Takes the Cake.

Lately, I've found myself reminiscing about my wedding day. You know, going over the details, trying to capture every last memory so as not to forget.

My mind will wander from my beautiful dress to my bangin' heels to my perfect hair and makeup to my wonderland reception. And inevitably will come to a screeching halt at my wedding cake.

You know, I had the best intentions when it came to that bad boy.

He was going to be the best darn cake that ever lived. Zebra insides and pearl outsides. I fully intended to hire a professional.

But after unsuccessful attempts to secure a cake maker, I came to one conclusion: I was too cheap and too un-trusting to go the traditional route. There was only one thing to do: make it myself.

And that is precisely when I should have re-evaluated my priorities.

Fast-forward two weeks, and you'll find me covered in batter at 2 AM, baking the middle section for the second time. Why? Oh, because at 1 AM my sleep deprived mind forgot to grease and flour the cake pans after throwing out the first batch at 12 AM when I realized that the top was setting much faster than the bottom causing an impending crater.

It was shortly thereafter that I realized that my twenty minute online tutorial about wedding cake baking was probably an insufficient education on a very tricky subject. But what was there to do?.. The wedding was in two days and my bank account had cobwebs.

So I did what any logical woman does in the heat of the moment.

Cursed a little, threw the P.O.S.es in the freezer and went to bed.

You see, here's what I had envisioned.

Inspiration:

Which somehow translated to this.
Execution:

Yep. Nailed it...

Whose idea was it to make my own wedding cake anyway!??
I mean, come on. Even immediately after making the finishing touches and before setting it in the hot sun, it looked like a piece of crap.

See that bulging section?.. That's no tumor.
That's baking pride slowly sliding off my ego and into oblivion.

My one consolation is that the top tier (currently frozen in my parents' freezer in preparation for one-year anniversary traditions) was the prettiest.
Comparatively, that is.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the rest of it after I sped away from the reception. But that gets me thinking about the whole cake fiasco again and I have to tell myself to ponder on happier things. Like babies. And bacon.

In my defense, the inside did look pretty cool.
But that was where the semi-amazingness stopped.

And to top it all off, I was shamelessly badgered when I refused to stuff it up my husband's nose. He asked me not to do it, people! Believe me, I was torn!

But at the end of the day, I just have to remember that I can't 'have my cake and eat it too'. Given the choice, I'd rather have had a crappy cake than no cake at all. And when it really comes down to it, I'd rather have a good story to tell than a $300 piece of dessert.

Just goes to show that you get what you pay for.
And I am a very cheap bride.

Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo

I wish I had a bubble that followed me around.

Since school started today, I am reminded now more than ever how heavy-laden I have once again become. You'd think, with three years of college behind me, that I'd've learned to pack lightly but no....

Because experience has proven that:

A) If I don't take my umbrella it will rain.

B) If I don't take my webcam, power brick and cell phone charger, I won't be able to call home about not being able to webchat on my dying laptop. (Which is amazing because I don't even take my laptop to class.)

And eventually,
C) If I don't take my deck of '52 Fun Things to Do in the Car', I will most definitely be stuck in an obnoxiously long car ride with absolutely nothing to do.

See the dilemma?
I'm a glutton for punishment.

Which brings me back to the point.
I wish I had a bubble that followed me around.

You know. An invisible storage compartment that drifted with me everywhere I go. Fairy Godmother-esque.



I'd be walking around campus, not a care in the world, free of all purses, backpacks and other such contraptions when, suddenly, someone would ask:

"Do you have a pen?"

I'll check my pockets and look around quickly. Then realize something.

"Oh!" I'll exclaim, "I forgot. I put it away."

Then BAM. I'll pull whatever I'm lacking right out of thin air.
It'll be genius.

Oh, and P.S.
As long as we're on the Cinderella train of thought, I found this comic a while back and thought it was hilarious.
And kind of ironic.
And kind of sad.

But mostly just hilarious.

And plus, the prince looks like Raj (aka. Rajesh Ramayan Koothrappali) from BBT. And he has googly eyes. You can never go wrong with googly eyes.

Well shoot.
Dang me, dang me. Ya' better take a rope n' hang me.

I keep forgetting about the pictures I've taken until, one day, I'm randomly sifting through my phone's memory and find this.

These were my second attempt at Champagne Cupcakes, except not quite so naked this time. I made them for my ex-co-worker's last day together on the job.

Good news is: our Scrabble tourney ended in a dead tie.
And therefore, we parted on amicable terms.
(I can say amicable if I dang well want to you stinky maintenance workers! hmph.)

Bad news is: I'm all alone now. Just a sad, miserable little desk attendant with no one to whup in Scrabble. :( Plus, now I have to do all of her work. Curses....

