Hello Cupcake!

A few years ago – six, to be exact-ish – my body made the rash and misguided decision to no longer allow dairy into its delicate and rather fractious system.  A war was waged, finally resulting in my reluctant and anguished surrender to life as a Lactose Intolerant.  I learned to live without dessert, without the sheen of cheese bubbling and browning on top of baked ziti, without my mother’s butter and Velveeta-laden homemade macaroni and cheese.  Sure, there are dairy-free alternatives to both cheese and dessert, but let’s face it folks, none of them can compete with the likes of velvety cheesecake or Doritos dripping with chili con queso.  But, humans are remarkable creatures and like the many sufferers of all things dairy who came before me, I learned to adapt. 

Goodbye forever, dairy products.

Years go by.  I, for the most part, refrain from cheese and dessert.  It is not a life filled with pizza or molten lava chocolate cake, but it is a good life nonetheless.

Enter the cupcake craze.  Suddenly, cupcakes everywhere.  Do you know, dear readers, who cupcake dealers strive to accommodate?  Everyone.  Everyone, everywhere.  Not only do they bake delicious, delectable, buttery, creamy, lactose-filled cupcakes of all flavors and varieties, many have added gluten and dairy-free options to their repertoire to satisfy those less fortunate delicate flowers such as myself; we champions of label-reading, we "can-you-please-put-the-cheese/dressing/whipped cream-on-the-side" wretches.

The cupcake craze incited my journey to find the perfect, the best, the most drool-worthy vegan cupcake the world has to offer.  (And by “the world” I mean the “Washington Metropolitan Area”.)  I wanted to enjoy dessert again – not merely eat the dry, gritty, strange concoctions I was presented with as my only alternatives.  I won’t take the time to extol the virtues of the man fine cupcake establishments I have visited (and in some cases, frequented) over the years.  No one has that kind of time and the point of this post is to tell you about the near-orgasmic cupcake experience I had last night near Eastern Market in DC.

After a lovely stroll and dinner with the equally lovely and charming Katie and Kristy, we executed a quick Google search in hopes of finding a nearby cupcakery.  We were lucky enough to find Hello Cupcake a mere two blocks away.  With its ooey-gooey-happy pink awning, it was easily spotted.   Experience has taught me to always enter a cupcakery with an air of apprehension, as I have left many a shoppe feeling sad and disheartened when no Heather-friendly options were available.  But I was in luck last night!  Not only did I have options – I had THREE options.  A chocolate cupcake with chocolate, vanilla OR strawberry icing.  Choices!  I had choices!  I opted for a strawberry-iced cupcake because they’re a rarity in the vegan world and it looked oh-so-inviting.  Cupcake and ginger soda in hand, I settled down at the table and took a tiny taste of the icing.

(I love you.)

AN EXPLOSION OF FLAVOR!  DELICIOUS!  DELECTABLE! AND OTHER ADJECTIVES AS WELL!  It was thick and creamy, no weird grittiness or texture issues, no off-putting after taste.  The flavor was spot-on, the strawberries bursting through.  Is this too good to be true?  The cake bit has to be horrible, right?  But, no!  My socks were cleanly and swiftly knocked off after the first moist, chocolatey bite.  Again, no disconcerting texture issues, no cardboard-like consistency.  And a bite with both icing and cake?  A perfect, heavenly combination. 

I have found my cupcake mecca folks.  As an Arlington resident it couldn’t be more out of the way, but I will gladly venture there as often as my waistline will allow.  I still have two other flavors to try, after all.  Thank you, Penny the Pasty Proprietress for a truly surprising and enchanting cupcake experience.  I look forward to round two.

Hello Cupcake has two locations (and they deliver!).  I highly recommend a visit.

Dupont Circle

1361 Connecticut Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20036
Just south of Dupont Circle, across from the Metro

Capitol Hill (Barracks Row)

705 8th Street, SE
Washington, DC 20003
3 blocks south of Eastern Market Metro

Major Red Bull

My good friend, Mick, recently became Major Mick.  By way of congratulations, I drew him a picture:

Army Strong.
(pretzel sold separately)

The pretzel doesn't have much to do with his shiny, new rank (ok, ok, nothing whatsoever to do with his shiny, new rank), but after spending a week visiting him in Germany (I take full advantage when my friends are stationed in fabulous places), where I inhaled at least one amazingly delicious German pretzel per day, Mick = pretzel in my book.

(I would eat 10 of those pretzels right now.  I wouldn't even stop to say, "Thank you for bringing me these pretzels, Oh Magnificent Pretzel Monster. (S/He's like the Flying Spaghetti Monster, only with different carbs.))

