While I was typing that the lyrics to “Gaston (Reprise)” were going through my head. You know, that part in everyone’s second favorite musical about Stockholm Syndrome—Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is the first in case you were wondering—where this happens?
Anyway. I’ve been thinking that it may be time to start over as far as this blog is concerned.
To be honest, when I started it, I had no concrete plan in mind as to what I would be posting about or when I would be doing it. Now I do.
So stick around. I’ll try to make the transition phase as smooth and as quick as possible.
The granola bar I’m eating tastes the same way that a hamster smells. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
This, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with anything related to this blog. In fact, I’m only eating this because tonight’s finale of the always amazing Doctor Who played with my emotions in the worst way because Steven Moffat is the son of Satan and I just can’t cope with what he put me through with that episode. Son. So many emotions. The freakin’ feels. I can’t even go into what just had me screaming with fangirlish giddiness and shouting obscenities at my computer screen because, well
But, listen. It was great and I’m going to subject myself to the torture when it premieres here in the US in about an hour.
So anyway, I’m eating, or at least I’m trying to. I’m not quite sure what’s going on in my mouth right now. I mean, the package says that it’s a peanut butter granola bar, but all my brain is registering is that the scent emanating from the back corner of every kindergarten classroom in America is dancing across my tongue. My taste buds and I are confused. What the hell, Nature Valley?
Actually, what the hell, Moffat? This is all your fault.
Ahem. Moving on.
I have a bit of a confession to make:
I like to bake.
I like to bake a lot.
Cakes, cookies, pies, breads—all that. Give me the ingredients, the right equipment and let me loose in the kitchen and I will bake you whatever your heart desires and your sweet tooth craves.
That said, the quality of my life would drastically improve if I had a KitchenAid Stand Mixer. People who don’t know how I feel about baking think I’m joking when I say that, but I assure you that I’m not. I don’t even need a particular color—though I do think the Imperial Black is one of the sexiest kitchen appliances I’ve ever seen—I just need this mixer in my life. ‘Cause what I have now? Well, it leaves a lot to be desired. It gets the job done, though.
I think the first thing you need to know about me is that I aintshit. Not that I’m not working on that, of course. I am. But as of right now? No. I aintshit at all and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s perfectly fine.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though.
My name is LauRenand this is a chronicle of a life lived just a bit more (infamously) than you may be use to. What does that mean exactly and why do I insist upon putting all deviations of the word “infamous” in parentheses? I mean, I could tell you now, but where’s the fun in that? Divulging those particular details at this point would be like eating dessert before dinner—everything that comes after it pales in comparison.
And we can’t have that now can we?
So, yeah. Sit back, relax, catch a contact and join me as I try to balance my high minded ideals with my somewhat low morals.