Progress

Today I managed two marvellous things. 1) I got a semi decent night's sleep for once, and 2) I made a Tres Leches Cake.

Tres leches might be my favourite cake in the history of cake, but I never attempted my own till now so yippee for me I guess! Haven't tasted it yet, it's in the fridge, but all my extremities are happy knowing it's there waiting... If you've never had tres leches cake and you see it someplace, seriously - try it. Unless you're lactose intolerant or something in which case, it'll probably kill you.

The morning today started off really nicely. I was up early, it was sunny out, I had a drive by the ocean then picked up my cake ingredients on the way home. I grabbed a coffee as well from the evil S. and the second I got home, it rained! Well. I guess it's a four seasons in a day type of day. Now I'm hard at work (well, clearly NOT) so I guess rain's ok. It's so nice to see the million blossom trees everywhere at the moment. Lovely that is, unless you're my poor car which is covered in sticky crap ALL the time. It looks like I just drove through a hedge. Ugh.

What's up for the rest of the day? Work, eating cake and listening to Tom Waits singing his pretty little songs about messed up shit. It's all good.

Insom-maniac

I'm an insomniac by trade.

Well not by trade, although, if I could make money out of it, sure, why not? I'm pretty good at it. Experienced. I could probably get a fancy-assed degree in it. With honours!

Being an insomniac much of the time means I often end up getting up in the night and sitting in the living room staring out at the water or watching the quiet street till I start to feel tired enough that I might actually sleep. Sometimes you get the odd person out wandering or riding a bike at 3 am and you can watch them, sneakily, without their knowledge, as they slink on by the front gate, scratching their butt or picking their nose, happily figuring no one knows. Well I know, fella! But it'll be our little secret.

Last night I winded up watching a creepy old episode of "Supernatural" on Netflix when I couldn't sleep, as TV makes me sleepy. It worked, but ironically, when I climbed back into bed, I still couldn't sleep because every little creak or bump made me sit upright, listening for serial killers or demons to burst through the basement door. Thank goodness I have one of those crappy little chains on there like the ones you slide onto the front door before you open it to a stranger.

Because, yeah, I'm pretty sure those are demon proof...

Thought for a Tuesday

Today I paid almost five bucks for a cabbage, how is this possible?  You used to get fourteen cabbages to a dollar surely? Good God. I was, however, able to get a large chocolate fudge doughnut for 99c so you know...balance.

This makes it more efficient for me to eat doughnuts than cabbage.

And they go better with my coffee.

Mi Car Es Su Car

I quite enjoy breathing, so yesterday I had to go pick up an allergy prescription from the pharmacy, so I could continue to do it for the foreseeable future.

While waiting for the pharmacy to fill the prescription, because it apparently takes 35 minutes to lift a bottle of nasal spray off a shelf and put it in a bag, I sit in my car, nursing a Starbucks Americano and an almond tart because why not? The sun is shining, the car is warm, I'm sleepy as all hell, sitting back, relaxing, looking uber-cool in my high class sunglasses with the rhinestone bling, when I hear this noise. It's a familiar sound but I can't quite place it right away. 

In a couple of seconds it hits me like the stench from whatever mutated plankton lives inside Kanye West's decaying brain. That's exactly how my keys sound when I'm trying to get into the trunk of my car. I swing around puzzled, squinting through the rear windshield, and I see this man, about 65, sort of cheery, rotund like Santa but less elf-rapey looking, trying to open my trunk. With a key, no less. The trunk, unsurprisingly, is not cooperating.

He keeps taking out the key and looking at it astounded, like it's turned into a giant finger or something, then he tries to open it again.

What the eff, non-bearded-Santa?

Around about this time he looks up and catches my eye. His expression is not dissimilar to someone who's just opened his bathroom door to find Hitler taking a shit in his sink. What in the hell is some kind of reddish-blonde headed chick doing, brazenly sitting in his goddamn car drinking coffee, is he going to have to administer an ass whoopin'? 

He looks away from me, looks back at the car, then looks at me again making this face:

Then he steps back and glances at my license plate and well...you know in "Futurama" when Fry wakes up and finds himself in the 31st century? His face looked sort of like that.

Because, no, that is not his license plate.

He proceeds to turn a shade of crimson not generally found in nature and he mouths the words "I am so sorry..." and does that creepy cartoon burglar walk of shame back to his own car which was happily sitting two spots down from mine, laughing its ass off, and identical to mine down to the strategic bird crap on the windshield. 

