As a typical rule, I am not a huge fan of cupcakes. I would rather have a cake. Why? Because there's more of it to eat. (Unless you are referring to a mini bundt cake. In those cases a cupcake may actually contain more substantive sweet content than said cake. On the flip side, "mini" and "cake" do not belong in the same sentence.) And, I don't like edge pieces, which is essentially what a cupcake is all the way around. I like soft and gooey center pieces. (While that reminds me of the current state of my mid-section, the soft and gooey center piece of a cake is MUCH more appealing.) At any rate, a cupcake connoisseur I am not. But that is not the case with Artis.
As sad as it is to admit, we have traveled 30 miles each way just to go to a cupcake shop for one single cupcake, simply because Artis had a craving. (Sadly, this has not been a singular event. However, the first time we did that it was also a great excuse to break in the Porsche convertible. Nothing like wind blowing through your hair and frosting flying into your face to make for a perfect summer evening...) In fact, Artis would eat cupcakes every meal of every day if he could. And not just any cupcake...vanilla cupcakes with vanilla frosting. I describe that as "boring". But, as one who is not a fan of chocolate, vanilla suits him best. By the way, don't even get me started on his non-love of chocolate. Let's just say that an otherwise-fantastic relationship has almost come to an abrupt end on more than one occasion because of his expressed disdain for the blessed food I so cherish...nay, worship...however, being the good Christian I am, I forgive him and allow him back into the fold/relationship each time. (But only after he bribes me with promises of Godiva.) Alas, I digress so as to get back to the subject at hand...imposter cakes.
About two months ago, Groupon had a special for a half-dozen cupcakes with free delivery from a local baker. (I say "baker" as opposed to "bakery", as I do believe the woman operates her baking operations from her own kitchen & I call that "kitchen" not "bakery".) It was a great opportunity to surprise Artis with a little gift. So, I ordered a couple of the gift certificates and used one to send him some cupcakes at work, retaining the other for use at a later time. (i.e., for me) My gift note read something like "Happy day, Honey Bunches! Love, me" I knew that Artis would know exactly who sent it, while still keeping his personal life private from his staff. (He's big on that whole separation of work and personal life thing. Therefore, one can imagine my horror upon discovering that the co-worker he most affectionately discusses at home did not, in fact, know he's gay & yet I had invited said individual and her husband to his surprise birthday party last year. There was an emergency conference call with his brothers over that one, which started with me saying, "Boys, what the hell have I done?! He'll kill me." Gratefully, it all worked out splendidly in the end and we now hang out with this other doctor & her glorious husband.) Again, I digress...
So, Artis got the incognito cupcake delivery & I immediately got a text thanking me for sending them, in which he also exclaimed that they were the best cupcakes he's ever had. Surely, I thought, he's just being kind so that I won't think he's ungrateful. However, once I got home I realized he wasn't being kind...he'd eaten all but two of the six cupcakes in a matter of a couple of hours. On my drive home I'd had a phone conversation with him, in which I'd requested he save me at least a bite of these bits of gold with frosting. (He swore that each cupcake had at least one pound of butter in it. I suggested that logistically it would make more sense to assume the cupcakes were made with crack, rather than a pound of butter, in order to make them so addictive and yet small in nature. He relentlessly stood by his bulk butter claim.) He told me I'd need more than a bite & even offered up an entire cupcake to me. As previously stated, I'm not a cupcake fan, so I didn't think I'd really want more than a bite. And then I took that bite... I apologized later for eating 1/6th of the gift I'd sent him, but I just couldn't help myself. They were actually THAT good! So, it stands to reason that when it came time to decide upon his birthday dessert (his birthday is this coming Saturday), I would go the vanilla cupcake route...despite it being against my nature & all that is good and holy.
I managed to convince myself that I could make a superior cupcake, so I set out to find the perfect recipe. Have you ever tried to seek out the perfect cupcake recipe? Everyone seems to claim theirs is "the one". This did not help my cause. Eventually I decided upon a vanilla bean cupcake and was going to make salted caramel buttercream frosting. While tasty sounding, I just prayed the recipe would turn out to be correct, as there would be no time for a trial run. In entertaining, one of the rules of thumb is that you never use your guests as guinea pigs--particularly if it's the main dish being served. But, I was ready to throw caution to the wind (heck, I did it with the orange mustard lil' smokies we served at our Christmas party, and to much success at that) and even went so far as to buy a pastry bag and tips so that I could do more than just glob the frosting on with a butter knife. (Note: I have never used a pastry bag. That is how dedicated I was to making this venture a success.)
