Saturday, June 12, 2010

Mama Cass puts the ass in class

Once upon a time in a land down under lived the fattest kookaburra who ever did indeed live. Mama Cass lived in an idyllic park in Sydney. She would spend her days waddling around in the grass being fed sausages and delicious cheeseburgers by kind picnickers. At night she would fall asleep wherever she happened to plop down, kept warm by the hot dogs in her belly and farts that streamed almost continuously from her little birdie bum. Mama Cass could not fly up into the safety of the tree tops you see, because of her substantial heft, she had all the abilities of a feathery medicine ball. But oh was she happy.

That was until one fateful day when a pack of vicious dogs caught wind of her tasty sausage smell and went after her. Mama Cass trundled away as fast as her feeble legs would carry her enormous pudge-body but eventually the dogs got her. Luckily the nice park goers intervened and saved Mama Cass! They carried her to the zoo where they bandaged her up and took care of her.

Mama Cass was put on a balanced diet immediately and was even made to exercise. Eating slugs and bugs was one thing but there was no way they were getting big mama to flap around like some kooky kookaburra. Eventually the exasperated zookeepers took to full out chasing Mama Cass around the yard to get her moving. After a few weeks of this Mama Cass had slimmed down to a sleek 446 grams and even managed to fly! It was to the nearest branch, but everyone was so proud.

All of Australia was so touched and inspired by Mama Cass that they made her President!

The End.

Inspired by the true story of one amazing tubby bird.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Rain Stained Brain

It's raining. Only it is gorgeous grey blue summer rain that makes everything look greener and everything smells like flowers. Usually the city smells like a hobo's mattress. Because um.. it is a big hobo mattress I suppose.

I had to have an excuse to go for a walk in the rain. So I decided that I would make use of the strawberry rhubarb compote B-Bot and I made a few days ago to make a dessert. A dessert that would require tremendous amounts of whipped cream. Pants went on and I went out!

I walked down to the closest corner store. On the way there I passed a black man dressed all in white with aviator glasses who stopped to pick up an old water bottle off the ground and throw it away. I thought that was an odd thing to do, in the rain. Stop to pick up litter. You never see anyone in the city do that. It made me smile. No luck for whipped cream at the shop, which I was secretly happy for because it meant a longer, wetter trek.

The sides of the road had turned into tiny rivers. Rivulets of water carried bubbles along into the sewer grates. Over head I could make out the impressions of 3 seagulls hundreds of feet above. Keeping an eye on things. I noticed no one looked unhappy to be out getting soaked. I passed by the post office box and felt a pang of sadness at not bringing a postcard to quickly scribble on and toss over to New Zealand.

At my favourite convenience store I bought a wee whipping cream and the most orange of all oranges. I walked back home slowly, soaking wet, with an orange in my hand. I was tempted to steal roses from outside the church on the corner because the hot pink of them went with my orange so well. But I resisted. Like Jesus resisted temptation. I think that's a movie, anyway.

At the intersection two large ladies in floral skirts held plastic garbage bags against their heads. I never understood why ladies can be completely soaked but damn it all if their hair gets damp. There was a plaid clad fellow reeking of student, standing sullenly strapped to an ipod. I watched him watch this lovely Korean lady jog by. He looked slightly less sullen. Sometimes when Im allowed out in the world I like to take a situation like.. being on a bus or at an intersection. And imagine being in a catastrophe and these are the people I am stuck with. Like an episode of Lost with less polar bears and way way more Jacks. Boring. I try to pick out who I would eat first. The sullen student looked like he'd taste gamey.

Now I am home and in the oven are big fat pillows of meringue getting nice and hard and crunchy for dessert later. I dont have 3 hours to wait so Im cooking them at a high temperature. Right now they are a soft brown and the apartment smells like caramel.

I fit right in! Like my cock in your mother!

Why hello there sexy thing, come here often?
Of course you dont cause theres fuckall here.

Well, that's not true anymore is it.. cause now there's this. So read it.

Ive been gone for a while. A blog is awesome when you have an hour to spare here and there and want to share some random shit with whichever random shit happens to read it. But since February I have made a point to make and keep myself seriously busy. I mean deadly serious. I mean keel over dead serious. 4real.

But. It has become overwhelmingly apparent that it is now June. In fact across the world my dearest thing is having its birthday and will later be filling its furry face with dutch beers and blue cheese mussels. This day was kind of like a marker for when I can start to come back to real life and stop being robot Kara trying to make time go by as fast as possible. So to celebrate Im doing what any newly born into the world thing does.. laying around crying, covered in my own mothers blood. That's a lie, I'm just writing a blog. But how fucked up and evil are babies?

So, one job turned to two jobs, which turned into, briefly but not briefly enough, three fucking jobs. And now Ive pared it down to one. The best one. Im in love. I'm keeping it. It lets me begin every morning by stocking a cafe with muffins, cookies, scones, cakes, CUPCAKES BROWNIES-- woah okay.. see, its a nice way to start the day. Even if its at six am. And then I spend the rest of my day, creating things. And trying hard not to burn shit. "It's not cookies burning you smell! You are all having seizures!"

My favourite part is that on mondays and tuesdays I am in charge of making the staff meal. So I just poke around in the walk in fridge, grab what seems to be in abundance, and start making whatever I want. Fucking brilliant. At the end of the day my white uniform is covered in raspberry blobs and cocoa powder dustings, smears of chocolate, bright streaks of buttercream. I strip the Van Gogh off my belly and enjoy a nice bike ride home. Sometimes you just have to tell the universe exactly, in perfect glowing detail what you want so it knows what to give you. I'm pretty happy.

Today aside from a nap and some good birthday chats I have started organizing things for the move in July. The antonym for my apartment right now is "order". Synonyms include "stink" and "sucks". I started on all this without realizing that once I pulled everything out and laid it in as many unorganized little piles on every flat surface, that I lacked boxes to pack it in after. And now its raining and boxes are OUT OF THE QUESTION! So Im laying here, in and on piles of clothes and books and tea and important papers, writing this. My body is at many awkward angles in order to accommodate this. I may not be able to get up.

Oh. I can. Success. Okay Im going to go eat some cheese and fart around for a bit. Peace out!