Tip: Don't Ever Do This

This post was going to be a public service announcement about a common (I thought) danger one encounters in the cake-decorating industry. But then I ransacked Google to find a photo of said danger to go with the post, and realized that, judging from the lack of pictures, I am the only one that this happens to. I've managed to do it several times now, though, so I'll just tell you about the most hilarious incident and remind you to Please Don't Ever Do This:

The day my breakfast nearly destroyed the world

I have this ambition that some day soon I will move out of my rent-free bedroom in my parents' house and suddenly 90% of my income will be devoted to rent, groceries, student loans, and the essentials to make me feel better about the fact that I'm broke all the time (such as brightly coloured hair dye). And maybe I'll put the last 10% into a savings account, if I'm smart. In order to prepare for this moment, I've been trying to train myself to be broke all the time already, by giving 90% of my income to my student loans officers and clinging to the rest like my life depends on it*.

This Weekend I Will be Girl Who Didn't Think That Decision Through Fully

I ended up at the all-famous Folk Fest for about 12 hours this weekend. I hadn't been to Folk Fest in eight years, as summer is a time when I am constantly broke anyway and if I'm spending money on anything (other than booze) it's the Fringe Fest, not the Folk one. But I have a friend who has this bewildering talent for winning to tickets for things, and I am all for the cheap and the free, which is how I ended up barefoot in a park wearing a dress made out of scarves at 10am on a Sunday morning.

Birthday State of Mind

Wow I'm really terrible at updating this thing. But that's alright, because, as I have made clear from my last better-late-than-never post, June is essentially a series of parties interrupted periodically by work. And what sort of party involves a cake turntable, martini shaker, fancy necklace, ball-peen hammer and eleven-pound anvil? The best kind of party (that would be mine).

In my household, we try to make birthday gifts useful and personalized. The cake turntable says "I see you've been trapped in the bakery business for so long you have developed Stockholm Syndrome and want nothing more than to decorate cake in your spare time as well" (true fact. I requested this item specifically, so if anyone wants a cake with a really smooth finish you know who to call). The fancy necklace says "I see you are a classy lady". The cocktail shaker says "I see you are a classy lady who knows what vermouth is", and the anvil says "I see you are a classy lady who needs to smash things".

And it's only Tuesday. Just wait and see what it will be like by Saturday, when I have actually unwrapped and used all these gifts. Okay, so I might be sitting here draped in necklaces with a martini glass in each hand, deciding whether to spin or smash the rest of my birthday cake. But again, it's only Tuesday.

Happy birthday to me!

Graduation Celebration!

Traditionally, during the first half of ever year, I have an excuse every month to not blog regularly. For January, I am re-entering the school year and there's really nothing to blog about except the weather, for February, I'm trapped under such a frigid blanket of cold even blogging about the weather seems ridiculous, by March I'm preparing for the-end-of-term rush, April I'm having the end-of-term rush, May I'm recovering from April, and June I'm recovering from the shame of having not accomplished in May everything I swore I would do after year-end in the middle of January. And also there are birthdays.

However, June is particularly bad this year because I've actually finished my degree (officially), and there have been such a dizzying onslaught of parties in my honour that I've managed to convince myself my life will soon resemble the opening scenes of the Great Gatsby trailer I've developed an unhealthy obsession with*.

Bad Luck and Boarder Crossing

The laws of irony state that if, in the morning, after several increasingly frustrating discussions with a number of idiotic people, you announce that you may be the only smart person left in the world, then that very same evening, you will find yourself stranded at the Canada/US border with no money, a faulty cell phone, a purse full of tap water, and a damp passport that expired two years ago, wondering how to ensure none of your associates never hear about your own little bout of stupidity*.

The best part of all this is that there was absolutely no reason for me to actually be in the States, anyway.

Health, Wellness, and the Cool Hair Club

Have you ever thought about how impractical it would be to wear a bike helmet while sporting a 6-inch mohawk? I didn't until the other day in the Village, when I saw a guy with said hairstyle riding his bike and I thought, "he might just be the only guy in the city who has a valid excuse for not wearing a bike helmet". Then I wondered whether that is a valid excuse for not wearing a helmet. And I decided it was, which says a lot about where my priorities on safety lie.

To be fair, I had just dyed my hair purple, which meant he and I were in the special Cool Hair club together, and he acknowledged this fact by making a strange roaring sound in my direction and waving (really!), and I'm pretty sure having cool hair protects you from bodily harm anyway.