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“Mead is so old-school that its advocates claim it as the world’s first alcoholic beverage. Their line of thinking goes like this: Rain-diluted honey attracted wild yeasts. The fermented liquid then attracted a human, who drank it and felt less unhappy.”

 Thank you Slate! Obviously I had missed a memo on the steps to resolve unhappiness. Sadly, the meadless unhappiness shall remain as the 2 link meaderies in the article are in California…which in case you didn’t know, can’t ship alcohol to my happy little area.

 Oooooo, I kept reading the article (remind me not to blog and read simultaneously). There is a meadery in Colorado, which ships like everywhere…except to dry cities in New Hampshire (those exist?) and people in Montana without a connoisseur’s permit. Umm, forget sampling mead…now all I want in a connoisseur’s permit, oh, and to be able to leave work.  

Just when I thought work couldn’t get slower or more bothersome than last week…this week hit. Pretty much, I never thought in the post-college my brain hurts phase I would ever say this, but…I wish I had a paper to write. Anything to make my brain feel alive again. I’m about to start tasking myself with essays on the foodie books I’m reading. Which is such a pathetic point to be at.

Unrelated topic. How ’bout them Oscars. Fantastic! Watched them with H and K, which was really quite a comical event that included: guesses on how much Nicole Kidman was wearing in diamonds, how James McEvoy could talk to me forever and the Irish accent wouldn’t get old, that a former stripper won an Oscar, how we want to age like Helen Mirren, and how both Cate Blanchett and Jessica Alba look fantastic pregnant. Oh! And that we loved Jon Stewart hosting. With all those things, how could the evening been bad…I mean there was even homemade guacamole, yummy.

Now for something even more ridiculous to end on, this is my discovery of the week in regards to my quirks and the absurd 100 thing list (it’s alluding me by 6 items).

Top 5 Things You Should Leave Behind At Age 10 (or younger)
(I, however, missed that memo)

1. Shampoo goes in your hair, not in your eye
2. Disney Channel
3. Juice Boxes (though I try and class that up with Juice Bottles now)
4. The Kid’s Section in the Newspaper
5. Any book found in the Children’s/Young Adult/Teen Section

So the 100 item list of doom is still in the process of being written. And I just have to say, like whoa is it not simple. The two thoughts that so go through my mind as I write: 1. Oh no way can I post this to the blog; and 2. Oh no way can I think of anything else to write. I’m on number #88 and there is this odd sense of the ability to write 12 nonsense points (like, “I love lite Caesar dressing), but I feel the need to be a little more substantial. So, we’re going to see how long this takes since last night I could only get 4 items out.

On totally unrelated notes, my job is yet again driving me up the wall. This could really just be because I have zero things to do, and it seems all I’m here to do it make reservations and clean supply closets. Yep, that is what my diploma from college gave me. Maybe one day I will feel up to the challenge of maybe even ordering supplies (although that might to to much pressure). But I need to think positively…like how one of the guys in my office brought a homemade chocolate cake with bittersweet, mocha chocolate frosting. I near bout died and went to heaven with that one. I officially almost kicked the bucket when I stood on my scale the next day.

Needless to say, salad and water currently grace my desk.

The weekend = tres fantastic with a few mini-moments that we won’t go into. But all in all, about 19 hours of sleep; a new purse, dress and sweater; and signed sheet music from my favorite composer (care of my favorite aunt, a designation that I stopped hiding from all the other aunts years ago…if they want to win, well they will have to step it up a notch).

But one thing, on a more sobering note that this weekend officially made me decide upon is a rediscovery of who I am. And not in the crazy sit on long couch and figure out if my childhood screwed me over, nope…I mean like a fun list. And all my mind goes back to is this list that I read a the beginning of the summer care of Tequila Mockingbird (what a fantastic blog name) which was a 100 item list defining herself. Yep, so it’s obnoxious list time…although I think it could be a long while before I think of 100 things that define me, this is never going to work out.