Major M's promotion is great and all, but this post isn't really about him; it's about me.  You're not really surprised, are you?  I'm here tonight to make a vow.  Are you ready, world?

(Ha ha.  "World".  My world of 10s of readers.  It's a bit like The Little Prince.

I am a weird book.

 Only with more socks and narwhals.)

The green jumpsuit is not a good look for me.

But I digress.

*clears throat*

"I will heretofore no longer allow the delicious nectar known as Red Bull pass by these ruby red lips o' mine."

There.  Vow made.  I mean it too.  This shit is bananas:

There are no bananas here.

I wish I could say this is the same pile of caffeine I took a picture of a week or so ago, but ... nope.  New pile.  I'm not giving up caffeine altogether -- let's not get crazy now -- this is merely the first step in my caffeine-removal plan. 

I have the sneaking suspicion that my shitastic sleep habits and the angry beast known as Jeff the Troll are related to, or affected by, the amount of caffeine I ingest throughout the day.  Honestly, it's not that bad -- one coffee in the morning, and a rather large (and delicious) Red Bull with lunch.  Could be worse, right?  I'm just thinking of my stomach here.  We're going to be together for many years to come (Magnificent Pretzel Monster willing) and we have way too much drama in our relationship right now.  I think we can do better.

Just to reiterate:  "No more Red Bull."

You can quote me on that.

Sock Star

I have hitherto been very remiss in updating this blog o' mine.  Where do I even begin?  I recovered quite nicely from the dental torture of last week and had a fabulous weekend filled with fabulous people.

Friday, I played with guns.  I was surprised to find myself tense and jumpy when we first got started.  I handled weapons (well, *a* weapon) in the military, but that was many (many) (many) moons ago.  After shooting a dozen or so rounds with the Sig Sauer 9MM pistol, I decided it wasn't the hobby for me and was content to watch everyone else ... until Sean convinced me to try a different gun.

Holy Thunderous .357 Magnum, Batman!

That thing was intense.  And loud, so very loud.  I felt like a sock star.  A gun-wielding, awkward, giggly rock star.  (For those nit-picky grammarians out there (*cough* Kristy *cough*) I do realize I just called myself a "sock star", but given one of my, um, more unique traits, I though it was apropos.)

My creative attempt for the day was to make a smiley face on my target (what else would I make?).  My accuracy is to be envied by gun enthusiasts everywhere.

Happy, happy, happy.

What do you mean you can't see it?  Seriously?  It's so obvious, but here, I'll help you out...

Just play along.

Once again, three cheers for Meredith (for being born) and Sean (for organizing and making bulls eye cupcakes).

Naked Feet?

No way.  Never.  Naked feet are an abomination.

...

Perhaps that is a bit dramatic.  I will traipse about with naked feet during the summer, but only when I'm out of my house doing fun things.  Once I'm home, if my shoes are off, socks are going on.  I can live no other way.

I have many to choose from.  One drawer of white-ish athletic, one of ... everything else.

So. Many. Socks.

I have favorites, of course.  Doesn't everyone?  Well, never mind...  I got these beauties for Christmas from my lovely sis-in-law.  They're warm, cozy, and mismatched on purpose, which I find delightful.

Photobomber.

I wear these to work a lot (hidden beneath work-appropriate shoes, of course).  They're very "business on top, party on my feet."

It's business time.

I got these in Germany in 2010 and they quickly became my favorite pair (evident by the rather large worn patch at the heel).  I found myself doing unnecessary loads of laundry just to wear them again.

Yes, I'm fully aware that my sock love is a bit absurd.
I'm comfortable with that.  And so are my feet.

Knee socks!

No, I wasn't in my room trying on socks today.  Who would do that?

I like me some thick, please-save-me-from-blisters foot coverings when I get my hike on.  Mmm... wool.

Wool touching any other part of my body is unacceptable.

Finally, when it's time to lay my weary head upon my dreamy-soft pillow, I don my tried-and-true, oh-so-perfect, white Hanes ankle length socks of joy.  They are America's #1 socks, after all.  Says so right on their website.

I love you...

I have tried sleeping without socks and it's ... it's ... just wrong.  I toss and turn, stare at the ceiling, try bunching the sheets around my sad feet, stare at the ceiling some more.  Nothing doing.  I will eventually give in because 1 - I recognize when the battle is lost, and 2 - I'm grumpy and stabby when sleep deprived (or hungry).  Obviously, sleeping sockless is not something I attempt often. 

I'm special.

(Tuesday, Jan 24th)