LA POSTED: A new blog for our design friends...

So I had to start us a brand new blog. Yep. This one is only for our house hunting escapades and good time decorating ideas. Hope you enjoy it...

Give our design blog a look over at:
http://cupcakecultnc.livejournal.com

L.A. POSTS: A Crafty Idea: Making Aprons...

So I had an Idea for Me and Steph to have cutsie aprons to wear when we play in the kitchen. It should be simple enough right? I did what any self-respecting crafty boy would do... I did my research and found a great page on tipnut.com that gave me 54 free apron patterns to use. I'm thinking about making Crafty Gal's Dressing For Success Apron. It's sassy and has a square pocket. Who doesn't love a square pocket?

and you know I'm going to style it up with what else? Cupcake fabric also found online. thakn you internet my excuse to live like a sloth and never leave my house. Here are some fabric samples I found to use on the apron...

This fabric is from Robert Kaufman's "Sweet Tooth" collection ($8/yrd)


This is only $3.75 a yard at Crybaby’s Boutique and is pretty nifty too



expect to see my apron soon...

L.A. SAYS: To thine own self be true...

So at work there is a definate divide between the gays. One one side you have the Loius Vuitton toting queens with the extreme editorial fashion, powdered faces and braids. On the other side is me, with my "fox" mohawk, Down to earth Perry Ellis shirts and an environmentally friendly tote bag (recycled cotton) yep. I'm the hippie / punk kid of the gay scene at work. I totally feel the hate when I'm walking at work "Oh here's that bitch L.A." as they part to let me walk through. When did I become a bitch? Granted I've worked tehre for over 6 months now and I've barely said more than five words to most of the people who work there. This does not make me a bitch. This means I am here to spend my 13 hour shift working. I am not going ot be in the bathroom with the rest of the gays bitching about the bags under my eyes because I didn't get quite enough sleep last night because I was up all night having wild anonymous sex with some drug dealer I met downtown at the bus stop. I'm more likely to say "I didn't get enough sleep lastnight because I was reading this really good book..." insert the odd looks here. I can almost see the gears turning.

I feel like the conversation would go a little something like this:

Gays: BOOK!? What is this thing you call a book?
Me: It's a bunch of papers with words on them bound together...
Gays: Oh! GQ! I know what you mean girl! I love me some books!
Me: That's a magazine, not a book. By the way, don't call me girl. I do have a penis. (I when people speak in She-bonics)
Gays: PENIS! Where!? PENIS! PENIS! PENIS!
Me: um yeah...


The funny thing. I used to be like that. Sure enough come Monday morning I was at work hung over wondering where I got the tattoo of a gorilla on my ass and why exactly my mouth has the faint flavor of falafel and cherry cigarettes. Then something amazing happened... I GREW UP. Gone are those days of sleeping around with random people I never knew the last names to. I have a husband now. (Hi Joe) Gone are the drugs ad drinking binges. I'm sober now. Gone are the extreme fashions, catty looks at my coworkers, the inability to not say somethign atrocious. I have a job now. I plan on working there for a while longer without having someone try to get me fired because i came to wrok dressed as a boyscout on the day I'm going to be audited for complaints about my dresscode violations by HR(Serious Andre' What are you thinking?) I'm a changed man... seriously. It's actually cool being a square.

I am happy with me. I am happy that I am no longer that gay guy. I am not the bitch people claim that I am. I'm just moody. I'm completely new and refurbished, kind of like Joan Rivers' face, just not as shiney. am the boy who wants to make fake cupcakes for the hell of it. I'm not that boy who would start a fight to watch the show, I am not that heart breaker, L.A. Berlin who would lie to you to get what he wanted. I am not the same L.A. Berlin that took a dump in the Rosengard's bushes lastnight.

J'Suis Moi...

Sensible shoes and all.

L.A. POSTED: Gluteus To The Maximus!

Yeah this diet thing...

It's mainly because, well my boyfriend likes those guys who are everything I'm not. Tall. Well toned... Vacant. Let's be honest. I'm only doing this to look good naked and that's the number one reason people exercise (number two being for your health) and so of course we looked up some exercises on toning up our legs and increasing our butts. I found the perfect work out to add to our crunches. This little Booty workout kills me. I only did like 6 reps per leg and I feel it. I feel like I've been running all day. yet something compells me to do more... damn you internet being good for something other than myspace!

