Yesterday started out as a normal day. Waking up late, going to class, eating fast food, getting extremely depressed because the pharmacy failed to refill my prescriptions on time.
I resigned to laying on the bed all evening, a slug in woman's clothing. The boyfriend left for a while - came back prepared to do battle, a bottle of Smirnoff in tow.
After getting thoroughly drunk, I do what I always do. DRUNK BAKING.
My Drunk Kitchen Ep. 4: Not Easy, Bake Oven
Check out the whole series, hilariousness.
That was pretty much me all night. Except that I was making cupcakes instead of "cookies".
They started out as a fairly simple endeavor.
Prepared mix in non-threatening packaging.
|Looks can be deceiving.|
The mix was easy to put together. Just milk and oil and me guesstimating how much egg substitute equals one egg. Even in my inebriated state, I managed.
I added in some Cinnamon because, seriously, who doesn't love adding cinnamon to everything dessert-y? It's the garlic of sweets.
While the hand-held calorie bombs were baking, I sat with the boyfriend as he voice-chatted with his internet friends.
Note to self: You are not funny, or cute, or adorable when you are drunkenly rambling on about how Tekken is a much better game than Street Fighter and
creepily insinuating blatantly asserting that your boyfriend has a man-crush on his 16-year-old friend from WoW. Let's start learning grace and poise. At the very least, dignity.
When the cupcakes were done baking - surprisingly I didn't burn the house down with my drunken baking endeavors - I learned that I had apparently used magic, giant cupcake batter. The suckers are ridiculously huge.
Finally, it was time for the frosting. I, of course, neglected to read the ingredients list or directions past the first sentence when I started these bad boys. I come to find, after both the boyfriend and I are thoroughly drunk and far past driving, that the frosting needs cream cheese.
I don't have cream cheese.
Even if I did, it would be Garden Vegetable or Onion and Chive.
My drunken logic:
The boyfriend, butter is pretty similar to cream cheese, right?
Uh, I guess.
What if I mixed it with Greek yogurt? Would that make it more cream cheesy?
DON'T USE THE GREEK YOGURT.
I'm glad someone here is the voice of reason. Even when I'm mind-blowingly plastered, I still fawn and obsess over Greek yogurt. Sighhh.
I still went with the butter for the frosting. What's a cream cheese-less drunk girl to do? The frosting ended up tasting incredible - not to brag or anything.... but it was totally the almond extract I added - despite being made entirely of butter. Did I just say despite? I meant because of.
I call it "the 'ole Paula Deen treatment": that which can be made of butter, shall be made of butter.
The finished products are... in a word... intimidating.
|Yeah, yeah, yeah. One's already missing. Don't judge.|
Now that I'm not drunk, I can't excuse my rampant cupcake-eating behavior.
MUST. SHOW. SELF. RESTRAINT.
Not only did I gorge on cupcakes and booze last night, but I also made the mistake of taking a laxative before the festivities begun.
I woke up on the couch this morning, long story, and was fairly confused about where I was, who I was, and what was going on. As the sun continued assaulting my eyes, I finally got up and turned to the refuge of my bedroom - where my double thick curtains block out every bit of natural light. I'm a mole person.
I've spent the entire day alternating between avoiding all forms of light and the migraines that inevitably go with them, and laying in the fetal position complaining over the horrific stomach cramps from the Dulcolax. Why I do this to myself? It's anyone's guess. I'm pretty sure this could be classified as a form of self-masochism.
Stomach cramp. Audible lower intestine gurgling. General death.
Nope, I'm positive. This is self-inflicted torture.
A bientôt, lovelies.