Muppet Cake

For many years, I lived far far away from HusbandM (he was BoyfriendM at the time), in a land called New York.  BoyfriendM was very frightened by New York (who wouldn't be?  It's fucking nuts there).  Obviously I had no issues being there because I lived in a great big palace with a moat and a huge gate.  It was awesome being Princess of New York, but on weekends I traveled to visit BoyfriendM, since he was terrified of the lands and people I ruled.

One particular weekend several years ago, I traveled to my fancypants vacation home (read: BoyfriendM's rental on the Lake).  I really couldn't tell you what we did that evening, only that at about 11 PM, BoyfriendM decided that he wanted cake.

You see, BoyfriendM didn't like living on his own at all.  He had to cook and clean for himself, and his abilities were limited to breakfast (if you ever want the most amazing eggs and pancakes, come visit).  I, on the other hand, being Princess of New York, was catered to on a daily basis while at the castle.  I have to say, I very much enjoyed it, especially when they brought the chinese food to my room on Thursday nights.

In order to keep my Princess head level, I pretended to be domestic when visiting BoyfriendM.  It was a humbling experience for me, and BoyfriendM enjoyed eating real food.  So when BoyfriendM decided that he needed cake at 11 o'clock at night, I grabbed a box of Betty Crocker and set to work. 

Of course, in the meantime, BoyfriendM decided he was extremely tired and HAD to go to bed.

REALLY?  I'm cooking you cake.  I don't even LIKE cake.  But I kept on my bad baking self.

The next thing I remember, I was in a very dark kitchen, trying to remove cake from their baking vessels by the light of the moon.  Why by the light of the moon?  Well there wasn't a kitchen specific light, and turning on the main light in the open concept vacation house would have woken up the lightest. sleeper. ever. (aka BoyfriendM).

It was probably due to the fact that it was the middle of the night at this point, but I had forgotten that trying to make cake when it's still hot doesn't work as well as one might have hoped.  In removing the cake from their vessels, I ended up breaking my fantastic chocolate creations... But no worries, my fabulous blog readers, chocolate icing is the glue that makes the world go round.

So I patched together my cake, trying to make it look all Martha-like.  But as I patched it together, more bits and pieces of hot chocolate cake started to crumble off.  Now most mothers, bakers and various intelligent people would be screaming a chorus of "DUH" at me, but that's ok because I still had plenty of chocolate icing to glue my cake back together.

While I was busy gluing, BoyfriendM was woken by the intense chocolate smell emanating from the kitchen.  I still was icing by the light of the moon, and I'm pretty sure that BoyfriendM would have been unthrilled if I turned on the light even at that point.  The following conversation ensued:

BoyfriendM: CAKE?!
GirlfriendC: Almost, sweetie... I sort of messed it up...
BoyfriendM: OH NO!  What did you do?
GirlfriendC: Well it keeps falling apart.  But that's ok because I'm gluing it back together.
BoyfriendM: [pause] Gluing it?
GirlfriendC: It's just not going to be pretty.  It looks like a muppet made it with big funny furry hands and zero dexterity.

I finally finished the gluing the cake together and cut BoyfriendM a huge piece.  Apparently muppet cake is the BEST. CAKE. EVER.

Of course, I've never been able to replicate it....

The Adventures of Sock Man

I don't quite remember the birth of Sock Man, only that suddenly he appeared and became a very regular character in my somewhat silly imagination.

In order to familiarize yourself with Sock Man, I've conducted an interview in the form of 20 questions.  I met Sock Man in his penthouse apartment, which is surprisingly lush and comfortable in decor.  I had imagined that he would prefer a more simple style, as his choice of clothing suggests, but Sock Man prefers textures, like shag, velvet and satin, in colors so bold they would *ahem* knock your socks off.  I'm unable to confirm or deny where Mr. Man's apartment is, but in the one afternoon I spent with him, I was introduced to a world I never knew possible.

WifeC: I did some quick internet research on your namesake and came up with quite a few hits that were clearly not you, including the adventures of a cartoon sock puppet and a beggar from NYC.  Looking at you, you don't appear to be either a sock or a beggar, so would you care to explain the why you are named Sock Man?
Sock Man: Well looking at me it's fairly obvious.  I only wear socks.  Otherwise I am, a very naked man.  I once considered wearing a cape to match the red stripes on my tube socks, but I've heard that capes can get in the way and cause injury or even death.  That didn't seem worth it to me, so I'm sticking with socks.  In any case, clothes aren't really necessary for feats beyond human capabilities, but socks are great for any feats feets.

