Day Two: The Sex Taste Food tour

So it's been a minute since I've updated the sacred blog. E has pointed out the exponential decline in posts by month, predicting the ultimate demise of "Ode to Emma."

Fear not, the frequency of posts has simply been following an upside down bell curve! Since we bottomed out at one measly single post in April, stay tuned for more TMI barf-in-your mouth updates of our adventures together.

Updates: The hornycakes reunion is set for June 3rd:)
33 days until we spend a sweaty summer in Queens.


Day One Recap: Biking, Tacos, and Furry Handcuffs (images available at a small fee for the latter, please Paypal $2.99 to hornycakes@gmail.com).

Day Two: First on the itinerary was the "Six Taste Walking Food Tour." Personally, I would've preferred the "sex taste food tour" but it was E's surprise gift to me so I rolled out of bed and off to Little Tokyo we went.


Feeding the food monster tuna don in Little Tokyo




You can see E's stunning reflection on my greasy forehead!



Our extremely dorky tour guide + a group of +++ sized women sampled milky oolong tea, mango mochi, and sweet potato fries for the next four hours. E and I straggled behind the group to engage in intermittent make-out sessions where she kept telling me she wanted to "bone" me. This was confounding to me, isn't it supposed to be the other way around?


I am beer monster, hear me roar!


E signed up for the sushi eating contest:




If you look carefully, you can see that E is the first woman to win the contest, labeled the "angry korean."


We migrated to the LA street food fest next; a gathering of smoldering trans-fat meals on wheels.



Crossing my fingers sugar mama E will support me as a papparazo in LA while I go lazybones on the couch

The line snaked around the block and E quickly lost hope we would make it in time to feed her starving food babies.




ALL WAS LOST FOR DRAMACAKES

After the British douche announced they were at capacity and turned most of the tardy gluttons away unfed, yours truly took advantage of his emaciated corpse and slipped in the foodfest unnoticed. Always looking out for Mama Bear, I snuck her in and we were in for a feast of marinated beef tacos, Viet club sandwiches, and E's drink of choice...



MMMMM... RAT POISON!




PHO ON WHEELS





2 dolla make you holla






E and I getting greasy at the foodfest


We made a pit stop to take cheesy photos at 5 dollars a pop:




Dainty and Crazycakes first barf in your mouth photo!




Float like a butterfly, eat like a pachyderm!


I ain't gonna lie, I wasn't sure how much more gluttony my stomach was willing to tolerate before I went ex-lax in my pants so I brought us back to loveshack to rest up for the evening.

Back in the apartment, E dove straight into a box of Trader Joe's licorice and I couldn't help but admire her iron stomach. If we ever end up on couples Fear Factor, we're a lock to win the larvae eating competitions.

I put on '500 Days of Summer' and put E's ADD/narcolepsy to test. She did surprisingly well although we probably had to take a half-dozen high school makeout sessions during the film to keep her occupied.

I couldn't help but feel solidarity with the protagonist of the film. The poor dude (Tom) was hopelessly obsessed with the new girl at work (Summer). Summer leads him on with a little sugar in the beginning then eventually kicks him to the curb like a red-headed stepchild, citing her own 'freedom issues.' Tom laments by removing himself from society and refusing to shower for the rest of his days.

OK, OK, maybe that's not exactly how the story unfolds but I was distracted during the film by horny/sleepy girl.

We embarked on our nightcap barhopping in Santa Monica with some of my college buddies. E started getting crazycakes and ordered us a round of jagerbombs and the super Korean started turning super red.





The red-faced couple


We started the evening at World Cafe on Main Street and ended up at an Irish Pub where E tried to play wingwoman for the boys, successfully infiltrating a group of sorority bimbos. No one closed the deal with the hussies, but my buddies were impressed and validated her as a keeper for going to bat for them and buying rounds of shots!




Outside generic Irish Pub

As crazycakes loves to do when she is consuming frosty beverages, she felt compelled to tell me she was crushing on the construction worker dude with the big schnauze. She drunkenly figured that he couldn't be Jewish because there were no Jewish construction workers on the planet.

After some very public makeout sessions in the bar and in the parking lot, I strapped E into the passenger seat of the good ole Pontiac and headed home. She went sleep-o on me the instant we hit the freeway and I braced myself for the possibility of carrying her up my winding apartment stairs. Once we arrived, E collapsed on the bed and began snoring like a congested panda (YES, I USED IT AGAIN!)

