was always someone's turn to be hated. I didn't mind this cycle because I had about six friends, so five weeks would be good and then one would be bad. That was okay odds. I had respite in my summer camp group, but there were weekly awards we all secretly hoped for, so? Once a girl in my bunk said she struggled with math. I told her I liked math and she said if I went to her school I'd probably have worse grades than her. When I was 17 one of my camp friends exploded at me yelling I always when were 12 I always purposely ate dessert slower than everyone else to make them feel bad. Ridiculous if it weren't true.

My gang was academically-driven, so we competed with grades and whispered when someone turned in homework late. We wanted to be the best. I'm trying to determine if the media influenced me in this way. I guess. It was always Christina vs. Britney never Christina & Britney. Betty v. Veronica. Most TV I watched didn't have girlfriends. Patti Mayonnaise. Rugrat Angelica. Spinelli. Lisa Simpson. They were loners. I read Betty Tasty and Tib or whatever those dumb books about growing up in the 1930s were. Samantha the American Girl had a friend, but she was mainly a metaphor for poverty. The Disney Princesses were loners.

Anyway, the world is different now? Frozen? Is Frozen saving us yet? Well. In improv class the students' favorite game is Four Corners. I stand in the middle of the room with my eyes closed, count to ten, and then call out a corner. Anyone in the corner is "out." I recover my eyes and repeat until one student remains: the new caller. So this Girl wins the round and excitedly stands in the middle of the room. After she counts to ten she spins around surveying the room with her eyes "closed" and then calls a corner. I ask her to put her hands over her eyes. She puts them up, gaping cracks between each finger. I let it happen. I watch her pick off the people she doesn't like corner by corner. Until its her best friend, someone she doesn't care about, and a boy I suspect she sort of likes. Her friend wiggles in excitement of potentially winning the game and then, boop, Girl chooses her corner. Best Friend Out. Girl poorly acts surprised and then tried very hard to hide a devilish little smile. I don't judge her. I remember feeling so horribly happy when I was hanging out with a group of girls I didn't know that well and they started making fun of one of my tribe. It was completely base--I'm better than her, but still so shameful. The Girl then proceeds to make the boy she likes win. He jumps around and screams, very proud of himself, announcing he is the best at this game.

Alice in Ship Land: Lucky Number Seven

-From the gate this week was about Getting. Work. Done. I drank a smoothie and had half an hour of pool time in Cozumel, but, MAN, did I first sit for hours at Starbucks scheduling gig dates, writing queries, finding teaching work for fall. By night, I had a better concept of my calendar for the rest of 2016, and I floated on the knowledge of shows to hang my hat on when I’m back to reality.

-I’d been outlining my solo show for the past two weeks. Enough was enough. I started the draft Tuesday. I WILL be done by May 18^th when I debark.

-After last week, I needed some adventure. ZPill and I went ziplining in Honduras! It was $50 to get driven a few miles away from the ports and into the jungle for zippin’. It pattered rain, so we were the only two on the whole course. Our two guides took us up a rickey as heck hill in a truck. We bumped the whole way, and the guide kept saying, “This is the last ride in a car you’ll ever have” etc. We laughed when we got to the top. Holy cow. We were high. High high high. We hooked in and leapt. It was incredible. I was soaring over the jungle. The ACTUAL JUNGLE. I saw a paca (fat butted rodent)! We zipped all over the place, and on the last one I flung backward and did an almost handstand in the air. We came down spattered in rust and mud. I did not care. We bought $1 bags of orange juice from the woman who brings all the zip bros lunch. It was too sweet to finish.

-Wednesday night Say was featured in the production show (a janky version of American Idol) because the usual singer was ill. We hollered for him from house left, and the night seemed to be filled with a puff of celebration. I was invited to go out to late dinner, which would assuredly turn into more hijinks…but I felt shell-bound. I went to crew mart for soap and diet 7UP and also got a can of French onion dip Pringles, which I devoured while watching the Jonah Hill episode of SNL.

-There are days the soft serve is good and days when it’s lackluster. I don’t know what makes it so. Sometimes the mix-in is creamier I guess—and sometimes the chocolate has been watered down. Maybe too much ice to flavor ratio? Friday was A+. The chocolate was a deep brown and the rainbow sprinkles were out.