Along the way, I got another brilliant idea to incorporate (that I can't divulge here yet; I don't know that Artis will read this, but in case he does I don't want to ruin my surprise) and that sealed the plans to do the cupcakes. And then a funny thing happened...I got busy. I mean busier than normal. MUCH busier than normal. So, I scrapped all plans to be Marty Stewart (a clever nickname assigned to me by a coworker) and reverted back to ordering from the baker that produced those delicious crack-infused cupcakes. (I was also quite relieved when Artis said he'd rather go out than stay in for his birthday dinner, thus saving me from cooking an outlandish meal for 12 people. He's so good to me.)
All was lining up nicely...and then I came across this blog tonight during a moment of non-motivation (similar to the one I'm having now)-- http://mingmakescupcakes.yolasite.com/
Do most of those recipes/pictures not look incredible?! And easy?! It has me questioning my plans all over again & I'm all sorts of ready to crank up the Kitchenaid and break out the cupcake tins right this very second. (Granted, despite his dedication to the cupcake--he's requested we go out to get some three times in the last three days alone--Artis would probably murder me for waking him up, as his love for rest actually does outweigh his love for cupcakes. But only slightly.)
So now I face a quandary. Despite my schedule these next few days not easing up, do I still attempt to be the wonderful boyfriend & make a unique cupcake for him as an expression of love...or do I stick by the easier and safer route, keeping my order for the drug-laced cupcakes I know he'll love? Part of me feels guilt for leaning towards the latter option...but then I'm reminded of the fact that the ingenious custom birthday gift I got him cost what some would pay for a car payment in a given month. And my guilt is slightly lessened by this reminder. Does that make me a shallow and horrible person? I hope not. Perhaps I need to go on a cupcake run/eating binge to assuage my guilt...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Need empathy & compassion? Don’t come to our house.
Well, don’t come to our house for that if I’m not home. I can be an empathetic & compassionate person. Artis, however, struggles a bit in this area, as evidenced by this morning’s melee. So, if one car is in the driveway and it’s not Klaus, just keep on goin’.
Bright and early, I was getting ready for work & brushing my teeth. I don’t recall exactly what I was thinking about at the time, but I’m positive that it was something angelic and harmonious. Charitable acts were surely involved. Meanwhile, a brute demon (aka Artis) lurked downstairs, watching television & thinking non-angelic and non-harmonious thoughts…probably wishing me harm. I was scrubbing away at my pearly whites when a contact lens wearer’s worst fear was realized...OK, maybe not WORST fear, but certainly not something one looks forward to…an eyelash went underneath my contact and was scratching away at my eye. I liken it to be much like a cat at a scratching post…it was ferocious. While I avoided screaming, I did have to immediately squeeze not one, but BOTH eyes shut because it hurt that badly!
Gentle reader, you’ll recall that I was in the process of brushing my teeth when this happened. In my haste to try to get this horrendous pain out of my eye, I pulled my toothbrush out of my mouth while the motor was still running & the toothbrush head was still spinning, because I needed both of my hands for this one. Not being able to see a thing, I was just sure I’d managed to fling white toothpaste specks all over the bathroom and the black polo shirt I was wearing.
I was able to squint my left (non-attacked) eye open enough to find my contact lens case, but then I realized my solution bottle was empty, so I ended up having to open a new bottle mostly by touch since I couldn’t keep my good eye open long enough to see if I was making progress with the beastly wrapper. I eventually got it open, got my contact into the case, and doused it with solution so it could sit while I assessed the situation. And it was not a pretty situation. Despite the eyelash floating in the solution-filled lens case, it still felt like it was in my eye. I eventually got the scratching to stop, but by then my eye was red & puffy. The base of my eyelid looked like it was filling with blood because it was so red.
Surely, I thought, an eye doctor will have nothing but supportive & kind words to say to make me feel better about what I’d just encountered. Even more than that, surely, I thought, the one I love will be ever-so sympathetic to my plight, and the feeling of cat nails being scratched across my naked eyeball will somehow be lessened by his kind words. The fact that both facets of an eye doctor & the one I love are embodied in the same personage just made it that much better. Or so I thought.
After cleaning off my dusty eyeglasses & getting them onto my face so I could see again, I made my way downstairs to tell Artis of the trauma he’d just missed upstairs. I told him that it was so painful that I momentarily thought that I may have to have my eye removed. And that there may have been blood. Rather than being met with any type of kind, sweet support, what did the beloved eye doctor say to me? He said, “Stop. I’ll hear none of this. Look—you must watch my favorite part of ‘Talladega Nights’! I recorded it for you to see.” What he didn’t realize is that it was a close call—I’d almost gotten to where I wouldn’t have been able to see this movie clip…or anything else ever again using my right eye.
