Agitation

I slept with sneakers last night.  Jeans too.  I do that sometimes, typically when I'm feeling especially pensive or antsy.  Something about it makes me feel secure in the fact that at any moment I can spring back to life and keep going.  There is nothing to hold me back.  When my thoughts run too fast, my body feels the need to run too, and somehow I find enough safety in the immediate accessibility to running that I usually don't need to set foot on anything other than my bedsheets.  I'm not sure when I first discovered the beauty that is sleeping with your feet securely bound, but when I did I had to fight with myself not to do it nightly.  There are a few nights here and there, however, that I allow myself this luxury.  Last night was one of them.

I've been turning thoughts over and over in my mind recently, trying desperately to grasp concepts that I should have mastered years and years ago.  Thoughts about God and guilt and sin and salvation.  Concepts that have blurred in my mind during the years I spent wrestling through seemingly harder concepts.  I'm crossing my fingers, hoping that after a bit more tossing the rough rocks thrown in my mind will topple out as smooth stones, easy to hold and slip smoothly into a pocket.  It never works that way.  I guess that is what comes with being human.  

A few years ago I clawed my way through what I believed about depravity and wretchedness of humanity.  Jesus dying on the cross became less and less about God caring about me and saving me from hell and more about God taking a highlighter to his character.  Somewhere among the bright yellow streaks is the fringe benefit of human salvation.  The status of my soul and my salvation is simply fringe.  I spent years thinking through this.  I'm not ready to say that this is untrue, but I think it lacks crucial facets and places too tight a harness on God's intentions.   Anyway, I never properly built up again my understanding of God, humanity, and God's relation to humanity after tearing it all apart.  So with my jagged edges and less than sufficient grasp on basics like God's love, I am trying to tackle bigger things.  I am attempting long division without first knowing how to count.

This led to the shoes.  They didn't help much.  I woke up this morning still processing, still thinking, and feeling like my mind had only had a full 2.8 minutes of rest.  It was this distracted, groggy person who agreed to bake on school t.v.  I'm not sure what I was thinking.  I'm not even a student anymore.  A broadcast journalism major friend has been trying to get me to agree to bake for the campus news broadcast.  I skillfully rejected the phone calls and kept "forgetting" to call back.  Until this morning.  I forgot not to answer and I forgot to say no.  No t.v.'s beyond the ones gracing the cafeteria walls will ever have the pleasure of playing the segment, but that is more air time than I'd like.  Oh well.  Anyway, I suppose I can turn those pink swirl cupcakes I never ended up doing into green swirl shamrock cupcakes.  They should be bright and aesthetically pleasing enough for college t.v., right?

Anyway, time for bed.  Time to brush my teeth, time to wash my face, and time to tie my pink converse extra tight.  Double knots.  Triple knots.  Duct tape those little buggers.  I can't afford another slip up tomorrow morning.  

Word Salad

I didn't actually grow up in America.

Wow, that could not be further from the truth.  That is not at all what I meant to type but somehow when my fingers skirted across my keyboard that is what came out instead of the sentence I was actually thinking: "We have a new student worker in our office these days."

Huh.

Odd.


It's at moments like these that I fantasize about having a séance to call upon Freud himself.

The psych major in me is itching to just run with my slip and see where it takes me.

Meh, forget it.  I'm a terrible runner.  I have a bad heart.  And as fascinating as a fantastical story about being raised up by tigers in the Himalayas would be, I'm inclined to say a public blog is not the proper couch on which to probe at my psyche.

Great, now I can't even remember where I was initially going.  Well, I'll say this at least.  I made chocolate chip cookies last night and they were the ultimate failure.  First off, I don't know whose pipe I was smoking when I thought almond extract in chocolate chip cookies could be good.  I tried it again, only using the teeniest tiniest splash of almond and it still overpowered.  Never again.  I'm done with modifications.  I think the roommates are too.  Second, it didn't help that while these failure cookies were baking there was a house quarrel nearly as heated as the oven.  All four batches burned.  Oh well.  Better luck with the cookies next time.  And better luck with keeping tabs on my mind and blog post topics.          

Valentine's and Vanilla

Valentine's day cupcakes were a success, if I do say so myself.  I found a recipe for vanilla bean cupcakes that looked promising and went for it.  Unfortunately, I didn't plan more than a day in advance, nor do I reside in Europe, so I had to cheat at making vanilla sugar (regular sugar and vanilla extract in the sun for a couple hours).  By the time I decided on making a second batch of cupcakes the sun had gone to bed and my vanilla sugar (version 2.0) was compromised.  I don't think anyone noticed.  Well, that is if you equate noticing with complaining.  Apparently I do.  Anyway, after I mixed in the vanilla bean, I was enamored with the lovely little black speckles and was more than convinced to save my pink layered idea for another Valentine's.  Back in the cupboard the food coloring went.  For the frosting, I went with a berry cheesecake buttercream.  I loosely followed the recipe here, opting for mixed berries, scrapping the vanilla bean, and not paying much attention to how much sugar I put in.  My self-appointed food critics came back with all positive reviews.  In the end, I made close to 200 cupcakes - some miniature, some standard, all eaten :) 

