*****

Well behind the trend, I finally threw myself into the Netflix craze. Holy dear LORD, is that site addictive like heroin. I spent the better part of the past few days feverishly adding movies and television shows to my queue. I think I could add things non-stop for 24 hours straight and still only have a tiny percentage of all the movies and shows I want. When I will find time to actually watch everything, I do not know. But whatever, because soon I will have every season of 21 Jump Street in my hot little hands! Woo!

*****

Lately, I've been eating pomegranates like it's my job. I'd forgotten how very delicious they are. Unfortunately, I'd also forgotten how very messy they are and what a pain in the ass they are to peel. I brought one to work the other day, and within minutes I'd covered my desk, my keyboard, my monitor, my phone, my cubicle walls and myself in sticky little red fingerprints. While peeling the stupid pomegranate, I smashed a bunch of the little seed thingies, and showered myself with tiny droplets of bright red juice, ruining a pair of khakis in the process. My mother, ever resourceful, suggested I spray even more red juice on the pants and make them polka dotted. Maybe I will, maybe I will indeed.

Several of my co-workers had never eaten a pomegranate before, and I convinced them to try a few of the seeds. I then informed them they had to stay in my cubicle and do my bidding, one month out of the year for every seed they'd eaten. They just looked at me oddly and walked away. I guess that only works if you're Hades. Oh well.

*****

I have committed horrible crimes against pastry recently, gentle readers, horrible crimes indeed. What I intended to create was a delicious, buttery and flaky pastry filled with succulent boysenberry jam. What I ended up with, however, was quite possibly the world’s most disgusting confection, what can only be described as “The Jelly Roll of the Damned.”

I fear I may have lost my baking mojo. My baked goods are usually delectable, eliciting cries of delight and joy from those lucky enough to partake. Lately, the only thing I hear from those on whom I inflict my desserts are half-hearted declarations of “Um, yeah, it’s, um, good” mumbled around a mouthful of something so awful they can’t even bring themselves to swallow. I don’t know what happened, I truly don’t. Where has my pastry mojo gone, goddamnit?!

I am glad I didn’t attempt my normal holiday baking frenzy this year. The loss of lives would have been devastating. Most years, I bake every cookie known to man and whip up batches and batches of fudge, toffee and other assorted candies. This year, however, baking would have been too much of a strain on my already severely taxed reserves of holiday cheer. Summoning a smile and a friendly “Happy Holidays” for co-workers and random strangers was about all I could manage. The thought alone of the usual holiday baking madness filled me with dread and exhaustion. And in my current baking funk, who the hell knows what monstrosities I would have created. I just wish I knew what happened. Whatever caused this malady, I hope it goes away soon. I’m in desperate need of a poppyseed roll, and I can’t find a decent one to save my life in any of the local bakeries.

*****

In addition to the poppyseed roll, I am also in desperate need of a bust of Margaret Mead. Well. "Need" might be overstating the case ever so slightly. I really want one, though. I've searched high and low, but have thus far come up empty handed. I'd always heard you could find anything on the Internet, but apparently, "anything" doesn't include busts of Margaret Mead. If you happen to know where I might find such a thing, please let me know. I'd be eternally grateful, and if my baking mojo ever returns, there'll be a batch of cookies with your name on it.

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