Stephanie says: One is never enough of anything!

Diets.

Let me just go off on a little rant here. L.A. and I are dieting, but let's face it I need it way more than he does. I have been pulling an Oprah for the last month or so jumping up and down like a yo-yo! I don't believe in weighing myself, it's not good for you. I do believe in how my pants feel and lately, they feel a wee bit snug....

So I have been doing insane amounts of crunches, cut back on the cigarettes and alcohol, but here is my big issue.........CHRISTMAS COOKIES!

I mean, let's be honest people, one is never enough of anything! This is true for shoes, sex, cigarettes, tequila shot and fucking A Christmas cookies. So I think the diet needs to wait until after Christmas because there is no way I can say no to Nona's butter cookies, Pizzeles, pecan rolls, magic cookie bars ( recipes coming soon, of course! ). Tell me I am not alone here, L.A. seems to think I am going to do crunches every time I eat a cookie, I know better!

So in conclusion, I say Let me eat cookies damn it!

<3 Steph

THE CULT WROTE: Pizzafragalisticexpialidosious

L.A. says: The kitchen is completely full of that yummy pizzaria smell, that I can't get enough of. Our first little pizza expirement is in the oven as I type this. I can't wait for it to come out. I'm starving...

This pizza turned out as tasty as it smelled this may definately become one of those recipes we add to our reptoir, with a few changes of course. I was not so sure about the artichoke hearts, but Stephanie assured me it would be delicious - and damn it if she wasn't right. I learned never to use that Jiffy brand pizza dough mix. It was horrible and completely sticky and didn't quite taste like pizza dough. The same thing goes for the Spinach. Popeye had no taste if he was swigging it from the can. (We were trying to make the process fast by getting canned foods)

Stephanie says: Being a big dirty italian myself, the smell coming out of this kitchen reminds me of christmas eve at my Nonas house when the whole family would get together and make homemade pizza and sauce for he holidays. This is a great way to get kids in the kitchen as well, if they participate in the making of the food they will be more willing to eat it. I would really go with the pre-made pizza crust, I prefer Boboli ( spelling?) But it's delicious and you can find them in any store. Try a dessert pizza with Nutella chocolate spread, toffee chips, and hazelnuts for an adult treat that's great with coffee!

Joe says: It's been another manic monday, oh oh why couldn't it have been sunday? This recipe sure was tasty. Maybe next time we will use some high-gluton flour, yeast and warm water. All in all it worked out for the best, expecially since it it was L.A. in the kitchen. (More dishes for me to wash - basically lol)



The Cupcake Cult Pizza
With artichoke hearts and Spinach

You will need:
[001] Premade pizza crust
[002] 1 can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
[003] 1 bag baby spinach leaves, washed and chopped
[004] 3 cloves garlic
[005] "Classico" Carmelized onion and Garlic pasta sauce
[006] 1 bag (2 cups) Italian blend shredded cheese.
[007] one Green bell pepper, chopped (Optional - it was on Joe's pizza)
[008] Parmesan Cheese (Enough to sprinkle on top)

Then you:

(We preheated our oven to 425 F because the pizza dough we used, required that tempature. When using your premade crust, follow the tempeture directions on the package)

[001] Saute chopped Spinach and half of the chopped garlic together in a pan and set aside. In a seperate pan saute the remaining garlic and chopped artichoke hearts. Set them aside as well. Heat up the sauce as well (tempering makes everything yummier)

[002] On your crust layer on sauce, then cheese (We used lots of cheese in our layers). You can also sprinkle on some italian herbs here if you would like. Then follow with a layer of the Spinach Mixture.

[003] Layer in more cheese on top of the Spinach. Then add the artichoke hearts on top. Top with remaining cheese and sprinkle with parmesan cheese.

[004] Bake Pizza for 18-20 minutes ,or until cheese is melted and slightly browning. Let rest a few minutes then serve up it's super delicious-goodness.

L.A. POSTED: On the road home.

I'm writing this in the backseat of the car going down interstate 85 coming home from Virginia. I love technology, a cell phone, a laptop, and a USB cord and pow! You can check your myspace and get driving directions assuming you know the address of the random garage you stopped at because you're lost. I think we really added about 15 minutes to our trip home. It's whatever.

