Second post, second person

After that whirlwind last night, we'll see if I can keep up some semblance of that momentum. It would be nice, let me tell you.

 

Alas, the odds are rather against it (or agin' it, if you're into the old-timey abbreviation game. Well, I suppose it's more of a contraction than an abbreviation. It's certainly not an acronym, because there is a difference.), as I'm currently at trivia and may have to try to appease The Lady like some sort of vengeful pagan god. There are also lots of other people around a wooden table drinking beer, so I guess we might have some sort of Norse thing going for us. What can I say- she's pretty Frigga-ng cute.

D'awww.

Unfortunately (wow, I'm being a real downer on my topic sentences, and I'm not meeting any of the third grade requirements for good paragraphs), the buzz is wearing off, and I'm still on my phone, and the din is throwing of my game. I'd make some comment about my game being potentially nonexistent, bit I think we're above that.

Note: from here on out,  you're going full on second person for this post. You cannot be held responsible for your actions or any changes in your opinions that may result from the ravings of your blog post. Of course, now you've switched to your computer, as you're back home from trivia, and you're really, really disappointed in how little got written. It looked like much more on your phone screen.

Anyway, as you were saying- well, that's just inaccurate. You weren't really into anything, which is just a wonderful start, and now's when you start going on and on about how you're not finding any sort of flow, and you really just end up writing yourself into a freaking corner because of it. Not tonight. Tonight, well, hopefully you haven't covered this topic already, because that would be some serious egg on your face (which is actually vaguely funny and topical for reasons that you might discover once you actually get to the point, but why rush things, you know? You'll take it slow, because you actually made a typo a few lines ago and needed to go back and fix it so that Firefox wouldn't throw up the red squiggles. Along those lines, no made up words yet only one made up word tonight. For those of you playing the home game, you OH GOOD LORD THEY SPAWNED. Okay, now there are four made up words, which are apparently "agin'," "old-timey," "Frigga-ng," and "D'awww." Out of those four, you'll grant it one, and that was a pun, so it really doesn't count against you (or shall you say... agin' you. Okay, how many parentheses deep are you right now? Looks like just two.).).

You're going to talk about pie. Not in any sort of concrete sense, mind you. No, you're going to just speak in generalities in an attempt to get your creative juices moving and such. Sorta like last night you were talking about the general concepts behind Novemblog before you ended up talking about Highlander and grudges against middle school history teachers who, by all other accounts, were actually supposed to be pretty solid teachers. Well, as far as the adjective "solid" can be applied to middle school, as middle school is a cesspool of hormones and just awful years.

You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and acne. (Also, once again, you've found an image link with an incredible article attached. This one is a liveblog of a middle school dance, and what you skimmed was actually pretty impressive. Maybe you should take another look.

But, yes, pie. Unlike middle school, pie is actually pretty cool. You and The Lady went to a wedding a couple of weeks ago (fine, a week ago. Are you happy now? No. You are not. Life is a series of events without meaning, and happiness is an illusion... unless there's pie.) Weddings are always wonderful, and this one was particularly great. You had a youth pastor for part of middle school (hey, full circle, for a very small value of circle) and most of high school, and she had a pretty awesome ceremony. No, there wasn't pie at the ceremony. You don't have pie at wedding ceremonies. That would be exceptionally messy and inconvenient (and probably a bit sacrilegious, what with the moaning that would likely go into you eating pie, and that's just not church appropriate. You're not sure that's restaurant appropriate. There really should not be moaning in restaurants. You get that you're enjoying the food. You don't need to turn this into food porn. That's what Instapintertwitterbook is for.).

No. You have pie at wedding receptions.

For. Serious.

You get that that there's this tradition about wedding cake and all that jazz. And, hey, sometimes you run into a good wedding cake. There are good cakes out there. However, none of those cakes is pie. And you may quote you on that.