But allow me a last hurrah.

Farewell Em!
I miss you more and more every day!

And that's not just because I have a stack of paperwork from here to Timbuktu waiting for me.
Except kinda. But not really.

This womps.
To make matters worse, the Blue Screen of Death is back again.

Did I kick a puppy or something accidentally?
Must be karma.

Legality Shmegality.

Pity me.
I spent an entire day last week at my desk, drafting and finalizing the main features of a newly concocted roommate agreement. Its tenets and facets are more conclusive than I ever dreamed.

Yes. I just used the words 'tenets' and 'facets'.
Do I sound very official-ish?

Because that's what I'm goin' for.

After all. This is an extremely serious matter.
The fate of two sisters, one Canadian and a Texan rests in the balance.

Because ya'll should know how important we are, eh.

I created this contract of sorts based upon direct inspiration given by the one and only Sheldon Cooper from one of the world's greatest television shows ever: The Big Bang Theory.



Sometimes it scares me how similar we are...

But let me explain.
For the past three years, I have put up with a whole lot of crap from various roommates.

Don't get me wrong, I've also had a lot of fun with the two Canadians, two Norwegians, one Brazilian and three Americans I've been grouped with but heavens-to-Betsy, can we not all be grown-ups?

How hard can it be to throw away that empty Ramen Noodle package?
To actually take out the trash just once in your life?
Do we not know what a dumpster looks like?
Is it really that difficult to sweep the kitchen floor every so often?
Let alone dream of mopping?

Realize, these were all internal musings. Not once did I lash out upon coming home to a trashed apartment, cleaning it up without a word and then being greeted with a "Thanks for cleaning up, hun. You are just too sweet."

Well ya know what Bucko!?!
If you were really grateful for my services you would've cleaned up after yourself the next time just to save me the trouble.

or the NEXT time.
or the NEXT TIME.

So it's no surprise that, during my final year of college, I must insist upon some house rules to be followed religiously upon threat of death.

And therefore, without further ado, I present the goods.
Do not be alarmed at my amazing skill and technical jargon.

Roommate Agreement

Are you impressed at my handy work?
I slaved all day over a hot keyboard to bring it to you.

Except it was actually only an hour or so and I sit directly over a cooling vent.

Okay, okay.
I suppose it wasn't too painful.

My suffering may have also been lessened due to the Reese's Cheesecake I brought into the office as payment for services provided and aforementioned. *See 'Sofa', So Good.*

My debt has been paid.

I have it on good authority that this was the best cheesecake ever made/eaten since 1993.

"You remember a cheesecake you had in 1993 that was better?", I quizically asked the maintenance worker who stumbled upon a free sample serendipitiously.

"No, it's not that." he responded quickly, "I mean that 1993 is as far back as I can remember."

"Oh." I smiled pleasantly, "Then I'll take that as a compliment."

Hate, hate, hate. Double Hate. Loathe Entirely!

Why are there so many 'Utah-haters'?
I hate 'Utah-haters'.

What's that? You hate that I hate 'Utah-haters'?
Oh yah?! Well I hate that you hate that I hate 'Utah-haters'!
So there.

Hey buddy! No one's forcing you to live here.
So quit blabbing about when you'll 'finally be able to get out of this place'. Cuz' guess what? When you do, I can't wait until you're 'finally able to get out of this place'.

But I'm getting all heated up. Better move on to a pleasant-er subject. And when I think of pleasant, one thing comes to mind.

Dessert.
Pumpkin Dessert to be exact.

The yummy-deliciousness of 'all-things-pumpkin' brings a tear to me eye. Especially because I forgot to take a picture of the fan-freaking-tastic pumpkin rolls I made yesterday.

They were gorgeous.
And quite similar to those pictured above actually.

But, alas. I searched the yard high and low for a sprig of renegade mint, but there was no garnish to be found.

GAH. (I give up. Enough with the pleasantries.)

Know what else gets me? When people claim that Utah drivers are THE worst drivers out there.
This is completely illogical for two reasons:

#1- 99.9% of people who say this are either A) Utah drivers themselves -or- B) Provo drivers. Which leads me to point #2.

#2- A good majority of Provo drivers AREN'T FROM UTAH. Anyone else seeing a hole in this 'bad Utah driver' theory? How are we all such bad drivers if we have such a diverse population of drivers from an assortment of different states!?!

To back up this musing, I present THIS.

Apparently, Utah ranks mid-list when compared to the other forty-nine states. (Fifty counting the District of Columbia.) Hmmm. Who woulda' thunk?

Apparently, we're not such bad drivers after all?...

Apparently, bad drivers can be found across the nation.

Apparently, I'm rather opinionated on the subject.

