Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Choosing a cupcake...an LA rite of passage
For most, it is Crumbs vs. Sprinkles. I have yet to try out any other big names, simply because I don't know any.
But it's official: I'm a Sprinkles girl.
Sprinkles cupcakes are adorable, interesting, perfectly iced little gems. Simple, effective, delicious. I have only had them on 2 occasions, but both times were yummy.
Oh Crumbs, you tried...
Crumbs gains serious points for style, being far more "done up" than Sprinkles' little sugar
babies. From a visual perspective I find them very appealing, and the 12 mini cupcake variety pack almost made me squeal, it was so pretty. R came away with the Madison Avenue and I ordered the classic Red Velvet. We rushed home, eager to taste.
However, the award was stripped from Crumbs...mostly for icing. I am a HUGE fan of icing, and believe it makes the cupcake. But when I bit into my red velvet Crumbs confection, all I could taste was butter. There's buttercreme, and then there's butter with a little sugar in it. This was just a bit gross. Ok, pretty gross. To make matters worse, there was a full inch of it on the cupcake. And an indentation in the middle of the cupcake, to hold-- you guessed it-- still more overly-buttery icing. Nope.
Other bakery suggestions are welcome and encouraged. I believe this is just the beginning of the LA cupcake story.
But it's official: I'm a Sprinkles girl.
Sprinkles cupcakes are adorable, interesting, perfectly iced little gems. Simple, effective, delicious. I have only had them on 2 occasions, but both times were yummy.
Oh Crumbs, you tried...
Crumbs gains serious points for style, being far more "done up" than Sprinkles' little sugar
babies. From a visual perspective I find them very appealing, and the 12 mini cupcake variety pack almost made me squeal, it was so pretty. R came away with the Madison Avenue and I ordered the classic Red Velvet. We rushed home, eager to taste.However, the award was stripped from Crumbs...mostly for icing. I am a HUGE fan of icing, and believe it makes the cupcake. But when I bit into my red velvet Crumbs confection, all I could taste was butter. There's buttercreme, and then there's butter with a little sugar in it. This was just a bit gross. Ok, pretty gross. To make matters worse, there was a full inch of it on the cupcake. And an indentation in the middle of the cupcake, to hold-- you guessed it-- still more overly-buttery icing. Nope.
Other bakery suggestions are welcome and encouraged. I believe this is just the beginning of the LA cupcake story.
Subtlety must not be my strong suit...
1 post ago: up late giggling and screaming = nope.
2 posts ago: know-it-all teacher lady = me.
When your boyfriend AND your mom miss these things, it's time to clarify. Thank you.
2 posts ago: know-it-all teacher lady = me.
When your boyfriend AND your mom miss these things, it's time to clarify. Thank you.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Celebrity Sighting #2 Remix
Saw Angelyne again today. R and I were on the way home from Albertson's and saw her car in the parking lot. It's kind of hard to miss.
Unfortunately, the above is not our Kodak moment. R pulled out his camera and was aiming it, when I saw that she was actually in the car. Camera went bye-bye. No picture taken. But I'm sure we'll both be up late tonight giggling and screaming about it.
Unfortunately, the above is not our Kodak moment. R pulled out his camera and was aiming it, when I saw that she was actually in the car. Camera went bye-bye. No picture taken. But I'm sure we'll both be up late tonight giggling and screaming about it.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Are girls really this annoying?
I'm surrounded. Profiles of my neighbors:
Name: Stompy.
Lives: upstairs.
About: I have seen Stompy several times when coming home from Albertson's. I squeeze through the gate, my arms laden with groceries, and she sits casually on the stoop, a teeny little thing with a cigarette, a glass of red and a cell phone. Polite nods and smiles are exchanged. I then leave her to her business, and try not to listen in as she pours her heart out loudly about the latest guy scenario that did not work out. After her call, it seems she tries to mend her broken heart by going upstairs and perfecting her high-heeled runway walk over and over, playing wii-fit, and doing what could only be described as the Window Jig, a dance she puts on as close to the windows as possible, making our windows rattle like a 3.2 is always rolling through the neighborhood.
Name: Princess Hollywood
Lives: Across the way.
About: I am like constantly listening to her, like, talk on the phone, oh my god! She's like this actor person, and she's always complaining about auditions (or lack thereof). Her patio is decorated like college, complete with strung lights and dead plants; the sign of a person who wants to have a cute happening pad but doesn't know enough or care enough to actually water the vegetation. She can be seen sitting out in her pink nightgown, ringlets bobbing as she gabs away during all hours of the day, and like any true actress her voice carries well and you cannot block her out. She does bad vocal warmups in the afternoons, and her flat, forced voice pushes relentlesly through them until landing on the last note, inducing a false lounge-singer vibrato so bright and fast you could use the sonic waves to crush and loosen your kidney stones.
Name: Never-home
Lives: Somewhere out there, not too close but certainly not far enough away.
About: She must have a happening life, because on weekends she's never home. But her alarm clock goes off all day, reminding us all that she is definitely out and cannot turn it off, so sorry.
