crisis mode

this city is mere inches away from being held hostage by the transit union. i'd be chewing my nails down to the quick if my index finger weren't already covered in a bandage, because i sliced off a chunk of it while baking the lebckuchen that was a complete disaster, thereby leaving me bewildered and not understanding what the fuck has happened to me that i am unable to make a confection for which i've been the family's head chef since i was about ten.

i believe in pouring a bit of myself into everything i cook. but i think that adding my blood to the mixture might be taking the metaphor a little too far. don't you think?

fuck.

what is happening to me here?

when is it going to begin to look a lot like christmas?

where the hell is my family and when are they going to tell me if they're coming to noo spork for xmas or not?

and let's not forget the million dollar question: why, oh why, are all straight boys evil? unless, of course, the question is: what is wrong with me? (yes, a phone call was made. and the predicted outcome was, in fact, the case. it's getting obscene)

ah well. i hear celibacy is very chic this year. almost as chic as the haircut i'm going to get. eventually. once i decide on it.