A what

Birthday cake. Sounds good? Well settle your ass down.
This cake is a two layer dutch chocolate cake. Still sounds good? Wait for it--
Homemade pineapple glaze and cream cheese frosting.
What the fuck is wrong with you people?
Anyway here we go. I found this blog through a baking group in case you couldn't tell.

As I sit here with chicken cooking in the oven (Oh, I know, right? A brilliant idea -- heating up the oven just to cook some chicken when it's currently 106 degrees Farenheit outside!)

Air conditioning? What's that?

Aside from the stress I get from work, I still manage to put myself up to receiving verbal abuse from my ex-boyfriend. To keep the story short, he hurt my feelings again over what I chose to study in college.

Seeing as how I skipped about five paragraphs of you bitching about the deli you work at, I'm guessing you chose not to major in anything marketable. Also why are you taking shit or, I don't know, talking to your ex-boyfriend at all? Is there a hidden meaning in "ex" I wasn't hitherto aware of?

Quite frankly, photography, which he has chosen to learn, is just as hard to work with as traditional art is.

Wait he majored in photography and he's giving you shit?
What a world~

Sorry. Photography takes the same basic principles as traditional art to build oneself some kind of foundation to stand on. Compared to my artwork, I take horrible pictures.

I'm really confused. You're butthurt he made fun of you and then you defend his decision by backing up his major? What's going on here, did I forget how arguing works or am I going crazy? (I seem to be asking that a lot lately).

I feel useless; however, when I walk into my work place.

SEMICOLONS~
Let's take a brief pause and deconstruct these little shits. So you've got a semicolon. What's it look like? Oh my goodness, it's a period stacked on top of a comma! I wonder if that's any indication of what it does?
Well fuck me, can a semicolon be used here? No, it can't. Why's that? Well let's figure it out!
"I feel useless." You can put a period after that, you can, so that must be an independent clause because it's a full motherfucking thought. It's got your subject, your verb and for shits and giggles it even has a direct-fucking-object.
"however, when I walk into my work place" is not an independent clause. I think. I'm not sure; it's not really a coherent thought (see how semicolons work you idiots?) We're about to get into some technical shit now so keep your eyes open.
So we have a preposition. "When". When something, something. So "when she walks into her work place". You now need something else because this is the motherfucking subject of your sentence. The entire thing. "When" is subordinating your clause. If you ditch "when" it becomes "I walk into my workplace" and you have a complete thought again. "When" she walks into her work place, what?
Let's take this into real speech:
"When I walk into my workplace," said the girl.
"... What?" said the other girl.
Holy shit, see how that works?
Let's revise her sentence, this time using only commas.
"I feel useless, however, when I walk into my workplace."
HOLY FUCK ME SUDDENLY A COHERENT THOUGHT OH MY GOD IT'S LIKE MAGIC!

Part of my personality demands I assert my independence and do everything in my power to get things done.

I hate it when people say "assert my independence". What the fuck does that even mean? "No, I'm just doing what I always do," would be my response. Why must you turn everything into some sort of last stand scenario?

Unfortunately, the people that work in the Service Deli were there before me and I am the newcomer. The low-life, the runt, the little up-start.

You're working at a service deli, calm down. You're not upstarting anything.

I must sarcastically apologize to the few customers that walked away from the counter due to my slowness.

You should apologize. I came here to buy some goddamn food and look how fucking long you're taking, then you're going to give me shit about it while I'm just waiting here?

The icing on the cake came around when I got settled at home after work. My father made some coleslaw and that's a food I cannot stand. I have never liked it. If I want bits of cabbage and carrots stuck in my teeth, I would eat a salad.

Well fuck your shit too.
Zoinks, here's a post I must be 18+ to view!
Well, fortunately--
Oh she drew a picture of her fucking someone. You're not very good at this anatomy thing for someone who majored in art. Oh man everyone has a thorax in this situation. Half bug people. This is disturbing me.

I'm a mess right now and I wish I had more time to actually talk about my feelings.

That's your problem. You talk about your feelings too much. Seriously name an emotion I've mentioned in this blog outside of "hate" or "pissed off at your shit"?

This was one of the first charchoal drawings done in the class. I'm always being told to mind my edges, to sharpend them so everything comes out a bit clear-er. Well, I was told all the time in ART101 to "omit the line. You've gotta omit the line!"

YOU GOTTA LEARN TO SPELL would be my advice.
Also this is why you're a bad artist. You don't want clear lines? Tell clear lines to go fuck themselves. If your art teacher (har har) tells you it's important, tell him he's a fucking hack and doesn't know shit about it.
Shit you do need to work on your colors. I've never seen an apple made of metal before.
Less white, more red.

Oftentimes, I log onto LiveJournal and stare at the empty post box, wanting to type out some angsty sob story so I can have some lame person come over and pat me on the back.

Sometimes I have to pause for a minute before I start to muster enough piss.

As I watch further into 花より団子

Whoa, what
Hana yori dango.
Flowers over dumplings--
I don't even know what the fuck

Last night, I finished watching the Japanese drama ぜったいかれし

"Zettai Kareshi" which means something like "Absolute Boyfriend" I'm guessing.
I just don't want her to think there's some language endeavor she's better at than me is all.