Looking for some sugar, I tried to wake sleeping beauty but she mumbled something about spicy tacos and faded out of consciousness.

Emma's Snortling Blog 4/10

E and I decided to take long distance creepiness to the next level by allowing me the privilege of watching her sleep via webcam.



1:45AM Emma mumbles as she falls into a deep slumber. I know very few people who can pass out knowing they are being watched but I know better than to underestimate the power of sleep-o. That's right. If I'm a creepo you are sleep-o.

2:02AM Snoring commences. Sounds more like a combination of snoring and chortling, or snortling. Must mute.

2:10AM Picking at her face. Can't tell if she's digging for gold in her nose or popping blackheads. Either way I am aroused.

2:30AM Emma turns over on her side. The crowd goes wild.

2:45AM No movement. I'm worried she might be dead.

2:55AM Still nothing. Getting bored.

3:00AM No longer watching. On facebook instead. Facebook mildly entertaining, majorly gay as usual.

3:17AM: Return to discover Emma has disappeared! I divert my attention to surfing the web for 15 measly minutes then return to see that she has disappeared into thin air! Is this what it would be like if I was watching our offspring? Would they just wander off in the mall while I checked fantasy football updates on my brand spankin new 4G I-Phone? Really questioning my paternal instincts now.

3:18AM Still no sign of crazycakes! I hope she's alive. OK...she's coming back... looks very weary maybe went to empty her tank in the toilet? Whoa, she just looked deliriously into the camera. Her facial expression could scare off the demon from "paranormal activity."

3:20AM: I notice her baby blue blanket is covered with carrots. Is this to encourage a healthier diet? Kinda weird.

3:32AM: Rolls over on her side facing the camera. Crowd is no longer enthused. No one likes a one trick pony.

3:35AM: Secretly beginning to hope she starts masturbating.

3:40AM: Confused how she can sleep face down on the pillow. She must be breathing through her butt cheeks.

3:55AM: She looks very peaceful. Wish I was in the Flushing estate sleeping with her :)

4:10AM: Connection is interrupted. No more creepiness.

4:20AM: Feeling huge void without sleeping E in the corner of screen anymore. Fill void by taking a ride on the Pineapple Express (yes, it's 4:20!)

Back by popular demand...

Yes, I am aware popular demand doesn't really exist since this blog has one measly (yet magnetically beautiful) follower. No, you (alter ego) don't have to be a dick about it.

The long-awaited recap is here.

Day 1

Remember learning about Newton's 3 laws of motion in HS physics? Me neither. No worries, I have discovered 3 indisputable new laws regarding the universally desired Emma. I call them Emma's 3 laws of e(motion)! I hope you creepos nipping at her heels are scribbling copious notes because I'm only sharing this one time:

Emma + alcohol = happiness
Emma - food = crankiness
Emma + alcohol + food = sleepiness

These are the rare constants I've discovered during my brief yet fortunate time with the crazy one. Like any great scientist would, I decided to tinker with the formula by testing the following:

Emma + mountain biking = ?

My hypothesis included the following possible conclusions:

the next Lance Armstrong (with amazing tits)
wrongful death civil lawsuit from angry Chinese family
opportunistic mountain lion attack on straggling/wounded biker
longest piggyback ride of my life

To be honest I was hoping for #1. Here's how it panned out:


Nance Armstrong gearin' up



Spirits were high as we set off to conquer Eagle Rock Canyon. It's a relatively easy mountain if you stay off the single-tracks (we did) but a difficult climb for first timers because the ascent consists of 90% climbing. No that's not obvious information you dumas because in mountain biking the ascent and descent usually have a close to even ratio of climbing and coasting. Eagle Rock forces you to work hard on the ascent and we all know how E feels about work!

She started out strong, charging up the mountain one-handed.


I am Emma, hear me roar!




Started lagging behind after 100 yards...




And off in the distance...yep, she has dismounted.



E took a break, wiping sweat off her brow and downing my entire ration of water at the 1/24th point of the climb.


All done! Wait, baby are you thirsty?


At this point I was unsure how I could get E to the top of this rock. I knew it would take every last ounce of my master persuasion/manipulation skills but I was determined to make it happen.

