Unfortunately, I also don’t have a topic this morning, so you’re just going to have be flexible (yeah, that’s what your mom said last night).
First off, holy shit Michael Jackson is dead! Granted, being born in 1982, I kind of missed his heyday of epic music production. And granted, being raised in a household where classical music was the ONLY type of music played, I kind of didn’t even really know who the guy was until I was about 14. Sad to say, I can sing The Queen Of The Night Aria from Mozart’s The Magic Flute (in German) with more confidence than I can belt out Thriller.
But…I was witness to many, many playing of ABC from The Jackson 5 while imbibing at Rutgers frat parties, and I saw those Korean inmates perform Thriller on YouTube, so suffice to say, I’ve had enough exposure to Michael’s music to recognize that his death is a great loss to the music industry (despite his personal record of inappropriate behavior with little boys, which is seriously fucked up)
So, RIP Michael Jackson. May your heaven be filled with life-sized statues of Peter Pan and merry-go-rounds and talking giraffes and all that other weird crap that floats your boat (but no minors – even in heaven, that shit is seriously frowned upon)
Can we take a second to talk about cake?
More specifically, how delicious it is?
When it comes to cake, and baked goods in general, I have no self control. The only way I’ve managed to keep from becoming whale-like in proportion is to not keep the stuff in the house, and exercise significantly more than I would like to.
I've been told before that I look like Martin Luther King Jr, but I just don't see the resemblance...
But at work, I’m completely defenseless. I’m bored, sluggish, and just looking for an excuse to get up from my desk.
Enter: cake.My coworkers like to bring in goodies. More often than not, some sort of baked, iced amazingness is sitting on the counter when I come in in the morning. The same counter that I have to pass by every time I need to go to the bathroom or talk to one of our Program Managers.
It’s a scrumptious recipe for disaster.
I swear to god, even if I WAS a cake, I’d still want to eat cake.
It's all fine and good while I'm a pre-pregnancy 27-year old with good genes, but this affinity can only end in a horrendous pair of thunder thighs and a matching ba-donk-a-donk.
If anybody knows a priest who exorcises cake demons, send him my way (lol, did I just say cake demons? That’s awesome)
And thank fucking god it’s Friday, right? I am WAY too fired up to be trapped in a cubicle (aka, the fuzzy, modular walls that depression built). BRING ON THE WEEKEND! I’ve got some big plans including catching up with an old friend, attending a food and wine festival (do you think there will be cake there?!?) at which my mom and her fiancé will meet Brian’s parents for the first time (Gah!), and a going away party for one of Brian’s close friends.
In other words, an ass-ton of plans. I’m not a big fan of weekend plans (the couch gets lonely when I'm not around), but whatevs. I have a cute green summer dress to wear, so it’s all good.
Happy Friday, Bitches!