Apparently I can’t make cupcakes.

I think I’m a pretty damn decent cook.  I’ve actually been okay at baking too, and I’ve whipped up some pretty freakin’ delicious cookies, pies, and cupcakes (just ask John – he’s taste-tested all of them.  Even when I told him not to, and smacked his hand repeatedly when he sticks his fingers in the batter.)

Apparently, I’ve now lost the ability to make cupcakes correctly.  I’ve followed the recipe perfectly – that’s not the problem.  I whip it all up with my lil’ whisk, and get ready to pour the batter into the cupcake liners – 2/3 of the way full, which is the perfect amount (according to Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World).

And then I completely forget what 2/3 of the way full is supposed to look like, and my cupcakes end up looking like this.

They still look pretty delicious though....right? RIGHT??

I seriously do not know what is wrong with me.  This is the second time this has happened in the past month.  I think part of the problem is that the recipe says it makes “12 cupcakes”, but in reality it makes more like 24 with all the damn batter, but my brain absolutely REFUSES to accept the fact that the batter will not fit into 12 cupcakes.

So I keep on pouring, like an idiot – the whole time thinking to myself, “That looks like 2/3rds full to me.  Well, it’s a bit much, but cupcakes know how to stop rising up when the edge of the cupcake tin, right?  Of course they do!”

No, they do not.

When water is boiling over in a pot that I filled too full, I can just turn off the heat and/or dump out some of the water.  Problem solved.  But with cupcakes?  I just stand in horror watching them destroy themselves through the oven window, muttering “Fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck!!” to myself and realizing I have no idea what 2/3rds-of-the-way-full looks like.

When I take them out of the oven, they’re a mess.  All of the insides have overflowed on top of the cupcake tin, and the actual cupcake itself has caved in because everything that was supposed to be on the inside is now on the outside.  Sounds like a horror show, right?

So I scrape all of the filling off the sides of the tin, and try to shove all of the filling into the gaping hole that was once a cupcake.  They look like someone chewed them up, then spit them back into the liner.

Terribly frustrated for letting this happen AGAIN, I throw the cupcakes into a tupperware container, and hope that maybe I can cover everything with icing or mash them all into a cake or something.

Then John calls me at work after he has returned from his weekend in the mountains.

John: “Are these cupcakes fair game?”
Me: “YES!  Eat them!  I can’t serve those things to people.”
John: “Sweet.  They’re yummy.”

God bless that man for never letting my cooking disasters go to waste.

Wish me luck… attempt #3 is happening tonight.  God help us all.

 

Image credit – this website.  I guess I’m not the only person with this problem.

Who poops better?

Yes, this is a pooping post.  But these are the kinds of things I think about.  Zombies, squirrels, pooping, how to make more money without doing more work, what to eat, and zombie squirrels.

Yep, I think that’s everything.

Anyhoodle, I was thinking about girls and boys and pooping.  I’ve found that boys tend to devote a certain time slot during the day when they’re at home to do their bidness.  They set aside 15-30 minutes, take their iPhone / Magazine / Book into the bathroom, and make their movement, no matter how long it takes.

Personally, I’m in & out.  It’s a quick process.  I have magazines by the toilet at home, but more often than not I don’t even have time for a quick flip-through.

Yes, this is one of the magazines I keep beside the toilet. God, I'm old.

Of course, this ALSO means that I’ll have to make a stop in again probably 3-4 more times throughout the day.  Sometimes I go in there just intending for a #1, but since all (most) ladies have to sit to do so, there are times when I’m surprised that it’s also time for a #2.  But hey, I’m there anyway, so why not?

I guess the difference is right there.  Boys don’t usually sit for the #1, and in the rare occasion that they do it’s usually saved ONLY for the #2.

So what’s healthier?  Lettin’ the #2 clog up all friggin’ day then get it all out at once while your poor & patient girlfriend is waiting for you to get out of the goddamn bathroom?  Or lettin’ the #2 comes whenever the #2 goddamn wants?

I don’t actually have an answer to this.  This is just the kind of shit I think about.

Literally.

 

Squirrels, meth, and zombies. Oh my.

The other day I was checking out the weird news in the world, as I am apt to do when I’m bored, and I stumbled across this article about a purple squirrel. With it’s own Facebook page. “…with more than 3,800 fans…” Since the article was published, the squirrel has gained another 5,000 fans. That scares the bejeezus out of me. The squirrels are making a move. Dying themselves purple, gaining fans. Don’t let their cuteness fool you, they are planning to claw your eyes out.

As if that alone isn’t enough to give you a lifetime of nightmares, I also happened upon a link to the 2012 Weird Science Awards. Here are some of the more terrifying mentions:

No. 9: Flies hooked on meth… and sugar.  “…When researchers noticed that meth addicts often take in large amounts of sugary drinks, they decided to do a little experiment: First, they got fruit flies hooked on methamphetamine…”  Oh, good call, science. Now we have a bunch of meth-head flies to watch out for.

