Cupcakes and The Women Who Lurve Them

cupcake

This week had a theme…  CuPcAkEs!!    It started with a friend and I trying a new cupcake place in town (we are medical reps and we do a lot of goodie-giving so a new cupcake place sounded like a good thing to check out…for work…of course.)  We went.  The cakes were MEH but the icing was FAB! (Is it gross to order a pound of icing?  Okay, then a pound of icing, please.)

Fast forward to today.  That same friend and I are having lunch and discussing a  promotional item we could make from an idea on Pinterest  involving  cupcakes in a mason jar. (I know, who wouldn’t want to get an afternoon goodie with all THAT happiness in a toteable jar?!)  My friend told me at lunch that she had lab tests done this morning.  One of which was an A1C test, which if you don’t know, is a test for glucose (Diabetes).  My friend was offended that her doctor prescribed this test.  OFFENDED.  My friend is a nurse and ate cupcakes all week (and pasta, with me, right before a lab test) and was offended.  I said, “You are offended?”  She said, “Yes”.  I laughed and told her to throw her arm up on the table and I squeezed around the cupcakeyness of it and said, “Really, bitch…you’re offended?”  We laughed and laughed.  My friend told me that her doctor was super healthy and had offered to have my friend stay with her at her house for a month to embrace the healthy lifestyle and train with her and her  super-healthy husband.

I immediately tuned out my friend with a mental image of her hiding in the guestroom closet cranking out shameful looking and tasting cupcakes from an Easy Bake Oven hidden skillfully in the back of the closet.  I pictured my friend going batshit crazy when the sad little light bulb that actually does the cooking in the Easy Bake Oven poops out.  I can just see her busting through the shuttered closet doors like the Incredible Hulk looking for that good icing, or a mason jar full of cupcakes or even one of those Ho-Ho-Ring-Ding things.

I promised my friend that if she got bad news from her test and had to adopt a new lifestyle, and forced to wave goodbye to chocolate covered yum-yums that I would join her.  It’s what you do with friends.  That, and offer shovels and plastic sheeting and alibi assistance when needed…

That’s a Lovely Set of Pomelos Ya Got There!

 

I needed to go to the farmers market today so I recruited my friend Tams who has a food blog and she was willing to go with me.  Upon arrival, right out of the cage we saw two old people unloading their electric scooters and sporting twin “I love Jesus” baseball caps, which struck me as odd that they didn’t smile or greet us when we said hello.  (Probably spent all their love on Jesus and had none left for regular people).  Right away we were captivated by what looked like the biggest-ass grapefruits we had ever seen!  We asked what they were and unexcitedly we were told they were Pomelos.  They taste sweet and just a tad like a grapefruit, we bought two.  Tams, a foodie, was there to take pics for her blog “Flip Flop Foodie” and she asked the gal, “What do you do with them?” (as in, share some creative culinary uses for this magical citrus delight!)   The vendor looked at her like, “wtf do you THINK you do with it!  You can cram it up your ass for all I care!”  On to the booth where they sell the tiny little crinkle knit shiny tops that could fit folded into a matchbox.  Down the produce aisle, a vendor quizzed Tams about where her bag was for the Pomelos (like she had stolen them), she quickly found me and bummed a bag off the sock lady booth.  At the sock booth we were hacking around taking pics of the pomelos.  (Tammy made a lovely set of knockers for herself and we spoofed the Twilight apple shot)  The sock booth man became very interested in the Pomelos that he must see 100 times a day and asked us about them..after seeing us take boob shots with them I was afraid he was going to try to buy us a funnel cake and ask for a hummer.  I do love the sock booth…you can get like 100 pair of “real” Nike socks  for two bucks and this is valuable to me because my younguns go through them like Kleenex.

We stopped at the god-awful-gawdy “miracle” comb both that had the smallest mannequin head ever, made with real  hair weave, when the clerk was all up in our business like we were going to steal them.  I really was there to crack on them but the clerk killed my erection for making fun of them since she was almost glued to my ass.  Last stop was the tweezer, dental instrument, scissor man booth where all of Polk’s dental do-it-yourselfer’s  get the goods.   I asked the man about uses for a 12” bent tweezer and he told me:  Motor cycle part grabber, aquarium cleaner and pasta tester.. c’mon dude…we both know they are for meth cooking and  for bootleg organ harvesting.  The afternoon produced 2 pomellos, 2 pics, a sack of strawberries and some cherry tomatoes which I sat on in the car.

Good times.

