Let them eat cake.

I love Scott Calvert of The Cake Plate. Love! Also kind of hate, because he launched a new company called Cake Jars and brought samples to our office....



Mind you: I have an inflatable slip 'n' slide to attend to this Memorial Day weekend. Sailing the next weekend. Pool party the following. Now is *not* the time to bring me cake, layered with mousse, topped off with sprinkles, and stuffed into a convenient, all-too-easy to hold jar.



[insert sigh of resignation here]



I was able to "just say no" to the red velvet layer cake. The carrot cake. Even the cuteypatootey named Dreamsicle cake. But the man brought -wait for it- waaaaaait...



Peanut Butter Chocolate Bomb.



AKA: THE. DEATH. OF. ME.



It 2009 I placed a peanut butter ban on my house (which has yet to be lifted) after I once purchased a jar on Sunday afternoon and polished it off by Tuesday evening. The horror! Unfortunately, we've had these samples for a couple weeks...but in an office full of women, we decided to risk it.



One colleague said, "hmmmm...it definitely tastes like something is thinking about fermenting in there."



But did that stop us? NO! We plowed through that milk chocolate cake, with peanut butter pie filling, dark chocolate mousse and peanut butter cups like it was our last day on this green earth. Like it was a mission from god, I tell you!



So if you pick up tomorrow's Statesman and it reads:

"Young Woman Loses Self-Control and Gorges Herself on 8 Billion Calorie Cake Gimmick Resulting in Early Death"



...it's me.

You must choose.

I work (worked?) in sales...in an odd sort of sales way. Really more event planning, but my business card still reads Senior Sales Manager. Fortunately, I have mercifully avoided ever making cold calls. Good thing, because apparently people really hate the task.



I've never had a root canal, but I'm not entirely certain I agree with the survey's findings that a violent dental operation resulting in a spectacular eruption of pain is worse than cold calling. I did once have to make cold calls on behalf of a non-profit, begging shamelessly for donations.... Somehow I lived to tell the tale, but honestly I'd rather take a bullet. I'd also rather:

• Be tied down and forced to watch Waterworld for seven days straight


• Piss a golfball


• Have a dorsel fin growing out of my back


• Eat deviled eggs (vile things!)


• Be a sound engineer on a Paris Hilton album

Really, I can't blame anyone for choosing an uncomfortable one month dry spell over cold calling for one week. Just sayin'.

The good life.

I've decided today is a good Tuesday. Here is why:

• our weekly meeting that normally lasts three hours was shaved down to a waif 50 minutes. Funny- the male heads of department are at our corporate office for the day. Turns out, when the "womenfolk" are left to their own devices we: a) start on time b) avoid passive-aggressive pissing contests and c) operate efficiently. Shocking.


• the New York editors have given me a feature which just might be my crown jewel of 2010: writing about the food scene at Austin City Limits music festival in the fall.

In sum: I have more time to accomplish work at the office today, while also knowing come October I will get my ACL pass comp'd so that I can soak up the sun, listen to live music all day, and eat whatever the hell I want.

When did it get so good?

Real quick.

Been having too much fun to bother with the internet, so apologies for lack of updates. Am currently being herded out of our Indiana hotel room for one last visit with Emma before we hit the road. Here is my roadtrip update, Twitter style:

1. You can drink beer on the street in Memphis. I like Memphis.

2. Stinky Gringo pre-mixed margarita is actually good. I like this too.

3. Spinach dip during Nashville happy hour is not so great. But their Long Islands are pretty rad.

4. Visited my first casino. The biggest in the Midwest. EPIC. Plus, *worst* looking people ever.

5. Ate my weight in crab legs and frozen yogurt at said casino's buffet. Not so epic this morning.

6. No beef ribs in Memphis. Just for the record.

DING!

Trippin'

I'm taking the blog on the road. It's 6:54 am and I'm Memphis bound with one of my best friends.

We have a Sony HandyCam, Nikon D40, a mountain of mix CDs, and a bottle of wine (for tonight!) and a full tank of gas.

...buckle up.

Quitter.

Notice the new blog title? Dig it? Well, you should because it's really quite apropos. No longer a full-time working professional and full-time graduate student. Just a full-time bad ass and full-time graduate student.



All joking aside, I took the leap and resigned from my corporate job for numerous reasons that are just too boring to list here. In typical manipulative manner, they coerced me into staying in my shackles until July 2nd to fully train my assistant who will take my position.



Daily motivation is now a challenge, but I power through it by reminding myself of my sweet reward: Costa Rica in July. Per the usual, I somehow managed to corkscrew my obssession with travel into a seemingly productive and absolutely necessary trip abroad. I'll spend one week in San Joquin de Flores, earning 3 hours of graduate school credit then another week traipsing about on my own. It's gonna be the pig's tits!



Note: don't bother asking me questions like: how will you pay your mortgage? car payment? tuition? I can't be bothered with such rational practicalities. I mean, that's just ridiculous. I am now fully embracing my inner artist and everyone should understand I'm a creator! A wandering soul! My tortured, misunderstood and superior spirit would be positively crushed by logicial thought at this point.

Give me my camera. Give me my pen. I'll find adventure and there I'll be fine.