Are we all surviving?
Well, IT is here. You know it and I know it. Dang, we all knew it was coming. We could feel it in our bones. Some dimension is added in our perpetual depression. Our coffee tastes different. Instead of looking out the window to view our backyards hopefully we now look wistfully. And this thing's arrival sits heavily on our chests, like a small monkey might while picking lint out of a bellybutton. Our eyes droop as the television flashes images of better bodies, better kids, better lives and we fall asleep...
Wait, do you know what I'm talking about? Because I don't. Oops.
I'm doing some baking right now.
Yes! I know. I know. You are all asking how does lil' Pisty here find time in her busy schedule to bake?! Quite honestly it is hard to manage with a full schedule of Real Housewives of Atlanta, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Project Runway, Teen Mom, 16 and Pregnant, Judge Judy, The First 48 and, of course, The Tyra Banks' Show, but I'm managing.
As I was adding in a teaspoon of salt, a tablespoon of vanilla, a cup of sugar and a dash of love, I was thinking: baking is kind of like a relationship.
You add attraction, you fold in interest, you sift in a helluva lot of baggage, a pinch of this and that, mix it all up, heat it all up and you get this delightful treat. But sometimes it isn't all what it cracked up to be. And sometimes what looks like a cow paddy ends up being the tastiest morsel you've ever tasted. Sometimes it's lovely and sweet and lingers on. Sometimes it doesn't bake all the way through and you get a big fat mess where you keep finding dried up batter bubbles in your kitchen for years and you think how do I keep finding these things and it reminds you of that awful cake you had to throw out. Sometimes you get something that is so amazing, wonderful and fascinating that it's gone before you know you even had it so good. And sometimes you get a recipe that you keep coming back to because it's always fun and challenging to make and the outcome is consistently a fucking delight.
Off to frost the old standby.
Stay classy,
Pistola E. Whipped
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