cupcakes. there just aren’t enough words or colors in the world sweet enough for me to express how much i seriously mother fucking love them. i honestly think they might be giving me diabetes. a vanilla cupcake is best, with some sort of creamy pinkish straight sugar can frosting smeared all over the top. come to think of it, i could honestly care less as to the makeup of the cake. My personal MO is to eat just a tiny millimeter of cake off the top by accident, just because it happens to be right next to the frosting, and the paper wrapped bottom can get tossed straight into the trash. i do this with one to four cupcakes a pop. my therapist tells me i need to examine this behavior, but i honestly see no moral dilemma there, *what*so*ever*
actually, a lot of my digestive - and therein related - woes in life come from an abundant overeating of frosting, God FORBID there's a BJ's birthday cake in sight. i think it all stems from the fact that, back in the day, my mom used to make cakes from those all-American dry mix boxes, but never ever ever ever, not once, did she frost them. frosting was unheard of expensive, so instead we'd all sit around silently, eating plain ol' cake, probably staring wide-eyed into one another's faces just trying to find some sort of joy in it. later, when we were rich enough to buy those freezer aisle dessert layer cakes, my brothers and i would come to serious blows calling "corner", since those pieces were obviously in possession of the most amounts of frosting.
actually, a lot of my digestive - and therein related - woes in life come from an abundant overeating of frosting, God FORBID there's a BJ's birthday cake in sight. i think it all stems from the fact that, back in the day, my mom used to make cakes from those all-American dry mix boxes, but never ever ever ever, not once, did she frost them. frosting was unheard of expensive, so instead we'd all sit around silently, eating plain ol' cake, probably staring wide-eyed into one another's faces just trying to find some sort of joy in it. later, when we were rich enough to buy those freezer aisle dessert layer cakes, my brothers and i would come to serious blows calling "corner", since those pieces were obviously in possession of the most amounts of frosting.
it wasn’t my mom’s fault that sweets in Bosnia are made of war-time ration flour and sugar slapped together, and it also wasn’t my mom’s fault that every last other mother in 3rd grade provided ample amounts of frosting on the baked goods they sent to school with their nasty little brats, so to make up for it, i obviously - rightly - eat as much frosting as I can today.
there's a cupcake shop near my place in Brooklyn, i like to think of it as Heaven. it's pink and tiny and perfect and the propietor makes the most delicious plump juicy cupcakes of all wonderful varieties straight from scratch, no duncan hines boxes there. the frosting is so creamy and perfect that you actually want to go crazy and paint the world with it. i have a bit of a love affair with them, i can't lie. anyway, after about my 12th consecutive visit in four days, the owner and I began to shmooze it up - i was devasted to find out that she a.) hated cupcakes, and b.) was morbidly depressed in life. what the fuck??? who can possibly be depressed around cupcakes??? that blew my mind and really made me question the purpose of life, but, thankfully, not of cupcakes.
in other news, a few weeks ago, I discovered the sandwich chain Subway, and have since become a complete whore for Subway. i'm so easy for a veggie patty on flatbread with provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, guac, sweet, jalepeno and cherry peppers, with extra chipotle southwest mayo drizzled all over the top that i seriously sneer at myself. i just can't stay there too long, because then I start to smell like Subway and people might pick up on the fact that i've literally been running there on my lunch breaks. gross. when does a girl ever grow up?
