Jul 282009

Last week, I opened my front door to find a gigantic box from Williams-Sonoma perched at my step. First I panicked, because I knew I hadn’t consciously ordered anything from there and my grandma went through this phase where she was ordering shit from QVC in her sleep and what if that was happening to me now too? All of my family’s best idiosyncrasies, consistently delivered to me on the conveyor belt of heritage.

After hauling it inside, I was overjoyed to find, swimming near the top of the inflatable padding, a card that learned me it was an early birthday present from my friend Alyson. Two boxes were beneath all that, wrapped in pretty pineapple paper. THIS IS THE PART WHERE I LEARNED ALYSON BOUGHT ME TWO CANISTERS OF SPRINKLES CUPCAKE MIX WTF OMG!


(My tutu was still downstairs from the Blogathon bullshit, so I put it to work. It needs to earn its keep somehow.)

Seriously, what a fabulous gift for a cupcake snob the likes of myself. In the enclosed card, she specified that perhaps Henry could bake those fine ass bitches up during Blogathon and I thought, “Why, what a swell idea! Something delicious to feast upon while beating myself stupid in the name of charity, and also – fodder to blog about!”

Henry was gone most of the day last Saturday, partially under the guise of “doing me a favor” by keeping Chooch out of my hair, but I’m sure it was mostly because Henry is scared to be around me during Blogathon. And also because I had a ton of pictures I needed him to pose for and he wanted to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible.

When he WAS home, I hounded him. “What about the cupcakes? How about those cupcakes? It’s cupcake o’clock, you motherfucker, let’s go before I blow up your asshole with a stick of dynamite.” And each time, he would say those words that every child and Erin HATE: “In a little while.”

And then it was midnight and he was standing before me giving me some lame ass excuse about not having any butter in the house and Blake was all, “I’ll go down the street to the gas station—” at which point Henry made a threatening throat-slicing motion.

Perhaps he felt bad that I only slept for 4 hours after being up for 24, and I even weed-wacked that afternoon (can you IMAGINE), because the next day he actually made the vanilla batch without any whining and begging from me.

Of Sprinkles, I will say this:

  • The cake part was very MOIST (why do people hate that word? I love it. In fact, I’ve often considered it tattooed inside my lip) and sweet. I think Henry might have baked it too long because he is not as delightful with baked goods as he’d like The Internet to believe (he’s a really great cook though, I can’t deny that), and the edges were a bit crisp.
  • Henry does, however, make a bitchin’ frosting. But he wanted to try the recipe that Sprinkles provided, which was very delicious but entirely too sweet for more than a few finger-sweeps while it was still in the mixing bowl. It ended up, in my opinion, being too much once it was sexin’ the cupcake and my teeth screamed a little.
  • The signature candy bulls eye toppers they supply have no taste and I really wanted them to spark in my mouth like Necco wafers are supposed to but never did when I tried. I learned that when I was in elementary school, from one of the issues of Weekly Reader. I also learned that if one is unable to brush their teeth, eating a piece of cheese before bed is an adequate substitute. That’s why I always guiltlessly devour cheese before bed, even though I know I’ll be brushing my teeth. That is also why I’m 569 pounds. That is also why sometimes a cube of Monterrey jack dislodges itself from my chin rolls the next day and I think, “Shucks, where’d that come from?”
  • My opinion will not be cemented until I try the red velvet canister (because that shit is the best ever, I mean who came up with red velvet? Some poor bitch, that’s who. Some poor serf-bitch who entered a fief-wide contest, vassals ineligible, to win an opportunity to bake the Queen’s pre-beheading cake and THAT is what she came up with over top her kettle with all the rats scurrying around and nipping at her gangrened toes, and immediately she named it after the fabric from which she pretended her burlap nightdress was made, and seeing as it was the only entry that didn’t cause a palace-wide botulism outbreak, she won) and then also visit one of the bakeries in person and even then, my ultimate opinion will be based on whether or not I see Katie Holmes gormandizing one with my own two eyes. I think I will also ask to shadow the bakers because I’m still not entirely convinced that Tom Cruise isn’t using Sprinkles as a front to contaminate the world with batter-planted religious Rufies. 
  • I will also need to try every flavor they make available to me. And that better be a wide selection, because don’t they know I’ll be slandering the shit out of them if I’m unhappy?
  • Please come  to Pittsburgh. I have a feeling I might really want to have sex with you if we meet in person.


Henry went to bed before the cupcakes cooled, so I was in charge of the frosting station. Of course, I didn’t wait long enough and then bitched when all the frosting shifted around the head of the cake and then began to run down the sides like a souvenir from sloppy sex. What? I didn’t bash in the left side of it from groping it with my heavy beast-hands! It came like that.

THANK YOU, ALYSON! For remembering my birthday, and being such an awesome friend. <3

  10 Responses to “Sprinkles came to my house”

  1. dang cupcakes. I do love them so. I insisted that I could only have red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting for my birthday party and was even thinking of ordering them from the crumbs bakery in NY until I found out how much it would cost to get those evil bitches shipped to CA. jesus christ. My mom went on a red velvet cupcake mission and there was all kinds of drama involved including a cake supply store telling her to just make devils food cake and put red food coloring in it, holy crap I thought she was going to have a fit and fall in it. They turned out delightful in the end, and one day I may even get around to posting my party pictures. The only ones I took that day were of the cupcakes.

  2. what even are cupcakes, really?

    why, they’re nothing more than cakes at 15% scale!

  3. I was also disappointed with those stupid dot things. They’re pretty gross, and I picked all of them off the cupcakes once I tasted one. I am so incredibly PISSED that I never made it over to the actual sprinkles in LA when I was out there, so I can’t tell you if the boxed mix is even comparable to the real thing. booo me. Anyway, Happy Birthday, again, and I hope you enjoy the red velvet. I liked them better than the vanilla (but seriously, watch the dust when you mix the dry with wet — if you don’t use a shield, your kitchen will be covered in pink).

    • I wonder if the dots are any different at the bakeries? I can’t believe you were so close to one and didn’t go!

      Thank you again! That was the perfect gift for me!


    Red velvet is my favorite. Yay!

  5. I’m totally getting a cupcake cake for my birthday!

    I love the word moist unless it’s referring to a wound treatment. Don’t Google ‘diabetic leg ulcers’ unless you want to see BAD moist! Actually even then I still love it, but in a gross way. It evokes exactly what it’s describing, it feels so good on the tongue to say it. Moissssst <3

    • I will totally not Google that, thanks for the warning! Lol.

      I knew there was a reason we became friends. We should get “moist” tattoos together! Well, maybe we can just write it on our arms for now. LET’S DO IT AND POST IT ON FACEBOOK AND TAG EACH OTHER AND IT’LL BE A BIG INSIDE THING!!!

Say it don't spray it.

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