-My roommate has a tumbler she pretends is coffee but fills with vodka so she can carry it around the ship and drink openly from her own supply. I borrowed it for the first time to smuggle milk back to my cabin for some afternoon Captain Crunch.

-The illusionist duo on board have a three-year-old daughter. Luckiest kid on the planet—for her birthday she went to a starfish beach, did ariel tricks on the production hoops, and had a big party with a bunch of 20something performers giving her wads of attention. The birthday cake was vanilla with strawberry icing garnished with a large chocolate shell magician’s hat. At the end of the night a dancer asked, “so is that hat hollow or what?” All the cake had been carefully eaten around it. A guy took the giant knife and started hacking at it to reveal a rich fudgy chocolate center…and all the dancers and comedians LITERALLY SCREAMED IN JOY. We swarmed, taking fistfuls of cake and wolfing them down. After several hunks devoured, a teeny blonde Brit whimpered, “I feel like Bruce Bogtrotter.”

-Having other crew friends is a tricky line to walk. Some people blatantly dislike entertainers—especially the comedians who are privately contracted through our own company. I’ve come to love the port-shopping guide—probably the classiest, richest peer I have. She wears diamonds every day and totes a big ol’ prada purse. She’s allowed to do everything and be everywhere, so we can easily grab gal’s dinner. But my lil busboy friend sees me for a moment, we small talk, and then he has to scurry away. I often don’t have anything to talk about with him because the longer we talk the more obvious our extreme difference in privilege is. And yet sometimes we find ways. Maybe we talk about family or the school systems of our respective countries. This is the world in a microboat.

-Our Friday show felt like pushing a boulder uphill. We had a trio girl’s dinner, and our fabulous friend told us about a recent kidnapping that affected her and I could barely focus. I was replaying fake make-up scenes to songs. I felt disgusted with myself, but what can you do?

- I cracked open the Easter Peeps Saturday and avoided finishing my first draft all afternoon by turning my tongue pink and watching Rick and Morty. (But I DID finish my first draft at about 7 PM, writing on the floor of my cabin!) Out of boredom four of us went to a restaurant for dinner. We were served late, and when the pile of desserts came (bananas foster!) we had four minutes until call time. I announced we had 2 minutes to eat and two minutes to run. We did, leaving a soppy pile of vanilla ice cream behind.

-In the Adult Show I created a game where when an ensemble member asked a question in a scene (an basic alleged improv no-no), they would have to take off an article of clothing. Oh boy. Folds went all in and asked seven questions off the bat. By the end, he was in a tiny pair of bright blue boxers.

Alice in Ship Land: Ahoy Family

This was a special week because my mom and aunt were on board! They booked a cruise for a relaxing vacation and, of course, to witness me firsthand entertaining the masses.

A Sr. lives her best self 

These updates will be getting less exciting seeing as I will have significantly fewer new experiences each time I repeat the exact same itinerary. I am in Middle America Vacation Groundhog Day.

Some highlights of my fourth cruise in the Western Caribbean:

-walking around Belize with my family while we all drank out of coconuts a dude hacked up right in front of us, shavings flying wildly

-my cast taking advantage of Mom and Aunt’s dining package, getting to dine at the “fancy”* Italian restaurant with unlimited apps and ‘zerts!

-my aunt winning the spa lottery on Sunday and booking an hour massage for me! I live on a cruise and somehow the masseuse told me, “You are incredibly tense. Especially your calves.”

-Over two scones, ZPill and I contemplated how greatness happens. His metaphor is there is a huge dogpile of humans, and one finally stands on top, making the best thing. But, that person couldn’t be there without stepping on a million other people. My idea is societal needs show up as big holes, and we all create rubber band balls of our experiences. Sometimes because of who we are and what we have, our ball is too big or too small and either slides through the gap or rambles over it. But someone out there creates something just right that gets lodged in place. That’s greatness.

-drinking a peanut butter latte on a porch in Cozumel

-I’ve been wearing my pearls and my pearl shimmer lip-gloss a lot. At the pool is Costa Maya my cast tells me I look like a Kennedy.

-ZPill and I walk down a hall on Deck 6. A girl whispers as we pass, “That girl is so funny!” ZPill turns and smiles at me, says, “I just love getting compliments.”

-I’ve finally started wearing my jean shorts. I’ve been avoiding them because sweatshorts are also a thing. Everyone comments as they see me, “New shorts?” We all know every outfit.