Name: Know-it-all Teacher Lady
Lives: Um...close by
About: Constantly losing the volume of her voice (one assumes by accident) when she speaks about teaching and her students, this one has been overheard referring to kids as everything from "really great" to "obnoxious little knuckleheads" depending on the day she's had at school. Everyone is privy to her opinions about how the educational system of LA should be improved, starting of course by mandating parental involvement and de-constructing LAUSD's overly bulky beurocracy. While everything she says is true, wonderful and from the heart, she could probably be quieter. The phrase "I can't, I have to plan for school" is constantly floating through the air. I think she's from Michigan too, because she's always talking about it, and her phone conversations end half the time with "I'll let you go, I know it's late over there".
Name: Stompy.Lives: upstairs.
About: I have seen Stompy several times when coming home from Albertson's. I squeeze through the gate, my arms laden with groceries, and she sits casually on the stoop, a teeny little thing with a cigarette, a glass of red and a cell phone. Polite nods and smiles are exchanged. I then leave her to her business, and try not to listen in as she pours her heart out loudly about the latest guy scenario that did not work out. After her call, it seems she tries to mend her broken heart by going upstairs and perfecting her high-heeled runway walk over and over, playing wii-fit, and doing what could only be described as the Window Jig, a dance she puts on as close to the windows as possible, making our windows rattle like a 3.2 is always rolling through the neighborhood.
Name: Princess Hollywood
Lives: Across the way.
About: I am like constantly listening to her, like, talk on the phone, oh my god! She's like this actor person, and she's always complaining about auditions (or lack thereof). Her patio is decorated like college, complete with strung lights and dead plants; the sign of a person who wants to have a cute happening pad but doesn't know enough or care enough to actually water the vegetation. She can be seen sitting out in her pink nightgown, ringlets bobbing as she gabs away during all hours of the day, and like any true actress her voice carries well and you cannot block her out. She does bad vocal warmups in the afternoons, and her flat, forced voice pushes relentlesly through them until landing on the last note, inducing a false lounge-singer vibrato so bright and fast you could use the sonic waves to crush and loosen your kidney stones.
Name: Never-homeLives: Somewhere out there, not too close but certainly not far enough away.
About: She must have a happening life, because on weekends she's never home. But her alarm clock goes off all day, reminding us all that she is definitely out and cannot turn it off, so sorry.
Name: Know-it-all Teacher Lady
Lives: Um...close by
About: Constantly losing the volume of her voice (one assumes by accident) when she speaks about teaching and her students, this one has been overheard referring to kids as everything from "really great" to "obnoxious little knuckleheads" depending on the day she's had at school. Everyone is privy to her opinions about how the educational system of LA should be improved, starting of course by mandating parental involvement and de-constructing LAUSD's overly bulky beurocracy. While everything she says is true, wonderful and from the heart, she could probably be quieter. The phrase "I can't, I have to plan for school" is constantly floating through the air. I think she's from Michigan too, because she's always talking about it, and her phone conversations end half the time with "I'll let you go, I know it's late over there".
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monkey on my back...literally
I love my boyfriend very much. He is a big part of why I moved to CA, my constant partner in crime and someone I know I will always want around. I love him so much that I put up with his odd decorating sense. A garden gnome, painted by his daughter, hangs out on our kitchen counter every day. A trio of monkeys balancing a giant bowl on their heads sits on the coffee table, waiting for keys, hair ties, and other odds and ends to be tossed in. Two (yes TWO) fruit mosaics are standing in the closet, waiting for a permanent position of prominence in the apartment, which I know they will eventually receive. And then there's the monkey flashlight.
The flashlight was given
to R by an old (ex) friend and was really more for the kids. It's Curious George. He holds the wide brim of his big yellow hat, and at the flip of a lever the hat opens and a light shines out, usually accompanied by squeals of glee from anyone who is seeing it for the first time. This is the flashlight used in our apartment, and my big heavy Maglite stays in the linen closet. George has been used to retrieve cat toys, locate spiders who have been sentenced to die, and look for obscure tiny objects that have fallen and need to be resurrected from the carpet. He is a very useful monkey.
Unfortunately, George has fallen out of favor with me today. I was standing in front of the fridge, looking for lunch, when George took on a life of his own. He somehow fidgeted his way to the edge of the fridge top where he perched, and when I least suspected it he launched himself downward, hitting me on the neck before continuing south to annoy neighbors below with the deafening sounds of plastic on kitchen tile. I actually yelped, not unlike a monkey.
I picked George up, slammed him onto the counter, and immediately emailed R explaining that the monkey would need a new, lower, more stable home.
Maybe the closet.
The flashlight was given
to R by an old (ex) friend and was really more for the kids. It's Curious George. He holds the wide brim of his big yellow hat, and at the flip of a lever the hat opens and a light shines out, usually accompanied by squeals of glee from anyone who is seeing it for the first time. This is the flashlight used in our apartment, and my big heavy Maglite stays in the linen closet. George has been used to retrieve cat toys, locate spiders who have been sentenced to die, and look for obscure tiny objects that have fallen and need to be resurrected from the carpet. He is a very useful monkey.Unfortunately, George has fallen out of favor with me today. I was standing in front of the fridge, looking for lunch, when George took on a life of his own. He somehow fidgeted his way to the edge of the fridge top where he perched, and when I least suspected it he launched himself downward, hitting me on the neck before continuing south to annoy neighbors below with the deafening sounds of plastic on kitchen tile. I actually yelped, not unlike a monkey.
I picked George up, slammed him onto the counter, and immediately emailed R explaining that the monkey would need a new, lower, more stable home.
Maybe the closet.
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