lajeanabeanaweenaqueena. or: who wants to go nudie hiking on Mt. Baldy? or: does Mt. Baldy really exist? these are the sorts of existential questions that plague me.

karma cake.  what exactly do I mean by this?

cakes follow me around like stray dogs follow after sausages. I have had my photo taken sitting on a cake, I have pined for sugar roses which decorated  all the other girl’s birthday cakes and I never got one. Why?  Because I was taught not to ask for a rose, just to wait…and hope. Fruitlessly…

Today my big project is cleaning a cake off the floor. This cake didn’t even make it to St. Patrick’s day–and it was MEANT to–it is green and white and says HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY, or said that, at one time…it is a poignant, poignant cake. Begorrah.

You may be wondering if I ever fantasized about poPPing out of a cake. Of course I have. A person would have to be a fool not to want to poPP out of a cake. In a small outfit.

I was thirteen when i actually saw my face for the first time. why the ficekty fuck is this thing oh, never mind, it was my fault. anyway. i had this really small mirror in my tiny bedroom. and i was short, and my parents were taller and had hung it too high for me. finally i grew tall enough–i think at the time i was 5′2" — to see myself. hot  damn! all that hair ironing and bazooka gum chewing while i read every book ever written had straightened my long hair for a whole day and honed my cheekbones and for one DAY!!! I looked like a goddam model. It was groovy. it was the sixties. It was GREAT. then I was sent off to boarding school and came back looking like a moose that had eaten a horse that had eaten a cow.

moral of the day: screw boarding school. send your kids to the local high school, even if it blows. NOTHING IS WORSE THAN BOARDING SCHOOL. I MAY NEVER GET OVER IT. <__GAHHHHHH

ever your girl, lajeanabeanaweenaqueena