kiss the cook.

clearly, from lack of hits on my blog, you people do not care about the progress of princess o learning to use the toilet. noted, and moving on. did you know that is my other life i cook things? 

you see, in my real life i drink things, make funny jokes about things, and buy exorbitant amounts of things. on the contrary, in my other life, the one most of you haven’t seen i cook things and, i don’t mean to boast (lie), but those things are fucking fabulous. there are some things that you are just good at/have a natural aptitude for/are meant to do. princess wingy cole likes to joke and say that i am prepping myself to be the perfect housewife, but presently marriage terrifies me and cleaning mystifies me (there are not cleaning fairies that de-clutter rooms and sinks? what have you done to me, panda?). it seems as though cooking (among other talents such as vodka tolerance, marathon shopping, kitty cat care, storytelling, general craftiness, and tanning) is my forte. why this particular talent has latched onto me and made the career pursuit appear dismally unprofitable, i’m not sure; tis a conundrum i lack the brain power to fully dissect and resolve to ultimately care. and just so you know, nonexistent eligible bachelors, [qualifications here] i appear much more attractive carrying a tray of delicious food than i do in real life. i’m beginning to think my best chance of meeting the man of my dreams will only happen if i perpetually wear a “kiss the cook” apron and stumble upon true love (my life is a movie?) through the process of elimination. get it while it’s hot (or not), employment sucks ass.