-serving as a “celebrity judge” of the dance off competition for the first time. An old man won mainly because he successfully executed the lift in the Dirty Dancing number.

-wearing my new chocolate perfume on show night. MB asked me if I was eating a brownie every time I went offstage because when we passed each other in the dark I reeked of cocoa.

-the night the cast passed one slice of pie around the single we all crammed into, the night ZPill was sad and wrapped an éclair into a pizza slice and ate all of it

-the time I locked myself out of my room and couldn't get to my laundry for hours--when I arrived in the facility, it was all out of the dryer and folded

Another note: Very consistently I am finding when men come and talk to me after shows they talk about their own experiences. Ex: how much they like SNL, their favorite sketch, the work training they did once with improv, their college theatre group. Women ask a lot of questions. They rarely think to mention anything about themselves besides the initial "I enjoyed the show." Then they launch in to learning. So far, there are no exceptions to this rule.

*still on a cruise ship

Alice in Shipland: One Week Down

Some things that have happened so far:

-In the middle of the week the producer took the cast out to a fancy French Bistro on board with SC footing the bill. I ordered four desserts.

-We have to wear Britney mics for our shows.

-I made friends with a guy from Albania during lifeboat drill.

-I accidentally fell asleep in a deck chair for twenty minutes on the first day at sea, and my right leg only got sunburned.

-In Mexico my roommate and I went to Cozumel Kmart for “essentials.” I bought a Hello Kitty pillow for my bed.

-I sleep on the top bunk, which is like a soft coffin. The ceiling is right in my face, but the room is pitch black at night, and the boat rocks me to sleep. Pictures of my friends surround me. And now I cuddle Hello Kitty’s fat face.

-The social dynamic within the cast is so specific to this experience. I don’t know some basic facts about most of my crew, but if something personal sprouts in the conversation everyone pretty much goes there because, well, we’re going to be together on this floating rock, so there’s no use hiding.

-Anxieties I haven’t felt since high school have reared their heads. I worry no one likes me.  Or I like everyone too much. In the wide world, none of that matters, but in ship world where there are SIX OF US, it can be scary. I have more empathy for people from small towns and the emotional turmoil that must entail.

-Crew bar is very cheap and very friendly. Everyone goes and hangs out there late into the night. One night the bar was moved from under the ship to above the pool deck. The wind was whipping so hard my hair grew a dreadlock, but I was outside in February, in shorts, laughing with new people, zooming over the ocean at 1 AM. Not too bad.

-Things felt a little weird until our first show. I don’t do well sitting in situations where my purpose has not been revealed yet. The sketch show—while a typical canon of safe and family friendly jokey joke scenes—felt huge. Hundreds of people were hooting at us. Surreal.

-I am nobody until show night, and then I am a mini-celebrity. Especially if a couple or more of us are walking through the pool deck, passengers smile and wave.

-In real life I listen to Spotify for all my music needs, which means I’m usually pumping whatever tunes have recently caught my ear. Now I am alone with my iPod that hasn’t been updated since college. I run the track above the food court and remember all of the albums that meant so much to me at a very different time.

-I love my roommate MB. I missed female sounding boards when I left Arizona, and I feel like the world plopped this queer tiny room with two people situation into my lap as a response. We slap on pjs and girl talk into the dark tiled void.

-I like the rest of the cast too--including the producer and director who were on board for the first week. Some highlights include doing magic tricks and playing late night celebrity in a conference room, sitting in the swanky Star Bar after our first show, rehearsing a murder mystery in a restaurant alcove.

-Once a week I visit port in New Orleans, which is where I write this now. I have felt fidgety a few times, maybe fussy, but back on land perspective flows easily, and I am so looking forward to the rest of this adventure.

Phoenix Weekend, April 2015

Changed into shorts as soon as we landed. A caramel apple pasty. Gathering like high schoolers in the hotel lobby. Every day a new morning run--sand and buildings from the 80s and cacti. Buying birthday balloons for Mama Bisque. Earned iced coffee. At least six donuts. Screenplay revisions with Shells, the best breakfast burrito. Galloping through a rare rain. It followed us. Artisanal strawberry Pop-Tart on the patio with Ro. Diamondbacks game and a churro dog (churro in a long john covered with ice cream), all the messed up thoughts. My old house. Cager makes a pillow fort after Catfish. Night cap ice cream pretzel cone for free because they were already evening the register. Family brunch on the sunniest day. Dresses and a massage, poolside talk with Hill, burnt shoulders. The last double date, shaved ice, I stand in a parking lot waiting for my last friends to arrive. Ru screams out the window, and I get in the backseat. Good morning and goodbye.