I had this novel idea of posting on Valentine’s Day, but I kind of figured there would be enough rants on being single on the day going around the internet, mine…not really necessary. All in all the day was good, went to lunch with the other PA in the office, as her and my boss were out of town. The was at A’s for dinner…a dinner that included her fantastic housemates, a reluctant touchy feely boy, a monk, and others. Really, a monk, full habit…Fantastic!

Friday was work filled, i.e. catching up on travel orders for the office. Always a fun time. Coffee with my mento (girl that I’m mentoring, for those who have yet to catch on to my weird terminology). And then … Out. Now, can we express that I was all gun-ho to sit in my apt and read and start the 30+ hours of sleep weekend. Alas, phone call from college friend, E has me walking all over the city, and ending in my favorite spot from college…in a booth, with a beer, cute boys all around, and *shhh, don’t tell* my book. Cause as if that wasn’t the number one clue into my singleness…I read books (a culinary school memoir, no less) in bars at 1:30 a.m. on a Friday night when cute boys abound. I shake my head at myself in judgement.

So, I am normally off of work at 4:00 (mind you before you think I have the best schedule, I’m in at 7:00). But today we were having a going away happy hour (Yay) around 4ish, and I was so in charge of it. So needless to say…out of the office at 5:45. But the best part of my day was right toward the end… 

For the party I made cake, yummy yellow cake with a caramel/dulce de leche poured over the top. Well, normally the baked goods are distributed amongst friends in the building (today, not so much). But Church Boy’s Roommate emailed me to ask if today’s baked good contain chocolate or nuts (sad allergy). So, I shot him back an email about how I’d hold a piece of cake for him to come and retrieve. He came to get it, chatted and left. Then the Comically Awkward moment of Tuesday hit:

My Chief of Staff (and former boss of Church Boy) comes out of his office and says, “You know, I’ve noticed that when you have baked goods, there are a steady stream of young men to your desk.”

My Boss then walks out of her office and was like, “I’ve noticed the same thing…” (Then I turned bright red). She notes this and says “Oh, and your turning red.”

I trying to save myself tell my COS, “Oh, that is just Church Boy’s roommate.” And then the line of the night hits as he responded with, “W, You know, you can’t play two roommates against each other, you have to pick one eventually.”

Me = Bright Red…Choking on laughter. 

So then to save myself, I feel the need to explain “the Cake.” Which also explains the blog title and my life in general. Which goes something like this, my senior year of college I was out at my favorite bar and was hanging out with Freshman Year Floormates. And there are your typical crazy girls, and somehow in the course of the evening when discussing how I don’t throw myself out there to guys, the comment was made how I may not throw my actual self around…but I sure “throw my cake around.”

Now…I’m cursed, cause my boss and my COS have decided that this is one of the funniest things they’ve heard and I realized it was all downhill when my boss crossed her fingers and said she’d never use it against me.

While part of me wants feel so awkward (I mean like a full on awkward turtle moment), a little part in my head can only think…how to keep the cake throwing going (made not so obvious)… 

I love my family, don’t get me wrong, but for serious…they are nuts. My senior year of college I felt like I had finally got my parents to the point where monthly visits home (2 hours away from where I reside) were no longer necessary. I somehow killed that, by moving how for 2 months between college and job starting…and then by being home most weekends while my family was dealing with some issues that were being thrown at them.

My New Year’s resolve…stay in the city more, rebuild the support network I had in college, and find and commit to a church. All of these things I have done, and will continue to do. The problem here is, I’m not going home over the long weekend. I mean, that isn’t to unheard of, right? I love long weekends in the city…I sleep for 10+ hours, I eat, I nap, I see people, I sleep for another 10+ hours, and then lo and behold…I get another 10+ hour night of sleep just because we love to celebrate our Presidents. Pretty much, reason I love to stay in the city, all about the sleep catch up. Plus, I love being social (without worrying about, well you know…more sleep deprivation).