After a couple "breaks" I told E we were a stone throw away from the halfway point (a motivational lie), the Eagle Rock sign. I promised a lengthy break and the cold frosty Gatorade I was secretly hiding under my shorts if she made it without stopping. She agreed.

To my surprise, she trucked her way up to the sign without directing a single expletive filled tirade in my direction.


Emma at the "halfway" sign



Boy, was I relieved she forgot about the fictional Gatorade condensating in my pants. Last thing I needed was her throwing a hussy fit before I revealed we were only quarter-way up. We soldiered on...



Can we pull an about-face now?



A walk in the park!


I could include a photo montage of E huffing and puffing as she walked the bike up but the reality is she worked her bodaciously tasty J-Lo booty off to make it to the top. Kudos for making it to the summit where she enjoyed this beautiful view:








Yep, I made it too.


Where's my gatorade, jerk?

We celebrated by tracking down the infamous Kogi truck afterwards. After a couple of aimless loops we finally stumbled upon the legendary vehicle conveniently (and illegally) parked in front of the UCLA children's hospital.


Thar she blows!





Our expectations were sky-high. The line was modest (I'd hear rumors of drunk partygoers waiting hours) and we ordered a smorgsabord of spicy pork and bulgogi tacos, kogi sliders, and a mammoth burrito.








The tacos were so good I was oblivious to the fact I was covered in dirt, illegally parked in front of a kid's hospital, and eating with my hands on a curb. While I enjoyed my meal, E ran off to carouse with this douche:



You like my sticker tats?



I wear Ed Hardy at night!


She was so enamored by the Kogi truck founder when I urged her to flash him to get us free Cokes she could only smile, shyly intimidated. I nudged her forward and--

She flashed her sports bra, earning us a free coke and some extra napkins. She went on to express her renewed fetish for Korean men, no doubt inspired by the badass Kogi truck namja. I ushered her away before the police could arrive -- several balding children had witnessed her shameless behavior through the glass windows.

TO BE CONTINUED...
*passes out on keyboard*

To Move or not to Move

So we've been official since February 11th, 2010! It hasn't even been three weeks but it feels like an eternity since I've seen crazycakes (feel free to vomit at our pet names).

My postings are growing infrequent. As much as I'd like to allocate hours towards the worthy cause of entertaining E at her overstimulating job, I've found myself focusing more on well...myself.

Before you call me a self-centered jerkface, hear me out. I'm doing it for us. That's right, us.


This is us.

So what exactly am I doing? I am...drumroll, please...going Hollywood on ya'll!
*waits for snickers to subside*
That's right, this Michigan boy is ready to become a TV writer out here in LA.

Wait a second, you toolbag. You've already been out in LA four years and all you have to show for it is IKEA furniture and an overpriced neon clock! What makes you think you'll ever make it?

Fair enough. I concede I've spent most of the last four years doing this:


chinky eyes, take two!

and this


asleep at the wheel...

Still, reflecting on my time out here as an immature gamboholic I managed to accomplish the following:
1. Write coverage for an independent film company.
2. Intern for the acquisitions and development departments of the Weinstein company.
3. Work production for a scripted television show.
4. Work as a production coordinator for an Emmy winning reality TV show.
5. Write as a journalist and reporter for both a print magazine and sports newspaper.

Not too shabby, right?

There remains one gaping hole on my resume...

5. Work as a television writer.

If I can make this happen I can woo E out west with my lucrative salary where she can roam freely in the warm pastures (unintentional cow metaphor!) of Southern California.

My vision of utopia is cruising along the Pacific Coast Highway in my rice rocket Camry with this bodacious broad at my side:


Every picture of E is a good picture to me :)

Here's the rub (there's always a rub). I can't make it happen overnight.

This adorable face sums up how difficult a long distance relationship really is.


Haarrumph!

Seeds of doubt and uncertainty flourish in the twisted tree of long distance relationships. These seeds occasionally sprout into unfounded feelings of paranoia, suspicion, and jealousy. Lying precariously close beneath each dainty twig holding us together are the weeds of apathy and selfishness.

The modern inventions of videochat, cellphones, and sexting, I mean texting, are the glue that holds us together in a neverending cycle of longing and loneliness. The reality is that these outlets can only provide a temporary and artifical solution to a permanent problem.

