Penthouse at the Asylum

My Crazy Little World

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The boy (it occurs to me I should probably call him "the man" are boys so it's ok) loves coconut. LOVES it. If anything has "coconut" listed in the ingredients, he will devour it and love it. He would probably love coconut covered poo. A few weeks ago I made him chewy coconut cookies. Loved them. Last week it was coconut muffins, he loved them so much he turned around halfway to work to get more. I hate coconut. When I was younger I used to say I was allergic to it. It's the texture more than the flavor (as I can drink coconut flavored things). Texture is a big issue with me and food (hell, FOOD is just a big issue with me). But, since I love the boy and he loves coconut, I will sacrifice for him. Somehow I stumbled across a recipe for coconut candy. And I, being the girlfriend that wants to please (and also a genius), decided to make it for him.

I hate myself. My hands hate myself. My feet hate myself.

Coconut candy requires a real coconut. A WHOLE coconut, you know, the big brown hair thing that looks like an oversized testicle. Yeah, THAT coconut. First of all, local grocery stores don't have them. So I drove 40 minutes to Whole Foods to get one that said "E-Z Open" (right....), I also had to get some groceries, so don't think I'm so insane that I'd drive 40 minutes JUST to get a coconut (although...I would for him). Anyway, I get the thing home and proceed with the project. I pound two holes in it with a large nail to drain the milk, the milk is barely trickling out, so I go out to the garage and grab the drill. I put the biggest bit I can find on it, return to the house and proceed to make those nail holes bigger. SUCCESS! The milk is draining from the coconut rapidly. It then says to bake it for awhile, alledging that this will make it easier to open later. So I do. I pull the damn thing out of the oven, burn my hand on the rack (this happens often), wrap the large testicle in a towel, set it on the ground and "tap it with a hammer" like the recipe says. It doesn't budge. So I try again. Nothing. Next, I pretend the coconut is the face of an exboyfriend of mine and beat the shit out of it (not that I would ever do anything like that...), SUCCESS!

Now I have to "pry the meat from the shell with a knife". Ok, me and knives? We've been known to do some bodily harm, I am clumsy. But I decide it will be ok, you know, because I'm stupid. In "prying" the meat from the shell I managed to also pry some skin from my fingers. Pieces of the coconut shell are flying onto the counter, into the sink, onto the floor. Coconut shell is sharp. Sharp enough to cut your foot if you step on it right. Which I managed to do. So now I'm bleeding from my fingers and my foot, and sweat is dripping in my eyes, because, as I forgot to mention, I'm boiling a huge pot of water on the stove, my house is ALREADY 82 degrees. This is not fun. I finally got all the coconut "pried" from the shell and now have to remove the brown layer of skin from the meat. Are you fucking kidding me? This is where I begin cursing at myself and berating myself. Of course, there's the option to just give up, but I've come to far, and have (quite literally) put my blood, sweat and tears into this venture. After cutting my finger again, I decide a knife isn't the best way to peel the skin off. I opt for the vegatable peeler. Which does a terrific job peeling the skin off the coconut meat. It also does a fantastic job at peeling the shreading the skin on my index finger.

I manage to burn myself two more times with the pot of boiling water, and then I read I have to CONTINUALLY stir the shit for A HALF HOUR! At this point I pretty much wanted to punch myself in the face. Luckily (for him) at that moment, the boy called, whispered quite a few "sweet nothings" (though his are usually more naughty than sweet), and all was forgiven.

But I swear to you, if he doesn't like this candy, I am going to take the broken coconut shell and jam it up his ass.


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