Day 1

My life has been a series of bad decisions.
Don't get me wrong, there have been some good decisions in there too. I'm obviously not in prison, I have no (serious) addictions to report, I have no baby daddy drama (or baby daddy for that matter), and my childhood didn't scar me in an irreparable way. Overall, I've been pretty damn lucky. But what sane person writes that as the first line of their.... blog? future book? planned parenthood brochure? and thinks "Yep. That sounds about right. I wonder if 4:45 is still too early to open up a bottle of wine..."
A normal person would/should/could think "Geez. I need a new outlook on life." Or something like "I wonder if I should call my therapist to set up an appointment." Wouldn't they? I wouldn't know.
So here I am. Writing out my life story. I'm not exactly sure why. Let's just chalk it up to a creative outlet. Like all of those stay-at-home moms usually declare in their first blog posts or sidebar blurbs.
"Happy mama of three and proud wife, living the dream and loving life in North Carolina! I like baking and crafts and glitter and blogging! Thanks for stopping by! Xoxo"

As a recent graduate (and mighty dramatic human being might I add) it took about 3.74 seconds after walking off the graduation stage for my life to fall apart. I'm 26. Desperately single. I live at home (like home, home...like with my parents). And I have no (full-time) job.
At one of the countless lingerie showers I attended a few days ago, the hostess did what makes every fatkid's heart go pitter-patter. She brought out the most glorious looking cake I've ever seen. It's the sole reason I suffer through all of those pre-post-wedding-house-warming-baby-gender-reveal-lingerie-couples-bridal-bachelorette-shower parties: the cake. Seriously, you think I actually want to ooooo and ahhhhh over a piece of fabric and string that, according to the tag, is apparently lingerie that you will probably wear for 4 seconds before your new husband (who you've been having sex with for the past three years might I add) rips it off before jumping your bones?
Umm...no. I'm here for the cake.
So. The hostess cuts into the cake. It's so thick, I begin to drool. When she pulls the knife out and picks up the first piece, my heart sinks a little. It's not chocolate. Chocolate makes my world go round. But, no worries, not the end of the world. I can handle that minor setback. Yellow cake is still cake, and it deserves to be eaten too. Finally, I look down and a piece (a corner piece=LOTS of frosting....mmmmmm...) has been handed to me. I take a bite....and...nope. Something is wrong. But what is it? I turn to my friend sitting next to me and ask, "What's in this...is it coconut?" "YES!" she exclaims, taking another bite. Disclaimer: I hate coconut. If there was one flavor I abhor the most in any dessert, it's coconut. I have texture issues, flavor issues, coconut issues with coconut.

So that's it. That's the big secret to the name of this blog. And it's a perfect metaphor for my life.
My life is coconut cake.