And so, unsupported & rejected in sympathy, there I sat listening to the movie lines that held more importance than my vision…”Dear eight pound, six ounce little baby Jesus…”
Bright and early, I was getting ready for work & brushing my teeth. I don’t recall exactly what I was thinking about at the time, but I’m positive that it was something angelic and harmonious. Charitable acts were surely involved. Meanwhile, a brute demon (aka Artis) lurked downstairs, watching television & thinking non-angelic and non-harmonious thoughts…probably wishing me harm. I was scrubbing away at my pearly whites when a contact lens wearer’s worst fear was realized...OK, maybe not WORST fear, but certainly not something one looks forward to…an eyelash went underneath my contact and was scratching away at my eye. I liken it to be much like a cat at a scratching post…it was ferocious. While I avoided screaming, I did have to immediately squeeze not one, but BOTH eyes shut because it hurt that badly!
Gentle reader, you’ll recall that I was in the process of brushing my teeth when this happened. In my haste to try to get this horrendous pain out of my eye, I pulled my toothbrush out of my mouth while the motor was still running & the toothbrush head was still spinning, because I needed both of my hands for this one. Not being able to see a thing, I was just sure I’d managed to fling white toothpaste specks all over the bathroom and the black polo shirt I was wearing.
I was able to squint my left (non-attacked) eye open enough to find my contact lens case, but then I realized my solution bottle was empty, so I ended up having to open a new bottle mostly by touch since I couldn’t keep my good eye open long enough to see if I was making progress with the beastly wrapper. I eventually got it open, got my contact into the case, and doused it with solution so it could sit while I assessed the situation. And it was not a pretty situation. Despite the eyelash floating in the solution-filled lens case, it still felt like it was in my eye. I eventually got the scratching to stop, but by then my eye was red & puffy. The base of my eyelid looked like it was filling with blood because it was so red.
Surely, I thought, an eye doctor will have nothing but supportive & kind words to say to make me feel better about what I’d just encountered. Even more than that, surely, I thought, the one I love will be ever-so sympathetic to my plight, and the feeling of cat nails being scratched across my naked eyeball will somehow be lessened by his kind words. The fact that both facets of an eye doctor & the one I love are embodied in the same personage just made it that much better. Or so I thought.
After cleaning off my dusty eyeglasses & getting them onto my face so I could see again, I made my way downstairs to tell Artis of the trauma he’d just missed upstairs. I told him that it was so painful that I momentarily thought that I may have to have my eye removed. And that there may have been blood. Rather than being met with any type of kind, sweet support, what did the beloved eye doctor say to me? He said, “Stop. I’ll hear none of this. Look—you must watch my favorite part of ‘Talladega Nights’! I recorded it for you to see.” What he didn’t realize is that it was a close call—I’d almost gotten to where I wouldn’t have been able to see this movie clip…or anything else ever again using my right eye.
And so, unsupported & rejected in sympathy, there I sat listening to the movie lines that held more importance than my vision…”Dear eight pound, six ounce little baby Jesus…”
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Checking in.
Hello, neglected blog!
It has been a crazy several weeks filled with travel, madness, illness, the backwoods of Georgia (I'll have to tell you about that in a later post), furniture shopping, painting, re-painting, excessive work and plenty of cheesecake. Today isn't any calmer (I'm about to go to Lowes to buy moving boxes so I can get packing the last of my apartment in order to be prepared for the movers...whom I still need to schedule for next month) but I did want to check in and say "holla!". Yes, holla. Just go with it. I'm also adding on a little side button, but I'm not sure if the design of it will work with the background of the blog. I like it so much that I may have to change the blog background itself...even though I like that too. Ack! I'm so tired of liking different designs and trying to make them work as one. It has been the story of my life as we continue to combine households & belongings. Let's just say compromise has been the name of the game lately...
Anyway, hope you're doing well!
~me
It has been a crazy several weeks filled with travel, madness, illness, the backwoods of Georgia (I'll have to tell you about that in a later post), furniture shopping, painting, re-painting, excessive work and plenty of cheesecake. Today isn't any calmer (I'm about to go to Lowes to buy moving boxes so I can get packing the last of my apartment in order to be prepared for the movers...whom I still need to schedule for next month) but I did want to check in and say "holla!". Yes, holla. Just go with it. I'm also adding on a little side button, but I'm not sure if the design of it will work with the background of the blog. I like it so much that I may have to change the blog background itself...even though I like that too. Ack! I'm so tired of liking different designs and trying to make them work as one. It has been the story of my life as we continue to combine households & belongings. Let's just say compromise has been the name of the game lately...
Anyway, hope you're doing well!
~me
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