WC: Well played, Sock Man. You were almost funny there. 
SM: I try.

WC: Stop talking. I didn't ask you a question.
SM:  [silence]

WC: Good you seem to understand the concept of an interview.  Next question.  How would you feel about posing for a nudey magazine?
SM: Well since I'm naked all the time, I don't think that it would be especially profitable for the magazine.  But I do get tired of carrying around the censorship bar.  It would be nice to do a photo shoot without it for once.

WC: Since you are naked all the time, how do you handle public displays of affection when you see pretty ladies?
SM: You mean how do I not get a boner?  Well, I don't try to hide it.  Frankly, I've never met a woman who wasn't pleased to see that side of me.  And it's proven to be very beneficial at times... for both parties, in fact.  In any case, what I tend to get embarrassed by, if anything at all, is what I call "reverse e-sock-tion".  This is basically when I can't keep my socks up.  I've tried everything, including garter belts.  I'll have to admit, they weren't very comfortable, but some women really seem to enjoy them.

WC: You seem to be quite promiscuous.  
SM: [silence]

WC: HA! Fine, we won't go there.  Do you receive a lot of fan mail?
SM: Oh yes.  Mostly I get socks from women.  You'd be amazed how many women knit socks for me.  I have quite a collection actually.  I save every single sock I get.  You might think I'd have no need for a closet, but mine is bigger then Imelda Marcos's.  

WC:  That sounds like quite a large closet. So what do you think makes you so popular?
SM:  Well I think part of it is the Superhero/Damsel in Distress complex, if you can call it that.  There are a lot of women out there who want to be saved.  I provide such a service to the public.  There's also the fact that I'm mostly naked all the time and despite that fact, I have an excellent sense of style. I'm lucky to have quite a large female and gay fan base.  In the future, that should help when I retire from superheroism and embark on my Vegas career.

WC: Wow! Vegas?  And what will that be like?  Do you have plans for your entertainment career?
SM: That was three questions.  You get twenty and I'm counting.  Yes, Vegas.  I love Elvis and it seemed appropriate.  I expect it will be similar to some of the acrobatic performances you may have seen, but without the need for ropes and with light-up socks.  My plans for my career beyond saving lives haven't taken shape fully.  They depend, in large part, upon my fans and what they want from me.  At the heart of it, both the superhero and entertainment industries are businesses, and the main goal is to make money.  Of course, I love doing my job, but without demand, I could hardly take care of myself.  I have a hard time being really pissed off at my nemesis, considering we keep each other in business.

WC: Tell me a bit about your nemesis.
SM: He's a white cat named Kumo, which means cloud, but also means spider.  I don't really understand Asian languages, this is just what I'm told.  Personally, I hate spiders, so it was a natural fit for a nemesis.  Really he's just an asshole.


WC: You have a cat that is really a spider for a nemesis and he's an asshole.  How is he an asshole?
SM: Well most would just say that his assholish tendencies are Kumo just being a cat.  General scratching, destroying my stuff, puking on my rugs.  As you can see, I take pride in my home.  Kumo doesn't respect that at all. 


WC: How did you discover that he was your nemesis?
SM: It's really quite simple...  I saw the Sock Signal one night and rushed to the scene of the crime.  There Kumo was, a cute little ball of snow white fur up in a tree, with a little blonde girl begging for me to bring him down.  Little did I know that the girl was really a twisted clone robot that Kumo had developed in order to entrap me.   As soon as I was up the tree to save Kumo, he ensnared me and had his robot carry me to his lair.  That's when I knew I had found my nemesis.


WC: Wow!  What was Kumo's lair like?
SM: Superheros and Supernemeses don't really share anything about their lairs if they can help it.  I was drugged and blindfolded.  This was very interesting considering my superhero abilities.  You see, I'm not easily drugged.  In fact, I wouldn't have had the least clue how Kumo managed to do it, if he hadn't fallen for the classic nemesis monologue.  Evidently, he had his robot girl lace the titanium netting with PCP.  It certainly wasn't a foolproof plan, but Kumo took a shot.  What was the worst thing that would happen to him?  Loose his psychotic little girl robot?  He had dozens, not really a big deal to him.  But he was quite proud of himself in the end.


