In high school I had to go to SAT prep classes once a week, mind you this was after I had already taken the SATs and received a good score but my mother was like listen up little girl, Harvard doesn’t accept anyone with less than a 1300. I had gotten 1200. These numbers mean nothing now because I hear 1200 will get you your own country complete with your own army and a castle with a little hole where you can pour hot oil onto ne’er-do-wells. Anyway, in class I sat next to this kid who was a typical Korean dude from the Valley. I don’t know if these “kinds of dudes” exist outside of the Valley, but he had this SOUPED UP car that was lowered and a big stereo system through which he and the rest of the neighborhood could listen to Warren G and the windows were tinted so dark he could barely see and in fact got a traffic violation for it and he had crazy rims that were always clean as if he only drove his car on carpet. The point is, he had these huge Chinese characters screened on his rear window and I asked, what do they mean? He said “Big Korean Guy.” Obviously this kid was a total douchekit but he saw my question as an opportunity to “get fly” with me and wanted to talk about his car all the time. How mad SOUPED UP his car was and how FRESH his system was and how he BEAT this Corolla in some street race on Ventura (which I’m not kidding has like a stoplight on every corner it is the worst place to race.) Anyway then he wanted to MAD SOUP UP my car, which was a Volvo. Yo, yo, we can get a spoiler on that, it will look FLY and TIGHT, I know a guy who’ll give you a good deal. What? A SPOILER FOR A VOLVO? Does that even exist? And I am not sure why it’s called a spoiler anyway. What is being spoiled? No idea. It makes more sense to call it “a tail for your car that will let everyone know you are a douchebag”. Obviously I said no thank you and then later the Volvo caught on fire because of a faulty oil filter. The bumper actually melted to the car.

I gave an interview with the literary journal + website Small Spiral Notebook and now you can peep it here. Do I sound like a douche? I can’t tell. Probably. It’s hard to talk about writing without sounding douchey. Also my author’s photo is really kind of awful. In the rest of the photo I am actually RIDING A HORSE. One of those cheesy ones outside of supermarkets. But they had to cut it all off so I could fit in a square and now it’s just my silly face without the silly horse. Trapped in a square.

I am going to a dessert pot luck tomorrow. I happen to like dessert because it’s always vegetarian unless it’s bacon pie or beef tarts or some shit. But everyone likes dessert right? Except for fascists. I hear they don’t eat desserts. They eat orphans and the elderly, and quite frankly they deserve to be eaten.

Anyway, I am thinking of making chipotle brownies. Which sounds like it could transport you to a place with a unicorn (see previous post) or make you vomit in your own mouth. It is a risk. Like I can totally be that girl and show up with a plate of chipotle brownies and people will be like oh man that girl sucks and I’ll forever be known as The Girl Who Sucks At Dessert Making. Which I suppose is OK because, to be honest, I’m not great at dessert making but come on, I don’t really suck at it. I hate being misunderstood. It is like being in high school, which is only one step above getting a colonoscopy on the list of things I Would Rather Not Do Unless Extremely Large Amounts Of Money Were Paid To Me.

Then there is the added pressure that the host of the party was trained at the French Culinary Institute and is a kick-ass real-life chef, and not some guy who claims he is “a good cook.” Like this guy is the real deal. Worked at Bouchon and some other sexy outfits in the city. He carries his knives with him to work. I wish my job let me carry knives. But since I’m not a chef, I’d have to work as a ninja or something. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but there just aren’t a lot of ninja opportunities in New York.

Anyway here is the recipe, if I do it I will let you know how it all goes down. Which is most likely a combination of sweet and spicy.

I just made myself a cup of tea. Tea pleases me. I see tea and I think, OK I am going to drink you now. Be warned. You will be in my belly soon and there is nothing you can do to stop me.

My problem with tea is the whole spiritual side of it. Like oooooo tea will bring you inner peace and love and joy and harmony and transport you to ancient China when life was simpler and not at all full of war and the Huns and Chinese fingertraps or maybe you will be transported to Japan and don’t you know the Japanese live forever and are so wise because they drink tea and please enjoy this cup of tea, it has the essence of blossoms and you will be calm and refreshed, rejuvenated even, and maybe you will see fairies that will transport you to a place with a unicorn. Anyway, the point is that I drink tea because it’s tasty not because it’s going to enlighten the crap out of me. If you are drinking tea to be transported you have some serious issues. Speaking of transport, where is my jet pack? If tea can give me a jet pack then holy crap I am STOKED.

But check this out, the tea I am drinking is called “Beginner’s Mind Green Tea”. I have no idea what that means. A beginner’s mind! Do I have a beginner’s mind? I always thought of my mind as more intermediate-to-advanced. NO who am I kidding, I think of my mind as ADVANCED GENIUS STEPHEN HAWKING Level 10. And now I’m drinking this “beginner’s” tea and now my brain has been slighted. Slighted, I say!

Here is what the packaging says:

All things have their own inner truth, no matter how “imperfect” they might seem. If a sip of tea causes me, no matter how briefly, to be transported outside myself, I arrive into perfection itself. And I have known a cup of tea to do just the thing. The best of many praises that can be sung for tea is that it inspires Tea Mind. Also tea is a mild diuretic so I do not recommend drinking tea if you are very thirsty.

OK, the last sentence is mine. Fine. But seriously. WHAT??? COME ON! So now I have a “beginner’s mind” and an “imperfect” inner truth. There’s only so much bad news I can take by drinking a stupid cup of tea.

I just had so much Mexican food it is shameful. And beautiful. But also shameful. I am, in fact, ashamed. You might be asking, Donde esta la fiesta? The answer is in my stomach.