Today at work I spilled milk all over a bunch of documents that I only had one copy of. I freaked out and laid them all out on my desk to dry, praying that they wouldn’t reek. I went back an hour later and realized that the wet ink caused them to STICK TO THE DESK. So as I pulled them up, pieces of them ripped off in chunks.
Can’t wait til I get to hand in that folder of mutilated, curdled paperwork….
I guess I’ll just grin crazily and say, “HURR’S MER WERK.”

Cake Pops and Other Epic Failures: My Hayao Miyzaki Party

I would like to tell you the great tale of how cake pops were invented. Once, there was a girl named Sally. She loved cake more than anything in the world. Knowing this, Sally’s friends baked her the most magnificent cake for her birthday. It had layers of flavors and tons of frosting and sprinkles and all of the shit that makes cake worth eating. In order to surprise her, Sally’s friends hid in her apartment and turned out all of the lights. But Sally’s friends were stupid, and they left the cake on the couch, and Sally came in to her apartment without turning the lights and promptly sat on her own birthday cake. It was a horrible surprise. Sally felt terrible, so she begged her friends to eat the smushed ass cake anyway. It was really weird, but they all ate it and pretended to love it. The next year, Sally purposefully crushed her cake again, thinking that her friends liked it that way and not realizing that they were just being polite. This is how cake pops were born—from a cake lover’s ass and mistakes/regrets.

At least, that’s what I imagine their origin story is. Why else would a human being openly choose to create such suffering? I would rather pass a kidney stone than make cake pops again. If it were my friend’s birthday I would pass a kidney stone, tie a balloon to it, and give it to them as a gift before I made them cake pops.

Because cake pops are the fanciful delusions of an emotionally unstable baker.

After making them I have decided that cake pops are as important to baking as a zipper is on a pair of sweatpants. They are completely ridiculous and unnecessary —and they will make you look like a fool in front of your friends.

Okay, that being said—cake pops were just a  single chapter in a great story of failure that was my Hayao Miyazaki party.

I love the Japanese animae Studio Ghibli films—Ponyo, Howl’s Moving Castle, My Neighbor Totoro, etc. Ever since I saw these completely charming cake pops based on the characters I knew that I had to throw my own Miyazaki movie themed party.

image

And why stop at cake pops? There are loads of themed food I could make! (More on that later.)

I wasn’t delusional enough to attempt to make a Totoro, but the little black dust ball— how hard could that be?

image

I never made cake pops before, but the internet told me it was easy. You should always believe the internet, right?

I assembled my ingredients, baked the cake, and cut a piece for Ralph so he would stop complaining that he wanted cake.

image

After it cooled, I took my rings off so they wouldn’t get ruined by me playing with my food. A lot of the tutorials on the internet were very specific about how you should crush the cake and blend it with frosting by hand. After doing it, I am convinced that you do NOT have to do it by hand. A spoon would have probably been fine, and whoever first decided to do it by hand would give Freud a field day. It felt really weird. …Not just the texture or the fact that I needed to wash my hands 1000 times to feel clean again, but I chose to make all chocolate so it looked…well…a lot like I was playing with my own poop. It was unsettling.

image

The instructions mostly said to roll the balls by hand, but I wanted my balls to all be uniform so I bought a special meat baller from Amazon. I loaded it up with the mixture, pulled out the ball and quickly realized that it was bigger and heavier than a golf ball. There was no way it would ever hold up on a skinny little stick. I found the tool because when I purchased the sticks online Amazon said, “Other people who bought those sticks bought this meat baller!” And I thought, “Oh, they must use that to make cake pops.” And what Amazon should have said is, “Other people making cake pops made the mistake of buying this good for nothing meat baller!”

Read more

sissybiscuit:

Perhaps I should have updated the maps once in three years.

I’m re-blogging this in honor of my GPS, which finally died today. Before it passed away, it kept flashing an image of a cord being plugged into the tower of a desktop PC. I haven’t had one of those in over eight years, so there was nothing that could be done to save it. It died a death that befit its life—by directing me to a Domino’s Pizza and making me late for my dentist’s appointment one last time. And now, a few words:
Dear GPS: You made me almost miss every important test, event, and job interview I’ve had in the past seven years. You died before you knew that several towns, cities, and roads ever existed. Even basic roads, like Main Street, were beyond your grasp. You lived in a quaint world, full of endless U-Turns. I will miss how disturbing your voice was when you were recalculating, which was…almost all of the time. Remember when you yelled at me and I swerved to miss a goose and then I swerved to miss a person and then I swerved to miss a tree? We had a lot of ups and downs, you and I. Mostly downs. Mostly car accidents. Mostly you, trying to get me fired or killed or put in jail for vehicular manslaughter. 
All I ever wanted was your love and attention. And for you to tell me to get off at an exit before I passed it. You died before I got to say that I’m grateful for all of the vacation hours that I spent wandering back roads with you, dear frenemy. Well, not grateful so much as okay with it. I mean, I can’t get that time back, so…anyway. Rest in peace, GPS. May you arrive at your final destination among the stars, forever jamming the satellites in the sky. High-res

sissybiscuit:

Perhaps I should have updated the maps once in three years.

I’m re-blogging this in honor of my GPS, which finally died today. Before it passed away, it kept flashing an image of a cord being plugged into the tower of a desktop PC. I haven’t had one of those in over eight years, so there was nothing that could be done to save it. It died a death that befit its life—by directing me to a Domino’s Pizza and making me late for my dentist’s appointment one last time. And now, a few words:

Dear GPS: You made me almost miss every important test, event, and job interview I’ve had in the past seven years. You died before you knew that several towns, cities, and roads ever existed. Even basic roads, like Main Street, were beyond your grasp. You lived in a quaint world, full of endless U-Turns. I will miss how disturbing your voice was when you were recalculating, which was…almost all of the time. Remember when you yelled at me and I swerved to miss a goose and then I swerved to miss a person and then I swerved to miss a tree? We had a lot of ups and downs, you and I. Mostly downs. Mostly car accidents. Mostly you, trying to get me fired or killed or put in jail for vehicular manslaughter.

All I ever wanted was your love and attention. And for you to tell me to get off at an exit before I passed it. You died before I got to say that I’m grateful for all of the vacation hours that I spent wandering back roads with you, dear frenemy. Well, not grateful so much as okay with it. I mean, I can’t get that time back, so…anyway. Rest in peace, GPS. May you arrive at your final destination among the stars, forever jamming the satellites in the sky.