No. 4: Corpse-dissolving machine invented. “…The alkaline hydrolysis unit liquefies a body’s soft tissues and flushes the sterile liquid into the municipal water system….”  That’s right, it liquefies your insides and dumps them into the cities water system.  Sterile or not, that’s fucking creepy.

and No. 1: Fungus turns ants into zombies. “…The brain-controlling fungus turns ants into zombies that do the parasite’s bidding before it kills them…”  Zombies, friends. Zombies.

So, yeah. Purple facebooking squirrels, meth-head flies, a machine that can dissolve a corpse, and zombies. This is the world we are living in.  I’m gonna go hide under my bed.

 

The potluck

My friends like to have potlucks.  For those more skilled in the culinary arts, these get-togethers are exciting and fun, a chance to try out a new recipe. For someone like myself, who sets off a smoke alarm every time she tries to make toast (no, it’s not the toaster), these get-togethers are stressful. I never know what to make. And if there are steps in the recipe that are more complicated than boiling water, chances are, I will screw it up. For our most recent potluck, Megalops asked everyone to post what they were planning on bringing. Here are a few of the dishes:

“yucca quesadillas”. (I had to google yucca because for a second I thought someone had misspelled yucky.)

“some sort of delicious vegan casserole”. (the contributor of this dish bought “daiya for the occasion”.  I had to go back to google to learn what ‘daiya’ is. fake cheese, btw.)

“a cake”. (I didn’t need google’s help on that one. yay!)

“roasted eggplant hummus”. (I have a hard time believing that eggplant is a food.)

“dolmades”. (annnnnd… back to google.)

and a bunch of other stuff that I had to look up.

In scanning the menu for the evening, I realized that my “plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches” maybe wasn’t quite sophisticated enough. So against my better judgement, I decided to attempt homemade bread.  Eric and I had made it together before, meaning, he made the bread and I drank wine. But the recipe seemed simple enough so I thought maybe I could figure it out.

First problem came in step one. Sigh. The recipe called for 1/4 tsp. Instant Yeast. I had Active Dry Yeast.  I remembered Eric looking the two up and saying something about how they were different…or the same…  I wasn’t really paying attention.  And I didn’t feel like getting back on google to research yeast.  The jar I had said to dissolve yeast in water. But then did I add 1/4 tsp. of the dissolved mix or did I dissolve 1/4 tsp and then add it all? I was trying really hard not to pester Eric with too many questions but I was stuck. I texted:

me: One more thing abt the bread… how did you do the yeast?

Eric: you can just do it like the recipe says.

me: I don’t need to dissolve it first? Or I dissolve what the recipe calls for and add all that?

Eric: nope.

Ummmmm…  nope, what? Don’t dissolve it at all? Don’t dissolve what the recipe calls for? Shitballs. I suppose I could have just asked him what he meant but I knew he was busy with work and yeast questions from the culinarilly-challenged girlfriend seemed like an unnecessary distraction. So I paced in my kitchen for a minute and then said ‘fuck it’ and dumped the undissolved yeast into the mix. I stirred it all up and then left it to ‘rest’ for 12-18 hours as per the recipe’s instructions. It’s still resting now. I have no idea what happens if you add too much yeast to bread but I’m imagining a giant, expanding dough ball pressing against the kitchen walls.

The potluck is tonight and I’ll know in a few hours if, 1. the kitchen is accessible, and 2. if I need to change my menu contribution to “PB&J sans crust”. That sounds cultured and sophisticated, right?

UPDATE:  The dough didn’t eat any kitchens! And after the oven had its way with it, it was delicious, edible bread. I DIDN’T SCREW IT UP!!

Which means I’ll be expected to bring something equally as delicious to the next potluck. Crap.

John and I… And locking the back door.

That sounds like an innuendo for something, but it’s totally not.
John and I have a bit of a problem.  When John comes in the back door of the house, he can’t seem to remember to lock it.  This causes me to have a panic attack the next morning when realizing that the back door was unlocked ALL NIGHT, and I visualize every possible scenario in which we could have been murdered.  The conversation usually goes something like this…

Me:  “John, you left the back door unlocked again.  Alllllll night.”

John:  “Sorry, I just can’t remember it.”

Me:  “Oh, that’s okay.  I’ll just put a sign outside that says ‘Hey, come on in, rapists!’ so that they can come in and attack me while we’re sleeping.”

John:  “Nobody is going to come in and rape you.”

Me:  “So says you!  But if I was a rapist and tried a door handle that just happened to be unlocked I would totally just walk right in and take my pickin’s.  I’d probably murder me afterward so that nobody could go to the police, and then I’d be raped and murdered and dead and it’d be all your fault.”

John:  “I have a baseball bat in our room.  I’ll protect you.”

Me:  “No you won’t!  You’ll be either asleep or dead or both!  Also, I’d rather not think of having to wake up in the middle of the night to someone murdering us in the first place, so just lock the friggin’ door!

John:  “OK I’ll try and remember.”

Me:  *sigh.


And that’s how it goes.  Man, I hope no rapists / murderers read this blog.  Otherwise I just told them how easy it is to get to us.