Reason #867 I Have to Move Back to Arizona

I just remembered ice cream places in the Midwest have "a season." AKA THEY CLOSE FOR HALF THE YEAR. AKA packing up my stuff, burning rubber back to the dessert, and SITTING IN A VAT OF FROYO IMMEDIATELY.

When I was dating Kay he and I took a short trip to Chicago some summer before heading back to school. I wanted to go to Tastee Freeze, but Labor Day was approaching. While we were driving by I asked him to run inside and asked when they closed for the season. He asked me to repeat the sentence like ten times. "Closed for the season?" he kept parroting. "Yes. Closed for the season." "Closed for the season?" Like I was speaking Greek.

He finally went in shaking his head. When he came back he looked stunned. "They said they were closing September 1st. How did you know they were closing?" And then it occurred to us that he was a California boy, born and bred.

A Million Things Inbetween

A year ago I was in Vegas having the time of my life (AKA seeing David Copperfield and inhaling everything at the dessert buffet, shout out to my home girl lemon squares! Y'all a powdery hero of our culture!)

Stratosphere with Cager.

It seems like I lived an entire life between then and now. Thesis, graduation, Italian getaway, teaching, teaching, teaching, South Carolina beach, girl's getaway haircut, snowy Boston, trolleyride in Virginia, the nights it was funny to be up on the toilet, the long stretch of cobblestone it wasn't, my friends hanging banners, my friends with donuts, my friends with wet hair in rainbow lights. I found a page in the back of my planner last night. A pro con list of flying out here for Thanksgiving to audition for The Program. All the realities were once pro and con lists in pencil.

I want to say once you choose, you choose, and the process dissipates. But that's not quite true. Sometimes maybe, but sometimes that one flick of a comment during the grunt work haunts you forever, or you have to consult your high school diary to know what it felt like to win the big meet.

I suppose each day is the important day. It doesn't seem we get the privilege of controlling what will stick, so make it all something you don't mind being stuck to.

Not Everyone Can Have

The Limited Edition Marshmallow Oreos were magnificent. And now they are gone. I shared the last few with friends on Friday night. I reiterated my desire for a big ol' pan of rice krispie treats. (If you'll remember I pined for some about two weeks ago on this blog.) Everyone in the living room nodded. Mm. MM.

When I got home Saturday night after a lovely Quesorido (THAT'S RIGHT. A BURRITO MADE WITH A QUESIDILLA. *Taste buds explode with joy*) there was a little boxy package waiting for me. Mysterious. I didn't remember buying anything. I opened it to find a pink box. When I removed the lid...A PILE OF RICE KRISPIE TREATS! From my Chicago Aunt! Who reads this blog from time to time! She read about my breakfast-made-dessert craving, baked some up, and mailed them off!

I shared the treats with roommates and Bisque, ate some myself, and yesterday I noticed they were kind of hard. So, naturally, I took the last five to school to offer to my students who will eat most anything. Indeed. Two screenwriting boys split them. "Where do you get this food?" someone asked. I am often bringing little damaged goods in for the human garbage disposals. "Well, my aunt sent me these." I explained. "I wish--!" a boy piped up before trailing off. "I was going to say, 'I wish I had an aunt.' But I have one. I guess I just wish she sent me stuff..."

Sorry, kid, not everyone can have awesome aunts like mine. <3 p="">

Rice Krispies Mad Men, Y'all Be Smart!

Today in Screenwriting someone mentioned the movie Flipper, and I immediately wanted a bowl of Rice Krispies. Not weird or a coincidence. It has happened my entire life. Luckily, people don't mention Flipper that much.

I know exactly where it comes from. I have a memory, clear as day, of the blue and white-floral plastic tablecloth under my hands, a bowl of Rice Krispies in front of me, the wooden chair under my butt. I was staring at the cereal box. On the back was an ad for Flipper including a send-in-this-box-top-for-a-Flipper-watch deal. My dad did send in the boxtop. I did have the Snap, Crackle, and Pop water watch.

It has been almost two decades, and that ad campaign is still zinging me. Geniuses. Geniuses. Our actions last a long time. Also, who would like to deliver some Rice Krispy Treats to my house?