I'm glad to be going home.

My hometown has changed since I left when my mother died. I forced myself to go see my dad, to go see my old home. my mom's home. Things have changed. Her crystal collection is gone, furniture replaced, walls painted, layout changed. All hopeful and depressing thoughts that my dad had moved on. Building his own life. I was wrong. The large, ancient mirror was not above the fireplace, it was a collection of pictures of mom. Every room I walked through my mom was displayed in different times of life. Sometimes she was with me, sometimes my brother, sometime with dad. Every picture seeming to say "I'm still here". This was an entirely new feeling seeing this. I had a lump in my throat, panic. It took almost over a year for me to stop waking up and think "I need to call mom" I can deal with holidays and not be consumed by thoughts of how my mom used to decorate or make her special holiday recipes. I personally have the two pictures of my mom I have in a box, and one in a frame packed up. I rarely look at them and then two years later after avoiding my family I'm in a crude museum of my mother. It made me worry about my dad's sanity.

I asked my dad for a picture of my mom. Apparently the wrong thing to ask. His voice went up an octave "You can't have anything I have in a frame and nothing I don';t have a copy of!" I saw the look in Heather and Stephanie's eyes. You're dad's insane. He led me upstairs into what used to be my two bedrooms. The lump was back in my throat. My room was no longer mine. This house was no longer mine. Just like the ground floor, my rooms have been changed. It may not have been such a shock had my room not been turned into a complete diorama of a day in the life of my mother. Her furniture had been rearranged into little stages. Her bedroom set up the way she used to have it. Her cigarette butts still in the crystal ashtray from Germany still sat beside the bed. Her slippers by the bed. It's like she just went out for a latte instead of being dead. It was like I had just missed her. Like she had decided one day to move the house around. My actual bedroom held her clothes, the marble top living room tables in a row on one wall. The oriental rug we bought together on the way home from a trip to Virgina beach.

"I can't get rid of her things" dad says. He looks broken. His eyes only a flat blue. no sparkle. No life, "I still have her clothes. I couldn't give them away. I was afraid I would see someone else wearing them." I run my hand across a green silk cocktail dress my mom wore once and never looked at again. I cried a little bit. My back to my dad. He keeps going on his tour of memory-ville. I swallow the lump in my throat. I look at each picture in my dad's scrapbook. Each picture a sharp pain. Things I don't want to remember. I just want to be normal. Like it does not matter to me that my mother is dead. It usually doesn't, because she may be dead, but I'm still here. I am a part of her. I am the same person she was. I blink tears away as a grab a few pictures from my life with my mother. The picture of us to Barbara's her last Christmas. Chalk white and frail. A smile full of love. Eyes still full of fire. blink. blink. don't cry dumb ass.

I kept my eyes moving around each room I went in at my dad's to keep my thoughts from processing. To keep myself from running out of this house screaming. I see the Candlesticks I bought her for mother's day. I had overlooked them before. They were on the mantle. The crystal bowl to the set, no where to be found. They remind me of myself. Something my mother loved. Something my mother loved that the family forgot about. Dusty. Tarnished. Forgotten. I bring it up to my dad "Where's the bowl that goes to the candlesticks?" He didn't know. "Dad if you've lost it I'm going to be mad" He can only think that when I moved out my uncles had thrown it away. Out of sight out of mind. some family. This is the reason I moved out with very little to my name. My uncles were busy erasing my very existence. If it wasn't for me moving out, my mother would still be alive. She would've kept hanging on. She would have been miserable. These thoughts make me mad. The lump is back. I need to say something. Anything. "Why don't you ever clean these? You can't tell they're silver anymore" He doesn't respond with any kind of answer.

I have to get out of here. I force my dad to take a picture with me. It's uncomfortable and posed. He put on the pretend happy face, like the other doesn't scare us a tiny bit. "I haven't shaved Alyn" he says. I think Well you haven't seen me in two years you can take a picture with me. I tell him this. I take a picture. I say goodbye. This will probably be the last time I walk through this door. This will probably be the last time I ever try to remember my life as it was. This will probably be the last time I pretend to be part of my family.