• おはよう、みんあ。元気？そうならいいですね～
• これは最初のentryだ。
• よろしく、ね。83

Oh my God.
Nope, not doing this.
Somehow she's even more annoying in Japanese than she is in English. I didn't think that was humanly possible and yet here we are.
Oh shit, that's it. I'm actually done! I read her whole fucking blog, fantastic.

He was a man of letters

He was a man of letters and had many long correspondents with many people from many different walks of life, but most of them were cunts. He didn't have the unusual honor of meeting most of these people face to face, but with the then-modern technology communication was near instant anyway.
That's what they'll say about me after I die.
My lady (and I use that in the most sarcastic way possible) Danika has deigned to respond to my letter:

Dear Tim,
i write the way i think. there is not thought process in between the words and my fingers. there is a deeper meaning beneath all the nonsense, i guess you'd just have to know me to know waht i am talking about. i don't speak like this in real life all the time, but these words are written in the exact way and order that they were thought out.

Danika

mybrainisfulloffuck.jpg
Sooo I'm just here taking a break from hunting monsters because I find myself with almost enough parts for about a million different armor sets but I'm missing one integral component for each. I'm thinking of going for Lagiacrus armor because-- I don't know, but eh.
Barioth armor looks p. cool but I've never hunted a Barioth before and I don't really feel like learning an entire new pattern of attacks when I've fought Lagiacrus successfully a few times, and Lagiacrus looks almost as cool and is probably more useful to boot.
Oh yeah, I bitch about people here, don't I? Well let's fix that right now.

The pre-calc final (part 1) was today. I don't have much to say about it, good or bad. It just drained me and left me oddly hyper.

>drained
>hyper
High school girls.

Walking home today took forever. I just dragged my feet along, looked at the ground, and as I grabbed my keys out of my bag before I hit the back door I heard my neighbor call my name.

This is why I don't talk to neighbors. They probably want something from you.

They waved me over, and so I sighed, held my keys in my hand, and walked over to greet them.

Can't talk. I, uhh, left the stove on.

Mrs. F. asked me how much time I had left in school. I told her we had 8 official days left, and we talked about all of my summer plans.

I'm very busy this summer.
As far as they know. Besides, define "busy". Lagiacrus won't kill itself, anyway.

Mr. O explained that their grandson, Tyler, was coming to stay with them for the summer.

Is Tyler a chick? Nope? Don't give a fuck.

Tyler is my age, so they were wondering if I wouldn't mind hanging out with him, showing him around Easton, making him feel welcome, etc.

Oh my Christ why do I have to babysit an adult for you?

Why should I spend my precious time with some yuppie?

Yeah exactly.

But the morally conscious teen in my agreed.

>Morally conscious
There is not a moral choice to be made here. Both possible results are about as "good" as each other.
Stating the moral choice is to hang with the grandson (which you stated you don't want to do) implies, what, his time is somehow more important than your time? Obliging people is the morally superior option? The harder route is somehow the moral one simply by virtue it's more difficult?
I don't get it, man.

Today:
Today was hot. I wore a dress, a dress I love, because it shows me off in a way I enjoy.

WHORE.

Spent the day barefoot, knee-deep in the clean, clear waters of Assateague.

Nya-ha, a denizen of Old Country.
Now there's a lot of words about New York I'm not reading.
Now there's some shit about writing letters to dead people by putting them in a bottle and floating them down river and I'm suddenly reminded of the Police song.

Mom always said that it was good luck if it rained after someone died.

No, sorryimsorry's (ugh) mom, it's good luck to have rain on your wedding, not your funeral.

Today, I live for the chance to see tomorrow.

And then when tomorrow comes I live to see the day after that-- wait, it's self-perpetuating.

I live for a brighter future. I live for the idea that you can only get so low before you have to pick back up...

It's like everything I've ever said on this blog.
Except in reverse.

James (Jim) Clarence Higgins died May 16, 2010 at 8:45 PM.
He was alone.

And I will never forgive myself for letting him die that way.

"When we die, we die alone."
Oh my fuck her best friend and her ex-boyfriend died. They're the same person, but still this will get insufferable quick.

I apologized over and over but I mean really, how do you forgive fucking up prom?

There will never, ever be an event as important as high school prom.
Wait--

Day 26 - Your Definition of Love.


Oh look it's this shit again.

Love is when you look at a person and can't seem to remember your life before them.

Love is like a fortune cookie: full of trite wisdom and not really a fortune at all.

Today is the U.S. National Day of Prayer, and believe me when I say I used that to my advantage.

Work is prayer. Back to it.

Man I'd make an awesome leader. No economic hardships under my reign.

Jim went into the hospital earlier tonight with a fever of 105.8
He's had it for 4 days now...

Faith said they're screening him for cancer again. I pray to God it isn't cancer. Not again.
I already went though this.

Wait, you went through it? What about Jim? I'd say he's the one with the problem, here.
Oh forget it. This has already gone on way too long.
Be seeing you, fags.