You actually had a piece of pecan pie, which was delightful (even though pecan pie is, what, crust with corn syrup and some pecans on top, which you guess is pretty delightful, really, because otherwise why would there be all this worry about corn syrup? I mean, it has to be pretty delicious for folks to put it in everything. It's like MSG and whichever orange they use on the nacho Doritos, which are delicious but manage to be utterly bereft and devoid (because you really wanted to use both of those words) of any cheese.), but there were other pies and they all looked great. And they all looked homemade, which, as you already know, improves any pastry or dessert by at least 30 percent. I mean, you could serve you some cookies made of prunes, beets, and flour, and if they were homemade, you'd probably thing they were at least somewhat palatable.

With all apologies to your father and common decency. Maybe you should add a stipulation about blindfolds for that thirty percent rule.

Pie can be tricky, though, if only because it has so many moving parts. You've got the crust, the filling, and then you've got a goddamned pedantic not-quite-a-blogger who is trying to tell you how to do a pie. Who do you think you are- is- um. Well. Second person seems to be collapsing in on itself a bit. Give it a second and it'll get back to normal.

Okay, let's try this again. You've got the crust, the filling, and then you've got a goddamned pedantic other you who may or may not be a blogger who is trying to tell the you you how to do a pie with that voodoo that you you (as opposed to other you who may or may not be a blogger) do so well. I mean, who does this other you think this other you is? Some sort of blogger? Because, as has been established several times throughout this paragraph BY THIS SELFSAME OTHER YOU, this other you is really not quite a blogger, and therefore your points are invalid. Other your points. Not your your point. Your your point is still entirely valid, because BITCH DON'T TELL YOU WHAT TO DO.

Not second person, but you get your point. Which your, though? Which you is you? Are you on Mars? Are YOU Sammy Jankis and/or John G.?

Listen, you, pie is a freaking mystery. Nobody knows where pie started. You mean, pie is a circular dish, so it can have no beginning and no end, but it is also triangular and therefore has a point. Pie, therefore, is the secret to an eternal and purposeful existence. You know, an existence of eating pie. That's a pretty neat purpose, right? Finding the best pie? You mean, you could even subdivide into dinner pies as opposed to dessert pies, or even crust varieties. Are you including tortes and tartes? What of tartelettes? How far does the rabbit hole go? Will there be sufficient rations of pie to reach the bottom?

Sometimes, just sometimes, you get a post that goes exactly where you want it to go. You plot it out, and you cover all your bases, and you've got plenty of words to tell the story (and reach the Novemblog quotas, of course. Gotta have your quotas.). Sometimes, you get a post that starts up and then goes off the rails into left field and probably runs over some cows and a cornfield or two before stopping.

And then you get posts like tonight that start off okay, you guess, and then decide to go off the rails right into a brick wall, probably of a middle school (but it doesn't hurt any kids, because kids are our future. You guess it runs into the cafeteria at like midnight? Lunchladies are pretty awesome, and they have a hard enough time having to deal with middle schoolers, who have a hard enough time dealing with middle school and puberty and the rap music and their craaaazy dancing) whereupon it implodes in a rather anticlimactic fashion. You think that's what you've got here tonight. The terrible looking beet cookies? A rant against yourself by yourself to yourself (you begin to wonder if this second person idea might not be a bit too played out, but if the horse looks dead, then another kick won't be too bad, right? Wow, are you going to hear about THAT phrasing in the next couple of days. Horses are wonderful creatures, and The Lady has family with some horses that are utterly fucking majestic and adorable. You would say that they're totes mcgotes adorbs, but everybody knows that totes only apply to bags given to goats raised by the McDonald's corporation for the purpose of, you dunno, voicing drive through speakers? Does that work for you? Maybe you should stop asking questions, because this parenthetical is going to have to end with a question mark to begin with. You should get back on track now. As you were saying, "A rant against yourself")? Rabbit holes? Pies as the secret to all existence?

You know that life's a cheeseburger.

DAD JOKE MIC DROP.