"Happy birthday!" said Kat as she looked over to me from her bed.
I did what now...oh, that!
"Thanks. I FORGOT."
I've forgotten my birthday before. These things happen when you're prostrated on an inflato-bed. I also think birthdays cease to be sources of happy-fun-joy once you leave the shackles of compulsory education. Up until then you were young, but after you hit the mark of 18 years old everything goes downhill. There might be a grace period, some kind of plateau between the major stages of your life in the form of sleeping and watching TV excessively, but it tends to happen pretty quickly. When I was 18 turning 22 seemed so far away—now that I'm 22 I feel like I'll be 28 in no time. And then 30. And then wondering where my unborn children are.
My birthday was only mildly exciting. A part of me thinks, "Who cares that I am counting off another year to my death?" while another part thinks, "This is the only day of the year when it's all about YOU...and the millions of other people with the same birthday." The actual day of my birthday was uneventful since I spent its entirety on the train back to New York, a trip that took something like 14 hours. Sure, it was comfortable and productive, but...no. I learned an important lesson during the trip—going through customs will always take longer than you think it will. And it's all just to piss you off since, really, what dangerous stuff is being transferred between the US and Canada? Don't answer that—I'd rather be ignorant.
So Kat and I celebrated my birthday the day before my real birthday (which is August 27th). How did we celebrate?
With bags of milk! ...Wait, I mean not with bags of milk. That would've been lame and somewhat confusing. If you don't know the wonder of bagged milk, check out this website dedicated to Canadian milk bags (actually, it's more like Ontario/Quebec Milk Bags; the rest of Canada isn't as milk bag-crazy). The internet knows everything.
We went to Dominion to get some food. And by food, I mean...
Gelato? Yeah, we love gelato, so much that we'd get it from a supermarket. Their pistachio tasted funky so I went with the safer fruit flavors of peach and mango. Not bad! I mean, we're in a supermarket after all (how many supermarkets have gelato counters?), and it was only $2.23.
I finally got my taste of Tim Hortons in the form of a maple cream donut. It's like a Boston cream donut but with a maple glaze, I think. And it was...alright. Fried dough filled with sweet custardy good can't taste bad, but it doesn't have to send my taste buds soaring into the burning sun or anything. So it was alright. Donuts have yet to infest that part of my heart only reserved for things that send me into fits of happy spasms (like macarons and gelato).
On the lawn between Kat's house and the road we walk on to get to pretty much anywhere there were some innocent, non-spiky plants...and then there were also the evil spiky spawns of Satan that I managed to step on more than once. Accidentally. In the dark, okay? And the only reason I felt their wrath was because I was wearing flip flops at the time.
I don't normally give the finger to anything—nothing makes me quite that angry. But the plant deserved it. Unfortunately I couldn't inflict any physical pain onto it because of the whole "covered in thorns" things.
Some of the things we picked up at Dominion were for my birthday cake! But not just any cake—a POOFY cake! I was quite excited as no one had ever granted me the joy of a specially made cake before. I pretty much just sat at my computer and edited photos while Kat slaved away on this cake recipe (we halved it). Every now and then I would give her words of encouragement ("Yeah, that looks creamed...kinda,") but for the most part I didn't help at all. I'm an awesome friend!!!
Here are the steps to making a Poofy cake.
Cut away a Poofy-like shape from your cake loaf.
Pull away the extra non-Poofy bits. EAT THEM.
Slather frosting on the cake with your color of choice. Since I originally envisioned Poofy as a light blue creature Kat mixed a buttload of blue food coloring with a bucket of plain vanilla frosting. Technically you could keep it white since Poofy is usually white (ain't no color in Poofyville) but we wanted our cake to be some frightening color that reeked of artificial ingredients. It's part of the FUN!!!
Check out your handwork. He's NEKKID! That ain't cool.
Get a chopstick or a similarly shaped poking device and give Poofy the gift of sight. Fill the holes with more food coloring.
Use the chopstick/poking device to paint a mouth. I prefer a happy, wide-mouthed Poofy, but you could also make him sad. Or smiling. Or angry. Or confused. The possibilities are endlessss!
Cherish your finished Poofy cake! He won't look like this for long.
Put him out of his misery. A quick stab to the gut should do it.
Chop him however you see fit. I cut away his appendages until he was just a square face. Even though he's really dead, he just keeps on smiling. There's a trooper.
The cake was shared between me, Kat, Anne Marie and Anne Marie's cousin. That was pretty much our dinner. Besides some potato chips.
The next day I went on that oh-so-fun 14 hour trip back home and officially became older.
Hanging out with Kat is like nothing else. We noted a few times over the trip that we were both very odd, as apparent through our ability to greatly amuse ourselves just by muttering the word "sausage" in different accents. Kat has a lot more goofy friends than I have (it's something that comes with studying animation, I think), but around me (and vice versa) we hit some super-level of moronic behavior. It's hard to explain, but if there were an explanation it would contain the word "betch."
Yup, that's the summation of our friendship!
Dominion and Tim Hortons are chains in Canada. Dominion is restricted to the Toronto area while Tim Hortons is EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE I TELL YA.
I be going to Italy now. Blogging will occur as long as there is Internet available. JUST YOU WAIT.