Uhm… if you’re a rapist / murderer – we have a seriously deranged cat that could give you rabies.  And I have a screaming case of herpes, syphilis, and club foot.  AND we have a baseball bat.

Yeah, I think that took care of it.

UPDATE: I mean, I *probably* won’t get stabbed in my sleep…

For the original post that this post is updating, go HERE.

Caught up? Good.

So… good news… I’ve not been stabbed in my sleep. Yay!! AND I found my keys. Double yay!! They were in my jewelry box. My would-be murderer obviously snuck into my apartment while I was sleeping and had a change of heart when he/she saw me peacefully drooling all over my pillow. Panicked and not wanting to submit to stabbing temptations again, the reformed sociopath stashed my keys in my jewelry box knowing I’d come across them eventually and quietly snuck out of my apartment.  He or she is now busy making the world a better place. Probably feeding the poor or something. That’s the only thing that makes any sense.

Carpooling with the Lops’

Last weekend I went to Cheyenne, WY with some of my derby peeps.  Our newest travel team had their first bout and asked me to bench manage for them. It’s about an hour and a half drive from Denver so we decided to try and consolidate rides as much as possible.  I was pretty excited when I learned I was riding up MegaLops and her husband, Denny.

me:  We’re rolling with you guys to Cheyenne?

Lops:  Yes ma’am.  I asked Sunny if she wanted to carpool this morning and she said we had to take you too if we wanted to. I decided the trade off was worth it.

me:  yeah, sorry about that. I’ll try not to be too much of a pain. I’d recommend having snacks for me though. That keeps me busy.

Lops:  Do you need an activity bag like Denny?

me:  Denny gets an activity bag?!?!? Fuck yes, I want an activity bag!

And an activity bag I got.  Complete with:

Penguin coloring book

Crayons

Embroidery floss + Safety Pin (for making friendship bracelets, which as it turns out, I do not remember how to do)

Nintendo DS with two games (Scribblenauts and Professor Layton)

Samoas

and this, which is quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love my friends. Thanks again, Lops! <3

The Walking Dead – TOTALLY unrealistic

Sorry about all the zombie posts lately* – I guess I’ve got zombies on the brain!  Get it?  Brain?  ‘Cause zombies eat brains?  Nevermind.

Anyway, John and I have been watching “The Walking Dead” lately on Netflix, and I realized last night that it’s startling how little the writers of this show have really thought through the zombie apocalypse.

We've got guns and a baseball bat. That'll be enough, right?

I mean – there’s this scene where they’re at camp, and two women are at a makeshift table with their kids reading or studying or something.  READING.  Sure, go ahead & relax guys.  Take a break from your humdrum life of survival.  I mean, it’s not like zombies are going to just creep up and attack you while you’re sleeping.

Oh wait...yes they will. THEY'RE FUCKING ZOMBIES.

And guess what.  SPOILER ALERT: They TOTALLY DO.  You know what’s more important to teach your kids during the zombie apocalypse?  I dunno – maybe how to shoot a rifle?  How to trap rabbits so that they can fucking eat?  How to gut a fish?  How to find water when it all runs out?  How to set up a fucking perimeter around their camp that’s NOT FORTIFIED AT ALL and totally in the middle of nowhere so that they can hear the zombies coming in the middle of the night when they’re completely asleep and dreaming of sugarplums and rainbows and fucking unicorns??

Maybe I’m being a bit harsh.  But hey, it’s the fucking APOCALYPSE people.  The ones who are going to make it aren’t sitting around twiddling their thumbs trying to figure out how to pass the time. THERE IS ALWAYS SOMETHING TO DO DURING THE APOCALYPSE!!  Build a fort!  Collect firewood!  Kill a squirrel for crying out loud!

Shit, even in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves they knew that moving their houses up into the trees would be an advantage to them.  I bet zombies can’t climb trees very well.  And that “totally real” story took place in fucking medieval times.  But I guess this is how the iPhone has ruined us – we can’t even figure out how to make a tree fort anymore without an app to get us started.

God, camping is fun. I only wish it wasn't so boring! If only we had something to do to prevent ourselves from getting killed by zombies!

Honestly, I’m a bit surprised these characters have made it this far.

*I’m not actually sorry about writing about zombies all the time.  You gotta know about this shit if you’re gonna be prepared, people.

Drawing Challenge(d).

Not too long ago I did a 30 day drawing challenge.  There were themes for each of the 30 days, things like “Favorite place”, “Favorite Book”, “Most Recent Accomplishment”, etc. As my drawing skills are on par with those of a 4-year-old (if I’m generous), I thought you all might get a kick out of some of the challenges I encountered and attempted to draw.

Here’s a Self-Portrait from Day 1:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So that looks pretty much exactly like me.

Except I’m fatter. And my face is different. And I don’t have a beard. Or Freddy Kruger hands. Or six fingers on my left hand. Or one super long leg. Or a super long neck. My feet are not freakishly large. And I am usually not skating around topless.

Other than all that, the likeness is pretty striking, I think.