Red Envelopes

So many young men have crumpled

backs from the wind,

clomping through Harvard Square holding

paper-wrapped bouquets.

Bisque points to a guy middle-age

outside the taco shop

penning a card.

"Last minute," he says

because his letter to me (the one with the s'more on it--

'I love you s'more every day')

is in his backpack

sealed, ready

for our date.

On Wednesday he left a vase of roses and

Reese's Cups on my kitchen table.

A tiny potted ivy for Ro. A pink flower for Rora.

Over high-end hazelnut cocoa

we hold hands.

We haven't been all day because there are children

to lasso. But they're all off

in the slushy streets. Doing

their own

stuff.

So we hold hands and we exchange red envelopes

(mine for him, two peanuts hugging)

with messages that sound

the same.

Every day is a better day.

The ultimate Valentine.

Yesterday History

San Diego. The ocean we stayed on in Pacific Beach. During the day we burnt to bits and leapt into the white caps. At night there was no one, the waves shone gold, I swear. That's lasting.

Our first night I ate an avocado appetizer and three desserts. The cookies were the best. Chocolate chip in particular. I ate half that tira misu at 11 PM with my fingers in the hotel room.

We saw this 1950s play at The Old Globe. It touched my heart, and it was closing night. There's something about actors leave the stage after final bows on closing night.

The brunches were legendary. The start to days that only go up from here.

We threw pennies in this Balboa Park fountain. 

I hope my wish comes true.

Tomorrow's a mystery.

Repeat

Tuesday was Hill's last day of classes. Ever. It's on and up to her dissertation now. I met her outside the library. It was hot. That's a given now. Our classmate who I think looks like Edward Norton walked by and joined us. A friendly guy.

They discussed "___Cake" (an affectionate name for a professor who I do not know very well). ___Cake loves you, they tell me. Or, rather, loves to talk about me. This is news. I ask About What? and our friend says, "Oh, mostly your rack." Which is said so sweetly I would never feel uncomfortable, plus also he is of the gay variety (although I definitely don't think that is a Get Out of Harassment to Women Free card). Anyway, there was a real reason about playwright's rights or something. Neither here nor there.

What is here and there is why I am telling you about this exchange, which is to properly offer exposition to the next chunk of story. Friday night Hill and her beau (Neek) and me and my beau were having post-theatre* drinks and dessert at a swanky downtown restaurante/bar. I had the Aztec hot cocoa with pumpkin whipped cream and s'more.** There was a DJ, whom we were seated right next to. At one point boys were talking about sports*** and Hill and I were all academia on our side of the tabletop. She referenced the ___Cake mentions of me again, and I jokingly was all, "Oh, about my rack?" But, I actually was more like, "OH, ABOUT MY RACK?" because the Regina Spector had been like, supes loud. But at the very moment the DJ was actually like taking a break? So he was like, "..." and the boys were like, "..." and my face was like...I mean, insert clip art of a tomato I guess. Real stuff that happened, y'all.

*We saw Clybourne Park, and it was phenom, and I want to dedicate an entry to that alone when I have more mental space/sanity LOL FINALZ.
**I told this to Chelle yesterday, and she said, "they literally put all your favorite things together" and I was like, "I know. Believe me, I am aware."
***I wish I were less of a stereotype so I didn't have to type that sentence, but, YOLO, how many quarters are in a basketball game?! idk.

GF

It is EASTER. And I am wearing a pink tank top. I had some Peeps for lunch. I ate them on Boulder's sofa while he and I whined into our open computers working on screenplays. There are worse problems to have. I eat the ears down. He does single bites, and his cheeks poof out like airbags.

Two nights ago, Bisque and I had a "Rags to Riches" date. (Term coined by him), which means we dressed up up--he in a button down, and me in the dress I wore to marry my best friend--and went to Taco Bell. Cool Ranch Doritos Locos Tacos: B+. But the night ended at da fanciest steak house for ridiculously good strawberry shortcake. And that IS a Good Friday, I think.

A million X's. A million O's. Shout out to our Lord and Savior: the candy and taco franchises of da USA.

You found yourself a prophet, but you left him on the boardwalk.
Another chocolate Easter bunny, hollowed out by your talk.

Known Your Onion

I believe there is a reason you were alive today every day. It's your job to find it.

Shells waiting... 