   

love is in the air

We are on the eve of the eve of the runner-up for  my favorite holiday.  For many single women I talk to, Valentine's day is dreaded like none other, perhaps even more so than that thrice rescheduled trip to the gyno.  Unfortunately for those women, a date on the calendar can't be postponed by simply sly-dialing a cranky receptionist.  Combating this lovely pink holiday typically requires a more overt approach, usually featuring a high volume of the color black and events bearing names such as, "Cupid is Stupid"*.  I don't understand these women.  I wasn't always a super girly girl and I cringe to label myself as that now.  It was only partway into college that pink hues, glitter, and Disney started finding their way into my closet (the psych major in me has fun picking this one apart).  But somehow now I find myself embracing all things deemed "girl" and I revel in a holiday that doesn't sneer at me painting pink hearts on my nails or for baking pink layered cupcakes.  It doesn't matter to me that there is no Prince Charming to notice my fingernails or partake in sweet little heart-shaped confection made especially for him.  In fact, I think I prefer it.  I think I'd rather be single on this day.

Perhaps it is because the only terrible Valentine's day experiences I have had have both been on behalf of a guy I was either dating or pseudo-dating.  Maybe deep-down inside I have this belief that when you try and mix a glorious day of pink, sweet smelling things with snakes, snails, and puppy dog tails nothing pretty can ensue. I'd rather not mess with it.  My recipe for a good Valentine's day has been perfectly crafted and I'd rather not let more ingredients in to potentially ruin the good I've created for myself.

I won't lie to you.  Would it be nice to receive flowers and a specially cooked dinner for two?  Sure.  Would I enjoy baking treats for someone special instead of just my roommates?  Of course.  Is it pathetic that the only boy getting a valentine from me this year is my 16 month old nephew?  Probably.  But at the end of the day I am content.  Maybe contentedness in singleness stems from the leftover hurt from dating too many snakes and snails.  Perhaps supposed "contentedness" is really a protective callous I have built up around a tender heart; something that is good and healthy for a while, but eventually the yellowed Hello Kitty band-aid needs to be removed to let the cut breathe and actually heal.  I think that is where true contentedness (and true joy) comes in.  I'm not really sure where I am and I think I'm alright with not knowing.  I do know that on February 14th when I put on my pretty pink dress and paint little hearts on my fingernails I am doing it solely for me.  I'm okay with that.  And when I bake my pink cupcakes I am doing it for the girls in my life who love me with longevity.  And I'm truly content with that.

Happy Valentine's Day to you, whoever you are and wherever you're at.




*I cannot take credit for such a catchy event title as "Cupid is Stupid".  It is a real event hosted by a church I have been known to occasionally frequent.  I think the elders must have forgotten their WWJD bracelets at home on the night this one was planned.

Luscious Cupcakes for a Lovely Lush

I was recently introduced to the growing trend of modeling cupcakes after cocktails and decided to try my hand at it today.  My roommate was all too eager to email me a recipe for margarita cupcakes with the subject line reading, "PLEASE MAKE THESE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE."  I myself hate margaritas or anything else containing tequila for that matter.  I casually broached the subject of turning a different beverage into a baked good only to hear an emphatic, "WHY???"  I should note that I have never actually seen this girl drink a margarita so I'm not quite sure from where this sudden fascination came.  Perhaps it was because her typical drink of choice, blue frost Gatorade with one (or seven) shots of vodka, wouldn't make the most appetizing of cupcakes.  With that in mind, I more than happily obliged to give in to her newfound tequila fixation.


So peruse through the liquor aisle in Albertson's I did, not realizing until later that there is a distinct difference between a bottle of margarita mix and a bottle of pre-made margarita (strong little cupcakes they were).  Then I recalled the book I've been reading off and on for the past year: The Manual.  It really is an easy (and hilarious) read, so I am not completely sure what is taking me so long to get through it.  Anyway, I just finished a chapter on grocery shopping (yes, there is an ENTIRE chapter devoted to the "art" of buying tomatoes) in which the author informed me that men go to grocery stores to pick up women.  That guy in aisle four buying a lone pack of Trident is in fact NOT there for the gum.  It doesn't stop there though.  According to this book, guys are checking out not only the girl herself, but they are also observing the contents of her basket (Is she buying all the ingredients for a meal at once?  That tells him she doesn't cook very often...frown).  Anyway, this little nugget of information that had recently nestled itself into my mind was at the forefront of my thoughts as I pushed a cart filled with sixty dollars worth of liquor and three bags of confectioner's sugar.  I don't think I even want to know what analysis gum whore over there was making about me.  Oh well.  


Anyway, the cupcakes were disgustingly easy to make and turned out marvelously.  Even I, the girl who gagged when measuring out the José, considered going back for a second cupcake.  Needless to say, my roommates and I all highly recommend them.  You can find the recipe here.


As with the denouement of most of my baking endeavors, I opted for my signature chaser: chocolate chip cookies.  I'm still trying to create the perfect chocolate chip cookie and have been toying with different variations on a base recipe I'm quite fond of.  Tonight I completely threw out vanilla in favor of almond extract.  Not my wisest decision.  Perhaps I sampled a little too much margarita batter.  However, not all is lost.  It added an interesting flavor and I think I'll keep a splash of it in for next time.  So, the reject cookies were packed up and sent to work with my roommate - sustenance for her grave shift - and I will soon drift off to sleep with a clear mind, thinking simply of what to bake tomorrow.  Perfect chaser and perfect night cap, if I do say so myself.