Cat-Owning Apartment Pimp

I can’t wait ’till I have my own apartment. I don’t even really mean my own own, because living with housemates is fine by me. Rattling around in a flat, even a tiny one, with myself and my overactive imagination, is not a good idea. I’d prolly end up killing a Jehovah’s Witness or some Girl Scouts in a fear-induced rampage, and nobody wants that. (Although, hey, free Samoas!)

But seriously, people of the Internet, if you are reading this from the comfort of anywhere that isn’t your parents’ house or a dorm room, feel happy. Just think of all the advantages you have!

  1. You can be naked ALL THE TIME. I am partial to strolling around in my panties, personally. (And also alliteration. Ha, I did it again!)
  2. Speaking of being naked, sex! Whenever you want! On your kitchen table, perhaps. Or the couch. Or the floor.
  4. You could have bear-wrestling contests in your house, if you were so inclined. Or if that’s not your thing, you could run a brothel. Apartment = instapimp, just add ladies.
  5. You can smoke! I don’t mean ciggies, although I suppose you could, except that’s a bad call (forecast: heavy coughing with a severe chance of lung cancer. Unless they’re Blacks, and then mmmm). I mean something a little greener.

When I have my own place, I am going to make it really cozy, with lots of rugs and squishy mismatched chairs and possibly a fluffy gray cat named Felix. And hopefully a balcony.

Oh, yeah, and maybe a special bear-fighting ring.

Wild Baking Adventures

I am embarking on the wild adventure of baking today, since it’s so snowy outside and I’m gonna be hiiiiigh later and need munchie provisions.

It’s not a good idea. I know this, but I’m gonna do it anyway. See, me and domesticity? We don’t really go so well together. We have a long and rocky history, from the time I burned a bag of popcorn to literal ashes (true story) to last night, when I attempted to make dinner for my parents and couldn’t even figure out how to make rice. And also accidentally tried to give them raw salmon. Long story short, I am not good at Martha-Stewart-type shit. I have two specialties: scrambled eggs, and chocolate-chip cookies.

And today, I’m making muffins.

I mean, it could be worse. I could be attempting crepes, or a soufflé, or lamb stuffed with roasted peppers and crab or something. (Ew.) But still. The particular muffins I want to make are coffee-cake muffins, which means I have to make muffin mix and cinnamon swirly stuff and the crumbly goodness. THAT IS A LOT OF THINGS FOR ME.

Let’s face it, the only things I’m good at in the kitchen involve being on top of the table. Seriously, though, I am jonesing for these muffins, so even though I make a hobo who considers baked beans from the can a delicacy look like Rachel Ray, I am going to give it the ol’ college try. Here goes nothing (or possibly, here goes my kitchen).

Homey Home

Being home has many Amazing Good Things, like real food and a bed with a million blankets on it. But home also lacks three pivotal aspects of my life: sexy time, alcohol, and 420 friendliness.

That being said, though, my bed is soooo comfy right now.

It Turns On My Dentist to Step On Things

One day I was bored and I read every single page Wikipedia has about fetishes. Now all that information is knocking around in my head and I sometimes accidentally bust out with things like, “Did you know that some people have a ‘crush’ fetish and they like to watch people step on things?”

But now I decided I should have a fetish to spice up my interesting quotient. Except none of those things Wikipedia told me turn me on. At all. (Tentacles and getting strangled just aren’t my bag, weird.) But then I was with a Boy and he smoked a bong and, bam, fetish found. I have no idea why, but there is something so sexy about watching someone tilt their head back with their eyes closed all calm and relaxed and letting that smooth-looking smoke pour out of their mouth. Mmmmm. Or maybe it’s just because when I kiss him he tastes like delicious weed.

It kind of makes me wonder if anyone I know has a fetish. And I don’t mean something little and boring, like getting their hair pulled or something (because, let’s be real, everyone likes that). I mean something bizarre and Wiki-worthy. Like my Business professor or the dentist or my neighbor.

I guess if my professor is leaving class and a magazine called Whip-N’-Tickle Weekly falls out then the grand mystery will be solved.