This post is loooong overdue, but it’s a happy one so I’m backtracking a bit.

I went to cupcake class! The Kitchen Conservatory not only sells the finest in professional-quality kitchen goodies, it also offers classes on just about everything you could hope to cook or bake or otherwise toss together in your kitchen, and Stephanie Pollock of The Cupcake Project led a cupcake baking class in November.

Even though a fellow blogger who shall remain nameless (DOLCE!!!) skipped out on joining me for the class, I had a fun and fattening time. We made pumpkin cupcakes with meringue (top right), gingerbread latte cupcakes with mocha frosting (top left), and oh sweet Jesus, better-than-sex chocolate cupcakes.

While I might personally call them something like better-than-that-drunk-sex-you-don’t-remember cupcakes, they were still positively groan-worthy. The pumpkin and gingerbread cupcakes were very delicious but imagine… chocolate cake with dark chocolate ganache and a white chocolate drizzle on top with creamy hazelnut filling… I don’t even normally care for foods that are especially rich, but I could eat as many of these as you care to shovel at me. Even E, who doesn’t like chocolate at all, smashed a whole one in his mouth when I gave him one for a nibble. Bastard. I wanted that.

The February cupcake class will feature margarita cupcakes – and possibly margaritas! Anyone in St. Louis want to go? (DOLCE!!!) Sign up on the Kitchen Conservatory web page!

All of these recipes and a zillion other yummy-looking ones are available on The Cupcake Project blog.

It’s been a one-month hiatus and I think that’s long enough. I mentioned in a post before that I really hate writing in the blog when I’m depressed, because it just becomes a series of depressing posts and who wants to read that? I’ve had no motivation to do anything – work, eat, clean – even taking a shower required supreme effort on some days. You (and the people around me) will be happy to know that I did manage that last one.

But life has been plodding along. I’ve been spending a lot of time with E and friends, and that’s been the only thing that’s really kept me feeling like I might still be alive. I love my blog and blosse but for some reason I’ve needed the face to face company lately, like I need to reassure myself that there’s a real world around me and not just the one in which I imagine that I am popular and pretty and a brilliant writer.

But enough of that. I’m sure you are on the edge of your spinny desk chair, drooling as you anticipate the recap of my month.

Jeep

The big news is that the recession got me in the middle of my depression, and I had to get rid of the Jeep. Gas prices, insurance prices, payments – KILLING me. My medication costs have gone up significantly and I just can’t afford it anymore. Seriously, meds these days? If you’re not depressed already, the cost of anti-depressants will MAKE you depressed. But I got a cute little Pontiac Vibe the other day and I have to confess, it’s so fun and zippy! I feel like a traitor saying that, but dammit, Jeep – you let me down! 15 mpg in the city? Hybridize yourself! Take some initiative! You make my bank account weep!

Boys

In slightly smaller but still not awesome news, I met a friend’s new boyfriend the other day and I have to say, I was a tiny bit underwhelmed after her glowing raves about this fellow. Guys, aren’t you supposed to make an effort to woo the friends with charm on the first meeting? Aren’t you supposed to keep your mouth shut about divisive topics like religion and politics and not try to evangelize your Republican views like Pat Robertson on crack? Now I have no problem with Republicans. Or Democrats or Libertarians or Greens or whatever else. Be what you want and so will I. But really? Save yourself the strain of stepping up on the soapbox because it just makes me want to shoot you while you’re up there making yourself an easy target.

I honestly don’t think that my failure to be swept off my feet by this fellow has anything to do with my friendship with my girlfriend’s ex. I’ve thought about this at length because there is obviously a huge potential for prejudice here. I just fail to see the attraction. I like boys to be charming and handsome and sweet because she deserves all of those things… she’s in her twenties, beautiful and brilliant and could probably have any guy she wanted. Why this one?

Perhaps I’ll grow to like him. You know, if he doesn’t talk around me.

Fun!

My anal-retentive apostrophe habits have made me famous-ish!

Boo.

I got invited to sub on E’s volleyball team on Monday when one of the other girls had to get a cyst removed from her hand. So in the spirit of team solidarity, I managed to break my left thumb during my first game. I was the lucky one though – my friend Jill took a tumble and tore ligaments in her right ankle and is basically immobile for six weeks. Ow ow ow!!!

The irony here is that Jill and I were the only ones playing sober. So here’s the plan: I’ll drink a whole pitcher of beer before the next game, and then my thumb won’t hurt and I will be able to play and not get injured.

That’ll work, right?

All right. I’ve recovered from the embarrassment of the Baking Fail on Sunday and now I can crawl out of my hole and share a little Baking Success.

Had to slice a MILLION apples.

The recipe called for 10 freaking pounds of sliced apples. Right. I got to about 5 pounds and the pie was stuffed. Evil lying recipe.

Then I rolled out the top crust and magically didn’t tear it (too much) while putting it on the pie. I don’t know if it shows well enough in the picture, but I put B <3 E on there. And if you look at the burner on the far left of the picture, you’ll see the remnants of The Great Cider Mess of Sunday night.

Aww, how cute did I make this?