Once Urine, Twice You’re Out

For more than a dozen years my office has been in the “Historic” (homeless) district filled with quaint shoppes, brick -paved streets and the dude on the bike with urine.  The first time I met him was 10 years ago.  I had just got out of the car and  was burdened with a purse, briefcase and a box of files and teetering on cute but unsmart shoes in the metered parking lot downtown.  Briskly and much like a ninja this grown-ass man on a kids bike scrambled up to me like a crackhead tornado and he said, “Hey ladyladylady, give me all your money or I am gonna throw all this pee on you!”  In his free hand  was a cup of yellow liquid with a rubberbanded  tin foil for a lid. I dropped everything and gave him all my cash…and I mean every red cent..and it was all the money I had to my name for a week (and I had small children to feed…does that make it worse?  Good!  Because that’s how it was!)  He left and I picked up all of my thrown belongings and walked to my office with my heart racing and aching that he had taken all the money I had, even though it was not a large amount.

Pitiful, huh?

Fast forward to April of this year after I had been called into the office to hear that our doors were closing that day.  I left in the sunlight wondering what I was going to do.  Up rolls this guy on the bike (probably a different guy by now but the same scam).  “Hey ladyheyladyladylady!” he screamed, ushering me to attention. “Give me what you got for money right now or I am gonna throw this pee all over you!”  I threw everything down except my purse and I rared my head back and just belted out, “HHHHEEEEEEEEEELLLLPPPPPP!”  It was so loud that I think I burped in the process and it sounded like a lion’s roar!  His face was priceless.  He was afraid.  I said, “Bring it, BITCH!  Let’s go!  What cha got!?!?”  I was a crazy woman! I even think I was trying to pull off one of those Fred Sanford fancy footwork boxing deals..I dunno, I was in a zone. (Mind you, this was 100 feet from the police station).   My would-be assailant scooted off faster than Moody’s goose.  I gathered my things from the pavement and walked bravely to my car, feeling fearless and amused.  I knew I would be okay.

P.S.  The photo is not my actual would-be assailant, I think it’s of of them Walberg boys.

And a Peacock Painted Pink

In my world of furniture painting, there is a sisterhoodish competitiveness. Does that sound weird? Does it sound like competitive amateur BBQ competition? Does it sound like the Betty Crocker Bake Off? (Man, wouldn’t THAT be cool? Those heifers reel in some dough!) Sorry, I had to pun…I was channeling my inner Carrie Bradshaw.

Anyways… It was Sunday and I was off to the beach on a quaint little island where millionaires try to act broke and broke people try to make friends with the millionaires who own beach houses. I’m dragging.. I know! Let me get right to it:

I entered a retail and deli place that has the coolest painted furniture, it was originally some of the inspiration that started my own painting. Filling my eyeballs full of eye candy, and waiting for a latte, I started admiring some of the works. There was an adorable antique child’s dresser painted pink with a wisp of white spray painted on the edges. Spray painting the whole damned deal is almost a sin in some circles. Sometimes I will spray a base just to get rid of the “this was my grannies hutch but now she is dead” smell before I do some hand painting and detailing. Paula Deen puts butter in her dishes and calls it Cookin’ With Love. I put my hands in paint and smack a dresser around for a week and call it Paintin’ With Love.

Okay, back to this sprayed up hot mess of a dresser. This snobby old gal strides up to me and says, “Isn’t it fabulous?!” I kinda screwed up my face a bit (I assume) and said, “Meh”. “I paint too and I was just noticing that this dresser is———— sprayed”. This old bat coiled up on me like she was a Cobra and I was a mouse. She spilled. “We ONLY collaborate with renowned artisans!” I adjusted my Target sun hat and said, “What’s this one RENOWNED for, Krylon? Trigger- finger -notoriety?” The shop keeper was not amused.

Fast forward 10 minutes and in the door storms this beachy looking suitcase- faced lady with this big-ass hairdo pulled up on top of her head every which-a-way and had feathers (and I don’t mean those cute/trendy peacock feather tips or pheasant tips that all the cutesy gals wear) I am talking a straight up 30 inch 4 stem peacock arrangement sticking out of her hair-dome! I was mesmerized, even though I knew she was headed right for me and was there to bite off a chunk of my ass.

Approaching me from my left she walked right up to me and said, “Hey lady, you said something about my art?!” At that very moment I wondered if, in fact, her “art” had been rigged with a motion censored voice recording that was electronically transmitted to her ear, or if she just was wicked telepathic. I said, “Uh…no. It was some other fat lady with a real mean dog. I heard the whole thing!” Usually I’m really good at getting away from crazy people but I was still waiting on my ham sammich so I was staying. I didn’t care if Peacock Patsy had an all out conniption fit, I was getting my ham and cheesy, melty thing if it hair-lipped every cow in Texas!

Surprisingly, she backed off and just snorted as she morphed off to the yummies counter. The smell of coffee and melty things has a calming effect. They should make air fresheners out of it for painted furniture/deli places at the beach.