I very kindly let him go on thinking he was a giant confused dufus however, and I definitely didn't tell him that ten minutes earlier, when I entered the parking lot from the pharmacy, I had nonchalantly approached his car, thinking it was mine and rested my coffee cup on its roof while fumbling for my keys, before realizing my mistake and strolling off nonchalantly like I'd known all along. 

The moral of the story is, he didn't see me being a giant clown's ass, so I win.

Yeah...

What the hey, old blog world, are you still there?

Man, I've been busy. And lazy. And non-involved in stuff. And I got a new computer and once again, lost all my blog subscriptions and am now scratching my head in confusion as to how to find everyone again. Hi, I haven't changed AT ALL!

I'm considering doing this again here and there. I miss it. Sometimes. I don't know if anyone's still out there though and well. It's never going to be the heyday of the early thousands right? Everyone's Facebooking their asses off nowadays and I'm still NOT doing that, and only embracing the continuing joy that is Instagram while trying avidly to avoid their constant insistence that I might like to check out Kim Kardashian's latest nude celebration of self (um...no?) or other some other vapid fame whores I care nothing about.

Wasn't there a cyber Monday recently? Did anyone blog? Am I delirious? Don't even answer that.

If you're there, say hello. If you're not there, I'll just send you vibes.

Good?

The One Where I Clean The Toilet!

Today's been suitably sweaty hot.  The kind of hot that makes your hair do odd, vertical things even if it's fairly long.  The frizz!  I'm not used to humidity any more with my heat, but this week's been heading for a storm. I'd forgotten how it gets into everything and makes your bum-crack sweat.  Was that TMI?  I think possibly.

Let's continue like that then, I guess.  Today was a cleaning frenzy. Living in a hard water hell hole the toilet had a crust of rusty nastiness on the bottom no matter how often or hard I scrub it, it never looks clean. Mineral deposits. Looks for the world like someone left another kind of deposit in there, if you get my drift.  I know you get my drift.  I'm a big vinegar and water girl when it comes to cleaning and a store bought cleaner and a little non enviro-friendly bleach in the toilet, but when it comes to these big, brown mineral deposit thingies I had to hand the task over to the superhero villain of the toilet world - Lysol Black.  That isn't its actual name I don't think, but it's in a black bottle of DEATH so you know it's not taking any hostages, plus I'd tried everything else. Holy crap (ha!) that thing worked a charm.  It made everything whiter than a KKK meeting.  Not a rust stain in sight.  I stood back in all my sweaty wonder and admired my finally white toilet.  Screw the environment, Lysol black, I bow before your power!

I'm kidding.  I love the environment.  Maybe that stuff would work on Justin Bieber?  It's worth a try I say.

I did just write a post about toilet cleaning, you feel free to call me some professional medical help.

Well Isn't This Unusual?

Well hey there!  Don't I suck at this "I'm now going to update regularly" thing? Yes, I do, even I'll admit it.  It's not that I don't want to come here and write something sparkling and fun, I do! I really do.  I like you all and I miss the interaction.  It's that, god damn, I have nothing much to say of late. I'm boring as can be.  It's summer, I'm out trying to enjoy the sun before it effs off again for the year.  And nothing exciting is happening.  Had a nice vacation in late June, which was fabulous, and now....normalcy.  That is all.

I mean it's nice, I'm relaxed, driving around on the weekend, eating pizza on Fridays, drinking wine (tonight actually, can you tell?) doing DIY projects like rewiring my old childhood globe lamp and adding an on/off switch, because I'm handy like that, and sanding, revamping some old furniture for the apartment, and planning some crafty stuff I need to make and oh yeah....looking for a new job. Who enjoys that chore?  Not me. Busy, busy, busy my friends.

Should there be an Oxford comma in that last sentence?  Do I really care?

I'm sorry this isn't funny but I'm full of wine and it's mid-week so that's either extravagant of me, or really, really sad.  I prefer the former.  I did clean the fridge today and it is sparkling. So white you need sunglasses to open it. I also bought little baskets and things to house various veggies and the like to stop them shedding skins (I'm talking to YOU, onions) and the like, and lined all my half empty condiment bottles up in the door (how come everyone can be almost out of groceries but always manages to have several thousand condiments?) Anyway, I'm so organized it's frightening.  This might be the most boring thing I've ever written.

I hope you are all enjoying summer?