Apparently, I need some dessert.

Stuffed with Fluff

'What does this title mean?', you say.
Well, several things.
Lemme splain'.

#1- Cupcakes are stuffed with fluff.
Well... they're topped with fluff. Okay. Technically, frosting.
But close enough.

And they may very well be stuffed with fluff if they're Nutella cupcakes, which ooze chocolately hazelnut goodness from their very core.

These little beauties were inspired by my coworker, Em, who brought a scrumdiddlyumptious batch to the office. It was pure genius.

But wait! There's more!

Yummy-licious Champagne Cupcakes! Also known as 'not really champagne because I won't be legal for another month let alone the fact that I don't drink alcohol and neither should you' cupcakes!

But hey, remember that time when my Easy-Accent Decorator hadn't come in the mail yet so I had to buy a can of frosting from Walmart with an attachable decorative tip but it contained an obscenely small amount of frosting?

Me too. It sucked.

Hence, partially naked cupcakes.
Moving on...

#2- Winnie-the-Pooh is stuffed with fluff.
He's a chubby little cubby so 'stuffed with fluff' he should probably have been #1. oh well.

What most people don't realize is how classic 'The Many Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh' really is! Don't watch that Disney channel crap. Stick with the good stuff.

Hehehe. Gopher.
He's not in the book, you know.

I mean, come on. You can't beat the intonation mud-covered Pooh uses when Christopher Robin asks him 'what he's supposed to be'? Here. Let me show you.

Pooh: "Imma little black rain cloud. Uv-course!"

See! EPIC!

Okay fine.
Just watch it for yourself.
HERE.

#3- Corinner-Elly is stuffed with fluff.
I can't believe I'm bringing this up but... the truth must be faced.

Let it be known that I was known as 'Stuffer-Fluffer' for the majority of my childhood.
But come on. Not only am I the most humble person I know, I'm definitely the most lovable.

Speaking of lovable!
Take a look at this. But be warned.
You just might die from cuteness.

Dis' is da' twinneh. Isn't she PRECIOUS!?!
Don't you just want to pinch her cheeks, pet a kitten and then kiss the nearest baby!?!
*sigh*
You just can't be any more adorable.

We combined forces in creating aprons for the little serving girls at her wedding reception, which is comin' right on up.

She tried modeling one for us with it tied around her hips (scandalously, I might add) but I demanded she move it up to her waistline. *heaven forbid*

And, sure enough. I was right.
Perfection.
(which is more than I can say for my cell phone photo quality.)

And so, to conclude, many a good thing in life is 'stuffed with fluff'.
Da' twinneh, however, not so much.

I could snap her like a twig.

Dwarves are very Upsetting.

Be warned.
There's mischief afoot.

Without exception, everyday when I get into my car, my side view mirror has been re-adjusted. I've come to the conclusion that there is an evil dwarf who follows me around, determined to upset all order in my perfect world.

For a while I thought the mirror might just be falling out of position from slamming the car door after getting in.
But let's not be silly.

This is obviously the work of a dwarf.

For one.
Why are the settings always changed to accommodate a short person?

Also, my gas meter seems to go down much more quickly than the average person's.
I'm pretty sure he's joy riding.

So there you have it.
Mystery solved.
You can call me Watson.

Oh, before I forget...

Happy Gradjamication little sista!

My little baby's all grown up and...

... and savin' China. You have a tissue?

Me mom n' pops, with the help of my decorating and 'cheesestick' making expertise, threw her the pizza party of a lifetime to celebrate her accomplishment.

Aren't they beautiful?
Two Jacks would be proud.

So to you, graduate, I say 'cheers'.
As your elder sister, I offer this sound advice:

If you shake n' shake the ketshup bottle,
none will come and then a lot'll.
(Oh. And let me know if you see a bearded midget with an impish grin driving around town in a white Taurus.)

Tomato, Tomahto. Potato, Potahto. Let's call the Whole Thing off.

Isn't it interesting how we all say words differently?
And when I say 'interesting' I mean 'irritating'.
Sometimes.

Because if you're a baby then everything sounds cute.

Take 'pretzel' for example. Since when is a pretzel a 'prenzel'?

How about when we omit whole letters entirely?
Because, let's face it people, 'Uge' and 'Uman' are not words.

Show 'H' a little respect.

But speaking of pretzels, here's a batch I whipped up yesterday for a game night. I served them with a sweet mustard sauce.
Boy Howdy were they tasty, and a hit if I do say so myself.

'What's my secret?', you say?

Why, love. Of course.
And when I say 'love' I mean lots of butter and brown sugar.

The picture doesn't really do them justice...

Okay. They looked exactly like that but I had some help from an inexperienced twister.

You know who you are.