Trippy Cake

I have to admit I'm very proud of this cake, if only for it's eye popping decorating job(even though it's not as perfect as I wanted it to be). My coworker had a major birthday today and he absolutely loves M&Ms, has a bag of them every afternoon. He's also a big fan of southern cooking so I made the cake red velvet with cream cheese frosting.

I followed Smitten Kitchen's Red Velvet recipe with a couple of modifications...I only used two pans instead of the three she recommends. Also, I definitely doubled the frosting recipe (omitting one cup of sugar- so 5 cups instead of 6).

The decorating took about a bag and half of M&Ms (the medium size bag). Be forewarned though, those bastards at Mars didn't put in equal amounts of each color. My bags where disproportionately heavy on the orange and blue M&Ms, and light on the rest of the colors which made the decorating a bit more tricky.

On the whole it was a resounding success, everyone was super in love with it and tons of compliments and such. Unfortunately my stomach wasn't playing nice and was being a cranky bastard so I didn't have any. Then again, I'm not much of a sweets person even though I have a raging baking addiction.

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My train of thought has become disastrously derailed

My grade school was Catholic and therefor everyone wore uniforms, which was nice and boring. Hot lunch was only served twice a week (Tuesday always being pizza day, horrible, terrible sheet pizza that was not worth the $2 it cost), sometimes they would also make the most awful mac and cheese I've ever tasted. It was horrific, noodles reduced to the consistency of mush and oily cheap cheddar cheese served in a small styrofoam cup. I would like to know who the fuck was running that kitchen. They were also crazy about everyone drinking their milk, like stand over you and make sure you finished every last sip out of that damn cardboard box. Absolutely frightening women they were.

I can remember that at some point, 7th grade I believe, they decided to do away with those cardboard waxy boxes filled milk and were going to switch to milk in a bag. Seriously, MILK IN A BAG*. What looked like a zip lock bag filled with milk. You would stab the bag with a sharp little pointy straw, similar to the way you would stab a Capri Sun (although I wouldn't know because my mother refused to buy that damn sugar water), stab it anywhere. Oh, but make sure your thumb was over the top of the straw or it would be a milk explosion with a fountain of milk spraying forth from the un-capped end. There was also a video they made us watch about the milk in a bag, hey no sex ed or anything resembling a real health class but you will watch a 10 minute video about milk in a bag. There was a horrible song that was in the video and to this day most everyone who I went to school with can remember at least part of the lyrics and only because they were sooo lame. "Mini-sips are MAXI cool." Really? Ugh.

My family was never big on milk so thankfully except for that one quarter at gradeschool when I asked to have it I never had to drink it. Frankly I never understood why people liked it so much. Oh I know all the crap about strong bones and shit but personally I've got large, dense bones inherited from my mother. My sister on the other hand has bird bones, they are just so tiny and delicate. Her rings only fit halfway down my pinky fingers but I would like say that my hands aren't scarily large. It isn't as if I've got hands the size of those giant foam sports fingers attached to my wrists, they are just larger that my sister's hobbit like bones.

I much prefer a glass of iced tea for dinner or water, those were our options. Water or tea. Granted I've now expanded that to include alcohol but I'd say that most days I still prefer water or tea.

At this point I've rambled so far off the original point and purpose of this post that I've completely forgotten what the hell I was trying to express in the first place. Shit. Total shit writing and narrative on my part, although hopefully better than my last post which was clearly a dud except for my bit of exclamation about men in kilts.

And since I've totally fucked this up already I would like to mention that I am completely obsessed with the British show Top Gear. I'm currently watching a marathon on BBCAmerica and it's awesome. It looks like so damn fun, they curse, drive awesome cars, and I desperately would love to do their time test. Go watch it.

*I have been informed by some relatives that milk in a bag is very common in Canada. That may be true, but for Americans it is quite a odd concept.



Truthfully St. Patrick's Day is one of my most favorite holidays, it always has been, always will be. Today I was a bit homesick for Cleveland and it's St. Paddy's lovin' ways. The holiday here just isn't as important it seems. Growing up if the holiday fell on a school day there was no school, which was awesome. It meant everyone headed to the parade in downtown, as I got older there was the deliciousness of beer added into that equation.

I was completely panicked when I couldn't find my Irish cable knit sweater this morning, my mother assures me that I left it at their house though. Crisis averted! I managed to have a couple of Guinnesses (is that the plural of Guinness?) and some corned beef (my head a touch fuzzy around the edges which might be why my writing is a bit subpar). So my Irish heart is happy and content this evening, I'm totally looking forward to homemade corned beef hash for dinner tomorrow.

And since I'm rambling on, dudes who wear kilts are hot. For real.

Hopefully everyone has had a lovely holiday.

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Sunday Night Musical

I'm one of those people who really listen to lyrics, I realize this may sound like a completely ridiculous thing to say as most people tend to listen to lyrics. I tend to judge a song based on whether or not I like them (exception: Gym music. I don't give a care if your lyrics are total shit but if you have a good fast baseline to which I can run my little heart out to then you are ok.) But there are certain lyrics that tend to piss me off, 18 year olds singing about being rescued and never having to be alone for one. Seriously you are 18, you probably need to be alone a bit. Also songs about being cruel and mean (see: Toby Keith's How Do You Like Me Now?)

Another category: songs about cheating. Piss me off to no end. I can't explain it, I've never been cheated on (to my knowledge) or cheated on someone. Example Rihanna's Unfaithful:

And I know that he knows I'm unfaithful
And it kills him inside
To know that I am happy with some other guy
I can see him dying

I don't wanna do this anymore
I don't wanna be the reason why
Everytime I walk out the door
I see him die a little more inside
I don't wanna hurt him anymore
I don't wanna take away his life
I don't wanna be...
A murderer

Yeah, fuck you. You have two options A. STOP CHEATING or B. Leave your boyfriend. God. It's not that hard. Plus stop saying "murderer" all goddamn weird, it's bad enough that you mangled the word "umbrella" in your other song.

Then this weekend I was listening to the radio and they played Baby, baby, baby by TLC:

Long as you know that I could have any man I want to
Baby that's actual and factual
But still I choose you to be with me
And work on me so you better not flake it up

Oh holy jesus. Conceited much? Is that really something you should say to someone you supposedly love? Yes, I realize that I'm getting angry over a song that was popular in 1992. 17 years people, maybe I need help?

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Damnit, time got away from me again and instead of writing I've been reading. I can't seem to put down the books. I've been trying to make an effort to write, in part because I love to do it. It's just that I've been lacking discipline lately and feel that my life is a touch boring. But I soldier on.

Last week while donating blood two things happened: one blood taker guy was not so stealthily looking down my top while adjusting the the bags that were to be filled with my blood. I understand it happens, for example: the other day at the gym and having a serious case of headlights. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it and it was so blatant that even I was staring and they are my own damn breasts. It's just that I would prefer looking didn't happen while I'm giving blood in church basement.

Which really in the scheme of things isn't so bad considering what happened next. The second asked me about the book I was reading (which had the word kiss in the title), then proceeds to look me directly in the eye and being dead serious said "Can I kiss you?"

UH, you have a giant needle in my arm? It puts the lotion in the basket? I ended up just laughing nervously until he says "You probably have some big husband who is going to kick my butt for asking that."

More nervous laughter from my side. I normally would like to think I'd have a sharp witty response but I'm blaming the fact that I just finished giving blood on my lack of mental quickness. I seriously hope I don't see that guy next time I go to donate.