But now the mother is annoyed. Because supposedly our conversations are withdrawn (talking to someone 3 to 4 times per day occasionally do that). And what do I say, “Mom…I’m an adult, I can’t come home every other weekend.” Nope, I can’t…and do you know why…cause a. she would feel bad; b. I would never hear the end of it; and c. I’m a crappy adult and she still pays my cell phone bill.

Pretty much I’m screwed…like whoa. Instead of dwelling on how my mother is annoyed with me, I’m going to think of all the lovely plans I have, and sleep I will get. Although, I do have to get through 3.5 more days of work before that even has a chance to happen. And when it comes down to it, I may not survive 3.5 more days…

So my weekend was fantastic; with a tad bit of guilt and nausea just to make the day brighter. Pretty much it was a fun weekend of many life realizations:

1. I might be the only person alive who skips the drunk stage and goes right to hungover (seriously not fair at all, I mean it wasn’t fair in college…it still isn’t fair now).
2. Guilt grows…especially when you already have a guilt complex that makes catholic guilt look like nothing (and whoa do I have a major self-inflicted guilt trip right now).
3. I have the worse choice in reading material. This comes because I have managed to project the current bout of my depressed state on to every book I read, and it’s all on accident. The most recent, I pre-read part of it in the store and was all like “well this one’s safe.” It wasn’t…people died, abruptly…no warning. So not good for my soul. Back to trashy romances where people may be a little loose with the morals, but at least they are alive.
4. New favorite mindless TV: Jon and Kate + 8…because whoa did I rethink that whole “I could be okay with 6 kids” nonsense. Now…maybe 2 is a lovely limit.
5. (which was almost #6 until I realized counting isn’t 1 2 3 4 … 6). I love my church. It took, well, far to long to find one. But I found it. And it was made clear in one of the comments the pastor made. He was talking about how hard it is for newcomers in the church and how it’s a lonely feeling to have no one that you know. And then he pulled out a plate of cookies and was like, I’m ready to meet the new people.  Pretty much, I was sold (as if I hadn’t been already).

But that really sums up all of the lovely weekend. There was yummy, homemade mac and cheese; lovely people; the grammy’s; church….simple happy life (as long as I stop reading novels).  

Good Morning world! Mind you I woke up an hour after my alarm was supposed to go off, I was then an hour late to work…and well, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus.

After graduation from the lovely institution that offered me a college diploma (I got a piece of paper, they got $150,000+…no words), but to move back from that digression, after college it became apparent that some flip had been switched. And that switch was the one that let me go out till 3 a.m., wake up and function my day with no side affects at all. Sadly, those days are long gone, and for some reason I thought I would retest the waters to see if going out mid-week would work together with being at work by 7:30 a.m….it didn’t work (And that hit by a bus feeling is continuing to resonate). This is just a pathetic sign that I am a. getting old and b. I’m developing a weak stomach. However, in the terms of justifying my actions (which I do so well)…I made a *shh, don’t tell* bad decision in my going out, which was I went out and consumed certain beverages on the same day that I was on a “food detox” in an effort to re-jump-start my New Year’s diet. 

Good Idea = Eating and Drinking, Bad Idea = Drinking

Worse part about that idea, it doesn’t hit you till the next day. And what is worse then the feeling of “Happy, happy, happy, sleep, hit by a bus.” I mean it comes out of no where, it’s like the bus in Mean Girls. But beyond the fact that in the 9 months that I have been out of college and forgotten how to party, the night was incredibly hysterical.

To fully recap, this is how you know it’s a night that will go down in history: 1. There was drinking; 2. There was inappropriate touchiness; 3. There was a conversation about my chest, and not like an implied one…like a point blank “your cleavage” conversation; 4. There was more inappropriate touchiness; 5. There were the raised eyebrow looks between myself and A; 6. Do I dare say, even more touchiness. 