WC:  I don't understand.  How could you get knocked out by PCP?
SM: Well drugs don't work the same way in me.  Apparently the super strength and high energy that humans get from PCP, well, the drug has the exact opposite effect on me.  This seems dangerous.  I'm not sure it's wise for you to print this information...


WC: Well I guess you're fucked now.  Let's branch out from your superhero side.  I personally love Inside the Actors Studio, so let's take a look at James Lipton's index card questions.  What is your favorite word?
SM: First of all, I think you're cheating by using some other guy's questions.  But, I'll say that my favorite word is macaroon.  Not only is it fun to say, but they sure are delicious.

WC: What is your least favorite word?
SM: Aprosexia. It's just too intense for me, I can't focus on it.


WC: What turns you on?
SM: Drag queens.  Not in a sexual way, I just thoroughly enjoy their ability to be themselves freely.  I envy it, actually.


WC: What turns you off?
SM: Apparently PCP.  Like a goddamn light switch.


WC: What sound or noise do you love?
SM: I really like the sound of icicles being made.  It's fascinating to listen to.


WC: What sound or noise do you hate?
SM: Crunchy peanut butter. 

WC: And of course, the burning question:  where do all the missing socks go?
SM: You mean the ones eaten by the laundry monster?  I'd ask him.  He lives in 2A downstairs.  But I'd expect that you'd find them in his kitchen, if he hasn't eaten them already.

Carologic and Tanks

So. After introducing bestfriendK, to a ridiculous blog (hyperboleandahalf), she decided that I needed to start one myself stating, "share your crazy head with the world". Now I've known for quite some time that my head does contain some pretty ridiculous thoughts, images and logic. In fact, my brand of logic was once dubbed "Carologic" as it makes little sense to anyone but me.

However, becoming a copycat never got anyone anywhere, and in the case of murder, only lands you in jail. I would prefer to remain out of blog jail (I've heard that some of the inmates can be rather frisky with their words). And so, you will not find random paintbrush drawings here (although I must say that I do very much enjoy Allie's artistic talents).



So what the fuck will I blog about? Well I'm not quite certain at this point. Really at this point I'm just bored and avoiding my job a bit. It's not that I don't enjoy my job; I do. But I'm not paid that much and frankly the intellectual stimulation is minimal. Meh.

So let's get a few things out of the way.

First, you need to know that I have a somewhat unhealthy obsession for tanks. I don't know anything about them, except that they are quite large, cumbersome and can blow the shit out of pretty much everything (ok maybe not everything, but they could fuck you up). I've been asking for a tank for years, but husbandM has failed to come through on his promise.

You see, I made a deal with husbandM - I would not join the army or similar entity for the sole purpose of blowing shit up with my own tank that I would name Betsy, while cackling like a hyena, IF husbandM gave me my own personal fun box + enormous gun (not to be confused with vaginal explosives).

Now this is not to say that husbandM hasn't TRIED to satisfy my intense desire to own a tank. I've receive tiny toy tanks, promises to go to a fair that apparently allows you to hang out in a tank (although lack of time and a fear of clowns prevented me from attending) and even a tank necklace that motherinlawL gave me one Christmas.

Within the last week or so, I discovered that an 80's cartoon about alien spacebots includes not only magical semi trucks and stealth jets, but also a fantastic convertible tank. OH MY GOD. The wonders of a mutant spacebot tank! Sorry, but Megan Fox is not nearly as hot as vaginal explosives on steroids.

My new dream is to one day own a tank and turn it into a mutant spacebot. I figure I can get away with this by adjusting it to only shoot marshmallows. The goal, of course, is to keep it out of warmongering hands and safely in my backyard. Hopefully my homeowner's association doesn't have too much of a problem with that, even though they are Buddhist/Native American warriors. I mean, the point is to NOT use it in war, so they should be somewhat supportive, right?



I can get a bit carried away with tanks, so let's move onto the second piece of information you'll need to know.

Fuck. All I can think about is tanks right now.

I wonder how tanks can be brought back to the subject of those very popular young adult novels about vampires... You see, I have this friend, A, who can manage to bring almost any subject back to said novels. I would probably say that her obsession with sparkly vampires is similar to mine with tanks. I've joined her in these vampire games before, and they can be quite humorous. But how to connect tanks to vampires......

Nevermind, I've got it.... missile/tank proof car. Done and done.

Moving on.

Welcome. Grab a hammock, a beer and try not to get offended. It's not really about you anyways.