Stuck the pie in the oven and set the timer for two hours. Time to finish the cupcakes!

Front left corner: my secret shame

Yep. That’s a tub of Betty Crocker icing. The made-from-scratch cinnamon cream-cheese icing just scared me a little too much after the Cider Fail and in my fear I bought a can of buttercream. But I topped the icing with cinnamon and sugar…

Nom nom nom!

And they are SO GOOD. The cake was moist and sweet (and still is three days after baking) and the buttercream icing actually complements the flavor, making it more cupcakey and less like a muffin. Of course, this has not stopped me from eating them for breakfast.

A made-from-scratch pie crust, made-from-scratch cupcakes and a million fresh apples? Check out your baker friend with the mad skillz over here.

Cupcake pajamas and cupcakes for breakfast... this turned out all right after all.

Apple pie - I'm doin it rite.

——————————————

Apple cupcake recipe at Epicurious is here.

Apple pie recipe at Epicurious is here.

And apple cider cream cheese icing (my Epic Fail) is here. Don’t go do your live blog in the other room when the cider is boiling – just a tip from me to you.

Happy baking!

This is my first-ever attempt at live blogging. Today I am going to be a baker! My mom and I went to the orchard today and I have 10 pounds of apples and some recipes from Epicurious, and I am determined to make a pie (for E) and cupcakes (for me) this afternoon.

Let’s see how this goes.

3:37 pm, CST: This SHOULD be everything I need for both recipes.

First step, pie crust.

4:01 pm, CST: Dough is prepped and ready to go in the fridge.

Next step, start cupcake batter.

4:02 pm, CST. Realize I do not have eggs or baking soda. Shit.

4:03 pm, CST. Am going down the block to Mel’s house for eggs and baking soda. God bless her and send her cupcakes.

4:18 pm: Returned. Melissa will be stopping by to pick up her cupcakes before work. Now, cupcake batter.

4:54 pm: Muffins are ready to go in the oven!

4:57 pm: Cupcake batter is SOOO yummy! Observation – apple slicing is difficult when you are a klutz and afraid of your own paring knife. Cupcakes are in for 18-20 minutes.

5:18 pm: Cupcakes are not “springy to touch.” I’m leaving them in longer… damn this 1970s oven. At least I got all the dishes cleaned up so far. Now am just dreading slicing ten effing cups of apples for pie.

5:24 pm: Cupcakes are springy! Removed from the oven. I do NOT want to slice those apples. I think I’m going to nap till the cupcakes cool, then make the cinnamon-cream-cheese frosting, THEN finish the pie. Good plan!

6:58 pm: Up from nap, leave for Target to buy apple slicer thing.

7:55 pm: Return from Target with apple slicer, peeler, and new pair of Converse One Star sneaks in black suede. Yeah.

7:59 pm: Time to make cinnamon cream cheese frosting and slice some apples!

8:07 pm: Dropped chunk of cream cheese in cat’s bowl. Sliced off the kibbly part and it’s okay now.

8:13 pm: While typing that last line, cider boiled over and I have no more. Huge mess. No cider reduction. EFF.

8:25 pm: Still cleaning up cider from stove. Frosting is unrescuable. Eff eff eff.

8:49 pm: Completely EPIC FAIL. Started slicing up apples, got three done, and realized am out of sugar. Used it all on Frosting Fail. Now I cannot make pie filling tonight and sliced apple will go brown. I declare Baking Fail for today.

Runny frosting and apples that will go brown tonight. Send in the Fail Boat!

Tomorrow I will buy more sugar and more stuff for cream cheese frosting and I’ll get it right. Sigh. Is this a sign that I should not be a baker, or a sign that I should just make a better grocery list, have backups, and not leave anything boiling?

“Why do you only have polish on two and a half toenails?”

I poke my foot further out from the covers and inspect my badly chipped pedicure. “I just haven’t had them done for awhile,” I say, squirming so my other foot sticks out.

“I take that back, five toes’ worth of polish,” he teases as I wiggle all ten toes at him.

“Shuddup,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m saving money. That’s thirty dollars including the tip.”

“Toe polishing costs you thirty bucks?!”

“Well, there’s the spa tub and the lotion thing and the calf and foot massage…”

“Oooh, footrub. I guess thirty isn’t too bad. But why don’t you just paint them yourself then?”

“Cause I’m lazy and it’s not flip-flop time anymore. And what’s this sudden interest in the state of my toes?”

“I was just noticing. And you have the polish right there.” He gestures at the bottle of bright pink O.P.I. on my nightstand.

“That’s not the color.”

“It looks just like it.”

“It’s not.”

“Close enough. I’ll even do it for you.”

I can’t help but snort a little. “Right,” I giggle, grabbing the bottle. “Go for it, muscle man.”

“Huh?”

I hand him the pink polish. “You’ll see.”

He tries to twist the cap and it doesn’t budge. He tries again. “What the hell?”

“It’s dried shut.”

“Then why do you even have it?”

“Dunno.”

He sighs and tosses the bottle over my head into the trash can on the other side of the nightstand.

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have thirty bucks?”