Pretty much we can play spot the theme. I mean it has overtaking the comical and creative portion of my brain…I mean I’ve typed out 392 words about this but not about the fantastic cheesecake that I made this week. I mean where are my cake throwing priorities…oh yes, I remember…in the white wine I drank last night :) 

So this weekend included one of those conversations that comes up about once every six months (always with a different person), it’s the conversation regarding flirting. And I just need to get this out (since I am a denier that I would ever flirt)…seriously people, you flirt while you talk about flirting, and you can deny it (I do) but it’s true.

But the comical thing in all of this is that I picked up an old issue of Time Magazine today while at place I go to for nine hours a day, and it was the “Science of Romance Issue” which is actually quite interesting. But the best part was the article entitled Why We Flirt and I have to say, I thought of the person I had the chat with and was just like “ha ha, let’s see why you are the way you are.” Then the article shut down that mentality by pretty much saying “Hi Pot, I’m the Kettle.” Because supposedly everyone does it…in speech, action and even stance.

I still say I am not the flirt of my group of friends (this could be another pot/kettle moment). But seriously, I do agree with the article that when I want something, i.e. an extra basket of chips, my bartender to choose my drink for me, etc I may do a little head tilt. (Which I’m told is just one of the many flirting signs). But come on, difference between me…and others, I mean, alright I need to just give it up.  :)  

So, maybe I’m a bit of a flirt. But it’s all…yeah it’s mostly all pretty darn intentional. Now that I’ve made that step to admission, I’m just one more step on my way to overcoming my problem. Maybe I should just go back to working and less reading about the “science of romance.”

So, fantastic weekend…a little illness, a little shopping, a whole lot of laughs. The shopping = fantastic. I’m a little in love with the small consignment store just a few short blocks from my home, and it didn’t fail me this weekend (I mean it kind of did since I was originally looking for a purse, but it redeemed itself in the way of a skirt (MaxStudio…$16, YES!), a cashmere cardigan, and a new suit jacket (in pink tweed)).  

But beyond that…mini-moment of my weekend. All summed up by a conversation. I don’t disclose issues of my past to most people (cause people know happy me, and not struggling with emotional scarring me), and of course there is one particular issue that I hide from the majority of the world. And, this weekend, I found myself having a word vomit moment and just letting it all out. I wonder if it’s a sign of healing and finally getting over it…or if it is something crazier (although for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you why I even brought it up). But needless to say I did…in a situation where my frail past really had no need to come out…so now I ponder and maybe contemplate a little how to re-hide myself back in the happy shell I work so hard to create… 

Maybe the trick is more shopping…for a new handbag (excitement!) 

So, favorite blog ever is Smitten Kitchen, my love for it…probably best encompassed by the fact I refer to it so much (and it’s creator Deb), that one day my mom was like “Do you actually know this Deb person?” I was a tad reluctant to admit that in fact I didn’t…but I felt like I did. Mostly reluctant because it was true that I generally use the line “oh my gosh, so I made this recipe that Deb made…and it was great!” But today I realized that I really am on the verge of insanity after a long week at the four letter word most people call work.

I’m browsing through Deb’s most recent post on candied grapefruit peels that don’t turn out so hot (sadness), when I hit the comments. I love blog comments…I threw myself a mini-party when I got my first comment…but that is besides the point. Back to Deb’s comments…scrolling down and I see my name amongst the comments. Now mind you normal sane people see that and it doesn’t phase them, my first thought…oh no, did I leave a drunken post on smittenkitchen (this comes with a fun joke)

I, a. never leave comments…I want to, I just don’t, b. never ever been drunk, and c. last night, I had a cookie and limeade…no alcohol has been near me for a week.  

Somehow, this all fled my mind…then it came rushing back. I’m telling you, I thought college had drained my brain…nope, my job is in fact what is slowly killing it. Now I’m going to go back to reading about cooking and baking…sans the “was I drunkenly posting comments” mentality (I hope).