For me, the physical absence of E is an indescribable void. I desire her on so many levels. Do I entertain occasional doubts about our relationship? Sure, but at the end of the day I always find myself faithfully returning to her corner, begging her to wind me up for another whirl in the life of Crazycakes.

I understand that Crazycakes is a creature that requires companionship. She is prone to floundering and entertaining fleeting moments of doubt and unfaithfulness. Her unabashed freudian slips simultaneously hurt, entertain, and befuddle me. Sometimes I wish I could snap out of her masochistic spell but there's a big part of me that just wants to sit back and enjoy her neverending ride of unpredictability. Quite simply, E fascinates me. I've never met a girl like her and I'm not certain I ever will.

So what other option do I have if I can't lure her out here with a trail of coconut macaroons?


Look who's bringing the metallic muscle tee look back East!

There's the option of moving to Crazycakes central: New York, New York. I was inches away from signing off on this move until I got struck with a serious case of cold feet during the eleventh hour of my fictional deadline.

There's no question this move is good for us. I find myself writing into the wee hours of the morning (3:18AM) on my all time favorite topic: Emma. I promised myself I wouldn't do this anymore. I feel a cathartic nirvana when I write about her. I revel in the knowledge that she will eventually stumble upon each new entry and read my proclamations of LIKE to her. If I can make her smile or feel special just once it's worth the long hours I toil over a specific word or metaphor to describe her.

It's moments like these that make me want to pack my bags and head East. Will I be sacrificing potential opportunities if I do so? Probably. Conventional wisdom in today's modern world suggests this is a foolish move doomed to end in misery and regret, but I've never lived my life based on conventions. What ever happened to putting love first? Who says you can't make life work together? Is blind love truly such a terrible instrument of self destruction in today's world? Or have we become so vain and jaded that we can no longer grasp the concept of selfless love anymore?

My indecision is eating me alive.

The response...

I had last second reservations how my bootleg blow up would be received by E. I envisioned two scenarios:

1. E sees her likeness compared to mine and comes to the sudden realization she is disproportionately hotter than me. She freaks out and spends out the rest of the weekend begging for scraps at the local In N Out. My attempts to woo her back to my apartment repeatedly fail until I create a Hansel and Gretel trail of animal style fries leading back to my front steps.

2. E is flootered (flattered/floored, yes this is my blog and I can make up words if I want to) by her sparkling doppleganger and graciously accepts. We celebrate with some bubbly and feed each other pita chips dripping in a diabetic envying combination of guacamole and whipped cream.

Drumroll, please.....





SUPPLIES!




She writes..."I suppose you will suffice for now...just kidding!"

So she is completely flootered and my hard work has paid off!

I was too excited to record the actual moment so yes, these pictures were staged several days after my proposal. I suppose if she had rejected my offer we would be seeing pictures of an unshaven despondent shell of myself, stoned and stewing in my own filth. It would've been more tragic and entertaining that way but oh well!

Doesn't she look hot in my oversized black Jordan hoodie?

I discovered this wonderful site three years ago. The Rasterbator creates huge, rasterized images from any picture. Upload an image, print the resulting multi-page pdf file and assemble the pages into extremely cool looking poster up to 20 meters in size!



Masturbate...err I mean, rasterbate me!

This is an ideal tool for anyone who wishes to profess their love by blowing up gigantic images of their unsuspecting significant other. It's also useful for erecting stalker shrines or brown nosing your narcissistic boss with an oversized homage honoring his unibrow.

In unfortunate cases, individuals succumb to the urge to rasterbate themselves:



The better(looking) half

Why, you ask?

My intentions are noble: My pixelated self is formally asking E out tomorrow night.

Why must I ask formally? In today's modern world, the line between relationship and casual is plagued by deception, misconception, and ambivalence. This confusion results in an endless cycle of manipulative chase-your-own-tail games and in most cases, one-sided heartbreak. Even in the most idealistic no strings attached arrangement something always ends up giving. Someone always wants more.

E has blessed me with the humbling experience of being on the short end of the stick of this ambiguous dilemma. Tonight, the madness ends!

I've presented my spitting image to her with the following caption:



She can respond by simply filling in the following bubble:




Tommorow I'll fill in the bubbles of her response. Stay tuned, stalkers!



I have waaay too much time on my hands.

Wtf is a 'ghi'?

Rub it in, why don't ya?