...for "Best Dessert in AZ." September 2012.

God speed all the bakers at dawn. May they all cut their thumbs, 
and bleed into their buns 'till they melt away. 
I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find. 
Without a trust or flaming fields, am I too dumb to refine? 
And if you'd 'a took to me like--
Well, I'd a danced like the queen of the eyesores,
and the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.

Vanilla Cupcake Goldfish Graham Crackers

So, this blog has become a makeshift center for reviewing specialty noms. When I saw vanilla cupcake goldfish at the store there was like a 1% chance I would leave without them. Today:

Goldfish in the AM.

Om nom.

They're not goldfish consistency--just shape. They are a heavy graham cracker texture/taste, and there's nothing cupcake about them. They are graham crackers with some pinkish sprinkles on them.

I mean, I had a good time, but they were not what they advertised to be.

Taste: A

Honesty: D

My Apparent Health Lately As This Was Breakfast: F+

Crazy Stupid Love

As you may have been able to tell, I've had a rough patch lately. This are very good, but I'm just getting out of a creativity stalemate, some homesickness, some physical sickness. As of today, the storm on all fronts has passed, but I just want to give a shout-out to my immediate family for being such goofy supporters.

Some things--a very partial list:

1. My mom wrote this in an e-mail to me today:

"I love you, Sweetie! You are such a precious wonderful child/adult!"

Oh, MOMS.

2. It was Oreo's 100th birthday on Tuesday. I flipped a lid knowing there were special edition cookies out in the world that I had not tried. I called three major grocery stores in my area--no dice. I looked on Amazon and almost bought Oreos online, but before I got that crazy, I texted my dad asking if he'd check his local store. Yes, I'm a nut muffin. He found the dang Oreos. He sent them to me. He put a shipping track on them, and he texted me all week about the cookies' whereabouts until finally today, they were in my hot little hands.

3. While I was in bonkers-mode looking at desserts on Amazon, I found limited edition gingerbread Pop-Tarts. Obvi--not in season, but someone was selling some! I e-mailed my sister the link for her marveling eyes. Without saying anything, the box showed up at my house yesterday.



So...recap.

-I love limited edition stuff.
-Desserts are the way to my heart.
-Even though my family is all split up across the state of Illinois, they are united in loving me. I love them.
-Updates on the cookies and Tarts forthcoming. Just in case you're dying to know.
-Today has been a very good day.

Valentine's 2012!

Okay, the long-awaited update. It is time for me to give a full-update of the love I felt on one of my favorite holidays of all time.

The haul:

-A card from my Wisco Aunt. 20 dollars tucked inside.
-Card from Momma. Heart charm for my bracelet. California Pizza Kitchen gift card.
-Card from Poppa. A page of stamps.
-Brownies from a classmate in Dramatic Writing Workshop.
-Cupcakes from Kale Jr.
-A slice of Bug's Valentine's German chocolate cake.
-A bag of lil chewy chocolate chip cookies from Hill. Delivered at work.

My heart soars!...and also may stop beating soon. Oh, God. Sweets. So many sweets.

The Main Event: Chelle made us single ladies dinner! I got off work at 7. I biked home. At 7:30 Chelle picked me up. We got to her condo, and I walked in on a lovely lil tablecloth and flower centerpiece! We had baked ziti, a caprese salad (which I ate entirely), and French bread over a screening of Drive Me Crazy. Omg 1999--what a good year.


Melissa Joan Hart.

THEN. BOOM. DESSERT.



That's right. Four desserts in one. Chocolate chip cookie on top of a bed of Oreos on top of peanut butter brownie topped with ice cream and chocolate sauce. OM NOM NOM NOM. Chelle knows the way to my heart! She's a great friend. I'm super happy she is my sketch partner in crime.

You guys, I'm pretty blessed. There's still leftover ziti in the fridge. But that huge brownie cookie thing? Long gone. Super duper long gone. Thanks for loving me, everyone. <3 The feeling is mutual.

Fatty!

Friday night Oreo Cookie Pie with vanilla ice cream. Yup, just like it sounds. Fill a pie tin with chocolate chip cookie dough, layer with double stuff oreos, add more cookie dough to the top. Bake for 25 minutes. Scoop vanilla ice cream on top. Chomp it. Wake up at 4:55 AM body buzzing with sugar.

Names Not Changed to Protect the Innocent

Truth: